Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WYATT
The grand room at the Bellagio had been decorated to look like a winter wonderland.
White silk curtains covered the wall and ceiling.
White-flocked trees decorated in pale blue were scattered around the perimeter of the ballroom.
Each table had a large white floral arrangement that was perched on three-foot glass risers.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look? That dress looks very nice on you. And I like your hair.” My client nervously swallowed his drink.
Someone had trained Gabriel Callum very well.
“Yes, you did. And thank you for noticing.” Mr. Callum was Richard Valentine’s friend.
The one who had lower expectations. Gabe, as his friends called him, had booked me for a six-hour dinner and had left the rest of the night open.
I was to be the pretty thing on his arm as he faced his work colleagues for the first time since his soon-to-be ex-wife had been publicly seen with her tennis instructor. I was his tit for her tat.
“Do you have any kids?” he asked.
“God no.” I laughed, taking a sip of champagne. I never wanted them. My sister always looked frazzled and was running after one of her three. My parents didn’t seem to know how much work it was to have kids and forgot to put my sister and me first.
“Right, that was stupid of me to ask. I suppose you’re not married either.”
“No.” This poor man.
“Do you have a boyfriend or is that also frowned on?”
“No. This line of work makes relationships very difficult.” I tried it once. I dated a blackjack dealer at the Sands. But he couldn’t handle that his boss was also fucking his girlfriend. So he ended it.
“I suppose not. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you are a very beautiful woman. I cannot understand why you would need to be in this line of work. Did you fall on hard times or did your parents abuse you?”
It was because of my looks that I ended up in this line of work.
There was probably a joke out there—something about beauty queens turning into strippers or escorts.
I had been a beauty queen. I hadn’t been abused.
No tragedy to blame. Just a pretty girl who never paid attention in school because she didn’t need to. Pretty was supposed to be enough.
Girls like me made it big in New York or LA. They didn’t tell this pretty girl that those cities were already filled with beautiful people. Most prettier than me.
Turns out, pretty doesn’t get you as far as they promised.
“I’m sorry, I’ve said too much.” Gabe’s brown eyes softened. He looked like someone’s dad. The type of dad who proudly wore his child’s college name on a sweatshirt or hat. Had photos of his family on his desk and one of him with a large fish.
“No. You’re fine.” I smiled warmly and touched his arm. Gabe was shorter than me. He apologized for not being in better shape. For not being handsome like Richard. Richard wasn’t handsome; he was rich, and money made people look different.
“So… um… what happens if this runs past the six hours?” Gabe asked. “Do I send you another two grand or something?”
“You really want to be here for longer than six hours?” I asked, looking around. Dinner would be served at seven. Then there were some awards, and my night would either end alone or with Mr. Callum, who would probably cry.
“I have to,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m an executive.”
“Then yes, but it’s only one for each additional hour.” I brushed the lint off his shoulder.
“Okay. Should I take care of that now?” He checked his watch.
“Gabe.” I touched his wrist. “It’s been forty-five minutes. I will not get up and walk out when the time is up.” I stepped closer to him, adjusting his tie. “Now please relax. I know what I’m doing. Okay?”
“Okay. I didn’t want to do this. Hire you. But I’m getting older, and people think that I’m past my prime. Richard thought if I showed up with you that people would see I’m still relevant. That I can still do my job.” Gabe touched his balding head.
“I know the feeling,” I mumbled, taking another sip of champagne. Age seemed to be the reason everyone lost their value. The rich, the poor, even the powerful.
“Shit,” he cursed as a couple made their way towards us. “Those are the Smiths. He works in finance. His wife and mine are friends. She’s the one who told me about the tennis instructor. What do I do?”
“First, relax, then tell me their names,” I said while taking a sip of champagne.
“Barbra and Barry.” He said their names loudly as they approached. “So glad you could make it. I know it’s not LA.”
“Nonsense. We flew over with the Craigens. It was, like, an hour.” The man I assumed was Barry scoffed.
“Las Vegas is such a fun city. There is so much to do if you know where to look.” He raised his brows in a suggestive manner.
“We found a couple of secret bars. Little hidden gems a couple of locals told us about.”
I tried to keep my eyes from rolling all the way back into my head. Those “locals” were probably hired by the “hidden bars” to lure tourists in. Vegas truly was a mirage in the desert.
“And who is this?” Barbra asked, looking me up and down.
“This is Cassandra,” Gabe said. “She… uh, she’s…” If anyone was going to blow this, Gabe would.
“His date. Gabe, we talked about this. He didn’t want to embarrass me.” I caressed his arm. “My friends call me Cassie.” I smiled, offering my hand to either of them.
“Cassie? How come this is the first we’re hearing about such a beautiful woman?” Barry took my hand. Barb snorted.
