His Hurricane
The Cocktail Girls
Alexis Adaire
Contents
The Hurricane Cocktail
Tuesday
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Wednesday
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Thursday
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Friday
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Saturday
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Ever After
Epilogue
The End
The Cocktail Girls series
14. The Book Hangover Lounge
Also by Alexis Adaire
About the Author
The Hurricane Cocktail
INGREDIENTS:
2 oz. white rum
2 oz. dark rum
1 oz. lime juice
1 oz. orange juice
2 oz. passion fruit juice
1/2 oz. simple syrup
1/2 oz. grenadine
Garnish: orange wheel/cherry
PREPARATION:
Ask an insanely hot guy to combine the ingredients in a shaker with ice and shake well.
Give him that dirty-girl look and tell him you’ll do whatever he wants if he’ll strain the mix into a hurricane glass over ice.
Remove your top and ask him to garnish your hurricane with an orange wheel and a cherry.
Drop those panties and tell him it would be nice if your drink had a little cocktail umbrella.
Drink.
Jump the insanely hot guy’s bones.
Tuesday
1
Maddox
“Millennium Hotel, Mr. Ramsey.”
I’ve been totally lost in thought. Not about Apex-Con, though. For everyone else, this is the biggest tech conference of the year, but for me, it’s just another conference and another speech. These are all starting to blend together now, and they’re nowhere near as exciting as they were a decade ago.
No, I was spacing out about something deeper, an existential crisis. A decade after becoming “Tech’s Golden Boy” (Time Magazine’s words, not mine), I can’t help but wonder if this is all there is. I’ve got wealth, fame, and friends, but something’s missing.
It isn’t sex, if that’s what you’re thinking. When you’re as stupid rich as I am, you don’t hurt for female companionship. Women are attracted to money like… well, like women to money. And I’ve become an expert at sniffing out their intentions before things get too far.
Meet ‘em, bed ‘em, walk away. Only the exceptional even get a second date.
The driver’s words snap me back to the here and now. I exit the limo without waiting for him to come around and open my door. I consider that was a silly tradition anyway. I’ve always opened my own doors, and I didn’t change that just because I started making money.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ramsey. Welcome to the Millennium. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you during your stay.”
It’s still strange when a hotel has someone specifically tasked with the job of waiting to greet me. My family stayed at nothing but crappy motels when I was growing up, and we were lucky if we got a working ice machine.
“Check me in…” I glance at his name tag. “Brian.” Peeling off a couple of hundred-dollar bills, I hand them to him as I nod toward the luggage the limo driver is removing from the trunk. “Then bring my card key to the LBD.”
Without waiting for a reply, I head into the hotel.
Entering a large Vegas casino in the middle of the afternoon is a unique sensation. In the space of ten steps, you go from scorching sun, oppressive dry heat and relative quiet into an air-conditioned blizzard, flashing colored lights and a cacophony of gaming-machine-generated noises loud enough to numb your brain.
I keep my sunglasses on as I stride with purpose across the casino floor. I need to get into the darkened bar before anyone recognizes me and wants to chat about their brilliant idea or ask me what it’s like to have so much money. My destination lies directly ahead, thin purple neon letters elegantly spelling out “Little Black Dress.”
The Millennium Hotel’s flagship nightclub is famous for its smoking hot servers dressed to match the name of the bar. That’s great, I mean, who doesn’t like a little eye candy? But I’m more interested in the stunning, elegant décor—specifically the subdued lighting that lets me disappear into the background when I’m there.
I continue past the rows and rows of slots and gaming tables and duck into the club. The exuberant hostess greets me and before I can tell her I’m looking for some friends, she says, “Your party is already here, Mr. Ramsey. Follow me.”
I would follow her anywhere; I can’t resist a tight ass in a tight dress.
“Look who’s here: Comrade Codestack.” Ryan’s voice carries across the room. He always greets me with some variation of the name of my first web property, Codestack. The joke got old years ago, but I don’t have the heart to tell him. I sold Codestack to a huge Russian software company for a cool eighty million and that one deal put me on the map. Money is so much easier to make when you start with money.
The hostess takes me to a big booth where Ryan is sitting with Grace and Miles. The four amigos. We all seem to be at every major tech conference, and none of us really enjoy them anymore. Consequently, we just hang out together, drinking and making a sport of talking shit about our other colleagues. Ryan and Miles are around my age, thirty, and Grace is a couple of years younger. She’s razor sharp and gorgeous, but she has a husband and two kids at home, so she’s always been off-limits.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “I see you started drinking without me.”
“Are you kidding?” Miles says. “We have to be drunk just to be around you and your groupies.”
He’s joking, too, or at least I think he is. All three of them are pretty wealthy, although their combined wealth doesn’t approach mine. And none of them are as high-profile as I am. They scoot down a bit so I can sit.
