My Billionaire Roomie

by Tilly Pope

  My Billionaire Roomie

  Tilly Pope

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Tilly Pope

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About My Billionaire Roomie

  Julia

  I can’t believe I still work at this casino.

  But, it pays the bills and the tips are good.

  Until I make a huge fool of myself.

  Now I have a screwed up ankle and a pissed off boss.

  God, he’s such a jerk.

  A mouthwatering one at that.

  And I’m willing to bend to his every desire.

  For my job's sake anyway.

  Or is it?

  Derek

  Running the Velvet Star Hotel and Casino is usually a smooth process.

  Great place, makes BIG money and I love the high dollar poker games.

  Until one of my employees trips and spills drinks all over my best players.

  Who wears six inch heels to waitress in, ffs?

  One hot woman, that’s who.

  And now, she’s my roommate.

  I can’t wait to make her mine.

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  Who’s your daddy?

  1

  Julia

  The best and worst parts of working at the Velvet Star Hotel and Casino are the tips. Frankly, I can make my portion of the rent in a night sometimes, depending on where I’m working.

  You’d think it would be the high stakes guys that tip the best but you’d be surprised. Rich guys are stingy as fuck. Actually, my best customers are the broken-hearted gals gambling away their pain. All you have to do is spare them some time and a sympathetic ear and they’re so grateful they tip you big. In direct contrast, the other group that are great tippers are the elopers, come to Vegas for a quickie wedding. They book the honeymoon suite and if you’re clever enough to bring them service without interrupting the lovin’ well, let’s just say they can be appreciative.

  Or maybe I just prefer these two groups because they don’t make me feel gross when they tip me. The high rollers always act like they’re doing me such a huge favor. They might squeeze my ass or try to cop a feel on my breasts. It’s annoying. Nothing I can’t handle though.

  So you can say that I’m not looking forward to tonight. There’s a poker game in the backroom and guess who lost rock-paper-scissors and is now scheduled to be their hostess? That’s right.

  Me.

  Our hostess uniforms are decent. We have a chartreuse green well-fitted skirt made up of spandex and linen, that stops just above the knee, with a cream shirt, puffy sleeves, comfortable, airy and sexy. A light silk scarf the same color as our skirts is tied around our necks. I like to tie it choker style with a wrapped bow on the side of my neck. I then tie my blonde hair in a loose knot just above it.

  I have these emerald earrings that I like to wear at work. Okay, they’re not real emeralds but close enough. Sometimes I wish I had green eyes to complete the picture. No one seems to mind my blue ones though so I don’t sweat it. I like to smile at people even though the creepers take it as an invitation. It’s kind of a reflex and I haven’t yet weaned myself of the instinct. Also, it helps with the tips.

  So blonde hair, blue eyes…I bet you’re expecting that I’m some kind of blonde bimbo flaunting my fake double D’s and without a single brain cell to my name. Sorry to disappoint – all my assets are au naturel and I’m not exactly a mathlete but I get by.

  Working as a hostess has its difficulties but I know I’m lucky to be working in an industry that seems unaffected by any recession. That’s why I’m going to put on my a-game when I go out tonight and serve those high rollers.

  I like to make bets with myself sometimes; just to spice things up. Today I’m betting that I’ll leave work with at least a thousand dollars in tips. These people are playing for six and seven figures. A measly thousand dollars is like a drop in the bucket to them.

  I smooth down my skirt and check my make up one more time in the mirror. I decided on a grey smoky eye, lightly dusted glitter on my blusher and put on a nude lip. I flutter my fake eyelashes at myself a bit, just to practice, and smile.

  “There you are, you cheekbones you,” I say affectionately to my reflection. My cheekbones are Naomi Campbell sharp; they’re truly my best feature.

  I don’t like heels but tonight, I’ll suffer through it, if only to get my ass looking high and tight, and my legs longer. Yeah, I said I wasn’t a blonde bimbo but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to work it.

  My phone beeps and I lean over to see who’s texting me. I haven’t had a boyfriend in a few months and my best friend just hooked up with the love of her life so…she’s been MIA. So I smile when I see that she’s the one texting me.

  Hey girl. Haven’t seen you in a while. Wanna hang out tomorrow night after work?

  I do most definitely want to hang after work. Skylar lives in a condo with all the luxuries. When we hang out, we order in - from the expensive Chinese place down the street - we veg out in front of the sixty-five-inch flat screen while we Netflix and chill. Ayden – her boyfriend – is usually banished for the evening and it’s just her and me, a couple of massage chairs and Noah Centineo.

  I’m there!

  I smile as I reply, feeling an immediate boost of energy at the prospect of hanging out with Skylar. We always have so much fun together but not just that. I can talk to her about anything and vice versa. It’s like going to therapy - but with sangria instead of head shrinking.

