The Billionaire From Las Vegas (United States Of Billionaires Book 16)

by Cj Howard

  As they rode the elevator down to the ground floor, where they would be meeting his prospective business partners, Benjamin could almost see Claire assembling herself, getting into character. He’d given her remarkably little to go on—but then the meeting in question was fairly low stakes.

  He would see how she performed, and then they’d review and work on it if there was a need for him to correct her in any substantive way. But Benjamin was fairly confident that Claire got what she was supposed to be doing pretty instinctively. It was the kind of work that someone who had grown up knowing how to keep herself under control would be good at—at least, this public-facing aspect of it.

  He reminded himself that he still needed to get her access keycard from HR, to allow her to go anywhere in the casino that he might need her to be—including, though he wouldn’t tell her that at first, his suite. That was something they could address later, if Claire decided she wanted to be involved with him physically again.

  Benjamin smiled slightly to himself. If he played his cards right—to use an apt metaphor—he was certain that he could get a repeat performance, or several, from Claire. A year of steady sex would, he thought, do them both good. But he would bide his time for the moment. There was plenty of time.

  Chapter8

  Claire checked herself in the mirror, tilting her head one way and then the other. Her makeup was exactly what it should be, nothing smeared or out of place, and her hair was how she wanted it to be. The outfit, she knew, was expensive and exactly appropriate to the occasion she was supposed to be going to with Benjamin. It fit her curves like a glove—while somehow not seeming too revealing.

  It had been two weeks since she had started working with Benjamin, and in that time, they had managed to keep a polite distance between them—but Claire was starting to almost resent it. She had started out telling herself that, because she was working so closely with Benjamin, she would have to fend off at least a few advances, that since they’d had sex before he’d technically hired her, he would think he was entitled—especially since she was only working for him because she had to. Instead, Benjamin had been absolutely professional and utterly polite, and Claire hadn’t completely known how to deal with that.

  There was a knock at her door. “Coming!” Claire had grown used to the suite that Benjamin had moved her into, but it was still different, at least subtly, from living in an actual apartment. She didn’t have a kitchen, for one, at least not a full one. There was a little station with a coffee setup, a mini-fridge, and a two-burner induction stove, and Claire had managed to scramble up a couple of small saucepans and a small sauté pan, but it wasn’t the same.

  The bathroom was as luxurious as the one in her prestige-level suite, if smaller, and the bedroom and sitting area were more than enough for her purposes, but it still felt somehow more temporary, somehow less her own space.

  Claire stepped into the pair of Chanel pumps that Benjamin had insisted she absolutely needed during their first shopping trip, and hurried to the door. Instead of one of Benjamin’s men, or even his secretary, she saw the man himself on the other side, waiting for her.

  Benjamin’s dark eyes widened slightly as he took her in, and Claire felt her cheeks warming up. “I was just finishing getting ready,” she said, not sure why she was suddenly acting so coy around him. They’d seen each other naked—and in multiple positions—and she’d known him for weeks. Why should she feel shy?

  “You look perfect,” Benjamin said, with a slight smile.

  “So do you,” Claire told him, feeling the heat in her cheeks intensify.

  Benjamin looked every bit as flawless as she did. In a tailored suit with slightly wide lapels, he somehow had the air of a swaggering gambler and of a demanding, precise executive, all at the same time. His brown hair was combed and arranged neatly, his face was clean-shaven, and Claire thought absently that he might even have gotten a manicure—his nails looked more groomed than she could remember them being before, with the kind of dull gleam that came from being properly buffed.

  “You’re ready for this meeting, right?”

  Claire mentally checked off her list of what she needed to do for the meeting with Benjamin: she had the details in her mind, she was dressed, her hair and makeup were done, and she had her shoes on.

  “Totally ready,” Claire said, giving him as charming a smile as possible. She wasn’t sure why she felt nervous. True, the meeting was going to be outside of the casino—in fact, it was going to be at another property altogether—but that didn’t seem to be it. It was some combination of the fact that she was going to be at Benjamin’s side for hours without being able to touch him, the knowledge that the level of the meeting was a little higher than usual, and some other factor she couldn’t quite put her finger on. After a slight hesitation, she took a deep breath, checked again to make sure she had her keycard, and followed Benjamin out of her room.

  “You know, you’re doing better in this job than I even expected,” Benjamin observed, sounding casual.

  “Considering it seems to be a partially made-up job, I’m glad to hear it,” Claire said.

  Benjamin chuckled, and they stepped onto the elevator together. She felt her heart beating faster and didn’t know why but made herself take a slow, deep breath to counter the sensation. She knew she looked beautiful—and she knew that Benjamin found her beautiful.

  Together, they would go into the meeting strong, and for the next few hours at least, she was at Benjamin’s disposal, playing a role as someone he worked with, someone to be convinced. She had gotten surprisingly good at it, shocking even herself.

  “So this is, if nothing else, something to cross off my ‘sight-seeing’ list for Vegas,” Claire remarked as Benjamin’s driver, Alan, steered the car in the direction of their proposed meeting site. It was on “neutral” ground, since the people they were meeting with were fellow casino owners; they had chosen Caesars Palace as the venue, since none of the people involved in the meeting owned it.

