Bailey’s cheeks are beet-red. “What’d I miss?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer. In a city with an acute shortage of decent guys, she’s managed to find not one, but two of them.
I’m thrilled for her; she deserves only good things. I’m also a little envious. Then there’s the truly ironic part—the only reason Bailey even hooked up with Sebastian and Daniel was because I’d told her about my own threesome with Carter and Dominic.
I’d met Carter and Dominic at a bar. They were from out of town. It was a classic one-night stand. I’d sneaked out before they could wake up. Had I stayed, would we have exchanged phone numbers? Tried to keep in touch? Could we have formed our own unorthodox relationship, the way Bailey and her two guys have?
It’s been seven months. Let it go.
I drag my attention back to Bailey. “Sebastian and Daniel are taking me to Hawaii on vacation,” she says. “I made the mistake of telling them I’ve never been there.”
She’s lucky, and not just because they shower her with gifts. Bailey was dating a complete asswipe of a guy before she met Daniel and Sebastian, a guy who had ruined her self-image and made her think she was worthless. Sebastian and Daniel treat her the way she deserves to be treated. Like a goddess.
Wendy walks up to the table. She’s helped herself to a beer from Piper’s refrigerator, taking advantage of the fact that the restaurant’s closed and we are the only ones here. “You know, I couldn’t help overhearing what you said,” she says to Bailey. “I want to register my protest.” Her tone is teasing. “It’s not fair. It’s hard enough to find one good guy in New York. You and Gabriella are taking more than your fair share.” She makes a face. “What about Piper and me?”
Everyone chuckles. Except me. “Leave me out of it,” I say flatly, “My threesome was a one-time experience, and I’m not interested in repeating it. The only thing I have time for right now is work.”
Bailey leans forward. “It’s not one or the other,” she says. “You don’t have to choose between a career and a relationship. You can have both.”
I shake my head. “You’ve forgotten my terrible luck with men. Let’s run through the last two men I dated, shall we? There was Stan, who dined me and wooed me, until the moment we had sex. At that point, he decided to reconcile with his wife. A wife he’d conveniently forgotten to mention in the two months we were dating.”
I take a long gulp of my drink, and the rum warms my throat. “Then there was George.”
A collective groan greets that. In an ocean of shitty guys, George had managed to rise to the top. Not only had I found him fucking some bimbo on my bed, on my birthday, but he’d also ended up stealing money from me.
“You really do have terrible luck with men,” Wendy says.
“No,” I correct her. “It’s not luck. I’m cursed. Normal guys turn to jerks when they start dating me.”
“This again?” Katie, who’s been happily married for many years, frowns in my direction. “I’ll give you Stan and George, but what about Carter and Dominic? They weren’t jerks.”
No, they weren’t. They’d been… amazing. They’d been the stuff fantasies are made of. And I don’t want to dwell on Dominic and Carter. I just can’t. I’ve single-handedly dashed my dreams to the ground. Hot as they were, I have other things to worry about.
Piper jumps to my defense. “Leave it be,” she says. “I get where Gabby’s coming from, and I agree with her. It’s hard to be self-employed, and it’s brutally hard to run a business. There’s no space for anything else. If Gabby starts her company, then, for the first few years, that’s all she’ll have time for.” She turns to me with a smile. “You’re close, right? Think about it. This time next year, you’ll be running your own business.”
Once again, shame steals the words from my lips. I can’t bring myself to confess that I lost all of my seed money and more on Saturday night. If they find out, they’ll insist on rushing to the rescue. Bailey will empty out her savings account for me. Wendy will offer to be a silent investor in my new firm.
They’re my best friends, and I love them. But I don’t want them to rescue me, any more than I want my parents to bail me out.
This is my problem. I got into this crazy situation without any help. Now, I need to figure out how to get out.
4
Dominic
“Come on,” I tell Carter at the end of the hearing. “I ate breakfast at six, and I’m starving. There’s a bar across the street. Megan, join us for a drink?”
