Simon just sat there, wide-eyed and useless.
This time I didn’t stop them – but Monica did.
“SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!” she roared.
They did.
Immediately.
And none of them said anything else to her the rest of the evening.
Simon looked suitably intimidated as well.
Which was fine by me. The chances of his getting laid were dwindling by the second.
Suddenly I didn’t feel so jealous anymore.
10
Monica
After the simultaneously most luxurious and irritating plane ride I had ever taken in my entire life, Simon, Vic, his three call-girl-equivalents, and I piled into a limousine at the airport. The social media guy was instructed to get a taxi to the Mandalay Bay and be on call for later, if need be.
As soon as we all got into the limo, Vic immediately popped a bottle of Cristal and poured out six glasses.
“Wow, you really travel in style,” Simon murmured in quiet awe.
Vic chuckled as he passed out the champagne flutes. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
I was seriously annoyed that Simon’s head was turned so easily by Vic’s excess. Didn’t he see what a morally bankrupt ass-hat Vic was?
“It’s easy to travel in style when it’s on someone else’s dime,” I said.
Vic seemed slightly offended. “A dime I earned.”
“That’s debatable.”
He recovered his good humor. “Well, you’re traveling on somebody else’s dime too, and this is your first day, so I wouldn’t be talking.”
“I’m only here because it’s my job to follow you around.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re in a limo, after a private plane ride, going to a casino, on somebody else’s dime.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” I told him. “And it won’t last long.”
“Whatever, princess. I – ”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.
My anger was out of all proportion to his comment, and it immediately produced a chill in the air.
Simon looked at me nervously out of the corner of his eye. The three gold diggers – whom I’d already scared silent back in the plane – edged a little further away on the car seat opposite me.
I knew I’d gone too far, and hadn’t even realized it until it was too late.
I wanted to say, Only my father calls me that, just to explain…
No.
That was private, and something I wasn’t going to share with any of these people.
Only Vic looked unaffected – even amused – by my outburst. “Wow! Do we need to stop by the drug store and get you some tampons, Monica?”
No matter how chauvinistic and assholish his comment, at least it cut the tension.
I realized I’d gone a little overboard, so I didn’t say anything. I just flipped him the bird.
“So unprofessional!” was his grinning reply. Then he addressed the others as he lifted his glass. “To somebody else’s dime!”
“To somebody else’s dime!” they all laughed and toasted – even Simon.
But not me.
Screw you, Vic. You’re going DOWN.
11
The limo pulled up to the special VIP entrance of the Mandalay Bay, where we were immediately met with an onslaught of top-notch customer service. Despite my earlier annoyance with Simon, even I have to admit it’s hard not to have your head turned when you’re met at the door of your limo with a half-dozen courteous staff members and a silver platter of yet more champagne.
A guy in a suit introduced himself as the manager of the hotel and handed over electronic keycards to Vic. The penthouse suite is all ready for you, sir, as is the regular room you requested. Is there anything else I can do for you? VIP tickets to a show? A meal delivered to your room? No? Do you have any baggage?
We hadn’t brought anything – there hadn’t been time for me or Simon to pack, and Vic and his hoochies apparently didn’t give a crap about fresh clothes – so the bellhops didn’t have anything to carry. But Vic tipped everybody a hundred bucks anyway, which resulted in laughter and banter and good spirits all around.
As we were walking into the lobby, Vic presented me with one of the keycards the manager had given him. “Here you go.”
“There’s two of us,” I said.
“Yeah, I already got mine.”
“No – I mean, me and Simon. We each need a room.”
“I assumed you’d only need one.”
“Wrong assumption.”
He gave me a look of mock surprise. “Trouble in paradise?”
“No, I just don’t like you – or anybody else – assuming I’m going to sleep with him.”
“I’m assuming the ‘anybody else’ is poor Simon.”
“What did I just tell you about assuming things?”
Vic chuckled. “Poor Simon. Alright, I’ll have ‘em get you another room. Just check in at the front desk when you need it.”
“Thank you.”
Finally I was starting to feel better about the evening.
Halfway through the lobby, though, Vic suddenly froze in his tracks and scowled.
“What?” I asked, bewildered at the sudden sea change.
“That guy over there,” Vic growled. “The long-haired motherfucker.”
I followed his gaze. About 75 feet away stood one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven. He looked Mediterranean, with olive skin and wavy black hair down to his shoulders. He had piercing eyes, a granite jaw, and cheek bones like a young Johnny Depp. He wore an expensive black suit with a deep maroon shirt, wide open at the neck to show off the top of his powerful chest.
As soon as the man saw Vic, he smiled darkly and started walking towards us.
Vic and I were basically alone as he approached. The three bimbos had walked on, giggling amongst themselves, while Simon was distracted by the manager’s recounting of the various lounges and restaurants in the casino.
“Who is he?” I whispered to Vic.
“Domenico Arias. He’s an investor. Not quite my uncles’ level, but he’s fucked them over once or twice by stealing deals out from under them. I’d normally love him for that, except he’s just an asshole.”