  According to the dossier that Benjamin’s private investigators had compiled, the management at Caesars was happy to host the meeting between Benjamin and a few other men, at one of their on-site restaurants, because the business to discuss didn’t really cut into what Caesar’s was doing.

  It was supposed to be a cooperative arrangement. Benjamin and the other men at the meeting all owned major casinos, but none of them had done much in the way of top-tier entertainment. The cooperative was going to—hopefully—orchestrate a flow of business between the casinos owned by the various men, making it possible for them to work together instead of competing. It was, Claire thought idly, a bit like the kinds of cooperative endeavors that the Mob had formed in the beginning of Las Vegas’ rise to prominence as a gambling mecca.

  Caesars Palace looked both exactly like Claire had imagined and oddly off-center from her expectations. It was grand to the point of extravagance but somehow smaller than she thought it would be. Following Benjamin’s lead, Claire looked around as nonchalantly as possible, soaking in the beauty of the architecture, the lush plantings, and the almost sinful-feeling water features.

  In the desert, here, water is a major showy emblem of wealth, she thought wryly. It was a trite observation, she knew, but there was still something breathtaking about fountains and lush greenery in a place where cacti struggled, in a place that might only get a handful of inches in rain a year.

  “Mr. Minken? This is your companion, Ms…” Claire pulled herself out of her thoughts and looked straight into the eyes of the woman speaking to them.

  “Ms. Stevenson, I’m Mr. Minken’s associate,” Claire said, keeping her voice polite but firm. She smiled at the made-up redhead in front of her, able to see where the pale-skinned woman’s hand had wavered in applying her eyeliner. It was a little thing, a petty thing, but it amused Claire.

  “Have the rest of our party arrived yet?” Benjamin’s voice was crisp, and Claire thought that the hostess for Nobu was not going to be discr
eetly handed a tip—or at least not a very good one—for her service. It was, after all, the woman’s job to know that Benjamin had an associate joining him, and that person’s name.

  “Three of the gentlemen have arrived,” the woman said, smiling politely. “I believe we’re still waiting on two more.”

  Benjamin nodded. “We’ll chat over drinks while we wait, I’m sure,” Benjamin said, his voice friendly enough.

  “I’ll just show you both to the table, then,” the hostess agreed, and Claire watched her step out from behind the hostess podium. Claire remained in step with Benjamin as the hostess led them through the main dining area and toward a private room where, when they reached the door, she could hear muted, male conversation.

  Once more, she would be the only woman at the table. Claire resisted the temptation to smile. It was both easier and harder that way; the men had a tendency to view her as some exotic arm-candy, which in its own special way made things easier for Benjamin, distracting the people he met with. At the same time, it was harder for Claire to ensure her points were taken seriously—but she was experienced with that. It had been the rule, rather than the exception, throughout her professional life.

  “Ben! Good to see you,” one of the men remarked, rising to his feet as the hostess showed them into the private room. Claire saw the three men spot her as they rose to their feet, taking in her utterly professional attire, and saw the quick calculations of their minds flash across their faces, in their eyes, while they tried to sort out what category of woman she was.

  “This is a business associate of mine, Claire Stevenson,” Benjamin said. “I mentioned she would be joining me this evening.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Stevenson,” one of the men said.

  Claire mentally sized the three up. They were older than Ben—and therefore, older than her—wearing suits that, while high end, she didn’t think were quite as tailored as Benjamin’s. One of the men, whom she identified from pictures she’d seen as Roger Tarkington, was starting to lose the battle to maintain his early adult physique into his middle years; the other two men seemed to be the type who probably hired a private chef, a trainer, and probably a few other people to keep them in the shape they wanted to be in.

  Probably drink lots of kale smoothies and do shots of raw garlic juice, she thought, extending her hand to shake with each man in turn. All three were just as groomed as Benjamin, and Claire was pretty sure that Jon Bevin’s flashy white smile had been accomplished with veneers.

  “What are we drinking?” Benjamin asked.

  “We were just having some sake while we waited for everyone else,” Roger said, seating himself once more.

  Claire took her spot at the table, at Benjamin’s right hand. He glanced at her. “I think we can do the same, don’t you?”

  Claire nodded. She knew she could handle her alcohol, but she also knew that she was going to make sure she didn’t drink too much of it.

  A waiter came into the room with fresh carafes of sake and tiny cups for Claire and Benjamin to drink it out of, and for a few moments Claire let herself relax a bit, soaking up the atmosphere. Being Benjamin’s assistant certainly had afforded her many more opportunities for fine dining—and everything that went with it—than she would have found working her previous job.

  It was a rare day that she didn’t find herself seated, at least once, at either an exclusive private table, or at the very least a restaurant that would have been utterly out of her previous price range.

  The two other casino owners came in, and introductions and greetings interrupted the chatter before everyone settled in once more. Claire had come up with a few questions to ask to maintain her image as a partner in Benjamin’s business, and she began to hint at them as they waited for the waiter to come in to take their orders.

