Chapter 2 Mae #2
Three shots ago, I tried to pry some details about the mysterious job Dexter wants to hire me to do.
His response? A casual grin and a wave of his hand, insisting it was far too sensitive to discuss here, in the noisy chaos of the casino.
“Not now,” he’d said, topping off my glass of champagne like it was his life’s purpose.
Instead of answers, I got more booze, a toast to my “freshly single and free” status, and encouragement to let loose and enjoy myself in the meantime.
And I have.
I’ve done shots with his massive linebacker friends and their glamorous, impossibly put-together girlfriends and side-chicks.
I’ve laughed at jokes I didn’t fully understand and let the music drown out the gnawing, familiar voice in my head—the one that reminds me of all the things that I should be worrying about like bills, the laundry piled up in my apartment, how I’m going to make it through this month when I just quit my job and only have five-hundred dollars in my savings account.
For the first time in years, I’ve allowed myself to stop thinking about survival. No spreadsheets full of overdue bills. No cold sweats about next month's rent or student loan payments. No constant vigilance to keep Elsie safe, healthy, and happy.
Tonight, it’s just me.
Me, champagne, and the realization of how much I’ve let myself fall apart these past few years.
My nails are chipped, my hair desperately needs a trim, and I’ve lost ten pounds of muscle and fat that I didn’t have to spare.
Survival mode has a way of hollowing you out, of stealing more than just your sleep and peace of mind.
It takes pieces of you. But tonight, Elsie is safe at home with Sienna, and I’m betting on myself.
Betting on the fact that this is going to break my cycle of living in struggle.
I’m dancing in a room filled with people who likely couldn’t understand my life if they tried.
Dexter sits back on one of the plush velvet couches, a champagne flute dangling from his fingers as he watches me with that impossibly big, self-assured grin.
It’s the kind of smile that feels like sunshine on a stormy day—warm, effortless, and dangerously contagious.
He doesn’t say a word, just leans back and watches me flail like some lunatic who’s forgotten the weight of the world she carries every single day.
And for tonight, I have. For once, I’m letting someone else take care of things and it feels damn good.
Letting the champagne and dim lighting blur the edges of my worries.
I’ll figure it all out tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to breathe, even if it’s in between drunken, clumsy dance moves under Dexter’s amused gaze.
"You know, I've always wanted to come up here and see this section for myself. I'm glad that the first time I'm experiencing it is as a guest and not an employee," I shout at him over the loud music.
"You deserve a lot more than a few shots and bottle service for what your ex put you through."
I smile and knock back another shot before jumping up to dance on the velvet couch in my bare feet.
By the time 2 AM finally rolls around, even Dexter, a guy with well over two hundred pounds of pure muscle, is teetering on the edge of oblivion after finally joining me in drinking. And finally, he gives in to my demands to know what he's hired me for.
“Let’s go up to my suite. I’ll tell you there,” he responds as I cling to his bicep, laughing harder than I have in years.
Even in my drunken state, I know that sounds like a risky idea.
I haven’t been with a man in a long time, and I’m not sure I want my first time being a one-night stand with a guy who’s holding more power over me than I’m willing to admit just yet.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I shout a little too loudly. Thankfully, his friends are all distracted or have already headed back to their rooms with their girls for the night.
He laughs easily. “I wasn't expecting that. The suite has two rooms. Sleep off the alcohol, and we’ll talk in the morning. I'm afraid if I let you out of my sight, you'll chicken out and disappear on me.”
I shrug, feeling like I don’t have a choice.
I’ve just impulsively and unprofessionally quit the only job I have while trying to scrape by and study for the Bar exam.
What am I supposed to do? Go home and stare at the ceiling all night, worrying about how I’m going to make ends meet?
Besides, Sienna had already planned to stay the night at my apartment with Elsie.
Checking the time confirms that they are both peacefully asleep and the last text from her three hours ago confirmed that.
Outside, a sleek black town car idles at the curb, its driver standing at attention.
Without hesitation, Dexter opens the door for me, his easy confidence making me feel like this isn’t some reckless leap into the unknown and I’m doing the right thing.
The short ride to the hotel is quiet, except for the hum of the engine and the pounding of my pulse.
When we pull up to the entrance, my breath catches. This isn’t just a hotel he’s staying it—it is the hotel. The kind I’ve only seen in the glossy pages of Ritzy Living Magazine, a backdrop for celebrity scandals and red-carpet interviews.
Dexter climbs out first, casually pulling a baseball cap low over his face to shield himself from prying eyes.
Meanwhile, I bolt for the entrance, painfully aware of the fact that I’m still wearing my skimpy Cypress Palace uniform—a little black dress that had seemed barely tolerable under the dim casino lights but now feels outright scandalous under the pristine, glittering chandeliers of this place.
Once inside, I stick close to Dexter, who maneuvers through the lobby with the kind of practiced ease that only comes from living a life where this sort of luxury is routine.
My eyes dart around, half expecting paparazzi to leap out from behind a plant, but thankfully, no one seems to pay us any attention.
When we step into the elevator, Dexter reaches out and presses a button labeled PH, its golden letters glowing against the smooth black panel.
Penthouse. Of course.
I lean back against the cool, elevator wall, stealing a glance at Dexter, who stands with his hands in his pockets, relaxed and unreadable. Meanwhile, my nerves buzz like static, my thoughts racing as the numbers continue to tick higher.
“The penthouse?” I ask.
He smirks. “Winning the Super Bowl has its perks.”
When we reach the top floor, all the lights are turned off. Dexter moves to switch one on, but I stop him. What I need is water, Tylenol, and sleep. I have no idea how I’ll look in the light and am terrified if Dexter sees me right now, he might kick me out with nowhere to go.
