To be honest, though, I also needed this.
Just a quick weekend getaway to shake off all the negativity and enjoy life, even if I am currently unemployed. It’s only for the weekend, so it’s not like I’m being hugely irresponsible. Only mildly. Then I’ll fly home to Wisconsin and hit the ground running with my job hunt first thing Monday morning. I’ll be back in the saddle in no time.
The woman in front of me looks to be in her early thirties with a cute brown bob that frames her heart-shaped face. Like everyone else in the immediate vicinity, she continues to look around while we wait. Our gazes catch, and being the natural extrovert I am, I give her my most welcoming Midwestern smile that says, Hi there, I’m open to having conversations with strangers.
Her eyes instantly light up, and she takes my cue.
“Oh my freaking Gawd, can you believe this place? It’s so gorgeous, I feel like royalty or something,” she gushes in a southern accent that reminds me of warm apple pie and sweet tea. “Hi, I’m Mandy.”
Her excitement is contagious, and my smile grows. “Hey, I’m Bryn. And I know, right? It feels otherworldly in here. The pictures on the internet don’t do it justice.”
“You’ve got that right. I’ve stayed in five other hotels on the Strip while waiting to get into this one. There’s simply no comparison, and I haven’t even gotten out of the lobby yet,” she says with a chuckle. “Don’t get me wrong, the others were great and all, but when a place is booked out three years in advance, you know it has to be something special.”
Wait, what? Record scratch, time out, hold the damn phone. “I’m sorry, it sounded like you said you made these reservations three years ago.”
“That’s what I said all right. This trip is three very long years in the making. I feel like Cinderella, finally getting invited to the ball,” she says, laughing. We move forward in the line, and when we get to our new spots, she asks, “Why, how long did you have to wait to get in?”
“Um…two.”
“Only two years? Damn, girl, you got lucky.”
I wince and flush with guilt. “No, not two years. Two days.”
If Mandy’s jaw wasn’t firmly attached to her face, it’d be on the floor right now. “Two day—” She cuts herself off, and I swear a light bulb must go on over her head that I can’t see. “Oh my Gawd, you’re like a movie star or something, aren’t you? Girl, I knew you were too beautiful to be a real person, I just knew it. I don’t keep up with celebrity news, though—”
Okay, so her light bulb might be screwed into the wrong socket. I have a gap between my front teeth that I’ve tried to hide in every picture taken of me since the seventh grade, and there’s not an exercise that exists that’s managed to rid me of my “hippy” figure and perpetual bubble butt. I’m not Hollywood Hot. If anything, I’m more Next-Door-Neighbor Cute.
“No, I’m not famous, that’s not it. Here, wait…”
I dig the letter with the promotional offer out of my pocket again and hand it to her. As she reads, her expression changes in gradient shades of emotions, from confusion to surprise to wonder. It’s probably how I looked when I read it the first time, too.
Finally, Mandy folds up the letter and hands it back with a bemused shake of her head. “Wow, Bryn, you are super lucky. As my daddy would say, it sounds like you got yourself a horseshoe up your ass. If I were you, I’d be marching that horseshoe down to the tables tonight.”
“I suppose I should,” I say with a smile. “When in Rome, right?”
“Girl, this ain’t Rome. It’s Vegas, baby. A magical place where a single roll of the dice can change your life forever.”
As I’m contemplating all the possibilities of that statement like it’s a choose-your-own-adventure novel, there’s some kind of commotion behind us near the entrance. A crowd is moving en masse across the lobby with a person of extreme interest somewhere in the middle.
I can’t see who it is, but I nudge Mandy and nod. “Looks like you might get your celebrity sighting after all.”
We start to chuckle, but when two gigantic bodyguards push the crowd back enough for us to finally catch a glimpse of who all the fuss is about, our humor is knocked flat on its ass, replaced by slack-jawed, in-danger-of-drooling-in-public awe.
Seriously. I’ve never seen a more beautiful person—man or woman—in all my life.
Hair black as pitch, aristocratic nose, cheekbones even Cher would kill for, and a sharp jawline accented with the perfect amount of sexy stubble that I bet feels amazing on a woman’s inner thighs. Wearing black from head to toe with shirtsleeves rolled up strong forearms, he carries his suit jacket thrown over his left shoulder with the crook of a finger.
He looks like your typical wealthy businessman except for one incongruous detail: a wide, black leather cuff on his left wrist. It’s like a warning disguised as an accessory, letting everyone know in his own subtle way that he’s not what he seems, and they’d do well to remember it.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Everything about him screams “ultimate fantasy,” like he was designed by the gods themselves for the sole purpose of making panties wet the world over. I don’t know if that’s true, but I can attest to at least one pair in this very room.
“Who…is that?” I’m not even sure if I ask the question out loud until Mandy answers.
“Caiden Verran,” she says, fanning her face with a hand. “He’s the owner of Nightfall and like a billion other places in this city. They call him and his brothers the Verran Kings of Vegas. Either way, I’d be more than happy to serve him for the rest of my days, amen.”
We giggle—giggle, for chrissake—right as he passes us, not more than twenty feet away. It’s not possible for him to hear us over the guests and photographers shouting to get his attention. And yet, right at that moment, his head turns to where we’re standing near the front desk, and his eyes lock onto mine.
My God, his eyes. They’re a warm golden amber color, yet no real warmth emanates from them. I’m completely entranced, unable to move or breathe, while he continues to walk in the direction of the elevators. Unaffected, expression unchanging. But his gaze burns into me until he’s forced to look away.
“Whoa,” Mandy says on a laugh. “Pardon my French, but Mr. Sin City himself just eye-fucked you like his name is already branded on your ass.”
“What? No, that’s not what that was. Not unless it was a hate fuck. He looked like he wanted to murder me.”
“Yeah, with his dick.”
Laughing, we turn back to see two spots open at the front desk and we’re the next in line. “Listen, Bryn, my girlfriends and I will be bouncing between the casino and the dance club tonight. Come find us, and we’ll show you how to party Vegas-style.”