“I could use one,” the lawyer says feelingly. “Unfortunately, I have another hearing this afternoon.” She gives my friend a sympathetic look. “Carter, I know this didn’t go as planned. But—”
“As planned?” Carter bursts out. “This was a fucking disaster.”
I give him a warning look, and he stares stonily back at me. I sigh inwardly. Carter is furious now, but he’ll feel like an asshole for unloading on Megan in a few minutes. He has flaws but barking at women isn’t one of them. “Lunch, buddy. Let’s go.”
We walk into the bar. It’s a bit of a dive. The air smells like stale beer, and the carpet sticks to the soles of my shoes. It takes me back to my college days. A simpler time.
Both Carter and I are wearing suits. Judging by the doubletake the sole waitress gives us, we’re extremely out of place. “Sit anywhere,” she calls out from behind the bar. “I’ll be right with you.”
We pull up seats. Carter eyes the laminated menu dubiously. “Interesting choice of venue.”
If we’re going to have a screaming match, I rather it not be in the Grand River. I own the place; Carter’s the head of security. Too many people will talk. I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “It’s close.”
The waitress comes over, and I order a pitcher of Heineken and a platter of nachos. Carter lifts an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little too early to be drinking?”
“I’ve been up since five. I’ve already had four cups of coffee.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Not for the first time, I’d had a sex dream about Ella, the gorgeous woman we’d hooked up with in New York a few months ago. I woke up rock hard and aching, and jerked off in the shower. It was a one-night stand. It’s pathetic how much I still think about her. “Something like that.” I don’t want to talk about Ella. Not when Carter’s going through a crisis. “How are you?”
The waitress brings us our beer. Carter waits for her to leave. “How do you think, Dominic?” he asks bluntly. “That was complete bullshit.”
“Tell me about the kindergarten incident.”
“Ed was late. I lost my cool.” He pours himself a pint and drinks half of it in one gulp. “It was no big deal. Nothing I should have lost custody over.” His lips tighten. “Ed’s always been good at getting people to buy his wounded puppy act.”
“Judge Bass’ custody arrangement is temporary.” I reach for the pitcher. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but Noah dotes on Ed. Wagner is a good father.”
“You’re right,” he says tersely. “I don’t want to hear it. What I want to know is who in this fucking city gave that asswipe a job.”
This is one question I can answer. “Denton Mitchell.” On paper, Mitchell is a real-estate developer. In reality, the guy’s got his fingers in everything. Underground poker dens, strip bars, towing companies, money laundering—if it’s dirty, Mitchell is involved.
“What?” Carter slams his glass down on the table.
“Wagner is a dealer at Mitchell’s private poker room,” I reply. “He deals cards three nights a week. Three other nights, he plays as a shill in a different room.” Shills and prop players get paid to start poker games, help them stay active, keep the bidding high, that kind of thing.
Carter looks outraged. “He’s out six nights a week? What sort of father does that make him?”
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Carter, you work six nights a week on the casino floor, as do I.” I refill his empty glass. I guess we’re both taking a
cab back to the Grand River. “Today didn’t go well, but this isn’t a permanent custody arrangement. Give Ed his six weeks with Noah. Do as the judge says. Stay away from Wagner; show her you can follow the rules. Noah wants you in his life. Judge Bass is going to take his wishes into consideration.” As long as Carter doesn’t piss her off.
“Six weeks.” Carter’s voice is heavy. “What if he starts reusing?”
That’s unlikely. Carter’s sister Chloe was the addict. Ed isn’t perfect, not even close, but he was never a junkie. He smokes some recreational pot, but that’s about it. Ed’s problem is booze. He spent the months after Chloe’s death in an alcoholic stupor. But he’s sober now. He attends AA meetings. He’s had a tough road of it, but he’s managed to get his life back in order.
Carter isn’t stupid, but where Ed Wagner is concerned, he has a giant blind spot. He’s still angry about Chloe’s death. Ed is a convenient target, but deep down inside, Carter blames himself. He hates that he couldn’t save his sister. He’s mired in anger and guilt.
