Screams of laughter filled the area as several women entered the lobby. Kylie inwardly cringed. Yep. Romance Lovers Convention. Why she’d let Ashlyn talk her into coming, she’d never know. She didn’t actually have a choice, now that she thought about it. They did you a favor, admit it. Daddy never listened to your pleas when you’d asked for a project on your own, so now you have an opportunity to prove yourself because of them.
Ashlyn’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist. She squealed like a teenager.
Kylie’s heart jumped. “What’s wrong?”
Ash covered her mouth, and her voice sounded muffled. “Do you know who that is?”
Sara and Kylie both rolled their eyes. Here we go.
“That’s freakin’ J.R. Ohmygod!” Ash jumped up and down.
Kylie spotted the thin blonde wearing dark sunglasses. That had to be J.R. surrounded by fans. “Go get her autograph.”
“Not here. Maybe tomorrow at the literary signing, and if not there, I’ll stalk her at the Grand Masquerade ball…or maybe she’ll be at the publisher’s party.”
“I’m going to check in,” Sara said, not fazed. Sara didn’t read much, unless it was a murder mystery or law books. It was the male model-watching and parties that convinced Sara to attend with Ash each year.
Kylie enjoyed almost all romance novels, but she didn’t recognize too many authors by their faces, not like Ash did, although the woman with dark hair and blue highlights getting into an elevator did look a lot like Gina Maxwell. Dang it. She hadn’t had time to pack her Cinderella series books so she could grab her autograph.
After checking in, a man who sort of resembled a young Leonard Nimoy helped them with their luggage. Ash had given up her room for Kylie, knowing she’d want the room to herself. “We’ll only be next door, Ky.”
“You with the writers’ convention?” the concierge asked.
“No, not really,” Kylie answered, eyeing the man’s name tag that read Will. “I’m just along for the ride. My friend, Ash is an author though. I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Royale and his design team.” And to try and forget about a wedding that never happened and a bitch of an ex-best friend.
“Then I’d better be on my best behavior,” Will said. “Let me know if I can get you and your friends anything.” He handed her his card. “I only give this to our special guests. Call if you need anything at all.”
How sweet of him. She was beginning to think that men with regular jobs were much more friendly and real than typical stuffed-suit men. “Thanks.” She slipped him a twenty before he left.
Kylie observed the room and cataloged the decor from floor to ceiling. The suite wasn’t bad either, but it would be better once she was done with it. Internally, she was picturing the sage family color charts she’d chosen, though the golden palettes were pretty too.
Proud of her designs, she couldn’t wait to showcase her boards and finish samples. Mr. Williams from The Vault Casino next door would regret not choosing her design over Jerk B’s design. Jerk B was better known in her father’s company as Billy, her father’s right-hand man.
A tightening in her stomach eased some as a heavy sigh escaped. One day…
She examined the bathroom. Spacious. Sleek. Masquerade had more charm than The Vault—it just needed a little TLC. Like her.
Sara swung open the adjoining door. “You’re not working, are you? We have to be ready in thirty minutes.”
“I’m unpacking, and then I need to finish reading Ashlyn’s manuscript. Y’all go without me.” Kylie unzipped her suitcase.
“Uh. No you’re not.” Ash strolled in the room. “My book isn’t due yet, and we have big plans for you.”
…
Jake rushed out of his private elevator, meeting with his chief of surveillance and best friend, Macon Spelling, in the middle of the casino. “You saw him?”
Macon nodded and folded his arms. “I got it. Go back to whatever you were doing. Let me do my job.”
Macon knew better. Jake would never let it go. Not this time. The urge to pound his fist through something grew strong. The muscles in his neck tightened.
The bastard next door had already stolen several of Jake’s employees, promising them things that the asshole would never deliver.
As Jake made his way down the long corridor with Macon by his side, they passed the Barakoa coffee bar, a server dropped a tray full of frappes and lattes in front of him.
Her eyes widened when she noticed he was watching and realized who he was. “Excuse me, sir.”