“No,” I say, “I just want to go to sleep if that's alright?”
"Of course," he nods and leads me towards the side of the space into one of the bedrooms. “You can sleep in here tonight. Feel free to lock the door if you’re scared, I’m going to come in here,” he grins playfully, and though he’s virtually a stranger, I feel oddly safe staying here alone with him.
“Thanks again for tonight. It was nice to celebrate, but I’m really looking forward to hearing about this big secret you need help with when the morning arrives.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll talk after you sober up. Goodnight, Mae.” He closes the door gently behind me as I flop on to the bed, face down, without even undressing. I’m so exhausted and drunk, my whole body hurts from the night I’ve had and instantly I fall asleep.
By the time I wake up the next morning it’s almost nine o’clock.
“Shit,” I shriek, realizing I’ve slept in. I sit up and rub my eyes while checking my phone. There are no text messages from Sienna, so I punch in her number quickly, my heart racing.
“Hey babe, you alright?” she answers on the second ring, her voice calm and I instantly feel relief wash over me.
“I am. I’m so sorry I didn’t make it home last night.”
She laughs easily like it’s no problem and this is why I know I’ll owe her for life. No matter what Dexter has to offer, I’m bringing Sienna with me. “Don’t worry about it. Did the bossman have you working until now? That’s a bit extreme, even for him, don’t you think?”
I rake a finger through my dark blonde curls.
They catch way too easily which tells me just how knotted my hair is.
I feel disgusting. I need a shower and a good brush of my teeth.
“No, it’s a long story, but I’ll tell you when I get home.
Is there any chance you can stay there with Elsie for a little longer? Like another two hours?”
“Of course! We’re making pancakes and then planning on going to the park. Take all the time you need.”
We say our goodbyes, and I let out a breath of relief.
I never spend time away from Elsie—not more than necessary, anyway.
Our mornings and days are spent together to avoid daycare costs, and my nights are at work, four days a week, where Sienna steps in like the saint she is, handling dinner and bedtime when I can’t be there.
It’s the only way I’ve managed to keep things together, and not miss out on only a few hours of her life before she falls asleep at night. I know I owe it all to her generosity.
Someday, I’ll pay her back.
With that thought anchoring me, I run my fingers through my hair, tugging out the tangles as best I can, then smooth down my Cypress Palace uniform, the fabric still clinging to me after hours of work, drinking and dancing last night.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror and cringe.
My mascara is smudged, leaving me looking more like a raccoon than someone about to discuss a mysterious job offer.
I grab a tissue and swipe at the streaks until I look somewhat presentable.
Not that it matters much I still feel a wreck.
Satisfied—or at least resigned—I head out into the suite’s living room, my bare feet slapping softly against the marble floor. Dexter’s already awake, sprawled across the oversized C-shaped couch like he owns the place because well, maybe he does.
The TV is on, tuned to a news channel replaying highlights from his team’s Super Bowl win.
There’s a faint smile on his face, his hand idly resting on his chest. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a fitted white T-shirt that clings to his body like a second skin, showcasing his chiseled abs and broad shoulders.
My gaze flickers down—unintentionally, I swear—and catches on the undeniable outline of his cock pressing against his sweatpants. Heat rushes to my face, and I immediately snap my eyes back up, focusing on the screen as if my life depends on it.
Oh...
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he calls without looking up. "How are you feeling today?"
"Like shit." I plop down on the couch a healthy distance away from him, tucking my legs underneath my butt. “I never drink anymore.”
I’m sure I look even more of a mess in the daylight that’s streaming through the massive floor to ceiling windows in his suite, but I’m not here to impress Dexter.
I've quit my job, spent the night away from my daughter, and am now on borrowed time before I need to get back home to her and resume my real life. I’m here to find out if he’s serious about the job he has for me or if I’ve just jeopardized my only source of income and need to go beg Frank for my position back.
Under different circumstances, I might have been intimidated—sitting next to the Miami Waves’ quarterback, tall, handsome, and brooding, a multimillionaire known among women for being very well endowed and very generous. I should probably be swooning, but instead, I’m a bottle full of nerves.
“Okay, so tell me about this job you need help with,” I say, trying to cut straight to business.
“Can we at least have breakfast first?” He gestures to the table in front of him, filled with some of the most delectable room service items I’ve ever seen.
Croissants, doughnuts, and loads of exotic looking fruit dot the tray.
My stomach growls on command as I grab a banana, tear it open aggressively, and take a big bite.
I’m taking a to-go box of this stuff home for Sienna and Elsie when we’re doing here.
“See, I’m eating. Now talk. I don’t have a lot of time.”
His eyes drop to my lips as he watches me chew. I can tell, even in my deranged and very hungover state, he’s thinking about a different banana being in my mouth and truthfully, so am I.
“Don’t get sidetracked,” I say, pointing the banana directly in his face.
He lowers the banana slowly with one of his large hands and shoots me a devilish smirk that causes men to obey and women to say yes to anything he asks. “Can’t help it. I’m alone with a beautiful woman in my suite. I’m not used to being turned down.”
My skin flushes as I shake my head. “Be professional.”
He chuckles, deep and darkly as his shoulders shakes and his smile widens. Then he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and releases it slowly through pursed lips.
Suddenly, it dawns on me that the reason he's been stalling all night is that whatever he needs to tell me is eating him up inside.
He'd been clear about not feeling comfortable sharing this with even the largest, most secure public relations firms yet here he is, about to unload it all on little, unknown, me.
My stomach churns violently despite it being empty as I try to think what it could be but before I can register what’s happening, I’m vomiting all over the pristine, white couch.