Chapter 1 Mae #2
“You’re crazy, you know that, Mae?” the bartender says with a laugh as I slap the tray onto the counter.
“About to be crazy rich from hustling every drunk asshole who thinks they can put their hands on me in here,” I fire back, grabbing a rag to wipe the condensation from my tray.
She smirks, leaning on the counter. “Just don’t let Frank catch you pulling that. He’ll lose his shit if he thinks you’re scaring off customers by taking their money.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. Those idiots aren’t leaving just because I schooled them. If anything, they’re staying longer to keep staring at my ass because they think I’ll put out.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “Your ass and your tits. Honestly, those things deserve their own billboard.”
With a mock-serious expression, I push my chest out, wiggling my eyebrows in a way I’m sure makes me look ridiculous.
She bursts into laughter, and for a second, I forget how much I hate working at this place.
Then a deep voice cuts through our playful banter, smooth and commanding enough to send a shiver skittering down my spine.
“Where’d you learn to play like that?”
I turn, raising a brow as I take in the man sitting three barstools down.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and dangerously handsome, he’s got the kind of presence that could stop a freight train, and I wonder what he does for a living.
Chestnut-brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a grin so sharp and white it could blind someone.
Prince Charming in a perfectly tailored gray suit, with shoes that probably cost more than my rent, and a body that looks like it spends its free time bench-pressing other gym rats. He must be an athlete.
“Just worked here too damn long,” I say, evading the question and looking away. Because the last thing I need is for one of Frank’s little spies he has positioned around the casino to catch wind of me hustling some of his patrons on the clock.
“Dexter,” he says back, grinning and stretching out his hand. “I like your style.”
I hesitate but then place my hand in his for a shake. “You don’t know me enough to say that, but I’m Mae. And by style, do you mean conning a group of drunk pricks out of their money?”
He nods. “You’re funny. Usually, when someone’s as witty, bold, and snappy as you are, they’ve been through some shit and don't have much to lose. What’s your story?”
I can appreciate that Dexter doesn’t ask me the dreaded question: Why are you working as a waitress at a casino?
It’s always loaded, like there’s some higher purpose I should be chasing or something inherently wrong with this job.
I’ve always hated that question. It comes with a patronizing undertone, as if people in service roles are somehow worth less than those behind desks or in hard hats.
When I first started working here, it didn’t take long to realize just how many people look down on servers and bartenders.
It stung in the beginning because it forced me to confront something uncomfortable: I’d been that person once.
Growing up as a Beaumont, I was raised to view jobs like these as beneath me, the kind of work you do when you have no other option.
It's funny how life has a way of humbling you when you view people that way.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what’s likely coming next.
I’ve gotten used to drunk men hitting on me, and I’ve got a script ready for situations like this.
But as I glance at Dexter again, there’s something different in his eyes.
For one, he’s not drunk. That’s rare around here.
And for two, it feels like he’s genuinely curious—like he actually wants to know more about me, not just what’s under my skimpy uniform.
Why not? Let’s tell someone the truth for once. It might even be cheaper than the therapy I had to quit after my parents dropped me from their insurance. I straighten my posture, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear as I meet his gaze.
“Alright,” I say, leaning slightly on the bar.
“Here’s the short version. I met a football player in college when I was nineteen.
It was one of those whirlwind, bad-decision kind of nights.
I got pregnant the same night that we met.
My parents, being the fine, upstanding members of the Texan, Beaumont dynasty, demanded I marry him or risk getting cut off financially.
I did. Baby was born and I realized quickly that I’d married a controlling asshole with a violent streak who likes to cheat.
He got banned from the NFL for drug violations, which only made things worse.
When I finally got the courage to leave, he tried to ruin my life, both financially and emotionally before he disappeared.
So, I divorced him, changed my last name to cut ties with both my family and him, packed up what little I had, and moved to Vegas.
Now, I’m finishing my law degree, working here to pay the bills, and raising my four-year-old daughter. ”
I take a deep breath. "My divorce was finalized just last week, and I was supposed to be celebrating tonight with my best friend and daughter back at my apartment. Instead, I’m here working and putting up with creeps like him, celebrating weddings while their future wives remain oblivious to their soon-to-be husbands’ cheating ways. ”
I exhale, the weight of my own words surprising me. I can’t remember the last time I laid it all out like that to a stranger. Maybe I never have.
