by Pratt, Lulu
“The posters,” I said slowly, making sure to enunciate. “You’re all over town making that idiotic pose.”
I copied his infamous stance from the signs — thumbs tucked into belt loops, shoulders squared and a sexy scowl. Whichever photographer gave him that instruction was apparently more accustomed to working with male strippers than billionaires. The whole effect was very 2000s boy band.
Jack the minion’s face flamed red.
“Sir, she can’t talk to you like that!” he squealed. “I’ll fire her right now, this very instant, you just give the word.”
Tate held up a hand as his lips twitched upward. “No need, Jack. She — Kiki, rather — is right. The posters are ridiculous.”
“You look wonderful in them, if I may say so, sir,” Jack dithered.
Tate’s chest rose with tight exasperation at the man’s slime-soaked words. What is it like, I wondered, to have someone follow you around all day, saying everything you want to hear? Thinking about my aching feet and my blistered hands, for a fleeting moment, this sounded like a dream. It’d be like floating through perfumed air. Everything around me would become all the sweeter.
But no sooner had I thought it, then I realized the sour notes in the aroma. You’d feel as though the world around you were built on trembling ground, like your reality was fading in and out with the yeses of lesser men. Clearly, it was starting to wear on Tate, perhaps had been for some time. He didn’t look thrilled by the constant praise. He looked exhausted, like every second he refrained from rolling his eyes was a dull chore. Despite my long-ingrained hatred for the Dazzlers boy wonder, my heart prickled with pity. My world might suck, but at least it was all mine.
Then I remembered myself. Why the fuck was I feeling sorry for some playboy? He was rich, he was gorgeous — he didn’t need an ounce of my sympathy.
I steeled myself and acidly replied as though trying to get fired, “Your boy’s a yes-man.” My head bent to Jack, who lurched back as though gut punched.
What the fuck am I doing? I asked myself. I had a temper, sure, but this was beyond just a Kiki flame-up. What had gotten into me?
Here, I think, is the real answer — a small, stupid, part of me was hoping that, thanks to my heavy dose of self-sabotage, Tate would fire me right then and there, thus saving me from the black hole of Dazzlers. Sure, it would mean I was out of a job and still with my father to support, but that was a small price to pay for avoiding a life of carpet vomit and soaked felt. I was egging on the owner, hoping that his dazzling grin would in turn fade and, in a moment of fury — because God knows men like him always have tempers — he would fire me, tell me to walk out and never step foot in his casino again. Then, maybe, I could chase that cabin in Washington.
Instead, he laughed.
Laughed.
“You’re right,” Tate said, speaking as if Jack wasn’t even there, the way he’d spoken about me only moments ago — oh, how quickly tables turn. “He is a yes-man.”
Jack blustered, “B-but—”
“No, Jack. It wasn’t a question.”
The little man’s face flushed. “But… well. Okay, sir. If you say so. I guess you’re right, sir, you usually are.”
I’d never seen a pinker belly in my life. I wouldn’t trust this Jack guy to run a decent fruit stand on the side of the road, let alone a casino. One can only imagine what kind of shady shit a guy without a moral compass, just a head with which to nod, might get up to in Vegas.
My blood curdled. I didn’t need to imagine — I knew exactly what the Jacks of the world did. They encouraged gambling addicts day in and day out, placing casino flyers in front of Gamblers Anonymous and giving the guys they recognized extra liquor, in the hopes that they’d drop more that day than usual. The story was familiar, too familiar.
And the Tates of the world? They just sat back and watched it happen, because they couldn’t be bothered to take a little responsibility. No, not these silver-spooned princelings. Everything was just ‘yessir’ and ‘right away, mister.’ Though I’d felt an initial spark of attraction to him — because, I mean, come on, he was hot — I knew we had nothing in common. Everything I had, I earned. Everything he had, he inherited.
“You never answered my question,” Tate said suddenly.
My mind went blank. The rage had run the colors to white. “What?”
“My question. I asked how long you’d worked here for.”
“It’s a complicated answer.”
He smirked. “Certainly the math can’t be that difficult.”
I felt my shoulders tighten. Of course he didn’t realize what he’d just implied about my level of education, but it was a sore spot and the lesser woman in me lashed out.
“Yes, Tate, I can do math. For one, I’m a cocktail waitress — I spend all day doing math. For another — just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t add. I’m sure ladies just dumb themselves down around you to avoid having a conversation.”
Well, that should close the chapter on my time here, I thought with sickening finality. There was definitely no coming back from that little outburst. The reality of the situation began to descend as his blue gaze leveled with mine. I’d have no job, and Tate would probably blacklist me from other casinos. In a matter of weeks, my father and I would be on the streets, begging for food, maybe with a mangy cur at our sides.
Yes, I’m a pessimist. I know, it’s not my finest trait.
But really, I’d dug myself into a hole Satan himself couldn’t pull me out of. Probably because he was a close personal friend of Tate, et al.
He tried to fight back. “I didn’t mean — I know women can—”
“And, for the record,” I added, because either way I was toast, “the answer is that I’ve worked here for six months, but it’s basically been a lifetime. Because my dad worked here my whole life, up until pretty recently, when he hit retirement and decided to come back and spend his pension in this casino. I’ve been coming to Dazzlers since I was born to watch my dad work, but mostly to watch him lose all the money he earned here. So, yeah. Feels like I’ve been on the Dazzlers payroll for a long fucking time.”
Tate’s face went pale, and beneath the shiny veneer of self-congratulatory bullshit, I saw a ripple of real emotion. Something had set him off. I’d been teetering on the edge of getting fired for several minutes now, but nothing had upset him the way my last tirade had. It was as if I’d found the sole soft spot in a rock-hard wall.
Even as he turned venomous, my heart skittered up the wall of my chest. When was the last time a man had looked at me so intensely, as if he saw way more than I’d allowed him to see?
More to the point — had I gotten Tate all wrong?
***
Thank you for reading the preview of Auctioned. Want more? Go to Amazon.com to read the full book. Thank you!
***
Sign up to my newsletters and get FREE exclusive bonuses on all my stories including a bonus short, Well Hung – Five Years Later.
Click here to join my newsletter and get the bonus book, Big Swinging Dick.
Lulu Pratt’s Books
All available from Amazon
Overprotected
Billionaire Neighbor
Making His Baby: A Billionaire Romance
Coach Me: A Bad Boy Romance
Baby’s First Christmas: A Secret Baby Romance
Dear Santa: A Bad Boy Christmas Romance
Claimed: A Bad Boy Romance
Auctioned
Relentless Pursuit
Want You Back: A Second Chance Romance
Quickies: A Romance Novella Collection
In Deep
Recharged
Best Jerk
le(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share