Chloe made her choices. Ed wasn’t responsible for what happened, any more than Carter was. Addiction is a difficult, brutal thing. Sometimes, despite the best efforts of everyone involved, people lose the battle.
I take a deep breath and try to think of the gentlest way to say all of that. “I know there’s a lot of history between the two of you. But Carter, give Ed a chance. Noah won’t be unsupervised. Dr. Kang will be monitoring him, and I’m sure Judge Bass will get regular reports about how he’s doing.”
“Dr. Kang can’t watch over him twenty-four-seven.”
She doesn’t need to. “You’ve been told to stay away from Ed. That wasn’t a request, Carter. It was an order. Do not fuck with Judge Bass.”
He nods. “Okay, I can’t go near him.”
There’s a look in his eyes that promises trouble. “And neither can anyone associated with you.”
“Right. I need someone new. Someone to keep an eye on Ed, make sure he’s not drinking again.”
“There is no such person.” I lean back in my chair, exasperated beyond measure. “Are you listening to me? To Megan? To anyone? Judge Bass isn’t stupid. Don’t provoke her.”
He’s relentless. “If I find someone to get in on the poker games, will you back me up?”
Carter had found Chloe’s body. He’d been the one to call the ambulance. He’d watched the paramedics try to revive his twin. It’s been five years, but that shit doesn’t go away. He’ll carry that feeling of helplessness to his grave.
If I didn’t understand the fear that drives him, I’d be a lot angrier. “Fine,” I tell him. I don’t have anything to worry about. Denton Mitchell is trying to buy my casino; he isn’t going to let anyone connected to me close to his operation. “If you find someone who can get into Mitchell’s poker rooms, someone who can’t be traced back to us, I’ll back you up.”
5
Gabriella
I dream of Dominic and Carter that night. Again.
Carter pushes me against the elevator wall. His body cages me. His big hand covers my cheek before his mouth finds mine, insistent and feverish. Dominic watches, gorgeous, brooding, and too far away. I want to thread my fingers through his wavy shoulder-length brown hair and tug him closer. His dark eyes are filled with a hunger that he doesn’t try to hide, his thick erection straining against the fabric of his trousers.
We make it into the bedroom. I fall back into bed, my body shaking with anticipation. Dominic looms over me. “Tell us what you like,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice sending a shiver through me. “Tell us what you want.”
Carter trails his fingers over the curve of my spine before spanking my ass. I gasp in mingled shock and desire, and Dominic grabs my hair and tugs my head back. “What was that, Ella? I didn’t hear you.”
I’m so turned on I almost come.
“He’s waiting for an answer,” Carter growls. He flips me on my back, and his large callused hands squeeze my breasts. “Give him one.”
“Please,” I whimper. Carter tweaks my nipples, and I arch off the bed. Already, this one-night stand is the most sinful, decadent thing I’ve ever done, and we’ve barely gotten going.
Carter has red hair, piercing green eyes, and a wicked smile. “I think you can do better than that, Ella.” He punctuates that sentiment by sucking my nipple between his teeth. “Use your words. Tell us what you want, and we will give it to you.”
Arousal floods me, and I dig my nails into the sheets and whimper again. “Oh, fuck,” I hiss. He bites my other nipple, and I groan, my eyes falling shut as delicious heat shoots through every nerve in my body. “Everything. I want everything. And more.”
Another growl, another laugh. A palm connects sharply with my butt. My legs are held open. A condom is rolled on, and a cock impales me.
Sharp, jagged lust is everywhere.
I moan and raise my hips to meet that thrusting erection. “Yes, yes, yes,” I moan. Another fat cock dances near my face. I reach out to grab it, guide it into my willing mouth. I float through a sea of desire. Hands are everywhere, caressing every inch of my body. The pressure builds, and I know the first of many orgasms is imminent. I hold on, push it back, let it build into a crescendo. Fingers tangle in my hair, squeeze my nipples, and circle my clit over and over again, until I’m moaning, begging, pleading—
The blaring of my clock-radio sounds in my ear, penetrating my sexual fog, and wakes me up. I sit up on the futon that masquerades as my bed, my skin drenched with sweat, small shivers wracking my body.
