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She kept repeating those words as her mantra.
Jones treated the girls well, paid them on time, and made sure his security looked after them as well.
To maintain his Jupiter-sized ego, he came to his casino surrounded by bodyguards and his three girls, Shirley, Zoe, and Dakota herself, all dressed in tight body-hugging gowns and high heels. They really were all just for show.
Everything seemed to be going well until it was again her turn to make an appearance at a high-stakes private poker game he hosted and participated in as well.
She knew the drill. She knew his modus operandi. He had a lot of trickery up his sleeve or on his fingers. She didn’t understand the game or how he cheated, but that was all right.
He tailored his game according to who he was playing. Sometimes he made sure to lose when he thought his opponents were too smart. Other times, he swept the floor with his winnings. But then sometimes, when his ego got the better of him, he brought out the big guns.
When Jones started to lose all his money because he believed his opponents were smarter than him and would be on him if he cheated, he resorted to putting up a different kind of ante.
She knew what to do if he started to lose. He’d click his fingers, and surrounded by three burly bodyguards, it was Dakota’s job to present a real, honest-to-goodness diamond with the regality of a princess.
He called the glittering gem a family heirloom.
It wasn’t.
She had no interest in knowing how it came to be in his possession either, but it was real.
Very real.
But Jones had been off his game—an extremely rare occurrence—the instant he glanced at his opponents.
He had ordered her, rather frazzled, to wait in a small back room, whereas, for these kinds of games, she would usually stand behind him with her hand on his shoulder. He'd call her his lucky charm, and all she had to do was smile.
Bored, Dakota had taken out her phone and continued to read a self-help book about changing her luck.
But then she had been summoned. The first conclusion she drew was that Jones had met his match if he hadn’t used his cheating skills, had then proceeded to lose all his money, and was now going to try and win it back by putting up his prized diamond as an ante. This had never happened before.
For the occasion, Dakota was dressed in a glittering black floor-length gown that molded her curves, showcased her cleavage, and exposed her back almost right down to her ass. Jones thought a black lace mask that concealed not only her eyes but the upper half of her face as well was enough to distract his opponents as they tried to determine if she were as beautiful as her jawline and lips suggested.
She entered the room confidently, the glass dome in both her hands, playing the part she had been hired to do.
That's when she saw them. And her whole universe caught fire and exploded.
She barely had time to date, mostly because her current situation embarrassed her. Who'd want to date a loser? She didn't even acknowledge the opposite sex romantically. But a brief glance at the three men in the room elicited a tumultuous wave of something uniquely foreign that hit her right in the center of her soul and traveled all the way down to between her thighs.
She had never seen men of this caliber before in Jones' company.
They were dressed in pristine, immaculate suits, the kind only billionaires could afford. The watches on their wrists were Patek Philippe. She knew the brand because Zoe was obsessed with fashion and was never without a magazine to browse, which she generously offered to Dakota to pass the time when they waited for Jones in his office.
Seated around the table, they seemed to loom over her boss, who wasn't small or short by any means.
Her fleeting peek encompassed everything about all three of them. Dark-haired, structured jaw lines impeccably groomed. Their broad shoulders were clearly defined by the superb tailoring of their suits, accentuating their sheer male perfection.
Because they were perfect in every way.
Tall. Dark. Mysterious. Mind-blowingly gorgeous. Panty-destroying sexy.
One of them had gray eyes. One of them had blue eyes. Another had hazel eyes. And not one of them glanced her way as she walked into the room, unlike every other man who'd sat around Jones' poker table.
Her entire brain stopped functioning. All she registered were lightning bolts that stung her skin at the sight of them, making her nipples peak through the fabric of the expensive dress she wore and soaking her cheap white cotton panties.
She had remained flustered. Flushed. Displaced. Curious, wet, and confused.
Distracted.
