by Meghan Quinn
Shit!
I not only need this job, but if I get fired from Hotel Paragon, it will ruin my abilities to try to find any other waitressing job on the Strip. Nerves start to ricochet through my body, and my stomach rolls as a queasy feeling takes over me. What have I done?
I feel like I’m taking the walk of shame as I follow the guy down a long hallway to a closed door marked “Personnel Only.” He swipes his card and I hear a faint beep before what sounds like a lock disengaging. Pushing the door open, he steps to the side and waves for me to enter. I take one step when the heel of my right shoe gives out and breaks right off.
And I lose it.
“Goddamned, son of a motherfucking bitch whore!”
Chapter Three
**GAVIN**
Very un-lady like swearing pops out of the most delicious lips I’ve ever seen as Brian opens the door for the little fireball of a waitress. Stumbling forward, she trips on her shoe and I stand up to catch the waitress before she falls face first onto the marble tile of the control room.
“Careful,” I say, examining her facial features up close. She’s even more stunning in person.
She grips onto my forearms and straightens herself, standing tall, one leg longer than the other. Her imbalance peaks my curiosity, so I venture my gaze down her petite body, past her beautifully toned legs, to her scuffed up high heels, where one is shorter than the other. Looking past her feet, I see the heel of the shoe that once was attached. Being the gentleman I am, I bend down and pick it up.
At a closer look, I examine the heel and notice a distinct glob of glue in the center. I quirk an eyebrow at her and hold the heel up in front of her face, “I believe this belongs to you?”
She swipes it out of my hand without a word and puts her hands behind her back, hiding the treacherous heel while trying to stand on her tippy toe to balance her stance. Embarrassment washes over her as her cheeks redden to a deeper hue. “Yeah, that’s mine. Thank you.”
She doesn’t look me in the eyes; instead, her gaze lands on the floor between us. She’s a different woman than the one I watched on screen, the one who singlehandedly brought Ramos down to the ground with a simple thrust of her knee.
Now, she’s reserved, calm, almost submissive in a way. I’m more than fucking intrigued.
“Brian, please open up the B room and escort Miss Prescott into it. I need to look over her file before I join her.”
“Sure thing,” Brian says in a thick Brooklyn accent.
Brian is a beast of a man, his chest the width of a basketball court, and his cue ball head shinier than the fucking sun. He’s intimidating on the outside, but softer than shit on the inside. Want to know his Achilles heel? Watch his three-year-old daughter walk in the room, calling out for him. The man crumbles faster than a hooker on Freemont Street presented with a hundred-dollar bill.
Once they’re gone, I sift through the file that’s marked Penelope Prescott. Thankfully Graham trusts me enough to root through his employee files and not give a fuck what I do with them.
Taking a sip from my tumbler, I read up on the fireball waiting for me in the B room.
Penelope Louise Prescott, age 21, lives in North Las Vegas.
Shit.
I pause. North Las Vegas? What was a gorgeous girl like her doing living in North Las Vegas? I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve become accustomed to the good and bad parts of town. North Las Vegas is no place for a young, beautiful woman like Penelope to live.
Trying to wrap my head around her living location, I continue reading.
Has worked for Hotel Paragon for the past year waitressing on the main floor, moved from Tennessee.
A southern girl, I like that. There’s something about women from the south that always intrigues me. They’re polite, but have a blaze of fire under them, waiting to be set off. That could explain her recent snap of logic in the high roller room.
Which reminds me, I will be having a conversation with Ramos sometime in the near future. I don’t care how rich he is, or how much he believes his dick doesn’t possess a terrible case of gonorrhea, he has no right slapping a waitress’s ass. A graze here and there, I will let go. They tip high and the girls expect it, but slapping bare skin? That’s not going to fly with me. Graham would have my back on that decision.
I take one more glance at her file, skimming for anything I might need to know.
She received one warning back when she first started at Hotel Paragon for cussing out a customer on the floor. Yup, she definitely has a temper. Other than that, her birthday is in a few weeks, and her emergency contact is Page Blakely.
Why did that name sound familiar? Pulling out my phone, I search her name on the Internet and I’m immediately awarded with a match.
Page Blakely, highly regarded personal chef in Las Vegas. There is a picture next to her name. A beautiful blonde with deep blue eyes smiles brightly with a face I vaguely recognize. I think back to where I might have seen her when Graham sidles up next to me.
“What are you looking at?”
I show him my phone and say, “Do you know her?”
He grabs my phone and smiles. “I thought I paid you to look at my screens, not look up hot blondes on the Internet.” He pauses as recognition flashes over his face. “Uh, no. I don’t know her.”
I stand up and grab my tumbler. “Don’t fuck with me. I know you know her, who is she?”
“Why does it matter?” he asks.
“According to that file, she’s the roommate of the girl I’m about to talk to in the B room. I like to be well informed. Who is she?”
Graham glances back at the B room. “Who are you going to talk to? Is she hot?”
“Don’t change the subject, dick head. Answer my question.”
