Chapter 9
Evelyn
Fuck, I’m so wasted.
In my attempts to get Jameson boozed up, I have only ended up obliterating my own inhibitions instead.
We have traversed the sprawling casino floor, hopping from one machine to another together and flagging down every single cocktail waitress we can spot, to the point where I have now consumed so much vodka, I’ve developed hiccups.
“I think we need to take a break from these slots and get you some water,” Jameson suggests, slipping his cash-out voucher into his wallet as he stands from his chair and stretches out his legs. “Come for a walk with me, Evie?”
I nod and follow his lead, cashing out my current winnings (yes, winnings!), and get to my feet.
I have no idea what time it is, or where Addy and the rest of the group are.
For all I know, they could have left the casino by now and headed off to the Marquee nightclub we’re supposed to be hitting up tonight.
The only thing I do know, however, is that I’m quickly building trust with Jameson, the hot stranger.
He’s thirty-one and originally from a small town in Texas but now lives in Atlanta, where he works in tech for a Fortune 500 company, which I’m guessing comes with a very generous compensation package.
I’ve been eyeballing that Rolex on his wrist all damn night, wondering how to make it mine.
It’s all I need to clear my debts and get Michael Montgomery off my back.
“Over this way,” Jameson says, and I follow him off the casino floor and into a terrifyingly overpriced convenience store on the main thoroughfare of the hotel. He grabs some bottled Fiji water for us, then hovers by the confectionary. “Want snacks? I’m partial to some peanut M&Ms.”
“Maybe just”—hiccup—“some Reese’s. They’re my”—hiccup—“favorite.”
Jameson grabs some peanut M&Ms for himself and some Reese’s peanut butter cups for me. He checks out at the cash register, then hands me one of the waters. “Gargle some of this. Are you drunk?”
“I’m not drunk!” I say indignantly, flicking the cap off the bottle. I gather a mouthful of icy water and gargle it at the back of my throat, acting like Jameson isn’t a hot blurry mess standing in front of me. “Are we done gambling for the night?”
He checks out his watch for the time and shrugs. “Yeah, I think so. We’ve drunk too much and we’re both on a winning streak, so I think that’s a good sign to wrap things up for tonight. You’re welcome to enjoy your Reese’s upstairs in my room.”
I part my lips in surprise, and Jameson immediately rubs a hand over his face with a groan.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. That was so forward, and you’re young, and we only just met—”
I slip my hand into his with a salacious smile. “Snack date in your room, let’s go.”
Jameson releases a breathy laugh of relief and relaxes his shoulders.
He gives our intertwined hands a quick squeeze as we walk, and I don’t know what’s making my stomach churn so violently: all of the booze, or the fact that I’m on my way back to a hotel room with a man I only met a couple hours ago, who just so happens to be an entire decade older than me .
. . Because I don’t go back to hotel rooms with men I only just met.
I’m giving Jameson all of the wrong ideas, but damn it, I need that watch.
Addy would kill me if she knew I was entertaining a complete stranger like this, and if Theo knew . . . Theo would kill Jameson. This is why you don’t party in Vegas with your older siblings, but who says they need to find out? No one has come looking for me yet.
Jameson leads the way to his hotel room, which is a one-bedroom suite with a wraparound terrace overlooking the Bellagio fountains, much like my own room.
Minus the suite part, of course. It’s already comfortable in here, with a cool chill from the AC and ambient, dim lighting from the bedside lamps.
My nerves increase tenfold, because I’m no longer in a clear, sober headspace to be creative when it comes to snatching that Rolex watch.
“I’d offer you another drink, but . . .” Jameson says, tossing his key card and the snacks down on the coffee table by the couch.
“Yeah, no more drinks, please, or I’ll hurl.”
He wrinkles his nose as he undoes a few more buttons of his perfectly pressed shirt. “Please don’t throw up.” Sinking down onto the couch, he smiles lazily and invites me over to join him with his tantalizing green eyes.
Genuinely, I have no idea what I’m doing. How do I seduce this man? He’s not as drunk as I’d like him to be, and he’s older and therefore definitely way more experienced than I am. None of my amateur moves are going to be mind-blowing enough to distract him while I wrangle his watch off his wrist.
Goosebumps flare over my skin as I cross the lounge toward Jameson.
I set down my purse and my water on the table, then gulp away the nerves and hoist one leg over him.
I sink into his lap, straddling his hips and looping my arms loosely around the back of his neck.
He’s seriously so gorgeous, and if he wasn’t so damn wealthy and my ticket to freedom, maybe I’d regret leading him on like this.
Maybe I’d enjoy sitting on his lap, watching the way his gaze travels across my body, tracing the curves of my mouth and down to my exposed collarbones.
“I’m glad you sat down at the slot machine next to mine,” I murmur, in the sultriest voice I can muster without laughing out loud at myself. I’m even starting to tremble. Seriously, what the hell am I doing?
Jameson grips my waist securely and grinds my ass deeper into his lap.