Dexter’s expression doesn’t shift into pity or discomfort and I’m grateful for that.
His piercing blue eyes remain locked on mine, steady and thoughtful, like he’s absorbing every word without judgment.
Damn did it feel good to unload all of that.
When my eyes meet his cool, blue ones again, his reaction catches me completely off guard.
He leans forward, pushes a lock of my blonde hair from my cheek and then tucks it gently behind my ear.
“I like you. I knew you were strong. Sometimes, you need to go through some shit before you realize your worth and finally become who you're meant to be. An easy life isn't one that builds character. Wouldn’t you say?”
My lips part slightly as I stare at him, trying to process his words. I'd been anticipating him making up an excuse to get as far away as possible from me and the drama that surrounds me and my problems. Instead, he just blew my mind by showing he understands. He’s seen some shit too.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
He nods. “Let’s go. I have a suite in the VIP section upstairs with a bottle that has your name on it. You deserve a night out to properly celebrate the end of your shit marriage.” He hops off the bar stool and grips my hand in his, but I quickly yank it back.
“Uh… did you miss the part where I told you that I work here?” I gesture down to my short black skirt and low-cut, V-neck tank top with the words ‘Cypress’ Palace’ blazoned across my chest.
He shrugs. “Not anymore you don't.”
Um… what?
He smiles. “Shit, sorry. You said you had a controlling ex, and here I am, being all alpha male and controlling. Let me explain why you no longer want to work here. I’m a professional athlete and I have a job for you.
One that will pay a hell of a lot better than whatever this place full of drunken idiots harassing you pays. ”
I fold my arms across my chest, adopting a protective stance. “I don’t think so. I’m not into the whole dom/sub thing.”
Dexter tosses his head back in laughter, the sound a deep throaty noise that reverberates through my body. It's been a while since I've been with a man and that laugh, with his looks has me considering changing that tonight despite whatever crazy job he has.
“I'm not looking for a sub, and even if I were, I don't see you as the submissive type. I need your help, and with your negotiation skills, educational background, and general overall grit and determination, I think you can help me, and I can help you.”
I stand firmly rooted in place. “I’m not a lawyer yet. I haven’t passed the bar. If this is something legal-related, I can’t help you.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t need a lawyer. I need a publicist.”
I hesitate. “I’m not sure what that is, but I’m not that either.”
“Not yet, you aren’t. Come on, stop being so stubborn, Mae. Save all that stubbornness and sassiness for the job I need you to do. I promise, I'll make it worth it. Financially.”
I hesitate, glancing back at the bar where drinks are stacking up for the table of men I should be serving—then back to Dexter. Tall, broad, devastatingly handsome Dexter. His watch glints under the lights, encrusted with diamonds, a silent promise that money is no issue for him.
Quitting my job on a whim is reckless. Dangerous, even. The old Mae would never. But the old Mae played it safe and got nowhere. The new Mae takes risks. She bets on herself—just like she did when she hustled those men out of their money.
I’m tired of scraping by, sick of this dead-end job and the endless cycle of barely making rent.
I’m doing my best, but my best isn’t enough—not for me, not for Elsie.
This past year has been nothing but a fight: feeding my daughter, keeping my car from falling apart, finding a roof to sleep under. Survival.
I’m done just surviving. It’s time to start thriving.
At what point is good Karma going to come to me for doing the right thing by leaving Vance despite knowing I’d lose my parent’s financial support? Maybe, this is my reward for the last four years of hell that I’ve endured.
“It’s nothing illegal?” I ask.
He shakes his head no. “Completely legal.”
I sigh, stash the chips that I'd won in my pockets, strip off my apron and throw it on the ground in a mock touch-down celebration.
“I don’t know what kind of athlete you are, but it better be football, the NFL, and you better be the highest paid player in the league.”
Dexter laughs again, then takes my hand in his and guides me toward the elevator to the second floor of the club.