For Morrison Caldwell, life is a game of chance. A high roller with a legendary poker face, he's the wild card of the family, always chasing the next thrill and never staying put for long. The one place that always lures him back is Las Vegas, with its hot tables and even hotter women. He's perfectly content to live his life as a series of one-night stands. But when a parking lot confrontation with a cocktail waitress takes a naughty turn, she leaves Morrison aching for another round.
After a long losing streak in Sin City, Hailey Poe is ready to get lucky. A steamy tryst with a cocky, mysterious stranger is the kind of no-strings encounter she's been craving . . . until Morrison Caldwell asks for more than she's willing to offer. But when Hailey's controlling, soon-to-be ex-husband tries to take her daughter away, she can't afford to turn down a helping hand. In this winner-takes-all game, Morrison is gambling with Hailey's life-and her heart.
Contains mature themes.
Release date:
December 1, 2015
Publisher:
Loveswept
Print pages:
210
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Suit-wearing, slick-talking, snake-in-the-grass bastards. All of them! This is temporary, only a job. Moment by moment, I just have to get through another day.
My feet ache with every step my high-heeled, covered toes have to take while I pull down on my skirt.
Sleazy cocktail waitress uniform. These assholes think it’s made for easy access. They also think they can touch me wherever and however they want so I can earn my tips.
One day, this will be a mere memory. For now, I have to keep working the casino. This is a means to an end. Thankfully, it is one that pays well, but it damn sure isn’t easy. I can’t let it get me down, though.
Eye on the prize. Get the contacts and get in the underground games. Play a tournament.
Win.
Repay debt. Be done. Resume life.
Momma always said, “The boys won’t like it if you beat ’em, Hailey Sue. You gotta hustle harder, play smarter, and tip the right man off. Know your place, darlin’.”
“Yeah, Momma, how’d that work out for you?” I mutter to the dry Vegas air around me. Then I blow out a frustrated breath as I make my way to my car.
You have got to be kidding me right now!
The minute I think this night can’t possibly get any longer, it damn sure does. One of these entitled dicks has parked his car behind mine, blocking me in with no way out. I am sure his Porsche won’t look so good when I leave the imprint of my little Nissan hatchback’s bumper in the passenger door.
Going over to my car, I unlock the door manually, since the keyless entry no longer works. Annoyance consumes me as I step out of my heels and let my feet hit the gravel beneath me. At this point, I don’t care how dirty it is—my feet hurt, my life is a complete mess, and tonight has been never-ending.
I toss my purse into the back as I reach in to grab my duffel bag. Opening it up, I put some sweats on over my skirt, grab an old T-shirt, and cover my pushed-up, barely covered tatas, then start pulling the pins out of my hair. Once I free my locks from their fancy updo, I quickly throw it all up in a messy bun on top of my head.
Glamorous, I am not.
Once I have adjusted my look from work life to real life, I wait.
Impatiently, I wait.
If this guy is in a tournament and winning, I could be here all damn morning. Making my way over to the car impeding my escape, I run my manicured finger over the edge of the beauty.
One day, I will be just like these entitled dicks. One day, I will park my car wherever the hell I please without any regard for its being towed, hit, or stolen.
Must be nice to not care about losing a hundred grand.
I wish money was all that was at stake for me. But some of us can’t be so lucky, can we?
I’m tapping my finger on the trunk when I hear a whistle behind me.
“Get your damn hands off my ride!” A suit-wearing prick comes running over, muttering something about not having his usual valet guy.
Well, la-dee-da, park your own car and you won’t have to worry about which valet guy stowed your ride in the wrong place.
“Oh, what’s wrong? Afraid you might get a little dirt on ‘precious’ here? We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” I mock him, wiggling a finger in the air before bringing it back down onto the car. The acrylic on my nails does nothing to remotely scratch the clear coat of the vehicle, but it does make the asshole move faster.
“Are you batshit crazy? That car cost more than some people’s houses.”
“Crazy? Nope. Pissed off? You betcha.”
He looks at me, tilting his head to the side as if he is truly studying me. Then his hand comes up to his chest in mock pain.
“Pissed at me? Why would you be pissed at me, babe?”
“‘Babe’— ‘Babe.’ Do I look like a pig to you?” I look down at my ripped sweats and college shirt, then raise my hand to ward off his response. I do look like a pig. And bottom line, I can’t risk being at war with any underground players, so it’s time to swallow my pride yet again. “Don’t answer that. I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”
I extend my hand to him and put myself in the sweet zone as best I can. “I’m Hailey. I work inside and just got off. I came outside, ready to go home . . . only, you seem to have blocked me in.” I can be sweet at least long enough for him to say something stupid or move his car. I hope he can shut up and we can both move on.
His eyes dance in humor as he takes my hand in his, giving me a firm handshake. “Call me Caldwell.”
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