Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
PRESLEY
Thanks to a holistic guru at the spa and the detox massage she gave me, I wake up feeling pretty damn good despite the copious amounts of alcohol I drank the day before.
Or should I be thanking Hollis? Because even though the spa said it was “their treat,” I have my doubts. At the pool, I remember handing over the phone to the bartender and seeing the color drain from his face.
Whatever Hollis said to him apparently had him shaking in his boots because as soon as he was done, that guy got on the phone and suddenly I was being treated like a celebrity with VIP status.
I don’t even want to know what Hollis threatened him with…or why.
But I enjoyed the day regardless.
Someone from the spa came up and escorted me back to my room, where they brought me lunch and a strong pot of coffee. After I ate a bit and had some caffeine in my stomach, the alcohol started to wear off, and I was taken away for a full day of spa treatments.
It was divine.
I was so relaxed by the end that I did something a bit reckless. I could blame it on the glass of champagne, but after the morning I had, I barely took two sips.
No, I was pretty damn clear-headed when I flipped the camera around, snapped a picture of myself, and sent it to Hollis with a single word attached. Thanks.
Was I hoping he would acknowledge the picture? Tell me how beautiful I’d become? Maybe. But all I got in return was, “Glad you’re feeling better.”
And I was—feeling better, that is. Until about five minutes ago, when I woke up and realized I’m officially thirty, single, and completely alone.
Best birthday ever.
I throw off the covers and sit up in bed. The room is still covered in darkness because of the curtains I pulled shut last night, so I force myself out of bed to open them.
The strip is already fairly busy with young families and locals trying to get to their shifts on time. I’ve been here for two days already, and I have yet to actually explore any of Vegas.
At least anything beyond the casino and pool in my hotel.
To say I’ve been sulking is an understatement.
It’s not the breakup bothering me. I’ve been over that for weeks. It’s the betrayal and my total lack of judgment that made me blind from the very beginning. Now the bar—our family’s bar—will suffer, all because I fell for the wrong guy.
Moisture coats my cheek, and I lift my hand, only to realize I’m crying. “Ugh, not again,” I say to myself. I’ve lost count of the tears I’ve shed since I broke up with—and fired—Jace.
I should have called the cops the second I saw that video feed.
Instead, I just pulled him into my office, showed him the video of him slipping that cash into his pocket, and told him to get the hell out. I should have known something was up when he didn’t even bother arguing and just grabbed his stuff and bailed.
I thought that would be the last time I’d ever have to deal with Jace Vaughn.
Two weeks later, he proved me wrong.
Now I’m here, drowning my sorrows, trying to figure out how I’m going to pull the bar out of this mess—without my family finding out.
Because the last thing I need is my parents finding out how close the bar is to closing because I didn’t listen when they all warned me what an absolute jerk my boyfriend was.
Moving forward, there’ll be absolutely no confusion about who the family fuckup is. Thanks, Jace.
“Happy fucking birthday to me,” I mutter, wiping away the rest of my tears as I head to the shower.
Thirty minutes later, my hair is washed and blown dry, and I stand in front of my suitcase and reach for a floral sundress, hoping it will improve my mood. It’s not my typical attire, but Vegas isn’t my typical scene either.
Here’s to hoping both will improve my mood.
The thin fabric feels light and airy as it slips over my skin, and the bodice offers just enough support so I can ditch my bra for the day. Always a win in my opinion.
I check myself out in the mirror and give myself a nod of approval.
I somehow managed to avoid a sunburn yesterday, but I am rocking a gorgeous new tan, which helps make my long legs look endless.
Not bad, Pres.
Just as I’m about to order room service, my phone starts to vibrate on the nightstand next to the bed. When I pick it up, I see Hollis’s name flash across the screen. It’s barely nine in the morning here.
“Someone’s up early,” I say in greeting, unable to hide the grin that spreads across my face.
“I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Well, you are. Or at least you will be.”
He chuckles. “Happy thirtieth birthday, Pres.”
Chills race up my spine at the sound of my name on his lips. “Thank you.”
“Hey, I have a surprise for you.”
“Another one? ’Cause I know you paid for that spa day, Hollis Beck.”
“I plead the Fifth,” he says with another laugh. “Besides, you deserved it.”
“And I deserve this one too?”
