Once she gave me her address, I knew why. Living in the ghetto or slums has to be embarrassing, especially when it was someone like me bringing her home. The rich, spoiled kid who had a brand-new car, scholarship and just graduated from private school.
Mary?
Megan?
No, those names don’t sound right, but for the life of me I can’t remember her name. How the hell am I going to speak to her if I can’t call her by her name?
She looks nothing like the girl I remember. Time changes everyone, but it seems like time has been her enemy. She’s beautiful, gorgeous even, but she looks worn down and tired. Like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Of course, if she’s walking around Vegas dressed like that she probably hasn’t. Unfortunately for her, I can spot a stripper or hooker a mile away. By the amount of chips she has on the table it’s easy to see that she’s had a good week of tips. I’m saddened slightly by the fact that someone I’ve been with has now resorted to this type of business.
Watching her from across the room, she meets my eyes every now and again, making me wonder if she recalls who I am. We were young and the sex wasn’t exactly memorable.
Men gather around her, each of them paying more and more attention to her as she keeps winning. I step closer and seek out where the members of my security team are. A few of them linger, watching things as they unfold. My heart races when she pushes forward all her chips. I mentally calculate the number in my head and figure it’s over ten thousand. My eyes are focused on her as she looks at her cards. There’s a slight hesitation on her face, and as if in slow motion, the dealer flips the last card and her face falls as the chips are stacked into the dealer’s tray. And in a moment the money is gone.
As soon as I see her tears, I’m moving toward the table. I don’t care how much money I have, losing is never easy to take, especially when we’re talking thousands and the odds are barely over forty percent that you’ll even win. When she comes around the corner, I’m there, waiting for her.
“Get out of my way.” She pushes me with both hands, knocking me back onto my ass as she storms by me in her five-inch heels. Before I can react, security is on her, pulling her out of my casino as I stand and brush myself off. I make sure to smile at the onlookers, letting them know I’m okay so they can go back to spending their money in my establishment.
“Let me go,” she yells with her legs kicking out, giving everyone around her a clear view of the floss she’s using for underwear.
“Let her go,” I say, stepping outside. They do, and she barely stands on her own two feet. I catch her before she wobbles over.
“Don’t touch me.”
I look at her dubiously and straighten my suit jacket. “I’m fairly certain you pushed me first.”
“You deserve it.”
Putting my hands in my pockets, I excuse the two men who carried her out. I don’t know what I did to deserve to be pushed in my own casino, but I’ll let it slide. “How are you?”
She rolls her eyes and puckers her lips, sucking in her cheeks. “What do you care?”
I shrug. “I always care when I see someone from my hometown in my hotel, losing thousands of dollars.”
The mention of the money causes more tears. The amount she lost wouldn’t put a dent in my checkbook, only my pride, but it seems like she needed that money. Who the hell am I kidding, most people need that kind of money and it’s probably a blow to your ego to lose it. But something tells me that she needs it a little more than others.
“It was nice seeing you, Finn, but I have to go.”
My instincts tell me to reach out and grab ahold of her before she walks away. Her head whips around and she glares at me.
“Let me help you.”
“Excuse me? What makes you think I need your help?”
“I have a proposition for you.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying and the plan is fully formulated in my mind.
5
Macey
I don’t walk away from Finn like a lady, I run as fast and best as I can in these damn heels, cutting in front of the line of people waiting for a taxi and jump in, slamming the door behind me. The driver says something, but quickly shuts up when he looks over his shoulder and sees my face. I don’t want to know what’s going through his mind. He’s judging me, like all the others, because of the way I’m dressed and how my face looks right now, but I’m used to it.