He sighs and tries to grab my drink from me for his own sip but I ward him off. Irritated, he finally says, “Remember a little while back, I had that intimate dinner party for some of the high rollers? I hired her to cook.”
The night comes flooding back to my mind. “Shit, I remember that night. She was prancing around in the shortest skirt ever, boobs on display, and a tiny apron wrapped around her waist.”
“Yeah, that’s her.” Graham grabs the back of his neck and looks away from me. I know that avoidance, something happened between them.
“I’m not even going to fucking ask. Seriously, dude, you never can keep it in your pants.”
“Speak for yourself,” he shoots back. “Who the hell are you talking to in the B room? Just another girl you plan on fucking in your villa?”
The thought might have crossed my mind, but more importantly, I want to find out more about her, and what that damaged look she hides behind her eyes is all about.
“She pummeled Ramos in the dick with her knee. Had Brian bring her up here for a talk before things could get any more out of hand.”
Shock registers across Graham’s face in an almost comical way. “She kneed him in the dick?”
“Right in the peen,” I answer with a chuckle.
“Shit,” Graham laughs but also pulls on the strands of his hair. “Are you going to fire her, not that you really have the right to.” He smirks at me.
“Nah.” I take a sip of my drink. “Ramos deserved it. I’m just going to scare her a little. She’s new to the VIP’s, she needs to know that kind of behavior isn’t appreciated and she’s going to have to tamp down the sass if she’s going to roll with the big players.”
I don’t mention to Graham that she can take that sass and fiery attitude and meet me in my bedroom, I would be more than fucking happy to take everything she can spit out.
“Think she can handle them?”
“No doubt in my mind.” I finish off my drink just as another is brought to me. Buttoning up my suit jacket, I send a wink in Graham’s direction, who rolls his eyes in return, and then head off to the B room, but not before stopping in front of the screen that monitors it.
I bring one of the earphones up to my ear a
nd listen to her talk to herself.
“You couldn’t just let him slap you in the ass, could you? No, Nell, you have to go and be all high and mighty, I am woman, hear me roar, and knee fuck his junk.” I chuckle, loving the way she berates herself in a no holds barred kind of way. She’s looking at the broken heel in her hand as she sits patiently in the metal chair provided for her. “Then you have to go and snap off in front of Mr. Sexy Eyes, sending me flying into his arms. I nearly broke a tooth on his bicep. Why couldn’t you have just stayed glued for a little while longer? I could have at least been fired with a little bit of dignity left. But no, you decide to be a little bitch and snap off, you useless shoe heel.”
I’ve heard enough. I set the earphones down, straighten up, and walk through the door. Immediately her attention is focused on me as I stalk powerfully into the room, holding my tumbler in my hand. There’s a metal table in front of her that I use as a chair of my own.
Casually, I sit on the side of the table and take a sip of my drink as I let her eyes peruse my body. It’s a power move. Even though I’m eager to get to know this little hellion, I mask my reaction to her. Never show and tell, especially with women.
I can feel her eyes scanning me, focused on the bit of exposed skin near the collar of the shirt. They then travel down my stomach – little does she know what’s hiding underneath my clothing – and then to my crotch, then she immediately refocuses on her hands. I caught her though, she’s a goner as far as I’m concerned.
“Penelope Prescott,” I start, but I’m quickly interrupted.
“Nell.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everyone calls me Nell,” she clarifies.
I set my glass down and study her before saying, “Too bad for you, I’m not everyone.” Her mouth falls agape for a second before she closes it, trying not to let her shock show. I have a rather up front personality, it can catch some people off guard. Clearly, she’s one of them. “Now tell me, Penelope, how long have you worked for Hotel Paragon?”
I know the answer to my question, but when you’re holding the upper hand, you not only want to show power, but you also want to make the other person feel as though they have some control over the situation, when in fact, they don’t. Poker 101.
She wrings her hands together on her lap. Tell number one.
She’s nervous, but there’s a confidence in her eyes that almost boasts a cocky air around her. Unfortunately for her, I’m a master at reading people, so she’s doesn’t fool me one bit.
With her head held high, she answers, “A little over a year now.”
I nod. “And how long have you been working in the high roller room?”
She bites her lip before answering. Tell number two.
“It’s my first day today.”
I nod again. “And before you started, were you informed that the men playing at the table you would be serving are valuable members to this hotel, some of our most lavish and esteemed customers?”
She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Tell number three.
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Saint,” I inform her.
“Sorry, yes, Mr. Saint.” She grits out my name, as if it’s painful for her to say.
Interesting. Even though she’s nervous, she apparently doesn’t enjoy dealing with authority figures. Any other person in her shoes would have stammered, their voice would have shook, but not Penelope Prescott. She might be shaky on the outside, but she is hard as steel on the inside.
“So when you shoved your knee into Mr. Ramos’s genitals, were you trying to be accommodating and showing him good hospitality?”
A slight smirk crosses her face at the word genitals, but is quickly washed away before I can commit the beautiful sight to memory. Tell number four.
“I was helping Mr. Ramos realize that he was being a giant ass, so yes, I guess I was being accommodating.”
