Loving the Odds (What Happens in Vegas)

by Stefanie London

  To him, the greatest part of the job was the challenge. He loved the pressure, loved having someone to fight for. Loved the thrill of being the person helping rather than the one being helped.

  Too bad you’re not engaged or Janet would think you were the perfect gentleman.

  But then he’d have a whole host of other problems…namely, having a fiancée that would demand his time and attention. Which was a whole lot more trouble than it was worth.

  He stepped into a tightly filled elevator and then breathed a sigh of relief when it reached his floor. Persuading Janet to let him take the reins on this client acquisition wouldn’t be easy…but he had no choice. If he wanted to keep growing his career, he needed to get his boss back on his side. An hour alone with his laptop would surely help him come up with a solution.

  And if he didn’t, he could kiss his chance of making partner good-bye.

  Chapter Two

  Bailey paced back and forth in front of Julian’s hotel room door. After seeing him with that gorgeous woman on his arm, she’d gone straight to the concierge and persuaded an employee to hand over her ex’s room number. A false story about her being his assistant and a few tears in her eyes had done the trick.

  In the thick haze of anger, she’d been convinced she could break into Julian’s room and lay in wait until he returned. Perhaps she could hide in the closet until he went to bed and then sneak out to steal the watch from his nightstand.

  But the second she’d walked up to the door all her grand plans had vanished like a poof of smoke. She wasn’t about to break and enter. And she most certainly wasn’t a thief…even if the heirloom in question had been stolen from her in the first place. Stooping to Julian’s level wasn’t worth compromising her values. Besides, there were an incredible number of things that could go wrong. Far too many for her to ignore.

  Her sensible heels were silent against the brightly patterned hotel carpet as she paced. Why hadn’t she approached him in the crowd? She could have embarrassed him into handing the watch over. Then she’d already be in a cab on her way to the airport. Instead, she’d run away with her tail between her legs like a scaredy cat.

  “What are you going to do now? Wait until he comes back to his room with the Selena Lockhart on his arm?” she muttered. “You’re an idiot.”

  The night Julian the Jerk had left her apartment played over and over in her head, the picture as clear and crisp as if she watched it on a movie screen. He’d come over for one of their scheduled weekly sleepovers. Since she worked such long hours and often took her work home, they didn’t see each other all the time. Only on the weekends and Wednesday nights.

  This particular Wednesday had started badly and ended worse. Julian was argumentative about everything and he’d left halfway through watching a movie to go for a walk. His phone had slipped between the cushions of the couch and she’d only found it when a call from a colleague had caused it to vibrate. It was then that she’d noticed this colleague’s name appeared a lot in his call log.

  Instinct had led her to check the messages—something she’d never done before. There were photos, filthy messages, promises. Dick pics.

  Honestly, why would any woman want a photo of that? Sure, they were great in the heat of the moment and they served a biological function, but they weren’t particularly attractive appendages. Bailey had always thought they looked kind of…angry.

  It was why she preferred to have sex with the light off.

  “Ugh, why are you thinking about that?” She stomped back and forth in front of his door and shook her head. “Penises will not help you right now.”

  “That’s not true. Penises are actually quite helpful when you get to know them.” The smooth baritone of a man’s voice startled her. “I’ve been told mine is particularly skilled.”

  “One opinion does not a fact make,” Bailey said primly, trying to hide her mortification with a haughty look. But she feared the flaming heat in her face would give her away entirely.

  The owner of the voice stood at the door next to her. “How many would make it statistically significant? Because it was definitely more than one person’s opinion.”

  The words poured over her like warm honey and, for a moment, Bailey thought her knees might buckle. He had golden blond hair and eyes that seemed to shift from gray to green, refusing to be lumped into either category. A charming smile and perfect teeth. A fine dusting of blond stubble along his jaw.

  He wore a fitted charcoal suit, which accentuated broad shoulders and long legs. A white shirt was open at the neck. No tie.

  “I don’t care if Columbia University did a study on it; your penis is none of my concern.”

  He chuckled and the sound raced through her nervous system like 110 volts of electricity. “You know, I might suggest that to them. I’m sure plenty of people would be interested.”

  Her eyes flickered nervously over him, trying to avoid being drawn to their topic of conversation. But that was like telling someone not to think about a pink elephant. “Well, I’m not.”

  “Then why do you keep looking down there?”

  His gaze was locked onto her as if her thoughts played across her face. It unnerved her, since she was so used to skulking in the shadows of dullness.

  But he looked at her as though she existed. Like she was a real life human being. Which was a step up, since most men viewed her as though she fell somewhere on the spectrum between dust mites and potted plants.

  “I’m not.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m simply trying to figure out a problem.”

  “Have you misplaced your key?” His brows gathered above a perfectly straight nose. “I’m sure the concierge will be able to issue a new one.”

  “This isn’t my room,” she admitted, her fingers tugging at the silk bow tied tightly at the base of her neck.

  “Whose room is it?”

