Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I suck in a deep breath, glancing at the bed. I understand what he’s saying, and I can’t deny it makes some sense—I’m not exactly the best actress in the world. If sleeping next to him might make our lives easier in public, then it might be worth the initial awkward inconvenience.
But I’ve never slept with a man before. Not just never had sex with but also never slept in the same bed.
Now I’m supposed to somehow find a way to undress, put on my pajamas, do something extremely intimate and vulnerable with a total freaking stranger.
No, not a stranger—with Adler Costa, an intimidating asshole, a gorgeous specimen of a human being, and a selfish prick.
“This isn’t easy for me,” I say after a pause. “It’s all so new.”
“I acknowledge that. What will help?”
“You can stop being such an aggressive dick for starters.”
“We both know that won’t happen, so you should get used to it.” He comes toward me again. “What can I do to make you more comfortable, my new wife?”
“Stop calling me your wife,” I mutter then grimace. “I don’t know, okay?”
“I’ll have your things brought in here. Do you want to put them in drawers and in the closet, or should my people do it for you?”
“They can do it.”
“That’s fine.” He sits on the end of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look so tired. “I’ll also have a ring sent up. Since you’re my wife, you’ll need to look the part.”
“What about my job?”
He glances back. “My wife can’t deal blackjack.”
“We agreed that I could keep my job.” I stay very still, trying to keep myself calm.
“Yes, we did, after we divorce. I never said anything about during our marriage.”
I shake my head, feeling like I’m about to tumble off a cliff. “Please don’t take that away from me.”
“You want to work long shifts? Isn’t it uncomfortable for you?”
“I love working,” I say, hating my pleading tone. “I love the floor. My best friends work down there. It’s just—” I stop talking. How the hell could he ever understand? What I’m on the Sunrise’s floor, I’m free. That seems strange, counterintuitive, but it’s the truth. I’m free and doing something that matters, bringing joy to people.
“How about this. I’ll be flexible and allow you to keep working your shifts, if you agree to be flexible and sleep in bed with me tonight.”
I bite my lip. It’s not exactly ideal, but it’s a start.
“Fine,” I say. “We can do that.”
“Good.” He stands. “Get yourself acclimated to the apartment. Everything in here is yours, and if you need something else, dial star-nine on any house phone and room service will bring up anything you need. From now on, you have total freedom in this hotel.”
“I won’t be charged for drinks?”
He smiles at that. “You’re my wife. If you want to smash a bottle of expensive wine on the craps table, they’ll ask you which bottle and what table. The Sunrise is now yours.”
He walks off, leaving me stunned and trying to process how drastically my world just changed.
Chapter 12
Casey
I can feel the stares on my skin.
It’s not so bad at first. A few whispers here, a few turned heads there, but nothing too unusual. I’m used to getting glances and looks because of my limp, and at first, it barely registers.
But then I’m assigned to a table. Big Dan seems annoyed about it. “Just keep your head down, all right?” he asks as if I’m running around screaming during my work shift normally.
“Sure, Dan,” I say, bewildered. He’s usually a pretty jovial guy, lots of loud laughs, lots of high-fives, but right now he’s glaring at me like I just shit on his floor.
It looks like he wants to say more, but he only grunts and waves my away.
I step into my rotation and take over a blackjack table. If there are a few more looks, even more whispers, it’s not that big of a deal, right? Probably something happened on the floor earlier and everyone’s talking about it.
It doesn’t have anything to do with me.
I deal, blissfully unaware. I have a full table and it keeps my attention dialed in on the game in front of me. This is what I love the most about my job: when I’m doing it, the rest of the world disappears.
I know it’s gambling. I’m not saving the world, feeding starving orphans, housing the homeless, nothing like that. I’m just a piece of machinery in the vast system of money that flows through the casino on any given afternoon.
But it feels like purpose. For the time I’m dealing, I don’t have any other worries.
I don’t have to think about my father, out of work for nearly a decade now with horrible back pain. Or my mother, working her ass off to help support the family, taking double shifts constantly despite her age. Or my shithead brother, always one step away from getting himself killed.