Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
But as far as we know, his reach is us, and I plan to find out the truth.
Even if it will fucking suck doing so.
Seven
Mayve
Las Vegas, the city of sin.
It’s where I have drunk way too much and plan to keep doing so.
My company flew the whole office out here, and as most of the employees are friends, they hit the clubs after our dinner. I stayed behind and decided it was best to sit at the slot machines and get free drinks, even if they taste like watered-down shit. We’re staying at the Flamingo, which is on the cheaper side but still pretty good for my standards. Though some of these hotel slash casinos here are amazing, I’m not game enough to walk around by myself, so here I am.
I push one dollar into the machine and press the button. When I see a waitress strolling through my section, I make eye contact with her, and she comes over. I order a vodka and Red Bull, which I know will be awful, but the Red Bull helps cover the cheap-ass vodka taste. She nods and disappears down the next bank of machines.
“How can you drink that?”
My back straightens at that voice.
At first, I think I’m dreaming.
I’m in a different state.
So what are the odds we’re here at the same time in the same hotel?
“Are you that broke?”
I swing around, my eyes narrowing as I take him in. He looks…good. Dressed in his usual all-black clothing, he assesses me with that penetrating gaze.
“Why are you here? Are you stalking me now?” The alcohol gives me the confidence or bravery, or even maybe stupidity to speak to him like that.
He leans in close. “Maybe I’ve always been stalking you, and now I’m giving you permission to know about it.”
He’s playing with me. I know what this is to him—a game. One I don’t want to play. So, I turn my chair back around to the slot machine and press a button. “Go away,” I mumble as the waitress returns with my drink. I tip her, though it’s not much, and she rolls her eyes before she walks away.
What? I’m broke.
“I’m going to buy you a real drink. Get the fuck up, and let’s go,” he says, turning my chair around to face him. I almost spill my shitty drink on myself but manage to hold it out, so I don’t.
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you. You’re bad.” I scrunch my nose up at him.
“Get up, Mayve Hitchcock,” he says, using my full name. He offers me his hand, and my eyes dart to it before they rise back to meet his gaze.
“You might kill me, Kenzo Hunter.” I throw his full name back at him.
“The possibility is there, so live a little.”
I contemplate his words. I mean, what else have I got to lose? It’s not like I’m going to get this promotion that I want because, clearly, Vanessa will win it. She is the one who is “engaged” after all, which makes me mad just thinking about it.
“Fine.” I huff as I stand, ignoring his hand. He takes the drink from mine, places it where I was sitting, then turns and heads for the exit. I grip my purse and follow him. When we step outside, he looks back at me.
“Do you always dress so…” He trails off, and my brows pinch at his unfinished question.
“What?”
“Bland,” he finishes, then starts walking again.
“Yes. I like how I dress,” I reply defensively as a lady wearing basically nothing but wings walks past us. “You always wear black.”
“That’s to hide the blood,” he says. And I think he’s joking, but when he doesn’t crack a smile, I know it’s the truth.
He faces forward again and continues moving along the busy sidewalk, but I stop. After a few steps, he notices I’m no longer next to him and turns and says, “I won’t kill you tonight.”
I laugh.
Because that’s all I can think about doing right now.
Maybe it’s the alcohol.
“Is that meant to reassure me?”
“Yes. I never make promises I can’t keep. And I promise not to kill you tonight.”
“Why are you even in Las Vegas?” I ask as he reaches for me and gives me a tug to get my feet moving again.
“Work,” is all he gives me as he drops my wrist. “Now move it. We have to cross the road. I’m at the Bellagio.”
I roll my eyes.
“Of course you are,” I say, trying to keep up with him.
As he strides through the evening crowds, people move out of the way for him. I’m not sure if it’s because he looks like he could murder them, or if it’s because they instinctively know that he holds some type of power. I personally wouldn’t know that feeling because, as he says, I’m very bland. I’ve been happy living that way, and I don’t know what has changed recently, but for some reason, I know I want more. It’s why I want that job promotion so badly. And it sucks feeling as though I’m not going to get it.