by Nikki Chase
Claire rolls her eyes. “Wow, you have such a way with words. Anyway, yeah, that’s a crude and gross representation of what happened. Thanks for that. You said you were going to go up to the room and soak in the tub, then get an early night, which is the most blatant lie I have ever heard in all my life.”
She picks up the TV remote and flips through the channels, as if she’s looking for something specific.
I remember all that stuff. And I remember really looking forward to that bath and then relaxing in this ridiculously comfortable bed with its 1,500-thread-count sheets. It’s not every day I get to experience luxury like this, and I wanted to make the most of it.
I’m more of a couch-surfing kind of gal. I love to travel, but I don’t have the kind of income that allows me to live it up everywhere I go.
To be honest, I’m cool with that, and even kind of enjoy the random people and the cool experiences you can have in hostels, but I’m visiting Vegas with Claire this time. Claire would not be found dead in a hostel—she’d freak out at the mere concept.
She insisted we stay at the Bellagio, penthouse suite, her treat. Well, her Dad’s treat. She has access to his credit cards, and she is not afraid to use them.
The fanciest restaurants, spas and massages, room service whenever we want . . . I’ve actually started to feel kind of guilty imagining the running cost of everything in my head.
Claire invited me to visit her in celebration of me getting the new job I’d been angling for. It’s an admin/PA role in one of the big Fortune 500 companies. The salary isn’t anything to write home about, but the opportunities for advancement are amazing.
After working dead-end jobs for so long, landing it was A Big Deal. I finally feel like a real grown-up with a real job, and of course the first person I called to tell was Claire.
“Oh my Goddd, that’s amazing!” she squealed down the phone. “When do you start?”
Upon finding out that I still had two weeks to go, she immediately, and without consulting me, booked me flights to visit her in Vegas. And so that’s where I find myself—here in this fancy hotel room, nursing the hangover from hell, and wondering just what the hell I’ve done last night to get her so excited.
Claire is still flipping through channels, until, with an exclamation of excitement, she finds what she’s looking for. She points at the TV and giggles. “Look!”
My eyes are still kind of blurry, and I blink to try and clear them.
On the screen, two people. It looks like they are coming out of a chapel. Wait, not just any chapel, one of those tacky 24-hour Vegas chapels.
“. . . billionaire investment mogul Luke Alder was spotted last night, around 2 a.m., exiting the world-famous Chapel of the Flowers in Las Vegas, with a mystery woman on his arm. The couple looked happy, and appeared to have just gotten married. How will Luke, who has previously been named ‘America’s most eligible bachelor’, break the news to his legions of devoted fans? Stick with us for . . .”
I tune out the rest of the presenter’s spiel, because I’ve just noticed who the “mystery woman” is on this apparent billionaire’s arm, grinning like a loon.
It’s me.
My blood runs cold in my veins, and I feel like vomiting.
“Does thing thing have DVR?” I yell at Claire. Forgetting my throbbing head for a second, I lurch forward and wrestle the remote from her hands, rewinding the footage.
Yep, still me. I look a little wild-eyed and crazy, and definitely a little unsteady on my feet. Not surprising considering I had enough to drink to forget I’ve married a complete stranger.
“Oh my God,” I groan, sinking back into the fluffy pillows. “This can’t be real. It just can’t. What in the name of all that is holy have I done?”
Claire is grinning at me like this is just the best thing ever. “I know, right? It’s amazing! Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you, Tess. You’ve always been one of those dependable friends, you know? Someone that I know isn’t going to do something crazy and wild and unpredictable. But this? This is just delicious.”
I’m on the verge of tears. What are my parents going to say? How can I even face them? If this guy is a big enough deal to be appearing on TV, they might have already heard the news.
“Claire, please. This is a crisis. You can’t just go around marrying strangers in Vegas.”
She laughs. “But, don’t you see? This is Vegas, baby! You can just marry a stranger . . . and you did!”
She glances back at the screen, the image of me and my new husband frozen in time.
“And, to be honest, it’s goddamn Luke Alder. Holy shit, girl! The dude is hot as hell and richer than God.”
A sly look comes over her face, and she grins at me.
“So, uh . . . I don’t want to pry or anything, you know me, but . . . how was the wedding night? Did you two lovebirds consummate your marriage, if you know what I mean?”
Her eyes are shining and she’s just having the best time.
At least one of us is.
I groan.
“I don’t even want to think about . . .”
My voice trails off as more fuzzy memories of the night enter unbidden into my mind. Of limbs tangled together in the dark, of soft lips crushing mine in a passionate embrace. A man with a rock-hard body, built like a brick wall. Arms bulging, abs chiseled from stone. And a huge . . .
So that’s why I’m kind of sore down there too, huh? Well this just keeps getting better and better.
I howl in anguish and pull the covers back up over my head. Everything had been going so well. I finally got the job I wanted, finally got some semblance of security and a plan to move my life forward, and now I’ve gone and done this.
I feel Claire come and sit next to me.
“Hey, Tessa babe, it’ll be okay. All you need to do is get the marriage annulled, forget it ever happened, and move on with your life. People do it all the time.”