I thought to myself, When an asshole calls somebody else an asshole, does that mean the person’s the opposite? Like ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?
I was about to find out.
Domenico stopped a few feet in front of us. The contrast between him and Vic was striking. Though they were equally as tall, they were otherwise a study in opposites: beard versus clean-shaven. Rugged versus elegant. All-American versus European. And frat boy attire versus stylish designer threads.
“Victor,” the man said. His voice was sexy – deep, but not as deep as Vic’s, with his pronunciation of ‘r’ betraying a slight accent.
“Dom,” Vic said dourly, without any attempt at playing nice.
The bimbos had seen Domenico coming, and had followed him over like salivating puppy dogs.
Simon had seen him, too, and was looking worriedly at me as I stood there between the two men.
“I see your taste is cheap as always,” Domenico said to Vic, gesturing at his clothes – but then he turned his head to look at me. “Although your taste cannot be too bad, with this beauty by your side.”
I have to admit, my heart fluttered the tiniest bit as his eyes locked onto mine. He had an intense gaze.
“Oh – I’m not with him,” I said, pointing to Vic. “I mean, we work together, but – ”
“Oh, we do, do we?” Vic asked, suddenly amused again.
Domenico shifted his body to face me fully. “So… you are not with the homeless man?” he asked, gesturing with his head towards Vic.
Okay, that was funny.
“Fuck you, Dom,” Vic said, then announced loudly, “Watch out, Simon, he’s gonna try to steal your girl. But you and
me, we can take him. I mean, I can take him alone, but – don’t worry, I got your back, bro.”
Ugh.
“You can chill with the testosterone,” I snapped at Vic, then turned to Domenico. “I’m flattered, but I have a date.”
Right on cue, Simon stepped up beside me. “That would be me.”
There was something annoying in how he did it. Like, he couldn’t stand up for himself until I basically did it for him – and then he was all fake-manly about it.
Domenico barely glanced at Simon, then ignored him completely as he fixed his gaze on me. “If he bores you, you should come find me.”
Okay, I did NOT like that.
It’s one thing to hit on a woman, but to insult the guy she’s with right in front of her?
“You’re being rude,” I said coldly.
Vic started snorting with laughter.
Domenico smiled the tiniest bit. “I am only trying to save you from wasting your time.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Then you should leave, so I don’t have to talk to you anymore.”
“OH! BURN!” Vic howled with glee.
Domenico smiled at me, though it was dark and dangerous. “You are very beautiful… and very fiery.”
“And very spoken for,” I said.
“And very much a pain in the ass – just like you, Dom,” Vic said cheerily, then waved him away with his hands. “Go on, go away, git.”
Domenico turned back to Vic. “Prepare to lose all your money.”
“Yeah, right. You might as well make a check out to me right now, asshole. Or cash – I’ll take that, too.”
Domenico looked at me one last time. “Until later, carina.”
Then he abruptly walked away.
12
“Asshole,” I muttered as I watched Domenico go.
“See?! I told you!” Vic said, then laughed. “That was AWESOME, by the way! Nice job, Mon.”
I glared at him. “Don’t call me ‘Mon.’”
“I’ll call you anything you want after a performance like that.”
“What was that about losing all your money?”
“He’s probably going to the poker game. Fancies himself a gambler.” Vic rolled his eyes, then addressed both me and Simon. “Anyway… where are you two kids off to?”
I glanced at Simon. He looked a little panicked, like he was supposed to know the answer to a test but didn’t. “I – I had reservations back in San Francisco – ”
“It’s fine,” I said, then turned back to Vic. “I guess we’ll just find something.”
“On a Friday night in Vegas?” Vic asked, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?”
“It was extremely last-minute,” I reminded him with irritation.
Vic waved his hand. “Don’t worry, I gotcha covered. You guys up for French food?”
“You mean french fries?” I asked sardonically.
“Ha ha,” Vic said without laughing, though he was still smiling. “Go to L’Atelier Joël Rubuchon at the MGM Grand and drop my name. Tell ‘em I sent you, they’ll let you in no problem. In fact, I’ll give ‘em a call while you’re on the way.”
I don’t know which I was more impressed by: that the French name of the restaurant rolled off his tongue so easily, or that he was well-known at a high-falutin’ restaurant.
“Really?” I asked, stunned.
“Yeah, sure! After that reaming you gave Domenico, I’d send you to Paris. And not the casino.” Vic frowned slightly. “Why are you looking at me so weird?”
“The restaurant sounds really fancy.”
“It is – it’s one of the best in Vegas.”
“I pegged you for the kind of guy who likes burgers and fries.”
“Mostly I eat clean – gotta keep up the gun show,” he said, and flexed his bicep. Which was massive.
Simon seemed a little intimidated. I just rolled my eyes.
“But I like the finer things in life, too,” Vic continued with a grin. “I usually go there when I’ve got a celebrity chick I want to impress.”
Of course you do.
“It sounds too expensive,” I demurred.
“Charge it to my account,” Vic offered.
