Loving the Odds (What Happens in Vegas)

by Stefanie London

  But that didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t put herself through the pain of another relationship, especially with a man whose starting position was one foot out the door. It might be his only flaw, but it was big and important enough to scare her away.

  The thought of waking up one day—being head over heels for him—and finding evidence that he’d strayed or gotten bored would kill her.

  You need to focus on your career… Lance will move on quickly; so should you. He didn’t ask you to stay. He didn’t confess any feelings for you and that’s because this weekend was nothing but a bit of fun.

  With a heavy heart, she pushed up from her seat and crumbled the business card in her fist. The bent paper created sharp corners that dug into the sensitive skin of her palm. Then she tossed the little ball into a trash can.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lance woke up the next morning with the hangover from hell…except he’d barely drunk a thing last night. His brain felt too big for his skull and it sounded like tiny gremlins were clashing symbols in his ears. Not to mention the tight ache in his stomach and a deep feeling of regret.

  Maybe it was an emotional hangover?

  He wasn’t used to being the one who got left behind. And standing outside the Masquerade, watching Bailey’s cab disappear into the traffic, had been a new experience for him. He pounded a fist against the mattress. Why had he let her go?

  “Because you don’t need to chase a girl who thinks you’re a womanizer,” he grumbled.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Compromising his values because one girl had gotten under his skin was a bad idea. But the words she’d said last night swirled in his head like a tornado.

  The girls you date shouldn’t be put through constant rejection while you make up your mind about what true love means.

  What was he supposed to do? Be like every other guy who promised them the moon to get in their pants only to backpedal later on? She may not like his way of doing things but at least he could sleep at night knowing he wasn’t a low-life manipulator like her ex. If only his honesty had been enough to keep Bailey around.

  Maybe she would call and they could try again without all the background noise of the convention and her ex. But then what? He still couldn’t promise her anything and that put them straight back to square one.

  Frustration roiled within him, but for now he’d need to put it out of his head. The last thing he wanted to do was screw up the luncheon because he couldn’t concentrate.

  He took his time showering, shaving, and suiting up. It was a little early but he wanted some time to think about his strategy for signing St. John. Besides, there was no sense in hanging around his hotel room when all he could see were flashes of Bailey. The cot was still there and the scent of her hung in the room like a ghost. No, definitely better to get some distance from anything that reminded him of her.

  As he strode toward the elevator, he fell behind a small group of convention attendees.

  “Last night was crazy,” one woman said, hoisting a tote bag higher up on her shoulder. “They’ll never get the smell out of the carpet. Even with all the cigarette smoke.”

  Her companion nodded and adjusted a pair of oversized sunglasses. “I don’t know what they put in the drinks but I haven’t been this hung over since college.”

  The arrival of the elevator interrupted their conversation, and Lance tried to listen in to the rest of what they were saying. Clearly, something had gone down at the ball after he’d left to escort Bailey back up to the room.

  The woman with the tote bag said something he couldn’t catch and a third woman laughed. “Tim Burton wouldn’t have known what to make of that.”

  By the time they hit the ground floor the women had moved onto other topics of conversation and he decided to head to Barakoa for a coffee. Standing in line, he contemplated how the café hadn’t been taken to court by Starbucks for blatantly ripping off their business model. Even the logo on the cups was a green face, except theirs wore a mask.

  “Hey, buddy.” A tap on his shoulder made Lance turn.

  “Hi, Mark.” Great, the last thing he needed was Janet’s favorite pet sniffing around. Especially if he had any designs on stealing the guest of honor out from under Lance’s nose.

  “You all ready for the luncheon?”

  Lance nodded. “If all goes well I’ll be signing Braxton today.”

  “So Janet said. Good for you. That’ll be an awesome addition to your client list.”

  Lance searched Mark’s face for any sign on insincerity, but saw none. “Thanks.”

  “Where’s your lady friend?”

  “She’s gone home.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “No. Everything’s fine.” He prayed that they would move the line along a little faster…before Mark could ask any more probing questions.

  “Is that why you look like you want to punch a hole in the wall?”

  He noticed then that his hands were clenched into fists. “It was a disagreement, that’s all.” He turned back to the cash registers in the hopes Mark would take get the “stop talking” vibe.

  “Anything serious?” Mark asked.

  Could the guy not take a hint? “Nothing worth discussing with a colleague.”

  “Ah, come on.” Mark slapped him on the back. “We’ve been out drinking together. We’re buddies.”

  Work drinks on a Friday night didn’t exactly make them BFFs, in Lance’s mind. But the guy was like a Labrador puppy, annoyingly desperate for attention but mostly harmless.

  “We have different ideas about what the next step is.” Lance sighed. “She can’t handle ambiguity but I don’t want to promise something unless I’m sure I can deliver.”

  “Why aren’t you sure?”

  “Well, because…” Lance grappled for a response. “In the past—”

  “There’s your problem,” Mark pointed out. “You’re treating her like she’s the same as all the other girls you’ve dated. I’ll bet she doesn’t want to be another former girlfriend.”

