Play with Me

The silence is deafening. Three hours into my confinement in the luxury suite, and I have not heard from Terrance or Damion Ward, nor have my attempts to contact them through the hotel reception yielded any results. I begin to question all my reasons for coming to Vegas, not to mention the insanity of trying a new career path. There is no way the entire casino staff is locked down in rooms like this, and I can’t help but read into the silence. I’m worried; I can’t help it. I don’t even get parking tickets, and this is unnerving enough to have me pacing the room in my stocking feet, willing the phone to ring.

By the time I’ve been tormented by my scenario for a full four hours, I know I have to do what I swore I never would again. I attempt to call Texas for help, not sure if I prefer the pain of talking to my asshole father, the attorney, or my asshole ex, the attorney. I just need to find out if I can walk out of here without getting into legal trouble. Turns out that I don’t have to choose between hometown assholes: I’m forbidden any calls outside the casino even from the hotel phone they can easily monitor.

Three more hours pass and I’ve exercised my in-casino calling privileges at least half a dozen times. I’ve even threatened to leave the room, only to be quickly assured that the floor is on lockdown, including elevators and stairwells. On another call, some employee named Derek instructs me to watch a movie On Demand as a comp from the casino. Right—comp unless they call me a thief. And no movie is going to make this wait bearable. Nor will a clearance from the crime save my job. Enough people know I’m on lockdown that my reputation will be in tatters. If Natalie was telling the truth about why she was fired, I’ll probably be fired, anyway.

And on that note, I decide to work out my frustrations by opening my computer and outlining research questions for an explosion piece on the Vantage properties and their CEO. Things happen for a reason, and maybe this is all about me getting my big story. I manage a full two pages of ideas and notes. I stare at them. I say I crave honesty and I have to start with myself. The words on the page are objective, but I am not. Despite how upset I am right now, I do not want Damion Ward to be worthy of me writing this story. I shut the computer with a finality I hope proves to be true.

By seven o’clock, I am standing at the hotel window, watching the sun descend into the jagged line of high-rise hotels and mountains, when there is a knock on the door. I whirl and charge across the room, not knowing or caring whom it might be. It’s someone living and breathing who can set me free.

I open the door and all but gasp at the unexpected sight of my soon to be ex-boss, looking intensely male and completely unaffected and perfect as ever. “We need to talk,” he says, as if this is a casual event requiring nothing more than a chat, as if I’m not being treated like a felon.

“Talk?” I demand, all the emotions of hours of confinement rising up in me to near bursting. “We needed to talk seven hours ago. Now? Now we don’t need to talk.”

He steps forward, crowding me, forcing me to give him space or let him become a part of mine. I have a rare violent urge to shove him, but I retreat into the room instead. He steps closer and kicks the door shut behind him, and damn him, that delicious scent of him tickles my nose, and the teasing eruption of sensations in my body only serves to make me more angry. I don’t want to feel the way he makes me feel. I don’t want him to be the one man who sparks something in me that no one else does.

“I couldn’t call,” he has the audacity to say. “Just like I couldn’t tell you I knew we had a security breach when you told me what the computer was doing in my office.”

“So you knew what was happening and didn’t tell me?”

“There’s a procedure to—”

“I don’t give a damn about procedures, Mr. CEO, especially from the one who sets the rules I’ve suffered with.” The edginess in me results in me poking my finger at his chest, heat dashing up my arm. “Just tell me one thing. Am I free to leave?”

He looks down at my finger and then his gaze lifts, but there is no anger in his face. There is something else, something I can’t identify. “I got you cleared, but—”

Relief is instant, and I cut him off. “That’s all the talking you need to do.” I try to turn away, intending to gather my things, but he shackles my wrist, more heat ripping up my arm and over my chest.

“Let go,” I snarl, hating a man I barely know who has put me through hell. It’s like I’m a masochist. Why else would I be drawn to yet another powerful asshole?

His lips thin, and I wish I didn’t notice how sensual and perfect they are. “We have to talk.”

“No,” I assure him. “We do not.”

“We’re going to talk.”

“You aren’t my boss anymore, which translates to the end of all conversation.”

His eyes glint hard steel. “What does that mean, I’m not your boss anymore?”

“I quit. Find someone else to treat like crap.”

“I had no choice—”

“There’s always a choice. I just want out of here.”

“You’ll regret this later.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

“You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours, Ms. Miller. You aren’t thinking straight.”

I all but growl at him. “Let me guess. I’m a woman and my emotions must be controlling me.”

“Because you’re human.”

“Why do you even care if I stay?” I demand, and I don’t know how or why, but the air around us shifts and thickens.

“Because I do.”