And there it is, the smart mouth I was waiting for. I knew if I pushed her just enough, she wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore.
In defiance, she crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up just a little bit more. I don’t stare, I don’t even look down because that would be giving in; that would be showing my interest. It would be calling my bluff, and I’m not about to give in. I never do.
“Please, Miss Prescott, tell me how kneeing one of our richest poker players in the crotch is accommodating. Because to me, it’s hostile and can result in immediate termination, but if you have some other reasoning as to why kneeing one of our VIP’s in the crotch is accommodating that I’m unaware of, I would love to be enlightened.”
Calmly waiting for her interpretation of the crushing of man-balls, I take a sip of my drink and rest it on my thigh as I wait for her answer, studying her brilliant hazel eyes. Her long lashes are dark, real, not those fake extension things women are putting on their eyelids nowadays. They frame her mysterious eyes, speckled with gold near her pupils. They are tantalizing, intoxicating, but unlike everyone else I can read, her eyes are not her tell, they don’t give her away. If anything, they are an unbreakable shield, protecting her from the outside world.
She clears her throat, and prepares her reasoning. This I have to hear.
“You see, Mr. Saint.” She enunciates my name. Her little act of rebellion is not lost on me. “I was helping Mr. Ramos avoid future disappointment.”
“How is that?”
“I’m a pretty easy going girl. I can take a lot, but there are women out there who are not as forgiving as I am when it comes to being assaulted by a man with power and money. So, by me kneeing Mr. Ramos in the genitals, I made him well aware of what kind of reaction he could expect to get from other women in the future.”
“How is that accommodating?” I ask her, enjoying her hilarious attempt to clear her name.
Taking her time, she thinks of her answer, her eyes still a steel façade. “Well, in the south, we believe being accommodating means helping each other out. Therefore, I was assisting Mr. Ramos with his future pickups of the female race, therefore being accommodating.”
For the first time in a very long time, I want to break my poker face. I’m tempted to smile at her pitiful explanation. So instead of letting her see me crack, I spin off the table and turn my back toward her, allowing myself time to collect my thoughts.
Shit, that never happens to me. For some reason, Penelope is knocking me off my game. I don’t like it, not one fucking bit.
I compose myself and turn back around, no expression on my face. “Miss Prescott, although I appreciate your eagerness to help Mr. Ramos out in his relationship endeavors, we can’t have our employees going around, smashing our VIP’s in the genitals.”
She nods her head and something in her snaps. She hops up from her seat and starts pacing the room, her hands flailing about as she speaks.
“So, that’s it? You’re just going to fire me because I wouldn’t let some man who’s richer than King Midas slap me on the ass?” I don’t react, I just watch her. “Well, then you’re a bunch of self-righteous, misogynistic pricks with nothing better to do than sit behind a bunch of TV screens watching women like me be fondled by disgusting, acne covered, needle dick men. Have fun playing God up in your little nerd-bomb room, because you won’t have to watch me anymore. I quit!”
A little stunned, but still not letting it show, I walk over to where she paces and stand proudly in front of her, towering over her petite frame. “Miss Prescott, I assure you, we are not planning on firing you. We don’t believe in our VIP’s assaulting our staff, it’s frowned upon.”
“What?” Her face scrunches up, confusion laced through her features. She looks fucking adorable.
“I brought you in here to discuss, that in fact, we don’t condone kneeing our VIP’s in the crotch, but we also don’t allow our VIP’s to be disrespectful to our staff. I wanted to make you aware of our security team that is available twenty-four/seven. When you are serving, we have a watchful eye on everything tha
t is happening in that room, from cheating to inappropriate behavior. The minute we see something, we send in security to take care of the situation. We ask that our staff doesn’t discipline, but that our security does.”
“Oh,” she says, looking to the side and biting her lip once again. This girl would be a terrible poker player.
“Your altercation is no different. We had security in route to diffuse the situation, but unfortunately, you beat them to it. This meeting wasn’t to fire you, but to make you aware in case this were to ever happen again. It’s unfortunate for Hotel Paragon that you have resigned from your position, though. From the spirit you obviously exude, you would have been a great attribute in the high roller room. We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. I will have Brian see you to your locker and help you clean it out. Good luck.”
With that, I turn my back on her, and walk toward the door to exit, knowing full well what is going to happen next.
Three, two, one…
“Mr. Saint,” she calls out, chasing after me. I stop in my tracks and turn to face her. “Um, is there a chance I would be able to renege on my earlier decision to quit?”
“Oh?” I stick my hands in my pockets, loving the way she’s nervously fidgeting. “And why might you want to renege on your decision to terminate your employment?”
Taking a deep breath, her shoulders slouch and she answers honestly. “I need this job more than anything. I’m a prideful woman and I didn’t want to be fired, so I quit. It may have been a hasty decision on my part. But now that I know you’re not firing me, I would very much like to have my job back.”
She’s been tortured enough. I decide to ease up on her. “We would be happy to have you back on the team, Miss Prescott. But you will be in need of some training. Meet me in the high roller’s suite at two tomorrow afternoon, wear your uniform.”