  She was unsure whether or not to tell this stranger the truth. On one hand, she didn’t like to lie unless absolutely necessary. Her parents had raised her better than that. On the other hand, he could report her to hotel security. Then she’d have no chance of getting her grandfather’s watch from Julian.

  But he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was a rule-follower—not with all that blatant penis talk, anyway—and technically she hadn’t done anything wrong yet. Unless you counted the loitering.

  “My ex is staying here,” she said. “He has something of mine and I want it back.”

  “Did he steal from you?”

  She nodded, the anger bubbling up anew. “It’s my grandfather’s watch. I gave it to him because I thought we were going to get married. When we broke up he kept it…which was not part of the deal.”

  “He sounds like a bastard.”

  “You got that right.”

  They hovered there for a moment and Bailey look forlornly at the hotel room door. “I thought about sneaking into his room to hide in the wardrobe.”

  The stranger’s lips curved up into a wicked smile. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Well, first I thought about the chances of being able to get into the room. I’d have to convince the cleaning staff to let me in since the people at reception know I’m not staying in this room. What if the room has already been cleaned? Or what if they came back too late? Or what if he arrives before I get into the room?” She ticked the possible problems off her fingers. “Then, even if I did get in, I’d have to wait for him to show up. Sometimes if he’s had too much to drink, he sleeps with the watch on. Or what if he didn’t go to sleep for hours and I had to stay in the wardrobe all that time. Or what if…”

  The last possible downside made her wince.

  “Or?” The man prompted.

  “What if he’s staying with a woman?”

  “I see.”

  “And that would be very…” She pursed her lips. “Awkward.”

  The man turned his room key over in his hands, his gray-green eyes watching her thoughtfully. “So you’re not going to break into his
room?”

  “No, there are too many things that could go wrong.” A stray strand of hair brushed against her ear and she reached up to tuck it back into her chignon. “I need to find another way.”

  “Would you like a drink while we brainstorm?” The invitation seemed even more enticing in his whisky-smooth voice. “My treat.”

  Ordinarily, she wouldn’t accept a drink invitation from someone she’d just met. There were too many unknowns, and safety was always a concern. But there was something soothing about this man’s presence. He exuded calmness and capability. Two things she quite appreciated in a man.

  “I don’t know.” She hesitated. “You could be anyone.”

  “But I’m not anyone.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Lance.”

  “A first name doesn’t mean anything. Everyone has a first name, even serial killers.” But she accepted his handshake anyway because politeness had been ingrained in her since birth. His fingers were warm around hers and a little zing of electricity bolted up her arm. “Ted doesn’t sound so bad…until you attach Bundy to it.”

  “I’m not sure why we’re talking about serial killers, but I’ll go with it. My last name is Fulton.” The laughter in his voice made his eyes sparkle. “And, for what it’s worth I’m here on business. The hotel has my details and”— he paused and looked up—“security cameras.”

  Bailey wasn’t the type to rely on gut instinct, especially since she held her gut responsible for the false belief that Julian cared about her. In her comfort she’d forgotten about the facts, about the data. What a colossal mistake.

  But the odds of Lance hurting her were slim. And he was right; there were plenty of security cameras around.

  When in Vegas…

  “Well, I guess two heads are better than one.” She nodded. “I’m Bailey Reuben, by the way.”

  Yes, she was definitely skating downhill on the wild side.

  …

  Lance wasn’t a list kind of guy, but he could easily have come up with a bunch of reasons for why he shouldn’t be taking this woman for a drink. Reasoning, however, could be bent to suit his whim and right now he wanted to know more about Bailey.

  Didn’t you just have a conversation with your boss about being impulsive and risky?

  He shoved the thought aside. There was nothing wrong with a little distraction. This distraction in question sat perched on one of the gaudy gold and purple stools at the bar, her hand clasping a glass of white wine. Pale pink lipstick had smudged along the rim. There was something very “sexy librarian” about her. The pencil skirt and blouse combo. The thick glasses which completely failed to hide away a pair of electric blue eyes and hair the color of polished ebony neatly pinned back…except for one strand, which kept slipping out and framing her face. And she had this prim and proper demeanor that was doing all kinds of strange things to his insides.

  A sexy woman with a puzzle to be solved? That was his personal brand of catnip.

  “So tell me, what was your plan when you came to Vegas? How did you think you were going to get the watch back?”

  She sipped her drink. “I was going to ask him to give it to me.”

  “Okay,” Lance said, sounding the word out slowly as he swished his scotch around in the low tumbler. “Given your ex is the kind of person to steal something from you, did you really think that would work?”

  “Well, I have a good reason for wanting it back. The watch is important to me. My grandfather would not have wanted him to keep it since it was intended to go to someone who cared about me. And,” she continued, placing her wine glass on the mask-shaped coaster, “since he breached the core values of our relationship, he should not have any claim to the watch. It’s a solid argument. He can’t disagree with it.”

  He paused, trying to figure out what to say next without causing insult. Sure, she had a good argument but they tended to fly right out of the window when it came to breakups and their messy aftermath.