Damn it all to hell. One-night stands are not supposed to have this effect.
My boss is waiting for me when I get to my cubicle. “Nice job on the Estrada account,” he says, a broad smile on his face. “You did great work, Gabby. Really great.”
Luca Estrada, who has aged out of the Premier League, is joining Los Angeles’ soccer team. Thanks to my efforts, he’s also just signed a blockbuster endorsement deal with Nike. “Thanks.” Warm praise isn’t exactly Paul Figueras’ style, and so the rare compliment is nice. A promotion would be better, but although Paul’s put my name forward many, many times, Francisco doesn’t think I’m qualified.
“On a different note,” he continues. “Anna Lebedeva, Nicki Z’s regular PR rep, just gave us her two-week notice. You know Nicki is doing a two-month run in Atlantic City? I’m going to need you to head there to take over while we find a replacement for Anna. Can you leave this afternoon?”
“Atlantic City?”
Paul looks up. “Is that going to be a problem? You’ve been working hard, and this should be a low-stress gig. It’s short notice, I know. If you can’t make it, I’ll send someone else.”
Atlantic City has casinos. Plenty of them.
“Oh no,” I assure him. “No problem. I’d love to.”
Hope swirls through me. Maybe I can find a way out of this mess after all.
Even though it is a mere two hours from the city, I’ve only been to Atlantic City once. Nicki Z is performing at the Grand River, which is, according to Google, one of only three independent casinos left in the city. I’m not sure to expect when I walk in, but the place takes me by surprise.
This is going to sound strange, but I don’t typically visit casinos. I find them depressing, filled with seniors gambling away their social security money. Sammy’s rooms are hardly the height of cheer, but at least there, no one is exploiting the loneliness of old people for monetary gain.
But the Grand River is beautiful. The vast lobby is decorated with miniature palm trees and dotted with Chihuly glass sculptures. The walls are a deep charcoal grey. The couches are plush and inviting, the lighting warm and golden. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was in someone’s living room. Somebody wealthy, and with impeccable taste.
I cross the foyer to the reception and check in. “Welcome to the Grand River, Ms. Alves,” the man at the front desk says with a pleasant smile. “We have you on the fourteenth floor.” He hands
me a folder. “Your room key will also get you backstage. Your firm has a block of tickets to Nicky Z’s show every night, but if you need more, please let us know.”
“Thank you.”
“Your folder has vouchers to our spa and our restaurants,” he continues. “There’s also a voucher to the casino if you would like to gamble.”
Would I like to gamble? Is the sky blue?
“That’s very nice of you.”
He smiles. “It’s our pleasure. We’re delighted to have Nicky Z here. We’ve been sold out for three straight weeks.”
No doubt. From all accounts, Nicky Z puts on a fantastic show. I’ve never seen her perform live, and I can’t wait for Thursday night.
I head to my small but comfortable room. After a quick shower, I make my way to Nicky’s suite to introduce myself and make sure she has everything she needs. Anna isn’t there; she’s taken the day off, and I won’t meet her until tomorrow. Once we’re done with small talk, I get to work. I take some candid pictures for Nicky’s Instagram, write a couple of witty tweets on her behalf, and hover within earshot during rehearsal. As celebrities go, she’s pretty low maintenance. She doesn’t try to rope me into an orgy, doesn’t ask me to supply her with drugs, and I don’t even have to ensure that there are only yellow M&Ms in her suite.
By seven in the evening, I’m done. My expenses are on the company tab, and so I indulge myself by ordering room service. I eat an excellent burger, gorge on the fries, and resolve to wake up early so that I can hit the hotel gym and work off the calories.
Then, at nine, I drift downstairs to the casino. Like a moth to the flame.
The Grand River has comped me two hundred dollars in chips. I gather them and find a Texas Hold ’Em table. If you lose the two hundred bucks, you’re out, I tell myself sternly. No more hubris, Gabby. You cannot get carried away. You’re here to work, not to gamble.
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