Morrison (Caldwell Brothers)

I look to the bedside clock and sigh, knowing I have only thirty minutes to doll myself up for work tonight before I have to leave Marisa with Jamie.

One day, I won’t be burning the candle at both ends.

One day, I won’t be keeping a secret from my daughter.

One day, we will be able to simply be Marisa and me.

Suit-wearing, slick-talking, snake-in-the-grass bastards. All of them! This is temporary, only a job. Moment by moment, I just have to get through another day.

My feet ache with every step my high-heeled, covered toes have to take while I pull down on my skirt.

Sleazy cocktail waitress uniform. These assholes think it’s made for easy access. They also think they can touch me wherever and however they want so I can earn my tips.

One day, this will be a mere memory. For now, I have to keep working the casino. This is a means to an end. Thankfully, it is one that pays well, but it damn sure isn’t easy. I can’t let it get me down, though.

Eye on the prize. Get the contacts and get in the underground games. Play a tournament.

Win.

Repay debt. Be done. Resume life.

Momma always said, “The boys won’t like it if you beat ’em, Hailey Sue. You gotta hustle harder, play smarter, and tip the right man off. Know your place, darlin’.”

“Yeah, Momma, how’d that work out for you?” I mutter to the dry Vegas air around me. Then I blow out a frustrated breath as I make my way to my car.

You have got to be fucking kidding me right now!

The minute I think this night can’t possibly get any longer, it damn sure does. One of these entitled motherfuckers has parked his car behind mine, blocking me in with no way out. I am sure his Porsche won’t look so good when I leave the imprint of my little Nissan hatchback’s bumper in the passenger door.

Going over to my car, I unlock the door manually, since the keyless entry no longer works. Annoyance consumes me as I step out of my heels and let my feet hit the gravel beneath me. At this point, I don’t care how dirty it is—my feet hurt, my life is a complete mess, and tonight has been never-ending.

I toss my purse into the back as I reach in to grab my duffel bag. Opening it up, I put some sweats on over my skirt, grab an old T-shirt, and cover my pushed-up, barely covered tatas, then start pulling the pins out of my hair. Once I free my locks from their fancy updo, I quickly throw it all up in a messy bun on top of my head.

Glamorous, I am not.

Once I have adjusted my look from work life to real life, I wait.

Impatiently, I wait.

If this guy is in a tournament and winning, I could be here all fucking morning. Making my way over to the car impeding my escape, I run my manicured finger over the edge of the beauty.

One day, I will be just like these entitled fucks. One day, I will park my car wherever the hell I please without any regard for its being towed, hit, or stolen.

Must be nice to not care about losing a hundred grand.

I wish money was all that was at stake for me. But some of us can’t be so lucky, can we?

I’m tapping my finger on the trunk when I hear a whistle behind me.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off my ride!” A suit-wearing prick comes running over, muttering something about not having his usual valet guy.

Well, la-dee-da, park your own car and you won’t have to worry about which valet guy stowed your ride in the wrong place.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Afraid you might get a little dirt on ‘precious’ here? We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” I mock him, wiggling a finger in the air before bringing it back down onto the car. The acrylic on my nails does nothing to remotely scratch the clear coat of the vehicle, but it does make the asshole move faster.

“Are you fuckin’ crazy? That car cost more than some people’s houses.”

“Crazy? Nope. Pissed the fuck off? You betcha.”

He looks at me, tilting his head to the side as if he is truly studying me. Then his hand comes up to his chest in mock pain.

“Pissed at me? Why would you be pissed at me, babe?”

“‘Babe’—fucking ‘Babe.’ Do I look like a pig to you?” I look down at my ripped sweats and college shirt, then raise my hand to ward off his response. I do look like a pig. And bottom line, I can’t risk being at war with any underground players, so it’s time to swallow my pride yet again. “Don’t answer that. I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”