“Your uncles’ account, you mean.”
He gave me a pissed-off look. “Hey – I’m trying to do something nice for you. Can’t you at least acknowledge it?”
Ouch.
“…thank you,” I said grudgingly. “But I can’t really charge $300 to your uncles the first day on the job.”
“Well, first off, it’d be a lot more than $300 – but that’s cool, I understand,” he said as he reached in his camouflage shorts pocket, then pulled out a roll of money that could have choked a mule. The bills were bound by a rubber band, appeared to all be hundreds, and the circumference of the wad was bigger than a coke can.
Simon and I just stared in disbelief.
So did the bimbo squad, who were all salivating again. Hot guys and cash were their Pavlovian bells, I guess.
Vic undid the rubber band and counted off ten bills, then extended them out towards me. “This is my own stash, so rest assured, you’re not using my uncles’ money.”
“I can’t take that!” I exclaimed, shocked.
“Sure you can,” he said, with an expression like I’d just refused a glass of water because it was too pricey.
“That’s a thousand dollars!”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, like Duh.
“You can’t just give me a thousand dollars!”
“…but I am. Right now.”
“I can’t pay you back!”
“You don’t have to. It’s a gift.”
“Well, I can’t accept it.”
“Of course you can.”
“It’s too much!”
“My first hand of poker tonight? This won’t even cover my opening bid. Take it.”
“No!”
“Look at it as me currying favor with my new favorite frenemy,” he teased.
I glowered. “That’s exactly how I’m looking at it.”
Vic got tired of waiting, so he reached over and stuffed the money in Simon’s sport jacket pocket. “Don’t tell her I gave it to you,” he said with a wink.
“Simon – ”
Vic kept talking to Simon. “Just tell her, ‘Woman, quit yer yammering, we’re goin’ to dinner.’”
I gave Vic a death stare. “Why don’t you take your thousand dollars and stick it up your ass?”
He grinned. “Okay, maybe don’t tell her that.”
“Simon, give it back to him.”
Vic turned, put his arms around two of his bimbos’ shoulders, and called back, “Too late! Have fun, kids!”
I sat there steaming, then decided to give in.
Despite how loaded it was… it had been a very nice gesture.
“Don’t lose too much money,” I called after him.
“Oh ye of little faith…” he laughed as he and his hooker entourage disappeared from the lobby.
13
Vic was as good as his word.
He must have called, because as soon as we got to the restaurant, they seated us immediately. I barely had time to finish my voicemail to Sal Cortelian, detailing where I was and what was happening, before the maître d’ whisked us to one of the best tables in the restaurant.
The place was gorgeous – lots of dark wood lit with red-hued lights. The ambiance was sexy and intimate, the food was outstanding, and the wine the sommelier suggested was to die for.
If only the company had been better.
Simon talked a lot about the regular sort of San Francisco fluff – his job at the small tech company where he worked, refinancing his townhome, his friends in management at Google and Uber, the tech titan he’d seen on the street in Palo Alto… stuff I was only barely interested in.
But there was another problem, too.
I feel like a bitch for saying it, but Simon was…
Well, he was just so nice.
And by tha
t I don’t mean pleasant and kind, although he was that.
He just was so… vanilla.
Bland.
Non-go-getting. Passive. Boring. Plain.
Unobjectionable in an entirely forgettable way.
I could go on, but I feel terrible about it.
I’d had my misgivings about him since he’d asked me out at a friend’s party, and those misgivings had only been reinforced over the last couple of dates.
So why had I said ‘yes’ in the first place? I guess because I’d had a recent run of bad luck with assholes, and I’d decided to give a nice guy a try for a change.
I was beginning to think that was a mistake.
Don’t get me wrong, he was a completely wonderful human being. It’s not that I don’t like nice people – I do – but there was absolutely no sexual tension between us whatsoever.
It didn’t help matters that all I could remember was how easily Domenico had dominated him earlier that evening.
I hate bullies, and I despise watching people push others around… but on a very primal level, there was something powerful and sort of exciting about what Domenico had done. He was strong. Dominant. A real Alpha wolf.
Simon was not. He hadn't stood up for himself. Or at least, he’d only done so in the most weak and ineffectual way.
And if a man can’t stand up for himself, how could I expect him to be there for me?
That’s not to say he wasn’t a lovely person, it’s just… he would have been great as a coworker. I would have loved for him to be my neighbor, or a friend’s boyfriend. But I had absolutely no interest in going to bed with him.
Like I said, I feel like a bitch for saying it, but I couldn’t help how I felt.
What had been interesting, though, was how easily and confidently Vic had stood up to Domenico. I could see why he didn’t like the guy – Domenico had trolled him pretty hard (and pretty damn wittily, to boot) – but Vic had held his own.
Vic was dominant, too, but in a different way from Domenico.
If I had to describe Domenico, I’d say he was… dangerous. Maybe even cruel.
Vic, on the other hand, radiated a genuine warmth. You could feel it emanating from him. And he was good-natured and fun.
Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2 Page 4