OLIVIA
What exactly is the point in telling someone to take it one day at a time? Like hello, Karen, did I miss the class in school where they taught us how to skip Monday?
—Olivia’s Secret Thoughts
“Excuse me.” I grab the attention of a passing cocktail waitress. “Could I get another, please?”
She cocks her hip and flips her hair, probably hoping to flirt her way to a bigger tip. Joke’s on her. She doesn’t need to flirt her way anywhere for the rest of the night. If she takes care of us, we’ll take care of her. “Sure, hon. What were you drinking?”
I slide a few hundreds onto her tray and place my empty glass on top. “Dirty martini, blue cheese olives. Belvedere vodka, please. And another glass of Cristal for my cousin.” I nod Serena’s way. “Keep them coming.”
She looks down at her tray, silently counting the hundreds as her smile widens. “No problem, doll. Do you need anything else?”
“I’d be careful about calling her doll, if I were you.”
That voice.
That scent.
That fucking man.
You have got to be kidding me.
“Isn’t that right, Olive?” With Serena sitting to my right, none other than Logan Adler takes the seat on my left at the blackjack table I had been enjoying. Emphasis onhad.
Sandy-brown hair, desperately in need of a trim, curls slightly at the ends like someone’s been running their hands through it all night. Strong, broad shoulders stretch his black button-down shirt. His sleeves rolled up. A gorgeous Patek Philippe watch wraps around his wrist, hiding where his tattoos start before they disappear under his sleeve.
He’s a sinfully sexy package.
He’s also a dick.
Because apparently, Vegas decided I haven’t suffered enough today.
His brother, Rafe, stands behind us for a moment, as if to make sure Logan’s going to behave before taking the only other open seat next to Serena. And I swear to God I silently warn him to behave. If this asshole screws with my cousin tonight, I will end him.
“What brings you to Vegas, Olive?” If I close my eyes, I could listen to this man talk for hours. His voice is dark and husky, and I’m fairly certain he could make reading the phonebook sound sexy. But at some point, I’d have to open my eyes and remember it’s Logan Adler, and damn if that wouldn’t just ruin it.
“Seventeen,” the dealer says.
I tap the table, ignoring Logan. “Stay.”
The dick beside me steals a look at my cards. “Conservative.”
“Smart,” I correct him, refusing to look his way but unable to avoid seeing him all the same. His mouth tips into a grin that feels dangerous, and I cross my legs.
The dealer flips a bust card and slides the chips my way, and I finally allow myself a good look at Logan. “Like I said, smart.”
“Never doubted that for a second.” He grins, those eyes focused on me like heat-seeking missiles.
“Could have fooled me.” This man makes my blood boil... and not in a hot, sexy kind of way. Okay, that’s a lie, but it’s one I’ll take to the grave. “Why are you here, Adler?”
“Oh, I thought you’d have heard.” He leans forward and smiles at his brother.
My stomach drops. “Heard? Heard what?”
This man is bad news.
He’s the star forward for the New Jersey Nobles.
