Chapter Eight
Ava
“You, my future son-in-law, will not only marry my little princess, but you will also launch her modeling career,” the other man says to Reese, and I gasp.
Everything freezes, and they both turn to look at me. I’ve been caught. I try to back out of the room but run into a warm body. Not expecting it, I start to fall and scream out. At the same time, everything starts to go hazy.
**
“Ava!” Reese yells, and suddenly, I’m in a dark Las Vegas hotel room with Reese in bed beside me, shirtless and shaking me awake.
“Ava, sweetheart, it was just a nightmare,” he says in a soothing tone, rubbing his hand up and down my arm.
The whole thing feels so real. Did I fall down at the strip club and hit my head? Did I lose a whole chunk of time and end up back here at the hotel?
“Your meeting with Leon. Was it at a strip club?”
“No, we ate at a restaurant,” Reese says, looking a bit confused.
“And he doesn't have a pet snake and didn’t threaten you to marry his daughter?” I ask as all the events come rushing back to me.
“No, he didn't. You were having a nightmare; none of that happened.”
“Did I agree to be one of your models?”
“Now, yes, that did happen. You're not changing your mind, are you?” he asks with concern darkening his face.
“No. It's just that nightmare felt so real,” I say, still trying to shake it out of my head. “Wait, why are you in my bed?”
We have a two-bedroom suite; he should be on the other side of this hotel room.
The old Reese is back in a flash with the smirk that he gives me, but he doesn't say anything as he just runs his eyes over me. I'm in a tank top, cotton shorts, and no bra; I like to be comfortable when I sleep, and I thought I was sleeping alone.
“Listen, try to get back to sleep. Get a few more hours…”
“Not happening,” I say, sitting up wide awake. When I stand up, he grabs my hand.
“What are you doing? You should get back to sleep,” he says again, trying to pull me back into bed.
I look at the clock on the nightstand, and it's just after 6:00 AM.
“I am wide awake. That dream felt way too real. I'm going to take a shower and have an early breakfast. Get a jump on the emails I'm sure are piling up and be ready for whatever other tasks you have for me today.” I try to put the wall back up, reminding him he's the boss and I’m the employee.
“Take a shower. I'll order breakfast. Screw the emails. I'm going to take you for a day out in Las Vegas. You obviously need to relax if you're having nightmares before this modeling shoot tomorrow.”
I stop and look at him, a bit torn. I want to put the wall back up and say no, that I'm going to do the emails, and we need to work. I'd also be crazy to pass up a day in Las Vegas, getting to see everything. Because when is the next time I will actually be here?
It's not like this small-town Texas girl goes to Las Vegas once a year to have fun. Hell, I may never leave the state of Texas again. I should take advantage of it while I'm here, right? I definitely should, and if it's on my boss' dime, then all the better.
“Fine, I'd like blueberry pancakes with extra whipped cream, some strong coffee, eggs, and bacon.”
“How do you want them cooked?” he asks.
“The eggs scrambled and the bacon limp.”
“Excuse me? How do you want your bacon cooked?” He crawls out of bed, and for a moment, all I can focus on are his abs. By the time I realize that I could be checking out his tattoos, he's pulling his shirt back on and covering them. Damn it.
“I said I want my bacon limp. You know, not crunchy,” I tell him, not understanding the problem.
“Christ, so you've been going around your whole life ordering limp bacon?” he asks, standing in front of me.
“How else am I supposed to order it?”
“Soft or not crunchy. Because I can promise you, sweetheart, that bacon will be the only limp thing in this hotel room.” He leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. It’s so quick I don't even register it until he's already walking back out the door.
“Get in the shower. I'll order your limp bacon,” he says as he walks into the main area of the suite.
I hurry and get into the shower. When the hot water hits my skin, it washes away little bits of the nightmare that I just woke up from. As I start to feel better, I rush my shower, wanting to get back out there because I'm suddenly starving.
I dry my hair and get dressed for a day of walking around Las Vegas, and just as I'm putting on the last of my mascara, there's a knock on the door. I step out to the main living area and see the guy from room service delivering a cart of food.
Reese walks him to the door, and once he’s gone, he turns back to look at me. His eyes run over my jeans and boatneck t-shirt that slips slightly off one shoulder.
He sets the food up at the small two-person table and pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to sit down.
“Anything that you have to see while you're here, we can put it at the top of the list,” he offers as we both dig into our breakfast.
“I've always wanted to ride the roller coasters near the Statue of Liberty,” I tell him.
“You know there's a roller coaster that goes over the edge of the stratosphere?” he asks, and my eyes go wide in complete terror.
“What? Are you scared of heights?” he asks.
“No, more like I'm scared of the roller coaster breaking and going over the edge of the stratosphere and plummeting to my death.”
“Okay, well, we will skip that one.” He chuckles.
“Otherwise, no, I'll let you be my tour guide and show me the best parts of Las Vegas,” I say, and he gets a twinkle in his eye that I'm not sure I like.
As we finish breakfast, the sun finally lights up the sky, and we head down to the lobby where he already has a car waiting for us.
“Driving today?” I ask, surprised that I hadn’t seen his car there.
“No, I figured I'd relax and let someone else do the driving so I can sit back here with you.” He smiles, pulling me to his side like it’s a normal everyday thing.
“So, where are we going?” I ask, trying to ignore how good it feels to be curled up next to him like this.
“I thought we’d start with shopping on Freemont Street since we just ate. Then we will head to the rides you want to do, then lunch, and we will go from there.”
“Isn’t Freemont Street where you can go ziplining over everyone shopping?” I ask with a smile, and he instantly frowns.