  He blinked. “Well, no. But how else do I know how I’m going to behave unless I look at things I’ve done in the past?”

  “Do you feel the same with her as you normally do when you start dating someone?”

  “No.” He could say that with absolute honesty. “I don’t.”

  “Then why treat her like you do?” Mark pointed ahead to the registers. “You’re up.”

  Lance placed his order and walked numbly over to the waiting area, pondering Mark’s comments. He had been treating Bailey the same as he did any other girl—difference was they weren’t dating. And yet the thought of never seeing her again had filled him with angst where usually he felt relief. Nothing about this situation was in his realm of experience.

  “I don’t want to overstep, but you could start from scratch with her,” Mark said as he joined Lance in the waiting area. “Pretend like you’re dating for the first time and check your baggage at the door, if you know what I mean.”

  “You’re right.” Only he didn’t know her last name, her address, phone number, or even the company where she worked. All he knew was that it was a bank in San Francisco and that she was in the credit risk area.

  Like an idiot, he’d let her walk away.

  “Come on.” Mark grabbed their coffees and handed one to Lance. “Let’s meet the rest of the team.”

  An hour later the Take Two Annual Romance Lovers’ Luncheon was in full swing. They’d booked a long table in Musuku, the sushi bar inside the Masquerade hotel. Artful arrangements of sushi dotted the table, each small plate garnished with colorful ginger and wasabi.

  Janet had seated him next to Braxton but Lance couldn’t seem to get his head in the game. Mark’s advice was tripping him up and making it hard to concentrate on convincing Braxton to part with his money—and possibly some of his dignity—in order to get his public image back on track.

  “So tel
l me about your next book, Braxton. I hear you got the go-ahead for a new series.” Lance fiddled with his chopsticks and attempted to select a piece of salmon nigiri from an ornate porcelain plate.

  As Braxton launched into the details of his latest contract and how it was inspired by his tumultuous relationship with his ex—Lance tuned out. While he wasn’t exactly a master chopstick handler he could usually hold his own, but even that seemed to be requiring more brain cells than normal. And apparently listening and picking up sushi couldn’t be done at the same time.

  He got a grip on the sticky mound of rice topped with salmon and pulled it toward him. Out of nowhere, the nigiri slipped from the chopsticks and landed into a bowl of soy sauce, splashing the black liquid all over the French cuff of his pristine white shirt. He cursed under his breath as he fished it from the sauce.

  “You should ask for a fork,” Braxton suggested unhelpfully.

  “Excuse me.” Lance felt his temper bubbling up and needed to get away from the crowd before he said something career-ending.

  The anger was completely misplaced, of course. A stained shirt could be fixed and he couldn’t give two shits if Braxton thought him a chopstick novice. But the situation with Bailey was slowly eating away at him, bubbling like acid in his veins. Corrosive and toxic and painful. In the restroom he rinsed the sauce from his cuff, but the stubborn marks only smudged further into the material when he scrubbed at them.

  You’re a goddam mess, Fulton. You didn’t leave any opening with Bailey and now you have to let it go. If she wants to get in contact with you, she has your number.

  He pocketed his cufflinks and rolled back his sleeves, hiding the evidence. Then he splashed his face with water in the hopes that it would wake him up.

  It didn’t.

  The second he pushed open the door to the restaurant, he heard a commotion outside. Selena Lockhart was standing at a table by the front of the restaurant, taking photos with fans. Julian sat a few meters away, playing on his smart phone and guarding two suitcases. Lance had already walked past when instinct forced his head back.

  A flash of gold caught his eye as Julian moved his hand, his shirtsleeve pulling up and exposing the bezel of a watch face. What was the likelihood that he’d brought more than one gold watch with him to the convention? Even the most avid watch aficionado wouldn’t bring two watches of the same color.

  But Bailey had said she’d taken the watch from him last night.

  The guy had money. Perhaps he’d gone and bought himself a new one. But that didn’t seem right either. Why would he buy a new watch when they were heading home now? No, that didn’t seem to fit. The only explanation that made sense was that Bailey had lied to him. Which meant she either hadn’t asked for the watch or, more likely, that she’d asked and Julian had refused. Which might explain why she’d flipped out at the ball.

  Let it go, Lance. It’s not your concern anymore—if she chose to go home without the watch, that’s not your problem.

  He caught Janet’s eye across the restaurant and she motioned for him to come back over to the table. Her lips were set into a thin line as she inclined her head toward Braxton who was getting up out of his chair and throwing a napkin down onto the table.

  Shit, if he let Braxton get away now his boss would not only have a cow, but he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting her back on the “Lance Fulton for Partner” bandwagon. All the work he’d done this weekend to convince her he was a responsible, focused player would be wasted.

  Do you think being made partner is going to instantly make you a better person? It won’t make up for the way you’ve treated people…especially not if you lied to get there.

  Janet’s improved opinion of him was based on a false image, on something that didn’t exist. He wasn’t in a relationship, he wasn’t a reformed commitment-phobe, and he most certainly wasn’t a yes-man. Which meant that she didn’t believe in him, not really.