“No problem. It’ll be easy to catch up to you wimps.”
I look around for our server. I’m dying for a drink myself after breathing that dry desert air, but there’s no one in our area.
“Ready for your big speech?” Grace asks. “What’s the topic?”
“I haven’t decided on a topic yet,” I reply. “So no, I’m not ready.”
Ryan shakes a head topped with scruffy red hair. “Seriously? You’re giving the crucial closing speech at Apex-Con, the single biggest tech event of the year, and you haven’t even decided on a topic? You like living on the edge, my friend.”
“Keeps things interesting. Being comfortable and relaxed is highly overrated. Besides, I have four days left to write it.”
‘What can I get you?”
The voice alone gets my attention immediately. It’s sexy, with just a hint of a rasp. I turn to my left to see a striking woman, petite with pale skin and short, straight, black hair. She’s wearing a black dress (duh), short enough to show a lot of leg and hugging her hot little body. On second look, what first appear to be long sleeves attached to the dress turn out to be tattoo sleeves. The dress itself is actually sleeveless, and her breasts are pushing against the top. Her chest from her cleavage up, to just below her collarbone, is likewise filled with tattoos, and her legs have designs all up and down them. This woman has dozens of tattoos and I suddenly wish there was more light so I could see them clearly.
“Do you want to order something, or are you just going to stare?”
When I finally make it up
to her face, she’s a little perturbed. “Sorry,” I say, “but not too sorry.” Big sexy eyes glare at me, and plump fire-engine red lips smirk to one side, distracting me even further.
“Do you have Balvicar Scotch, 15 Years?”
“Rocks?” she asks.
“Neat.”
She cocks an eyebrow at my reply. As she walks away, I can’t help but notice the way her cute ass sways. Holy fuck, I want some of that. And I have a feeling that almost-rasp of a voice will be rattling around in my brain for the rest of my life.
“Earth to Maddox.” It’s Grace, and everyone laughs when I turn around to face them.
“Like what you see?” Ryan asks.
“She’s hot.”
“Yeah, Miles and I have been ogling her. Grace, too.”
“I was not. I was admiring those tattoos.”
“Yeah, the tattoos are sexy. I’m going to get her number,” I say confidently.
“Five hundred bucks says you don’t,” Miles says.
I eye him suspiciously. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, I’m just going by the way she looked at you. You’re not getting any digits from that one.”
“You’re on,” I say, retrieving my money clip from my pants pocket and counting off five hundreds onto the table. Miles does the same, finishing just as she returns with my drink.
Setting the glass of golden liquid in front of me, she says, “You shouldn’t be drinking Balvicar. It’s swill, at least for expensive scotch. This is Ardnave, an Islay scotch aged 25 years in sherry casks—longer than I’ve been on the planet. It’s the shit. Trust me.”
I give her a confused look. I’m not accustomed to having cocktail waitresses “correct” my order for me.
“Don’t worry,” she says with that same cute little smirk. “I’m sure you can afford it.”
“Thanks for the tip… um…” I pause, waiting for her name.
“Tempest.”
I extend my hand. “I’m—”
She ignores my hand. “I know who you are. That’s why I knew you should be drinking better scotch.”
I hear Miles chuckle behind me as I withdraw my handshake.
“I’d love get your number, Tempest. I’m in Vegas all the time.”
“Yeah, well that’s not gonna happen. Enjoy the scotch, though. Let me know what you think, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to change your world.”
It’s that sexy fucking voice that’s changing my world, and the confident way she wields it.
“Now there’s a first,” says Grace as I’m again drooling over Tempest’s ass as she walks off.
Miles calmly reaches over and grabs the thousand bucks. “Maybe she’s a lesbian,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, definitely not.”
“Then you’re just losing your charms,” he says with a laugh.
“No, I think he’s losing his motivation,” Ryan offers. “He’s just had too much tail. After a while, it all starts to look and feel the same.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Grace says emphatically. We all turn in her direction. “I can’t believe you said that. Men get away with so much shit. If I said I was tired of getting too much cock, you dorks would never let me hear the end of it.”
There are a few seconds of stunned silence, then Miles says, “So you get a lot of cock?” and we all burst out laughing. Even Grace.
“Maddox, it’s obvious she’s just not into you,” she says. “She might be immune.”
“Nobody’s immune. She’ll come around.”
“Bet she doesn’t,” Grace says.
Miles chimes in. “Yeah, let’s make a wager. Put your money where your ego is.”
“Name your bet,” I say. “And your price.”
“We’ll each put up a grand,” Miles says, “You put up thirty, since you’re so much richer than us.”
“But you have to actually have sex with her to win,” Ryan says.
“Seriously?” I ask.
The two guys nod. Then Grace rolls her eyes and says, “What the hell. Yeah, I’m in—but only because it’s a sure thing and a great short-term investment.”