“You drew the line at roller coasters. I’m not ziplining over people’s heads.”
“Come on, live a little.” I elbow him.
“I’ll zipline when you do the roller coaster off the stratosphere,” he says with a smile because he knows he’s won. There is no way I’m doing that.
We spend the morning shopping, and he spoils me beyond belief. Any time I look at something, then see the price tag and walk away, he buys it. I have more clothes and shoes than I think I will ever wear by the time we return to the car.
“Thank you, but I was happy to just window shop. I don’t need all this.” I see the driver loading the last of our bags into the car.
“But I want you to have it. You should have everything you’ve ever wanted. I will make sure you get it.” He winks as he holds open the car door for me.
I stand there and look at him, unsure of what to say, so I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss the side of his cheek.
“Thank you,” I say again, and it feels so inadequate for how I feel.
Once in the car, we head to New York, New York, and get in line for the roller coaster, which we ride three times before he drags me off, complaining about needing to feed me.
“I know this great little mom-and-pop place off the strip that you will love. The owner's wife makes all the cakes. They are the best-kept secret in Las Vegas,” he says with a smile.
We walk hand in hand, and he is nothing short of a perfect gentleman. He opens the door and pulls out my chair before he sits down next to me, placing his hand on my thigh just an inch from being highly inappropriate.
“I really wish you were in one of those cute dresses I got for you today,” he whispers in my ear just as the waitress comes over to take our order.
All sorts of dirty thoughts as to what he would be doing to me if I was in a dress instead of jeans fill my head, and I wonder if he can feel how soaked I am through my jeans.
We spend lunch getting to know each other a bit more, and not once does he pick up his phone and divert his attention from me. He’s focused on me the whole time, and it’s nice to have his undivided attention.
After lunch, we spend the day visiting different casinos. He gets recognized, and they try to pull him into high-stakes games, but he doesn’t gamble. He gives me money to try out different games. We spend maybe $100, leave and check out, and then head to the next place, much to the dismay of the casino managers.
Each casino gives us free drinks as we play, hoping to get us to stay longer.
“Okay, lucky number five! I think we are going to earn our money back this time!” I say, stumbling out of the car and into Reese's arms.
We both laugh as we sit down, and he tries once again to explain to me how to play blackjack.
“So, wait. The ace is equal to both eleven and one?” I say, trying to make sense of the weird rules with a slightly fizzy head when the waitress walks over and gives Reese her ‘fuck me’ eyes.
I frown and wrap my arm around his waist, which earns me a glare from the waitress.
“My girlfriend here will have a screwdriver, and I will take just a glass of water this time,” he tells her and gives her a smile, but I can tell it’s his fake smile, which he uses when he isn’t amused.
I completely miss betting on the next round as I stare at him. Did he really just call me his girlfriend?
“Yes, I did,” he says with a smile.
Crap, I must have said that out loud.
“Why?” I ask, still dumbfounded.
He has a mischievous twinkle in his eye and just shrugs.
“You will see soon enough.” He turns my attention back to the table.
With his help, I’m up over two hundred dollars and have two more drinks before everything gets a little hazy.
I open my eyes and groan when the bright Vegas sunlight feels like knives in my head. A tattooed arm holds me in place when I try to roll over.
“Go back to sleep,” Reese’s groggy voice says beside me.
“Why is the sun so bright?” I ask, finally turning my back on it.
“I figured you had a few too many to drink. That's why I loaded you up on aspirin and water before bed,” he explains with a flirty smirk.
“Well, it didn’t work. My head is still pounding,” I groan. “How did we get back to the hotel?”
His whole body stiffens. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
I search my brain through the haze of drinks, bright lights, and loud music.
“I was up over three hundred dollars at the casino where you taught me blackjack, and then you said you wanted to show me something. I don’t remember anything after that. I’ve never gotten black-out drunk in my life,” I groan.
“Why don’t you take a shower and drink some water? I’ll order breakfast for us.” He rolls out of bed.
“Breakfast burritos and greasy bacon sounds like heaven,” I say and sit up.
I head into the bathroom and take the longest pee known to man before hopping into the steamy shower. Still half-asleep, I dry off, slip on a lush, oversized robe, and just stare at myself in the mirror.
“Why did you drink so much, and what don’t you remember?” I ask my weary reflection, taking in my bloodshot eyes before looking down at my hand.
There is a large shiny diamond and a band that I’ve never seen before, and it sits on the ring finger of my left hand.
What the hell?
I fling open the bathroom door and march out to the main area of the suite just as Reese is hanging up the phone, I assume from ordering room service.
“What is this?” I ask, holding up my left hand and pointing to the massive ring on my finger.
“That would be your ring,” he says, leaning against the back of the couch.
“It’s not mine. I’ve never seen it before. And why is it on my left hand?”
If I wasn’t looking at him, I’d have missed the fraction of a second when his eyes darted from my face to the table behind me and back. When I turn to look at the table, there are a few papers on it, so I march over there and pick them up.
The paperwork from Reese for buying the ring set is on top. The next paper is a marriage license from the hotel we were at when he was teaching me to play blackjack. His name and mine are boldly written on it.
“Please tell me this is one of those ‘for fun’ marriage places and we did it as a joke. Please tell me we didn’t get married yesterday,” I plead.
When I turn to look back at him, he is watching me but not saying anything.
“Say something!” I yell back.
“I’m not going to lie to you. We did get married. It wasn’t until afterward that I realized how drunk you were, so we didn’t do anything but sleep in that bed last night.” He stalks toward me. “But make no mistake, we will consummate this marriage, and soon… my wife.”