Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
The redhead sighs, shakes her head. “This town is going to chew you up and spit you right back out, isn’t it? Poor baby.”
With that, the elevator door swishes open, moving sleekly like everything else in this establishment. Faye gives me a firm push and I’m suddenly standing in the gleaming gray marble elevator, Sinatra echoing in the small space, my knees starting to wobble. The last thing I see before the doors close again is Faye’s thumbs up—and then I’m off. Flying up to the very top floor to the executive offices.
I stare back at my pale reflection in the mirrored walls and take a deep breath.
My makeup is amateurish, but it’s the best I could manage, never having applied the stuff before. My clothes are second, maybe thirdhand. I’m more out of place than a cow in the pigpen. But I’m not going back to the farm. I refuse to be imprisoned ever again. Or smacked around and verbally abused. I can’t go back to that. I need to start making money before my tiny stash of cash runs out. I need this job. Terribly.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to get it.
Chapter Two
Locke
“No way. I don’t interview waitresses.”
My colleague, Craig, jogs to catch up with me as I march down the carpeted hallway between offices. “Please. I’ve got a staffing issue tonight I’ve got to deal with. Just ask the girl a few questions, make sure she’s got a nice ass and send her off to HR to do paperwork.”
“No.”
“God, you are such an asshole,” he laughs, but there’s frustration beneath the sound.
So be it. I’m not here to make friends. In fact, in my position as a pit boss on the casino floor, I’m better off not having friends. I’m here to make sure cash flows the right direction and every cent of it is accounted for. I’m here to monitor gamblers and dealers, to make sure no one is trying to steal from the house. That’s my profession, I’m damn good at it. And interviewing waitresses is not in the job description.
Besides, there are rumors about how Craig likes to “interview” the girls and I want no part of that vile behavior. I witness more than enough debauchery throughout my nights in the pit to add anything new. I cleanse my mind of those impurities at church every morning and start fresh each evening. Once upon a time, I was going to be a priest and that mindset hasn’t deserted me. Perhaps The Palace isn’t ideal for someone who is trying to live a pious existence, but there’s a method to my madness.
Or a reason for it, rather.
“I’ve never asked you for anything, man. Please. Five minutes of your precious time.” I walk into the employee check-in room with Craig hot on my heels. There is a row of men in suits and earpieces that scan my badge and officially put me on the clock. To my right, there is a wall of television screens that monitor different parts of the casino. This is only a small sampling of the surveillance that goes on, but that operation is on another floor.
“I don’t have five minutes,” I rumble. “My shift is starting soon.”
“Yeah, yeah. And you’re never late.” Craig massages the bridge of his nose. “Never late, never has a drink. Never partakes in anything Vegas has to offer, including women—” Something catches his eye on one of the monitors and he drifts toward it, entranced. “On second thought, I think I’ll make time for this interview.”
I’m not sure why I look.
Women are an afterthought for me. They’re customers. Employees. I don’t think of them as sexual objects, because I’m not an immoral snake, like Craig. In fact, most of the time, I’m completely unaware of them. But for some reason, I look at the monitor…
And my muscles stiffen into concrete.
In seconds, the pulse points in my wrists and throat are thrumming rapidly and I’m sweating underneath my suit. Who is that?
Before I register my own movements, I’m stepping into the space beside Craig at the monitor, inhaling the sight of her, my dick already beginning to grow heavier against my will.
She’s a thing of beauty.
Plucked straight from the painting on the ceiling of my church. A golden-haired angel. There is something blatantly pure about her. Vulnerability radiates from every inch of this girl, even though her body…
Oh dear God, her body is designed for sin.
Dark, secret kinds of sins that people don’t speak about out loud.
It’s the exact opposite of her innocent face.
I’m a large man, tall and wide and thick. I would crush her to death, yet I can’t seem to stop my mind from picturing myself between her thighs. Just pulling her skirt up and rutting. Her big, fathomless eyes blink up at me, telling me it hurts.