Her voice is a little more sympathetic now, and I emerge from under the covers, peeking up at her.
“Really?” I sniff. “Is it as easy as that? I can just sign some forms or something and make this all go away?”
She shrugs. “I’m not a lawyer, but that’s how it happens on TV shows, isn’t it? You just go down to the county courthouse or something.”
She isn’t exactly inspiring confidence in me with her expert legal knowledge, but there’s probably some truth to what she said.
Claire stands and strides over to the windows and pulls the curtains open. The full glare of the desert sun streams in, searing a hole in my head. I dart back under the covers again until Claire strips them off of me.
“C’mon, lazy! We only have a couple more days until you need to fly home, and we can’t let something like a silly, little, shotgun wedding throw a spanner in the works! Get up, get yourself cleaned up, and we’ll order some breakfast. And maybe a couple Bloody Marys. Everything looks a little better after a Bloody Mary.”
The thought of alcohol is almost enough to make me hurl on its own, but she’s right. I’m not going to get anything accomplished by laying here feeling sorry for myself all day. Once I’m showered and feel a little more human, I’ll be able to handle this.
I roll out of bed, wincing at that ache between my legs, and stumble toward the bathroom. Claire is already on the phone ordering room service by the time I’m undressed and have planted myself under the luxuriously hot shower.
The hot water helps immensely, and I’m grateful for Claire’s Daddy’s credit card. For a moment, I even forget about my predicament.
Just for a moment, though. As I step out and look in the mirror at my severely hungover face, a sense of despair washes over me again.
What the hell am I going to do?
Luke
“Care to explain yourself?”
Something hits me in the chest, and I grumble as I peel open my eyes. “Brock, what the fuck, man? Get out of here with that shit.”
Officially, Brock’s my
PR representative. He does way more than that, though. He’s my go-to guy—handy dude, has gotten me out of a lot of scrapes over the years. But right now he’s looking pissed.
He gestures at what he’s thrown at me. I lift it up and peer at it through bleary eyes—a garish tabloid newspaper.
He doesn’t give me a chance to read it.
“What happened last night? Who is this woman? I told you, if you were seeing someone, you were supposed to tell me. In fact, anything happens in your life, you tell me.”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Whatever happened to privacy?”
He sighs in frustration and crosses his arms, like a teacher reprimanding a wayward kid. “You lost your privacy the moment Forbes printed your face on the cover. Cosmopolitan called you ‘the most eligible bachelor in the country’. Well, until last night, apparently.”
I chuckle. I’m rich enough that I could get anyone I want to do my PR for me. Hell, most of the top PR firms would work for me for free, just for the exposure.
But I like Brock. He calls me out on my shit and doesn’t let me get away with anything, and that’s the kind of guy I need. Especially when things get a little . . . wild, like last night.
I met her in the Bellagio, down in the casino. She was sitting at the bar, alone, well on her way to being drunk.
I’d admired her gorgeous hourglass figure from behind for a few moments, before sitting next to her and flashing her the old, time-honored Luke Alder smile.
Never fails. And if it does, well, the billions of dollars and ripped abs usually do the trick. And if they don’t work . . . well, shit, I’m not exactly lacking for confidence, either. I can talk a woman into bed just as easily as I can impress her with my other gifts.
Nah, safe to say I was pretty confident about bagging this girl.
I was expecting her face to light up as soon as she saw me. Almost everyone I ever meet recognizes me as soon as they see me.
Having your face splashed all over the tabloids on a weekly basis kind of has that side effect. There’s no shortage of beautiful women falling all over themselves to get me into bed, and I am more than happy to oblige.
This girl was different, though. When I sat next to her she looked me up and down, and although I could tell that she liked what she saw, there was no spark of recognition in her eyes.
“What’s a gorgeous woman like you doing drinking alone? Care for some company?”
She shrugged, playing it cool. “Sure, why not? My so-called friend has found her hook-up for the night, so it looks like I’ve got to make my own fun.”
I grinned at her. “I like the sound of that. And hey—this is Vegas; no shortage of fun to be had around here.”
Her eyes lit up at that, and my heart skipped a beat.
Holy shit, this girl is stunning.
“I know, right? I did so much research before I came here, scoped out all sorts of fun shows and stuff, but all my friend wants to do is hook up with strangers.”
I ordered a whisky on the rocks and shrugged. “There’s no shame in that. Hooking up with strangers is a lot of fun. In fact–”
My bad attempt to seal the deal was cut short as she interrupted me. She was looking me straight in the eye, earnest and serious. “You got any plans this evening?”
Yep, as a matter of fact I do. Getting you into bed and fucking your brains out.
“I don’t know. Maybe play some cards, shoot some dice? I’m easy.”
She scoffed at that, rolling her beautiful brown eyes. “Gambling? Is that as far as your imagination stretches? There’s a whole city out there, just full of stuff waiting to be explored. Limitless opportunities, crazy possibilities . . . and you want to just sit in this smoky casino and gamble?”
