Wild Card (Sexy as Sin: Las Vegas #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

PRESLEY

I hate mornings that start with the words “mandatory meeting.”

Especially when the meeting is with Aria Taylor.

She’s the security director for the Citadel across the Strip—our biggest rival and, rumor has it, the only person who’s ever outsmarted one of our surveillance sweeps. I’m not supposed to admire her for that. But I do.

The Jade Petal’s boardroom smells like money and cologne—clean lines, gold accents, the kind of place meant to remind people they’re never in control.

I straighten my tie and glance at the clock.

Ten on the dot. I’m punctual to a fault, which gives me approximately thirty seconds to wonder why my pulse is picking up before she even walks through the door.

Then she does.

Aria Taylor in a navy suit that probably costs more than my entire department’s equipment budget.

Her hair’s pinned up, but a single strand has escaped near her temple, and all I can think about is how it would feel to tuck it back.

Her heels click across the marble floor—sharp, confident, commanding.

I can almost feel the temperature in the room rise.

“Presley.” She nods once, voice smooth as velvet but cool as ice.

“Taylor.” I return the greeting, fighting the instinct to smirk. The last time we crossed paths, she caught me tailing one of her pit bosses in the Citadel’s parking garage. She’d leaned close enough to whisper, ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Petal.’ I’d been thinking about it ever since.

We take our seats at opposite sides of the long glass table.

Executives fill the empty chairs between us.

Then the lawyers walk in. Odd considering the talk is about a potential joint security protocol for high-roller cross-events.

Translation: the two casinos have to pretend to play nice so nobody sues if a VIP gets pickpocketed.

I should be listening. I’m not.

I’m too busy watching the way her pen taps against her notebook, how her eyes flick up to meet mine every few minutes like she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s all precision and poise, but there’s a hint of something else—amusement, maybe? Challenge?

When she finally addresses me directly, it’s like she’s pulling a trigger.

“Presley, your cameras cover the east wing entrances, correct?”

“They do.” I lean back in my chair. “Ninety-six lenses, thermal capable. We don’t rely on luck.”

“Interesting,” she says, arching a brow. “We prefer efficiency over excess.”

A few of the suits chuckle. I almost grin. There it is—the game.

“Well, I guess that’s why your last VIP robbery made the evening news,” I reply casually. The room goes quiet for a second. Her lips curve—half amusement, half warning.

Touché.

She leans forward, and I swear my pulse skips. “Then it’s a good thing we’re meeting, isn’t it? Maybe we can teach each other something.”

There’s no mistaking the double meaning. Everyone else keeps talking, but it feels like the air between us is crackling.

“Let’s get started,” my boss, Vincent Tran, says, folding his hands in front of him.

He’s always composed, always calculated.

When he smiles, it’s usually because he knows something no one else in the room does.

“Thank you all for coming. Especially you, Ms. Taylor. We appreciate the Citadel’s willingness to cooperate. ”

Her boss, Miranda Vega, gives a tight nod. “The circumstances warrant it.”

I lean back in my seat and glance across the table at Aria. She’s wearing deep navy today instead of her usual black. Her hair’s still up, but her lipstick’s a little darker. She hasn’t looked at me once since she walked in. Not even when I pulled out her chair like some kind of gentleman-idiot.

Vincent clears his throat. “As you both know, the Weeping Jewels exhibit has been on display in both of our casinos for the past two months as part of the rotating Vault Treasures Tour. It’s attracted international attention.”

“And international press,” Miranda adds. “Which is why the theft is such a catastrophe.”

Theft?

The Weeping Jewels. Five pieces—rings, a necklace, a brooch, a tiara, and a cuff—passed down from some minor European aristocracy, supposedly cursed. “She who wears them shall weep until her soul dries out,” or something dramatic like that.

We’ve had two security incidents since the exhibit opened. One woman fainted. One man broke his leg in the elevator on the way down from the display.