  The only person who’d made him feel good for being himself was Bailey. Sure, she challenged him…but she never labelled him a bad person, never judged him unfairly. She accepted the way he was. Which was why she walked away.

  And he, being a colossal idiot, had let it happen.

  Setting his jaw, he turned away from the Take Two table and headed toward Julian. The slimy bastard looked up at the last moment, his eyes widening in recognition as he scrambled to get out of his chair.

  “Nice watch, buddy,” Lance said, stopping close enough that Julian was trapped between him and the wall.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “You know what I want.” Lance held a hand out. “Give me the watch.”

  “You’re as bad as she is,” Julian sneered. “Clearly neither of you understand the concept of a gift.”

  “And clearly you don’t understand the concept of being in a committed relationship, you cheating bastard.”

  “Oh, and you do? Spare me.” Julian picked at a piece of imaginary lint from his sports jacket. “You think you’re going to be any different than me in a few months’ time when you get sick of doing the same thing over and over with her? You think you’ll stick around when the sex dries up and she spends all her time working?”

  “Yeah, I will.” The words liberated the pressure in his chest, freeing him. Opening him up.

  God, how could he have been so stupid? In his efforts to do the right thing, he’d scared Bailey away. By thinking that he was being honest with the girls he dated, he was showing them they weren’t worth committing to. They weren’t worth a chance because he laid down his escape path from the very beginning.

  Why the hell would she take a chance on you when you wouldn’t take a chance on her?

  For a woman who’d tried to commit to the wrong guy…well, his commitment avoidance was a hell of a red flag.

  “Really?” Julian rolled his eyes.

  “I will stick around because she’s a good person. A better one than you’ll ever be.”

  “I give you a month, tops. Guys like you don’t last,” Julian said, shaking head. “You’ll get bored and you’ll move on to something better.”

  “The fact that you’re referring to women as a ‘thing’ tells me all I need to know.” A sick feeling curled in his stomach. He’d known the guy was a Grade-A prick, but seeing him behave like Bailey was nothing more than a possession made him physically ill. “Now give me that goddamn watch before I snap your arm in half.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” Julian scoffed.

  “You want to call my bluff?” Lance felt his caveman instincts kick in. “Be my guest.”

  He reached for Julian’s arm and the other man flinched, drawing back as his eyes widened. “This is ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re a cheat and a thief and you don’t deserve someone like Bailey in your life.” Lance held his hand out. “Shall we try again?”

  Silence hung in the air, tension clogging the space around them. For a moment he thought Julian was going to resist, but he reached for the watch and undid the clasp. Guys like him weren’t so scary when they were faced with someone they couldn’t bully into submission.

  Now all Lance had to do was figure out how to get the watch back to Bailey.

  Chapter Twelve

  Three Weeks Later

  Lance sat at his desk, overlooking the water sparkling in the bay. The view was intersected by the Transamerica Pyramid, which pointed up to a jewel-like blue sky. Not a cloud hovered overhead. It was a perfect day in San Francisco.

  A perfect day to make a move that could either be the greatest thing he’d ever done or slam a door shut permanently. Part of him had thought Bailey would call after they returned home since women always called when he left his number. But each week ticked past with agonizing slowness and he realized that he’d severely underestimated Bailey’s resolve. And her fear of being hurt again.

  In that time his sureness had grown. What he’d shared with Bailey was the beginning of something special. Unique. But, i
nstead of trying to protect that spark, he’d held the exit door open for her like a stupid, cocky bastard. Well, she’d shown him all right.

  Now he was the one lying awake at night, jumping every time his phone rang, generally acting like a morose fool. He’d turned down several dates, the thought of even looking at another woman souring in his stomach like off milk.

  He couldn’t go on not knowing. Not trying. Not giving them a chance because he was too attached to the idea that he couldn’t hold down a relationship. The proof was in the pudding. He missed her every goddamn day. And, like some cruel joke from the universe, that feeling only got worse as the days progressed.

  No more. Today, he was going to put himself out of his misery.

  In that time, he also hadn’t heard a peep from Janet, who was studiously ignoring him—and had helped Mark to land Braxton St. John as a client. But she hadn’t yet fired him, which was a good sign.

  This time he was going to win her trust a different way, through hard work rather than lies. He’d put in extra hours, worked his ass off on a creative campaign to give Jace the cover model an image makeover on national television, and pitched his branding partnership idea to the board. It had gone down so well that even Janet’s stony silence hadn’t been able to bring him down.

  But all of that would feel like nothing if he didn’t see Bailey again. It’d taken over a week to track her down, since she apparently eschewed all social media including LinkedIn, which was how he’d been hoping to find her. But thankfully Mark had a buddy at the Risk Management Association and they’d been able to track her down that way—after explaining at length that he was a friend and wouldn’t pass on any sensitive personal information, of course. They were risk people, after all.

  But they’d only confirmed which bank she worked for and had, rightfully, refused to hand over any of her membership information like phone number or email address. Then he’d done some digging to figure out where the risk team was based, and he’d narrowed it down to one office building. Hopefully she was going to be at work today; but even if she wasn’t, he’d go back again and again until he returned what was rightfully hers.