Page 2 of Billionaire In Vegas

Chapter One

Without thinkingI opened my mouth wide and stuck the length of the divine thickness into my mouth and then slowly pulled back, licking the tip as I looked up.

“What?” I said to my two friends who sat across from me looking amused.

“With technique like that, why in the world did Evan ever leave you?” Emmaline, my friend since kindergarten, said wryly as she stared at me with amusement filled eyes.

I rolled my eyes, “Stop being gross. This popsicle is delicious. You know I haven’t had carbs in—”

“Six months... we know, we know,” Misha cut in. She was married to an electrical engineer who owned his own engineering firm. She was the wealthiest person I knew, but her clothes belied that fact. I could see a hole near the neck of her blouse and her jeans were faded in a non-fashionable way. I bet the hole was from the stapler where the thrift store workers had stapled the price into the garment and, of course, Misha had haphazardly ripped it out leaving a hole behind. But I knew she didn’t care. As long as she didn’t pay full price, she was happy. She wasn’t only the wealthiest person I knew, she was also the cheapest.

“From the way she was eating that popsicle, if I had to guess I’d say she also hasn’t been with a man in about twice as long. Poor girl is going through a sex drought,” Misha said, unable to resist teasing me.

“Misha, please...we’re in public...” I hissed.

“Don’t shush me, you were the one deep throating a popsicle like a porn star.”

I blushed.

“Frankly, Lacey, I’m embarrassed for the popsicle. You didn’t even take it out for a nice dinner or anything.”

I tossed my napkin at her. She dodged it easily, but it fell into the plate of the guest immediately behind her.

My eyes widened in panic. I immediately began to mumble, “I am so sorry, sir. I’ll pay for that.”

The sir in question took his time withdrawing my balled up napkin from his now unappetizing dessert. I winced as he dropped it with a plop next to his plate and then he looked at me. His eyes were the same color as the chocolate popsicle I’d been devouring. And if I were being honest with myself, he looked just as delicious.

With his large hands, olive complexion, bedroom eyes and thick lashes, I found myself enthralled and instantly feeling inadequate. He was a beautiful specimen of masculinity. Nope. Definitely not my type. Then why was my pulse skipping a beat?

“Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy performing sexual favors on that ice cream concoction, you’d have seen me sitting here.”

My mouth dropped open and I struggled to come up with something to say when I heard Misha laugh. I shot her a glare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said stiffly, raising my chin and looking down my nose at him. It was my signature move whenever I was feeling insecure. I would pretend to be high and mighty when really I wanted to hide my face in a dinner napkin and run away.

The man stood up and instantly my friends’ giggles stopped as they watched him approach. He was tall, at least 6’4 and he moved effortlessly in his close-fitting black shirt and expertly tailored dark jeans. My shoulders tensed and I forced myself to appear aloof and unaffected by his size, but more so unaffected by his presence. After all, he was just a man like any other... except sexier. I didn’t get a chance to admonish myself for having those thoughts, when he then bent down and said against my ear, “If you ever need any help getting out of that drought, I wouldn’t mind being of assistance.”

He turned to Misha and Emmaline, saying, “Enjoy dessert, ladies—I know I did.”

And with that, he walked out of the restaurant.

Misha barely waited for him to disappear before saying, “Oh my God, he was gorgeous. If I’d known throwing trash around a fancy ice-cream shop would get the attention of a beautiful man like that, I’d throw all the trash.”

“Uh huh,” Emmaline nodded in agreement. “What did he say to you just now?”

“I hope it was something dirty,” Misha said.

“He apologized for getting upset,” I said, trying to keep a straight face, but it was no use. My friends knew me too well.

“You’re a terrible liar, Lacey,” Emmaline said with a laugh.

I shrugged and promptly changed the subject, but in the back of my mind was the feel of the man’s breath against my ear.

Later that week, I made my way to the temp office to meet with my recruiter. I did mostly contract work, going from one client to another. I enjoyed it. I didn’t like routine or staying in one place, so temp work was great for someone like me. My recruiter, Kadija, had called me last weekend, telling me to report in because she had an opportunity that I’d love. I was a little apprehensive. Kadija had a habit of assigning me the most difficult of clients. I normally didn’t complain because it meant the pay was even more, but I wanted to take it easy. I wasn’t feeling as motivated to deal with difficult people lately. I figured it was because I was getting older and crankier... even though I was just turning 30 not 70.

I tugged at my earrings nervously as I got into the elevator. I was terribly claustrophobic, but my therapist had suggested I face my fears straight on in order to get better. Emmaline was my therapist and she was currently in graduate school online earning her master’s degree in psychology. I didn’t know if her advice was any good or not, but it was free.

I sighed in relief when the elevator dinged, signaling we’d arrived at my floor and I practically jumped out of it, heading in the direction of the temp agency. I found the frosted glass door, pushed it open, and before I could even approach the window to sign in, the receptionist smiled widely at me and said, “Don’t sit. Go straight in.”