I look across the room, where Tempest is waiting on another table. The hot body, the tattoos, that sexy little dress…
“Done,” I tell them. “You guys are suckers. Time Magazine said it best: ‘Maddox Ramsey doesn’t lose. Ever.’”
2
Tempest
Great, another rich asshole wants my number. If I had dollar for every time that’s happened, I’d be rich myself.
I’ve chased off better men than this player, especially since I started working at the LBD. Sure, he’s famous and handsome as fuck with those male model looks—but he’s also already convinced he can hook up with me, which is more than annoying.
“What’s up? Something wrong?”
It’s my girlfriend Scarlett, one of the other cocktail servers here. I’m standing at the bar waiting for Mike the bartender to finish my drink order, and she’s evidently seen the sour look on my face.
I give her a frown and point my chin in the direction of Maddox Ramsey’s table. “Just another rich asshat.”
Scarlett and I became fast friends when I started working here because we’re both Midwestern girls. She’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, and so ridiculously sexy with her red hair, curvy hips and big boobs. We also both have a nasty habit of calling people on their bullshit, and have gotten lectured on more than occasion by Max Donatello, the LBD manager, about not being snotty with customers. The customer is always right, and all that nonsense.
“That one guy looks familiar. The really hot one.”
“Yeah, that’s Maddox Ramsey. Rich-as-fuck Silicon Valley investment guy.”
“Wait a minute,” she says, “isn’t he the one who dated Kendall Marsh?”
“That’s him.” He had a high-profile fling with the actress a couple of years ago, and their nasty breakup was all over the tabloids. If I remember, she said he’d been cheating on her. That figures. Guys in general can’t be trusted, and rich guys are the worst of the worst. “He was eyeing me like I was a piece of meat. Hit me up for my number.”
“Did you give it to him?” Scarlet asks.
“Hell no, I didn’t.”
“Why not? I’m ashamed of you, Tempest Morrison. You should fuck him, then tell me all about it afterward.” She cocks one eyebrow in a slutty way that should have made me laugh. Instead I frown at her and she instantly looks horrified. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m such an idiot.”
“It’s no big deal,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about it.”
Scarlett is the only one here in Vegas who knows my secret, but I’m sure she was just being playful. I couldn’t hold it against her anyway because I love her so much.
“Well, let me know if you want me to take that table. I don’t mind.”
I smile and wave her away as I take my tray and head over to one of my other tables.
Scarlett is from Missouri, while I grew up in Cleveland. I arrived in Vegas six months ago and immediately got this LBD gig. Before that, I was in Chicago for eight months, New Orleans for ten months, Dallas for six and LA for six. When Max interviewed me for the job, he asked, only half joking, “So who or what are you running from?”
I only wish I knew.
I just can’t seem to be happy anywhere and am always hoping that the next stop will be the right one. So far, though, Vegas hasn’t been it. I mean, I like it here and all, but my life feels the same out in the desert as it did everywhere else.
Getting hit on by a guy like Maddox Ramsey would be enough to cheer most women up, something they could tell their friends about over drinks. For me, it’s just another reminder of why I’m so damn unhappy.
One of my other LBD coworkers, Ireland, recently quit when she married the man of her dreams. He’s Harrison, the famous singer, and she met him right here in the club. So now she’s starting a new life with him, happy as
a clam.
Meanwhile, I’ve still never even had a man inside me. Any man.
Depressing, isn’t it?
Wednesday
3
Maddox
I’m grumpy as fuck as I call room service. Why there’s no coffee maker in an $1800-a-night suite is beyond me, but I suppose they just wanted me to pay twenty bucks to have a carafe brought to my room instead.
I’ve never been much of a morning person, and absolutely refuse to do anything before I have a steaming cup of the gods’ own nectar in front of me. I’m in worse shape than normal after staying up late last night at Nero’s Harem, the strip club. Hey, it wasn’t my idea. Miles brought it up as a joke, but Grace was the one who pressed us to go. She’d never been to a strip club and wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
Everyone had a good time, and now Grace knows that strip clubs are just kind of stupid. We strong-armed her into getting a lap dance from a hot stripper with huge tits, and Grace even had me give the girl a big tip for permission to take a picture of the two of them to send her husband. If I ever get married, I want to have that level of trust in my spouse.
As I wait impatiently for my coffee, I think again about my cocktail waitress from the night before.
Tempest is now my goal.
In fact, she’s my obsession. Not in a stalker way, but in a good way. I’m made my reputation on focusing all my energy on a target and not giving up until it’s mine. Everyone said I was crazy when I acquired HomeFlix, the movie streaming company, for $90 million. But I brought in top-notch talent to run it, and when I sold it to Google for $750 million two years later, nobody was questioning my sanity.
His Hurricane (The Cocktail Girls) Page 1