“I don’t know. You may want to send it back once you find out what it is,” he says playfully, though I can sense a hint of nervousness behind his words.
What did he get me that’s got him so anxious?
“Anyway, it’s, uh…rather large. So you’ll need to go down to the lobby to pick it up.”
“It’s here? In my hotel?”
“Well, yeah. How else was I supposed to make sure it arrived on time?”
Once again, I am dumbstruck by his thoughtfulness. The only men I know who do such sweet things like this are fictional. “But you didn’t know I was here until yesterday.”
“I’m not following, Pres. They do deliver in Vegas, yes?”
“Yes,” I reply, my cheeks flushing. “It’s just…it must have cost you a fortune.”
Plus, the cost of the spa day he still refuses to admit to paying for…
“Someone once told me it’s not the cost of the gift that matters, just the thought behind it.”
I smile. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did. It was Christmas morning, and I believe I was staring at a stack of presents that were all addressed to me. I felt so overwhelmed and guilty that I was sure the homemade cinnamon rolls your mom made were about to reappear.”
“Gross.” I laugh.
“Go get your surprise, Pres.”
“Okay. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll be talking to you real soon.”
Before I can say anything in reply, he hangs up, and I’m left staring at my home screen, wondering what he meant by that.
“Maybe he wants me to call him after I pick it up?” I mumble to myself as I grab a pair of sandals and my purse. I threw on a bit of blush and mascara after I did my hair. In this heat, that’s all I can handle. Everything else just melts off.
I double-check my purse for my keycard before heading out and manage to slide into the elevator just before it closes. An elderly couple from Texas greets me and asks where I’m from, and then, when I say LA, they do that thing everyone does—ask if I’ve ever seen any famous people.
I shake my head and lie. Their disappointment is instantaneous.
Do I feel bad lying? Sure, but it’s a lie that protects my brother, so it’s justifiable, right? Besides, I doubt they even know who Manic at Midnight is.
Thankfully, the elevator makes its way down to the lobby quickly, and our conversation is cut short. I give them a polite nod and step out toward the concierge.
But instead, I come to a complete stop.
Standing in the middle of the lobby is Hollis Beck.
I feel a strange sense of déjà vu because, like that first moment I saw him standing in the school hallway or my parents’ kitchen, I feel completely blindsided.
He is still the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
His dark-red hair is longer and curlier than I remember. I would definitely remember those curls. They frame his ruggedly handsome face and piercing green eyes. He looks like something out of a Highlander novel. All he needs is a kilt, a Scottish accent, and a sword because that body is ridiculous.
He definitely wasn’t so…fit in high school.
“You’re here,” I manage to say, somewhat in a daze as I close the gap between us.
“Surprise?” His voice is deeper than it sounds on the phone. Sexier.
“How?” Apparently, seeing him has greatly reduced my vocabulary.
“I took a red eye,” he explains sheepishly with a shrug. It’s adorable, and suddenly I find myself throwing my arms around his shoulders. He grunts in surprise.
“It’s so good to see you.”
His arms wrap around my waist. They’re large and familiar, and I can feel their heat through the thin fabric of my dress. I forgot how tall he is, and because of our height difference, I’m practically using his pec as a pillow.
“It’s good to see you too,” he says softly. “Really good.”
I pull back, suddenly realizing I’ve been clinging to him like we’re reunited lovers, rather than just old friends.
Just friends, I remind myself.
“Um…do you need to check in or something?” I ask awkwardly. “How long are you staying?”
“I already checked in, but I haven’t gone up to my room yet.” He points to the small bag by his feet that I hadn’t even bothered to notice. How could I with him standing there? “And as for how long I’m staying…it depends.”
“On?”
“How long you are staying.”
“Oh, I’m headed back tomorrow morning,” I say, suddenly wishing I could stay longer. But I’m already pushing it being away this long since the bar is now down an employee.
Thanks for that, Jace.
“So we have twenty-four hours, then?”
“Yes,” I answer with a grimace. Is he going to regret coming all this way for a single day?
He grabs my hand, and I’m suddenly being dragged toward the elevator. I let out an amused laugh. “Where are we going?”
“To drop off my bag,” he announces as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “We’ve got twenty-four hours, Pres. Don’t want to waste it!”