Most CEOs weren’t hands on, but Jake made a promise to himself that he would get to know as many employees as possible. Not to mention he was a control freak, or so he was told. He motioned for Macon to assist her, but then he saw. The server’s stomach protruded, as though she were ready to have a baby…right now. He grabbed Macon’s arm to stop him.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Royale.” The young lady awkwardly bent down, laboring to pick up the mess.
He leaned over, cupped her elbow and helped her up. “Macon, call housekeeping immediately.”
Macon nodded and radioed it in.
The waitress shied away and her cheeks burned red. “Please. Don’t fire me.” She held her stomach.
She seemed to mistake his concern for anger. Why was she wearing such a short skirt and low-cut shirt? She shouldn’t be dressed like this. Especially not right now.
“What’s your name?” he asked. He clearly read Megan on her name tag, but he wanted her to relax so she wouldn’t go into labor right this second.
She lowered her trembling chin. “Meg Monroe.”
“Come.” He walked her to an empty slot machine seat in a quiet area of the high roller’s gambling area next to the Topenga Grill. “Sit, Meg.” She sat. “What are you having?”
Meg blinked rapidly. “A girl. She’s due in three weeks, sir.”
Jake thought back to his mom bussing tables when she was pregnant with his younger sister while he stayed home alone. “How are your feet?”
“My—my feet?” she asked, frowning.
“Swelling, huh? I bet your back is aching too,” he said matter-of-factly.
Her jaw dropped. “Yes, sir.” She tilted her head as if wondering how he would know such a thing.
“I guessed.” Liar. “Meg, you can’t waitress here anymore.”
She shook her head slightly, like she was in denial. “Why? I promise I won’t be clumsy again.” Tears filled her eyes. “Please, I need this job.”
He should have explained first. “I’m not firing you. Just moving you to another department. Where you can sit most of the day. But today, right now—go home. Get off your feet.”
Her eyes filled. “I can’t. I need my pay.”
“You will be compensated for today. Now go home.”
The waitress wiped tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, sir. Thank you. Thank you.”
Jake walked away, not wanting or needing to hear her thanks. Instead, he mentally berated himself for not noticing her sooner. Next board meeting, he would be sure to ask HR to move any pregnant waitresses, if there were any, to other positions temporarily.
“Mighty nice of you,” Macon said. “As usual.”
Jake ignored him, but his adrenaline spiked. “Where is that thief bastard?”
“In the Karaoke Lounge.” He turned and headed in that direction.
Macon and Jake had grown up together in the same trailer park, both dirt poor. “Asshole doesn’t sell the good shit at his own bar so he needed to come here?” Jake was almost sprinting. And steal your employees. Prick’s never gotten over the past.
Jake picked up his pace and quickly found Mark Williams, his wannabe rival, drinking a glass of his best scotch. He slid onto the barstool next to him and the bartender, Mike, immediately placed an on-the-rocks glass filled with what looked like bourbon in front of him. Except his drink wasn’t what everyone thought. A special bourbon bottle sat in the back corner just for him. Plain old Coke. Not one drop
of liquor.
After his drunken father had left him and his pregnant mother, he vowed to never touch the stuff. It had taken him ten years of heavily drinking to remember that promise, though.
Macon stood behind Mark, his arms folded across his broad chest.
“Enjoying our scotch?” Jake asked with ice in his tone.
“Jake.” Mark nodded, raised his glass, and motioned to the bartender for another one. Mark glanced behind him. “Macon.” He made another slight nod.
“What’s wrong, Williams? The Vault’s scotch is the cheap stuff?” Macon moved in closer.
“Call your guard dog off, Jake.”
Macon’s hands clenched. “Say the word, Boss. Say the word.”
Jake ignored their requests. “Why are you here?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Another employee of mine? Why not meet them in your own club?” Jake fisted his hands, barely holding control of his anger. Now wasn’t the time—or the place.
“I’m not the one who steals things from others.” Mark’s jaw clearly tensed at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. If only she had stayed with Mark instead of moving into his Jake’s life. His life would have been so much better. “Besides, I didn’t say I was meeting someone. I said I was looking for someone. A lady friend.” Mark chugged the rest of his drink down this throat, slammed the glass on the bar, then stood. “Looks like she isn’t here.”