Bad luck? Maybe. But now they’re missing. All five pieces. I can see why the bosses are keeping this hush hush.

“We believe it was an inside job,” Miranda says. “Timed to the night of the exhibit switch, when the collection was being rotated between the Citadel and the Jade Petal. It’s the only window where both our systems were in transition and most vulnerable.”

Vincent looks at me. “And we want our top security experts to lead the investigation.”

I nod slowly, already knowing where this is going.

“We want you and Ms. Taylor to work together,” he finishes.

My stomach drops. I glance at Aria. She finally looks at me—sharp and unreadable. Her jaw tightens, just slightly.

“I see,” she says, cool and professional.

What she means is Absolutely not.

“I work better alone,” I say, before I can stop myself. I sound like a cliché, but I don’t care. “Too many cooks and all that.”

“Same,” she replies, without missing a beat.

Vincent and Miranda exchange a glance like they were expecting this.

“You two will be given full access to both facilities’ security archives, staff records, shift logs, and restricted areas,” Vincent says, ignoring our protests. “The goal is to recover the jewels before word gets out and reputations are destroyed.”

“Not to mention lawsuits,” Miranda adds.

Aria exhales through her nose. Her fingers flex once on the table before stilling again. “Fine,” she says. “But if this becomes a circus, I’m out.”

Vincent turns to me. “Presley?”

I could argue. I should argue.

But then Aria’s eyes flick to mine again—this time slower, more measured. I wonder if she’s as curious as I am. What would it actually be like, working with someone just as sharp, just as relentless, just as damn frustrating?

I nod once. “I’ll play nice.”

Her lips twitch. Almost a smile. Almost. We both stand. The meeting’s dismissed. As she walks past me, she leans in just enough that only I can hear her.

“If you slow me down, I will leave you in a supply closet with a broken walkie.”

I grin. “Can’t wait, partner.”

Truth is, I still don’t trust her. But just as she’s out of sight, something inside of me tells me that I should meet with her sooner rather than later. It’s carnal and uncontrollable. My body searches for her.

I walk toward her, calm and deliberate, letting my shoes click just enough to give her a heads-up that I’m approaching. She glances up, and for a split second, I swear her eyes widen in surprise.

“Taylor,” I say, stopping just short of her. “You free tonight?”

Her brows lift. “Bold opener, Presley.”

I smirk. “I meant for the case. Conference Room B, Jade Petal. Eight o’clock. I’ll have the cross-reference logs and access to our overnight shift reports ready.”

She tilts her head, watching me carefully, like she’s trying to figure out if this is another game. I don’t blame her. If our roles were reversed, I’d think I was trying to throw her off with charm and misdirection.

Because honestly? I’ve used both before. But not this time. Not entirely.

“You’re actually taking this seriously,” she says, sounding more stunned than skeptical.

“Someone stole from my casino,” I reply. “And I don’t like looking like an amateur. Especially not in front of you.”

That earns me a flicker of something behind her eyes—respect, maybe. Or amusement. Or both. She shifts her weight, then gives a small nod. “Fine. I’ll meet you there. But if this turns into some posturing nonsense, I’m walking out.”

“I’ll be all business,” I say, hand to chest like I’m swearing an oath. “Scout’s honor.”

She gives me one last long look—like she’s reading between every line I’ve spoken—then turns on her heel and walks away.

And hell if I’m not watching her the entire time.

Her navy-blue suit fits like it was sewn directly onto her body. Sharp, clean lines. Confident stride. She’s all control and power, wrapped in elegance and bite.

But I’ll admit it. As she disappears around the corner, I find myself wondering what she’ll wear tonight. I’m hoping it’s something a little less… boardroom. A little more “off the clock.”

Because if we’re going to be stuck together after hours, I’d rather be distracted in the best way possible.

Of course, I’ll never say that out loud. For now, I’ve got a crime to solve and a conference room to reserve.