A cocktail waitress shouldn’t matter in this equation. But he needed to refocus on the task at hand-acquiring The House. Bell Hartley had been a surprise, one that had stuck. The rumors had persisted, and he had grown to want it: the building, the business, the clients. He’d heard rumors of the place for years, and had felt a pull of nostalgia at the idea of a small house casino, something built by kids, a business model that reminded him of late night games on back porches in Louisiana. “So, we done here?”ĭario nodded, his eyes lingering on the casino’s dark entrance, the dim lighting that gave little hint as to what was inside.

Anyway, it was her.” Chris leaned forward, rubbing his hands and eyeing the roll of money. Her name is Bree or Bee, or something like that?” “The brunette with the great ass?” The kid grinned, and Dario wanted to punch the expression off his face. So maybe she’ll change her mind and call.”ĭario finished counting the cash and looked up. Either way, I gave her the number you gave me.

She mentioned a boyfriend, but that seemed bogus. “Short of her slapping me in the face? Yeah. “She’s not a prostitute.” Chris watched as Dario took the cash. “I don’t know.” The man stretched out his legs and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash and handing it over. The door to the limo opened, and the Chippendale dancer folded himself into the backseat. I stepped back on the main floor and glanced over the open tables, but whoever Chris was, he was gone. Who had he been with? Las Vegas PD? A competitor or a human trafficker? Had he come specifically for me, or had I just been an attractive opportunity? He hadn’t just been a john looking for love. I flushed his number, washed my hands, and reentered the floor, my mind going over the interaction, my early suspicions about him growing. I made good money, and becoming a prostitute was absolutely not part of my future plans. Back then, I was still living at home, watching illegal cable, and living off fast food and diner leftovers. My first week at this job, I would have been tempted, even knowing the risks. I tore the paper into pieces and dropped them into the toilet, unzipping quickly and handling my own business. It was just a piece of paper, his first name and phone number scrawled across its front as if we were fifteen years old. It wasn’t cash, and I pouted a bit at that. I stepped into the empty space and reached into my pocket as soon as the door shut behind me, looking to see what he’d slipped me. “Good luck,” I called the words over my shoulder and pushed open the ladies room door. Wondered if those eyes would turn hard, his grin morphing into a sneer. The terms don’t matter.” I moved further and wondered if he’d follow. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t do that.

Even money alessandra torre