Mark didn’t deny pilfering from him, and Jake couldn’t help but wonder if he was referring to his hostess, Patricia. She’d been acting a little strange lately. He glanced around realizing he hadn’t seen her at all today.
Macon inched back, barely allowing the jerk to squeeze past. “Want me to follow, Boss?”
“No.” Jake watched Williams disappear from the bar and get lost in a big group of loud women, and then he glanced at a banner sign near the lobby welcoming the Romance Lovers Convention attendees. Of course it was that time of year again where thousands of romance writers and readers were due in this week. “Leave him. We have other concerns right now.”
“Don’t worry. Patricia has everything under control,” Macon said.
Maybe, but Patricia seemed to keep disappearing whenever he was around. He wasn’t sure, but he got the feeling she was hiding something. Maybe Mark got to her too. “I’m sure she does, but keep an eye on her anyway.”
Techno music suddenly blared from the speakers.
Macon turned and stared at the cute, brown-eyed DJ while she set up her equipment. “You ready for tonight, Pasha?” he asked.
Jake silently groaned. It was hard keeping his eyes off of the beauty, even though she wasn’t his type. They had needed a DJ desperately, and she’d proven to be one of the best.
Pasha nodded. “Always ready,” she said in her sweet Turkish accent. “You coming to watch, yes?”
“If the boss man lets me,” Macon said.
Jake folded his arms. Macon didn’t need his approval, but he pretended to in front of other employees. “Let Pasha do her job and you do yours,” he ordered, and they walked out of the Karaoke Lounge.
Three giggling women cut in front of them.
“Saweet,” Macon said, barely loud enough for Jake’s ears.
“Keep your pants on. They’re writers, not strippers.”
“You forget what happened last year?” Macon asked. “Besides, I like the literary type—the erotic literary that is.”
Jake shook his head. He hadn’t forgotten. Several of the authors got word of who he was and tried seducing him, insisting he could be a cover model for their books. And there was one particular publisher he’d never forget. She’d practically bribed him with her assets. “On your own time.”
“You’re blind. The hot babe in blue is giving you the sweet eye.”
Jake turned in the opposite direction. “I’m married already—to the casino.”
“Yeah. Don’t I know, bro.”
“Someone has to keep this place running while others are chasing women or letting women chase them.”
“Ouch.” Macon’s gaze shot back to the woman in the blue skirt. “You’re just chicken someone will run off with all your money, and you’ll be poor again.”
“No. I don’t like being used is all,” Jake said. Macon joked, but it still stung. “Don’t you have a job to do?” His ex had been nothing but a gold digger, but it hadn’t said much about his own character for being so damn blind. No one would ever use him like that ever again.
“Always.”
“Then go tell Perry and Will to be on the lookout for that bastard Mark, and if he steps foot in my casino again have them call me ASAP. I don’t care what time, day or night.”
Jake marched by the blackjack tables, poker tables, and the gift shop, and then recalled he was almost out of his favorite orange Tic Tacs. Macon was slipping with the one nice gesture he had consistently made over the years. Tic Tac delivery. Jake hurried into the gift shop, grabbing several packs, shoving some in his pants pockets. As he twisted around, he ran smack into a woman.
The brunette glared at him, annoyed.
“Watch where you’re going, buddy.” Her lips thinned.
Buddy?
He continued to stare, even though it was rude. She was kind of cute. Her cheeks turned rosy, and the red tint traveled down the V of her shirt. He realized a little too late that he was checking out her full breasts when she covered herself with a bag of fluffy Cheetos and huffed.
Cat had his tongue while he gawked at her like an idiot. “Sor—”
“Geesh. Thanks for the help, jackass.” She knelt and picked up other junk food items from the floor and then stormed off.
Jackass. Jake remembered to breathe and eased out of the shop, feeling as if he’d been hit with a thousand pounds of gambling chips. Someone had pissed her off bad, unless she was always like that. Women.
…
Stunned, Kylie hid on the next aisle. The guy wasn’t just rude, staring where he shouldn’t be, he was also a thief.