  And he would know, breakups were a dime a dozen in his life. “I take it you haven’t attempted to present this argument to him.”

  “Well, I…no.” She adjusted her glasses, even though they sat perfectly straight on her pert nose. “I was going to.”

  “You’ve seen him here?”

  She nodded. “Turns out he’s dating some famous sexy writer person. Selena something.”

  “Selena Lockhart?” Now there was an interesting twist. The current flavor of the month had a reputation as being a heartbreaker. Hopefully Bailey’s ex would get what he deserved.

  Now where did that come from? Protective much?

  “I think that’s her.” An adorable little snorting sound came out of her nose. “Figures he’d try to find the exact opposite of me since I apparently made him so unhappy. Jerk face.”

  “Sounds like it’s his loss.”

  She took a hearty gulp of her wine and looked up at him. “You can’t say that. You don’t even know me.”

  “I’m a good judge of character,” he replied with a grin.

  “What if I was a bunny boiler? Or a stalker?” She reached up and removed her glasses, pushing them up to perch on top her head. “How would you know?”

  Unconcealed, her eyes were vibrant like dyed silk. Almost unnaturally blue. She wore minimal makeup, only a faint smudge of black around her eyes and half-faded pink lipstick on her full lips. The look was intoxicating. She had an innate sensuality about her that she didn’t even seem aware of.

  But he was aware of it. It ran through him like a current, making his body hum and sizzle.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “For starters I don’t think someone who was a bunny boiler or a stalker would bring attention to the possibility of those things.” He sipped on his scotch and savored the smooth heat in the back of his throat. “Secondly, you couldn’t break into his room because you thought the risks were too high. And that’s not even a felony.”

  “Good point. But I still don’t think gut feelings are reliable in determining whether or not someone is a good person. You need data.” The light caught on a small gold stud in her ear. “Data can be trusted; people can’t.”

  Oh, so she wanted to challenge his ideals? Lance leaned back in his chair and ran a hand along his jaw, stifling a grin. He lived for a good debate and something told him Bailey would be a worthy opponent. Albeit one who was about to lose.

  “Why did you agree to have a drink with me?” he asked.

  “I felt like a drink and I’m in a hotel where drinks are available. Also, as you pointed out, there are security cameras and I always watch my glass. So the chances of anything bad happening were slim.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her lips into a half-smile that could only be described as delightfully smug. “I was also under the impression we were supposed to be brainstorming ways to get my watch back, which benefits me.”

  “So it had nothing to do with your instinct telling you that I’m a good guy?” Lance shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

  Her eyes flickered over him and she reached for her wine. “Nothing at all.”

  “I call bullshit.”

  “You can call whatever you like.” She checked the plain gold watch on her wrist. “Look, I have a flight to catch tonight and I need to figure this out. How would you get the watch back?”

  He wouldn’t have let someone take it in the first place. But saying that would make him an asshole.

  “I would confront him,” he said. “Because that sends two messages. One, that you want the watch back, and two, that he can’t walk all over you anymore.”

  “What if he says no?” She sucked on the inside of her cheek.

  “Then you open a can of whoop ass.”

  “Whoop ass?” She burst out laughing and the sound ran along his skin, making him tingle all over.

  “If he’s not going to play ball, then you need to throw the rules out of the window and teach him a lesson.” He dusted his hands together. “Simple.”


  “I don’t know if I can do that. I like rules.” A line formed between her brows. “And I’m better with numbers than fists.”

  He thought about his clients for a moment. If he was advising one of them to do something that he didn’t want to do, how would he frame it?

  It’s all about the end game, Lance, his mentor had once told him. Doesn’t matter what path you take so long as you get to where you want to be.

  “Why is the watch important to you?” he asked. She needed to be fired up to tackle her ex and drawing her attention to the “why” would bring back her fire.

  “My grandfather was my hero.” She blinked, pressing her lips together. “All his family were farmers back home in Idaho, and they didn’t have much money. But he wanted to do something different with his life. He worked at the family orchard and started selling their applesauce to restaurants. By the time he was eighteen, he’d figured out how to expand their operations so they could bottle and ship it to other states. He tripled their income in two years.”

  “He sounds like an incredible man.”

  “He was.” A wistful smile touched her lips and she fiddled with the coaster holding her wine glass, lining it up perfectly straight with the edge of the bar. “He bought the watch after he turned forty because he said he wanted something to remind him of how far he’d come. What he’d created for his family. He wore it right up until he got sick. Then he gave it to me and told me that when I found the man I wanted to bring into our family, I should give him the watch.”

  Lance’s blood boiled in his veins. Instead of firing her up, her story had transferred the intended effect to him. He wanted to find this sonofabitch and teach him a lesson.

  “I was stupid to give it to Julian,” she said. “But we’d been together a year and I thought…”

  “You trusted him.”

  “I made a mistake by listening to my gut.” She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “And now I don’t do that anymore. I only listen to the facts.”