“A little young, isn’t she, Gabe?” Barbra sneered.
Gabe flushed and cleared his throat. “She’s thirty-five.”
I tried not to laugh. He was my only client that wanted me to be older.
“Right, and I’m twenty-three,” Barbra said, rolling her eyes.
No one would believe that Barbra Smith was twenty-three. I doubt she looked that young when she was. She had the look of old money. As in, she looked down her nose at everyone.
Dinner was called, and we found our way to the table.
There were four other couples. The men talked about their golf games and sports betting while in Vegas.
The wives talked about kids and vacations.
I did what I was hired to do. Smile and look pretty.
The waitstaff cleared the plates, and the presentation began.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I smiled and pressed a kiss to Gabe’s cheek before weaving my way through the tables and stepping out into the hallway. I made my way to the bathroom and pulled out my phone. Julian had a game. That seemed to be the only way I could see him.
It had been almost a week since I’d heard from him. The podcast reported he had been hurt. In interviews, he looked tired. Beat down. He still texted sometimes, but they were short, and I didn’t push it. If it was over, it was over.
It was the third period, and Vegas was ahead by two. Julian was on the ice. My heart raced with each shot he took and missed. I wanted him to win for him. Maybe then he wouldn’t look so beat down and I could stop losing sleep over him.
Julian skated over to the bench. I needed the camera to stay on him—just a second longer. I wanted to know he was okay. He pulled off his helmet and handed it to the trainer behind him. He looked like every other player on that bench, just trying to make it to the buzzer.
And that didn’t help. I couldn’t tell if he was okay. If that was why he hadn’t called—because he’d worked it all out. Or if he thought he was protecting me from something he assumed I needed protecting from.
“Did Gabe tell you if you were a good girl, you could have some screen time?” Barbra’s words pulled me from the screen.
I tucked my phone back into my purse. “Sorry, work related.” It was. Julian kind of was my job.
“Please. You’re not fooling anyone. I couldn’t remember where I had seen you before. Then I remembered two years ago, I saw you leave a restaurant with Dr. Richard Valentine.” She looked at me in the mirror. “What happened to him?”
I walked over to the mirror, leaning closer to check my lipstick. “People break up. Relationships fail.”
Barbra snorted. “You want me to believe that Richard, the best plastic surgeon in LA, was dating some—what did you say you did? A fitness instructor? What did you weasel out of him while you were ‘in love’? A little nip tuck here and there? Maybe some new tits? Or a little filler?” Her gaze swept over me, slow and scathing. “I know what you are.”
“And what is that?”
“A gold-digging tramp that moves from one bed to another, hoping that someday one of them will marry you.” She laughed.
“Gabe won’t. He’s still very much in love with his wife.
You might get a trip to some tropical island where you’ll walk around like a topless billboard for breast implants.
But in three months, Gabe will grow tired of you, and you will have to find another man to cling to. ”
I stepped back from the mirror, checking my reflection.
I worked hard for this body. Hours at the gym, restricted diets.
I spent more time on the treadmill and stair climber than I did on my back.
And I spent a lot of time there too. Because that was the part Barbra didn’t see.
All the work it took to be a fantasy. To be the one thing she wasn’t.
A thing to look at. “They’re real. As in, I was born with these tits. And this ass.”
“Well, at least god gave you something to work with because it wasn’t a brain. Gabe is a good man. Too good for you.”
I was tired of this conversation, of this night. Sex was so much easier. I could turn it all off and let what happened happen. But playing a role was exhausting, and dealing with people like Barb wasn’t worth it. “Gabe is a grown man who can make his own decisions.”
“He was hurting, and you saw that. You swooped in and took advantage of a broken man.”
This time I scoffed. “A broken man? Please.”
“If you hurt him—”
“What?” I turned on her. “What will you do? Huh? What power do you really have over me?”
Barbra stepped closer to me. I could see the lines of her life etched on her face, see the wasted years. “I will tell everyone what you are. An overpriced whore in a designer dress. At least that’s what Richard said.”
“And what do you suppose you are, Barbra? How many nights did you have to lie there and let balding Barry fuck you so you could order that designer bag or get the marble countertops everyone else was getting? How many kids did you push out so he wouldn’t leave you?
Huh?” I stepped closer to her. Her designer perfume assaulted my senses.
“And after those years of taking care of those children, picking up his dirty underwear, he can’t keep his eyes off of some cheap whore.
But what must hurt the most is that I didn’t marry the first one.
I’m still out here getting the vacations, the diamonds, the filler, the time Barry wouldn’t give you.
And that’s why you hate me. Because I won.
” I turned to leave. “Before you go out there and tell everyone what you think I am, it’s not me you’ll hurt.
It’s Gabe.” I left before she could say another word.