But that wasn’t what had upset her. The moment she’d seen him walk through the door, she’d noticed the way he carried himself—like one of those executive jerk types. Just like her ex. Just like her emotionless father. That had to be why she’d turned on the bitch-switch so easily. It surely wasn’t because of those gorgeous bedroom-green eyes. The rare sexy color you see on a handful of movie stars. No, that couldn’t be it.
Her anger grew, heating her face and neck. You’re pissed because you’re attracted to him. A thief. Geesh. That’s a new low.
“Sara. Hey, did you see that?” Surprised as hell by her attraction to the sex-on-a-stick man, Kylie peeked around the corner and watched the thief with the Hollywood-intense eyes. The sharp gray suit strolled right out of the shop like he owned the place. The nerve of some people.
He stood tall, and his midnight hair curled lightly on the ends, and yet was neatly trimmed. From the back, he resembled a certain CEO asshole. But CEOs didn’t steal breath mints. Did they?
“See what?” Sara asked.
“That guy. He just hijacked some Tic Tacs, and walked right outta here without paying. Mints, of all things.” She huffed, still upset at herself for not knowing why she was so upset.
“Mints?” Sara dropped her sunblock and gum on the checkout counter and leaned back. “Who, him? The hot James Bond look-alike who just glanced over his shoulder?”
Kylie scooted behind Sara, her throat suddenly dry. “Yeah. Him. Though I wouldn’t call a thief a hottie.” Except she would be lying if she admitted he wasn’t a spitting image of the latest Bond—with darker hair and prettier eyes—but hottie or not, the man stole. When it was Kylie’s turn to check out, she decided to tell the cashier. “Ma’am. That man,” she gestured, “stole some items. I think you should call security.”
“Not again.” The cashier grabbed her phone, then leaned over her counter. “Tic Tacs? Oh. That’s Macon, and he is security.” She put the receiver down. “He’s steali
ng for Mr. Royale, the owner.” The cashier squinted and pulled out eyeglasses from beneath the register. “I’m blind as a bat for seeing distance without these glasses. Maybe? Wait. Is that…?”
The two men walked out of sight. “Hmm. I’m not sure. I think that was him.” The clerk shrugged. “If he took orange Tic Tacs, then it had to be.”
Jake Royale is a Tic Tac junkie. Who knew? Kylie couldn’t wait to officially meet the owner this weekend. Maybe she’d bring him his favorite breath mints to break the ice. “Well, I hope so. I hate thieves.” And liars. And cheaters. And power-hungry CEOs. She paid for her iced mocha-mint coffee, chips, and cookies and then left the gift shop, gulping the coffee to satisfy her sudden thirst.
Loads of women strolled around half in a daze, maybe lost, with stuffed conference tote bags, but the sexy man called Macon was gone.
Ashlyn caught up with them out in the corridor. “Look what I found in the souvenir shop. It’s perfect for you.” She fished in the bag and pulled out a beautiful feathered and sequined mask. The fire red and black colors were gorgeous, but no way.
“I’m not wearing that,” Kylie’s voice raised over the gaming machines’ clatter.
“You are,” she corrected, waving the mask. “At my publisher’s costume party. You can do whatever you want, and no one will be the wiser.”
“I’ll know, and I won’t be wiser.” She turned around. Her breath caught, and she became aware of her own heartbeat racing out of control. There he was. Macon, the security dude, was talking to the pit boss and another guy near the roulette table, and as if he knew she was watching him, he glanced in her direction. Liquid pooled in her mouth, and she swallowed. Why on earth are you so attracted to him? Stop. Just stop. The other big man standing next to him turned as well. The temperature rose ten degrees in her cheeks and some places she’d rather ignore right now. Crap. She faced Ashlyn, not too happy she’d let him see her blush like a teenager.
She blamed it on not having sex for the last six months. Her ex-fiancé said it would make their wedding night more special. Asshole. She wrung her hands together. She should have known then that he was cheating, but she’d buried her head in planning a ridiculous wedding. Believing in a stupid ceremony fairytale was her fault, but damn Brett for making her abstain. Now she was horny, not to mention a bit lonely.
Masquerading With the CEO Page 2