He tilts his chin up, his green eyes smoldering seductively at me through the dim light.
As he trails his fingertips over my hipbone, he whispers, “Can we get you out of this dress, Evie?” It sounds more like a challenge than anything else.
Bringing my hands around to his jaw, I cup his face carefully and smile. “I only kiss on the first date.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I whisper, pressing my lips against his.
And if Jameson can sense my trepidation in the way I kiss him, he certainly doesn’t show it.
His mouth moves hungrily, his hands eagerly tearing into my hair.
It’s kind of hot, making out in this Vegas hotel room with a complete stranger.
I don’t know anything about him—he could be a criminal for all I know.
But then I’m about to become one myself.
I have no idea what I’m doing, except I know I shouldn’t be doing it, and it’s like a pressure valve has been opened in my brain.
All the stress of the past year evaporates as I kiss Jameson even deeper.
I moan into his mouth as I take a breath, and his hands rake all over my body, pulling at the material of my dress, desperate to tear it off me.
In the back of my mind, the tiny part of me that’s still somewhat sober knows it’s now or never.
As though it’s natural, I let my hand rest on his forearm.
Slowly creep my fingers upward toward his wrist. I brush over the metal of his watch and blindly fumble for the clasp.
I roll my hips against him to ensure all of his attention is focused elsewhere, and then .
. . Click. I release the watch, feel it slide loose.
All at once my hand is crushed beneath his.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jameson hisses.
“Huh? What?” I say pathetically, blinking manically in a pathetic attempt to appear innocent. “Oh. I think your watch came undone. Here, let me fix it.” I try to move my hand to the Rolex hanging loose on Jameson’s wrist, but his hold on me only becomes tighter.
The glare he fixes me with is kind of terrifying. “Are you trying to steal my watch, Evelyn Sinclair?”
In hindsight, giving him my full name during our boozy chats at the slot machines when I was planning to rob him later was an incredibly dumb move. Now I have no choice but to fully embrace that stupidity, so I offer up my best airhead smile as I try to yank my hand free from his grip.
“Is this some sort of role-play kink?” I ask with an airy laugh, because at this point it’s obvious I’m not snatching that Rolex, so the best I can hope for now is getting the hell out of this hotel room unscathed.
Jameson doesn’t fall for my act. He pushes me off him and growls, “I’m calling security.”
“Woah, woah!” I splutter as I stabilize on my feet and hold up both hands, palms out. “No one is stealing anything here!”
“You think I’m an idiot, do you?” he snaps, securing the open clasp of his watch and grabbing the corded phone on the desk. He dials one of the options and holds the phone to his ear.
Okay, I need to run. Like, now.
Grabbing my purse, I dash toward the door, trying to athletically dip around Jameson’s large frame.
He blocks me, phone still pressed to his ear, and I yelp in panic.
The situation suddenly feels horribly precarious, because I am trapped in a hotel room with a very angry man and no one even knows where I am should I end up dead in the bathtub.
I really need to start thinking my decisions through fully before I commit to them.
“I’m sorry!” I squeak, barging around Jameson a second time.
“Wait,” he orders, but no fucking way am I waiting around to let him butcher me to pieces.
I keep on pushing toward the door and it becomes a messy scramble between the two of us as I fight for my freedom and he fights to keep me from leaving.
It’s all flailing limbs and shoulder barges and grunts, and as he tries to lock a hand around my wrist, he catches my bracelet.
The delicate chain pulls taut, then snaps.
Jameson glances down at the broken chain on the floor, and I take advantage of his momentary lapse of focus.
I tear my wrist away from him and dart the final few steps to the door, throwing it open and running for my goddamn life.
It’s not easy in these heels, but adrenaline pumps hard and fast through my veins and somehow, I make it into an elevator.
I frantically smash the buttons, literally all of them, and breathe a sigh of relief when the doors finally close shut.
God, I’m really making a mess of my life right now.
Not only did I cheat on my college exams, I got myself into debt, and in order to clear it, I’m resorting to larceny.
My stomach is churning, and it’s not because of the elevator ride down to the hotel’s lobby.
Now I have an enemy in Michael Montgomery back home in Florida, and an enemy in Jameson Park right here in Vegas.
How am I going to avoid him when we are staying in the same hotel all weekend? He knows my name. And he’s probably already got security scouring the hotel for me. My brother may end up not being the only Sinclair in handcuffs tonight. I feel sick.
I may have to camp out in the restrooms or something, and Addy will think I’m the worst sister in the world for going AWOL on her bachelorette party. When she inevitably notices—because Addy notices everything—that my bracelet is gone, she’s going to ask questions.
As I step out into the lobby and make my way back to the casino floor in a comedown haze from the adrenaline rush, I stare at my bare wrist. My heart lurches. It’s one of the only tangible memories I have left of my grandmother, and now it’s gone forever.
Vegas isn’t turning out quite like I imagined it would. Wild, sure. But definitely not fun.