  I slip my feet into my six-inch heels and pick up my bag. I can hear my mother tinkering in the kitchen and call out a goodbye before I’m out the door. She’s gonna be on my case about not giving her a hug before I left but I’m running late. I hurry down the street to catch the bus that drops me a few hundred feet from the service entrance of the hotel.

  I step in, a smile on my face, and catch my supervisor’s eye. “Julia, good to see you. I was about to start worrying.”

  “Come on boss, you know I wouldn’t let you down.” I cross to the employee lockers and stow my handbag before turning to Miss Anderson. “I’m ready now. I’ll just get the room ready.”

  I walk past her as she nods her approval. I take a deep breath, hoping it won’t be a long night.

  “Come on, ante up,” the guy in the shiny silver suit and thinning blond hair says. I put down a martini glass near his right wrist. He spares me a quick smile before looking around his buddies.

  One player is a Russian mogul with a huge bodyguard standing behind his chair.

  “Come on Yev,” shiny suit says, “All in?”

  The Russian nods slowly and the others grumble under their breath. The third guy is a very tall black guy. Like seven feet or something. I can’t help wondering if he plays basketball although his face isn’t familiar. He doesn’t say much, just play
s his cards. He’s also the only one not drinking alcohol. He ordered a virgin mojito and has been sipping it slowly throughout the game. He doesn’t look up from his cards much. He’s not losing, but neither is he winning.

  The fourth guy is a well-known comedian and he is just as loud in person as he is on stage. He keeps trying to distract the others with jokes but nobody’s biting. It’s been an entertaining evening but tiring too. They’ve been keeping me on my toes.

  However, I have hope that I will win my bet because I have at least three of them calling me by my name. The tall guy hasn’t said anything to me after ordering his drink.

  “Yo, Julia, I need a refill.” The comedian says and I immediately pick up the Manhattan I’d already ordered and hurried to his side. I bend down and put the drink down next to his hand. He’s telling a story, his hands waving in the air as I reach to pick up his empty glass. His elbow suddenly jabs into my hip and I wobble on my heels, caught off balance.

  My tray tips to the side and I reach out with my other hand to stop it, but I’m off balance. I can feel myself falling even before my foot twists and I fall into the tall guy. He reaches out and grabs my ass, which is a shock and I jerk. My tray slides out of my hands and right into the comedian’s Manhattan which empties all over the table.

  Again, I try to find my footing but I’m mostly already leaning on tall guy and so I kind of slid down him onto the floor. My ankle is throbbing. I think I twisted it. It’s a total cluster fuck. I try to move my hip but the pain that shoots up my side has me freezing. I can hear the poker players shouting angrily above me and I know I’ll be lucky to keep my job after this.

  Two security men come into the room, and an army of hospitality staff. The table is quickly cleared, and everything comp’d. Two of the burly security men pick me up off the floor and carry me away.

  Great. They’re taking me to the basement where they will beat me to a pulp. I think with despair. Maybe I’ve seen one too many Ocean’s Eleven movies but hey, art often imitates life. I close my eyes and wonder if I should pretend to be unconscious. It might buy me some time.

  I go over the accident, trying to find a way in which it’s not my fault. Why did I think six-inch heels were a good idea? Especially stilettos. There’s just no excuse I can come up with. I can’t exactly tell HR I was angling for tips. I rarely wear those shoes, anyway. I do not know what possessed me to wear them now.

  God, I’m such an idiot!

  The security men dump me on a soft surface and I open one eye a slit to see where I am. I’m surprised to see that I’m in one of the security rooms and lying on a sofa. My ankle is still throbbing like a motherfucker and I don’t think I’ll be able to walk on it for a while. I need to go to a hospital but maybe HR will call the hotel doctor to look me over. I have okay insurance but there’s still that pesky co-pay and I’m not sure clumsy accidents by stiletto are covered.

  The two security guys leave me alone, closing – and locking – the door behind them and I heave a sigh of relief. At least they’re not beating me to a pulp. I open my eyes and sit up, evaluating my body. I feel a sharp pain on my hip and reach out to feel it.

  Definitely bruised.

  I can see my ankle from where I’m sitting; it’s red, swollen and throbbing. So, clearly at least twisted, maybe sprained. I don’t think it’s broken. I hear breaks are excruciating. This pain is more of a dull throbbing.

  I wish I had my phone with me so I can call Skylar to come to pick me up. I wouldn’t want to worry my mother. She has high blood pressure. My dad is working the late shift at an all-night wedding chapel. He’s a licensed officiant. Skylar can borrow one of Ayden’s cars to take me to the hospital so I can at least get looked at and some painkillers.

  I sigh, feeling scared and worried. I don’t know if I’m about to be fired or worse. I don’t know what the procedure is when a hostess drops a whole tray of drinks on clients and disrupts their poker game.