She drained the last of her drink and stood, giving me the first proper look at her body. She was wearing a strappy, little, red cocktail dress, and it hugged her curves in all the right places. I could feel my cock stirring by just looking at her.
She gave me a lingering, meaningful glance as she stepped away from the bar. “You enjoy losing your money, okay? I’m going to find something more interesting to do.”
And then she was leaving, weaving her way through the crowd. I sat there, spellbound for a moment or two by the sight of her amazing ass, then suddenly realized that she was going to get away if I didn’t follow her.
I gulped down my drink and pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring the mutters and exclamations of people recognizing me.
There were plenty of other beautiful women around me, and no doubt I could have had my pick of them, but I only had eyes for this intriguing woman in red. I liked being made to work for my reward, and something told me that this woman was not going to come easy.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my line of work, is that when you work for something, really work for it, the reward is all the sweeter.
She was walking quickly, ducking deftly through the throngs as she made her way towards the exit. Occasionally she threw a glance over her shoulder, noticing that I was following her. A sly, satisfied smile played on her crimson lips.
I’ve got to have her.
I eventually caught up to her out in the lobby, reaching out and touching her arm. “A guy might think you wanted to lose him, the way you were moving back there.”
“I wanted to see if you could keep up.” She shrugged. “Now, what do you want to do?”
I considered for a moment, before she pulled out a little guidebook from her handbag.
“Look.” She pointed to a map. “There’s an indoor rollercoaster. Let’s go there.”
And without even waiting for my response she was moving again. In a few moments we were out on the strip, the balmy night air of the desert pleasant after the cold AC in the casino.
“Slow down a little, babe,” I said. “It’s not a race.”
She made a face. “My name’s not ‘babe’, it’s Tessa. And you are?”
She waited expectantly.
“Luke,” I said, waiting for the penny to drop and for her to realize who I was. But it didn’t happen.
“Luke. Nice to meet you, Luke. I hope you don’t get sick on rollercoasters, because I spent a week’s salary on this dress and I could do without getting puke all over it.”
I puffed up my chest. “Stomach of steel,” I said, patting it. “Here, touch it and see.”
Women could never resist the abs. But as I was already learning, Tessa wasn’t just any woman.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she laughed. “That shirt you’re wearing doesn’t leave much to the imagination anyway.”
I winked at her. “I could say the same about that dress of yours . . . but believe me, I’m not complaining. Now, come on, let’s go find this rollercoaster of yours.”
We bought cans of beer from a guy with a cooler on the side of the street and walked down the strip chatting as we drank them. Tessa was from out of town, visiting the friend she’d talked about at the bar, but before I could learn more about her we’d arrived at our destination.
She ducked inside and a short while later we were strapped in, whirling around at 60 miles per hour under a huge dome.
Tessa screamed and laughed, and her enthusiasm and lust for life was infectious. I had to admit, this beat the pants off staying back in the Bellagio and rolling some craps. I’d spent a lot of time in Vegas over the years, but I’d never had a night quite like this.
The rest of the evening passed by in a surreal blur. There were flamingos, an underwater temple, Roman Gods and hot dogs eaten on the street from a little hole-in-the-wall diner. We drank, we laughed, and we had a fucking all-around amazing time. I even forgot that I was supposed to be trying to get Tessa into bed, we were having so much fun.
At some point, we found ourselves back at the Bellagio, standing in front of the fountains. The night was cool now, the crowds thinning out a little. Tessa shivered a little, and I offered her my jacket, but she declined.
“Let’s dance,” she sai
d.
“What, right here?” I replied.
“Yeah. Come on. I hope you know how to dance. I don’t date men who can’t dance.”
I laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about dating?”
“Shut up,” she said, and kissed me on the lips. It took my breath away, but before I could respond she’d broken contact and took my hands. We danced close, the fountains in the background, gaudy beads around our necks from I didn’t even remember where, and, to make things just that little bit weirder, a giant pink elephant balloon floating over our heads.
Tessa was a much better dancer than I was, so I mostly followed her lead. She spun and twirled, eyes closed and completely in the moment. I was completely spellbound by her.
The fountains stopped, and she twirled one last time into my arms, resting her head on my shoulder. She pointed over to the replica Eiffel tower in the distance.
“I always wanted to see the real thing . . .” she murmured dreamily. “But I never had the money. Maybe one day . . .”
“Luke, are you even listening to me?”
I’m rudely awoken from my daydream by Brock, still standing there looking disgruntled. He’s already dressed for the day, looking sharp in a pressed suit.
I, on the other hand, look and feel like shit. My head’s pounding, my mouth feels as dry as the desert outside the window, and I’ve got to pee.
I pull myself out of bed and go to the bathroom, as Brock continues to browbeat me. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning. Everyone wants to know about this girl —who she is, where you met her, was the wedding planned?”
Brock laughs bitterly, probably realizing the scale of his work over the next few days.
“I mean, seriously, Luke? A shotgun Vegas wedding? What the fuck were you thinking? Jesus Christ, I don’t even know where to start with this one. I let you out of my sight for one goddamn night, and you go and do something like this. Do you know what the board will say?”