  “Don’t let me have too many of those little cups of sake,” one of the men said. “They’re sneaky—just knock ‘em back and then all of a sudden you’re drunk.” Claire chuckled along with the others.

  The waiter finally came in, and everyone became very interested in their special menus. Claire still hadn’t gotten used to how these wealthy men would rattle off orders of expensive items with no hesitation whatsoever, though she’d tried to duplicate it. As a group, the men decided to pick a few items for everyone to pick from, and Claire chimed in with a few of the things on the menu she really wanted to try, to mingle them in with the other luxurious things being ordered.

  “I’d also love a glass of water to have alongside my sake,” she said to the waiter.

  “I think we could do with a couple of pots of tea, too,” Benjamin suggested, “just to keep things somewhat traditional.”

  “Of course, sir,” the waiter agreed.

  “Why don’t we get started with discussing the most obvious matters first,” Roger said, once the waiter was gone. “We should have a bit of time before anyone comes back in.”

  “I think that makes excellent sense,” Claire said, doing her part.

  “The ultimate question, I think, is how this benefits each of us,” Benjamin began. “We all have the briefs on the cooperative we’re discussing here, of course, but I think we should have a frank answer to how each of us is going to gain from this, before we get into the nitpicky details.” The men around the table nodded.

  “Yeah, let’s make sure that we’re all starting out on the same page, and then go from there,” Nolan said from his position across from Claire. “Because I think if we do this right, all of us are going to be able to get really competitive with some of the larger operations here.”

  “Not that any of us is a small operation,” Jon remarked. Everyone chuckled, and so did Claire. She settled into her role, keeping her questions in mind, and pushing out any thought of her frustration with Benjamin in terms of the chemistry between them. It was time for focus.

  Chapter9

  As they left Caesars Palace, Ben suppressed the urge to reach out and lay his hand against the small of Claire’s back. They had come through the dinner just right, he knew; Claire’s presence had shaken things up a bit, had forced the other men at the table to waver between their professionalism, their business acumen, and their interest in the beautiful woman asking pointed, informed questions about the arrangements they would be making between them. It had been an excellent advantage to have.

  But it had also been difficult for Benjamin to maintain the purely professional demeanor he needed to keep that advantage. If there had been a whisper of an idea among the gathered casino owners that Benjamin had merely brought a girlfriend to the table with him, it would have disrupted the careful power dynamic he had worked so hard to skew in his own favor.

  But as they both climbed into the back seat of the car, Benjamin glanced quickly at Claire. There had been something between them ever since their first night together, something that he had allowed to grow and intensify, waiting for Claire to make an obvious sign to spur him to make a move—to ask him a question along those lines, or to kiss him, or make some other move herself.

  He thought he had seen it in her eyes when she’d answered her door, but there had been no reason to talk about it before the dinner they both had to get through. Sitting in the back seat of the car, though, Benjamin felt that it might be time to act on the tension simmering between them. But he thought, with a little smile for himself, he wasn’t done with the game that they’d been playing since their first dinner together.

  “Feel up to having a drink with me?” Benjamin glanced quickly at the front of the car. Alan had the divider up—there was privacy.

  “Sure,” Claire said, smiling slightly.

  Benjamin could see from the slight—almost unnoticeable—shift in her hips and the way that her lips curved, that she was at least a little bit more than casually interested. He was fairly certain that she was as on-edge as he was, or at least close to the same level; there had been moments between them, for the two weeks they’d been working together, when Benjamin had
thought that Claire was right on the point of making a move—or asking him to. He shifted a bit closer to her on the seat, without calling attention to himself.

  “I think that went well, all things considered,” he observed.

  “Yeah, I think that the final agreement will be good,” Claire agreed.

  Benjamin could almost feel the tension vibrating between them, but he knew that for the time being, at least, he needed to keep things professional. He could almost picture himself reaching out, touching her knee, feeling her leg shift in reaction, moving closer to him. He could almost feel the smoothness of her knee under his hand. He pushed the thought out of his mind for the moment and kept up the banter, remarking on how well Claire had handled herself, how good the questions had been.

  They were back at the Halston within twenty minutes, and Benjamin helped Claire out of the car, giving Alan a nod to thank him for his good work. “Why don’t we go up to my room, instead of hitting the bar here?” he said, noting the quick, almost suspicious look Claire gave him and the color that lit up her cheeks.

  “Sounds good,” she said. “I’ve just about met my tolerance level for crowds right now, anyway.”

  Benjamin chuckled. Of course, he thought, they both knew that inviting her to his room was a pretext; the drink was a pretext. He wanted to get her alone. He wouldn’t force himself on her, and he wouldn’t make a move unless he got a clear signal from her, but he wanted to have Claire to himself for a little while, outside of the work they were doing together.

  They made their way across the lobby and onto the elevator that would only work for Benjamin and a select few, Claire included, and Benjamin considered his approach. How he would, as his friends still sometimes liked to call it, “seal the deal”? Claire seemed to be on the verge of asking him to make a move on her, asking him to do something—to kiss her, to have sex with her again—but if there was one thing that Benjamin had prized from their first night together, it was the fact that her pride was strong. She didn’t like asking for what she wanted, giving him the option to not give it to her.