  I put my leg down slowly, wanting to test if I can stand on it but just that slight movement sends pain shooting up my leg and I freeze again, feeling tears I don’t want to cry slipping down my cheeks. I wish I had my phone with me, but it’s all the way in my locker. There is a phone on the desk but it might as well be in my locker too for how unreachable it is.

  I lean back on the sofa and close my eyes, awaiting my fate with resignation.

  2

  Derek

  It’s been a long day of putting out fires. I’m exhausted. I should have been home three hours ago. I have a hot date with an Instagram model that I’m so late for right now. I text her to invite her friends and go wait for me in VIP. That should appease her for a while. Lots of potential instagrammable moments to be had there.

  Okay, I admit it. I have an ulterior motive in making her wait there. It wouldn’t hurt my business for her three hundred thousand followers to see her living the high life at the Velvet Star Hotel and Casino. It’s all about creating FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) right?

  Which reminds me…

  I pick up my phone and order a bottle of champagne to be sent to their table. My intercom goes off and I hit it automatically, wondering what new crisis will make me even later.

  “Sir, I have two security men out here with me. Apparently, there has been an incident on the floor that you might want to see to yourself.”

  With a sigh, I ask her to send them in. The door opens and I look up to see Steve and Sam standing shoulder to shoulder, looking like they’re facing a firing squad.

  “All right then. Give it to me straight. What happened?”

  Steve steps forward, takes a deep breath and launches into a story where some of my regular high rollers were complaining about a hostess ruining their game. They are claiming it was on purpose. She poured a drink on one of them and then fell on another. She used her tray to scatter all the chips on the table so they’re not sure who won what. They’re demanding compensation.

  I close my eyes, sigh. This is so not what I need to hear tonight.

  “Where’s the server?” I growl.

  “We locked her in the security room,” Sam tells me and I nod my approval. At least she won’t run off before I’ve spoken to her if this was a deliberate case of sabotage or even corporate espionage. You just never know these days. It’s a jungle out there.

  I straighten up, button up my jacket and step determinedly forward. “Okay then, let’s deal with this fresh hell,” I say.

  We head down to the VIP floor and I step into the game room where the four men are still loudly complaining. I have to give it to my staff because there is no sign at all that a disaster took place. Chips are neatly stacked in piles, there’s no evidence of a spilled drink and everyone has a full glass of something.

  “Gentlemen. A pleasure to see you all again. I’m sorry about the circumstances.” I say as I reach out to shake hands. The grumbling picks up right away.

  “Yo Derek, what kind of staff you employing these days, man? I got cherry wine all down my front. How am I supposed to walk outta here like this?” Mr. Hart complains to me.

  “Well, that’s one problem I can solve right now. You know we have an Armani boutique in the building right. Give my man your shirt size and he’ll get you a replacement.”

  “It’s not about the shirt, Derek, you know I can buy my own shirts. It’s the principle of the thing.”

  “I get it, Mr. Hart. I do. But there’s no use cryin’ about spilled manhattans now, am I right? Please, let us make it right.”

  He nods grudgingly because he feels that we’ve sufficiently sucked up. Mr. Hart does not like for anyone to imply that he can’t afford shit. Ironically, he’s also a sucker for freebies. It’s important to know these details about your customers.

  I turn to Lars, who is looking pissed off. “She didn’t hurt you did she?” I ask in the most concerned tone I can manage, all the while planning to take it out of the girl’s ass. How dare she make me kiss ass like this?

  “Nah, I’m not hurt. I
mean it was just a shock how she fell on me. I don’t even know man.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder and look sympathetically at him. “Hey, anything we can do, you know we’re here for you.”

  He waves a hand. “I’m good. I’m just mad she messed up the chips man. I was kinda winning.”

  That’s probably a huge lie but who am I to call him on it. “Yeah? We can run the video feed and figure this all out.” I say. There’s about half a mil on this table and I intend to not lose it all. “Just give me some time. I’ll have security get right on that.”

  Brad, who I’m not sure what he does exactly but he’s always dressed spiffily in suits waves his hands. “Negatory on that. We should just start over.”

  “No man! Let’s see the feeds.” Says a guy I don’t recognize.

  I straighten up because the complaints have moved on and now they’re just trying to get their money’s worth. I can leave that to them, crisis averted.

  “I’ll just leave you gentlemen while I check on security..”

  They barely hear me and I nod to Sam to get Mr. Hart a shirt and then look to the new hostess. She knows to keep serving them with drinks. Too bad Lars doesn’t drink on these occasions. He takes gambling very seriously but somehow, he always loses.

  I slowly walk to the door and they hardly notice. With a sigh of relief, I gesture for Steve to lead me to the employee. As we’re walking, I’m thinking about whether I should fire her, dock her pay or just give her a reprimand. I’m regretting not calling for her file. I rarely deal with employees in my establishments. That’s what HR is for.