“I wouldn’t have missed the chance to put my bid in.” She turns as the elevator dings. Out step Richard and Tara Bolton, Nevada’s self-proclaimed royal family. Tara rushes toward Ginger and embraces her. If Tara had a knife, she’d likely start stabbing Ginger while telling her how much she loves her.
“Richard, so good of you to make it.” He kisses me on my cheek and whispers into my ear, telling me how sexy I am. Pig. “Tara!” I step out of Richard’s grasp and hold my arms out for his wife to come toward me. She smiles, but it’s forced, and the hug she gives is cold. There’s definitely something wrong, but now isn’t the time to figure it out. Maybe she’s pissed I was able to score the new Louis bag the second it hit the shelf.
“I just love… well, I thought you’d change the décor since the last time we were here,” Tara says as she all but pushes me aside to enter my home. I do everything I can to keep from rolling my eyes. Richard snickers beside me, tapping my ass as he walks by me. Like I said, he’s a pig, and I hate having him in my home. Thankfully, with a house full of people and a staff, he won’t be able to try anything.
“I’ll add it to my list of things to accomplish before my next dinner party.” As much as I don’t want to change the décor in my house to appease her, I will. The last thing I need or want is for her to talk about me among our mutual friends. If words get back to my father, he’ll be rather upset with me for not satisfying his clients.
The elevator dings before I have a chance to make my way into the living room where the two couples are. Heath and Elaine McLeod walk through my door and embrace me in a tight hug. They’re Lana’s parents and here for moral support. Every time they hear about one of these dinners, they invite themselves. I don’t mind because I appreciate having someone here I can talk to without having to be fake or discuss business.
“Thank you for coming.” Elaine’s the closest person I have to a mother with my own gallivanting across the country, mending a broken heart for the past ten, or is it fifteen, years. After eight, I stopped counting, stopped caring. My father may be the worst, but he didn’t abandon me.
“We wouldn’t miss it. Besides, your view is amazing, and I wanted to capture a few images tonight.” Elaine pats the camera bag she’s carrying. Heath’s a doctor, while Elaine’s a photographer. Her prints garner four to five digits, and if you’re thinking about booking her for a wedding, think again. She’s booked solid for a year.
The last to arrive are Shan Caldwell and his date, who’s wearing some string dress and platform stripper shoes. This time, my eyes roll when he stops and sticks his tongue down her throat, and his hand slides up her leg, exposing her ass. I’ve known Shan for most of my life, and at one point our parents wanted us to get married. I probably would’ve taken the plunge, but Shan’s wandering eye and inability to keep his hands to himself are a huge turnoff to me. Call me old-fashioned, but when I marry, it’ll be for love and not business.
“Fiona,” Shan drags my name out as his kiss lingers all too close to my lips.
“Shan. I see you brought the best of Vegas with you. Let me guess, you woke up with her in your bed?” I keep my eyes on the woman, who is chomping on her gum like a cow chews its cud. He turns and extends his hand to her.
“This is Tiffany Desiree.”
“And what corner do you work on?” I’m not ashamed of my question. I’m totally judging her by the way she’s dressed and how handsy he is with her. Clearly, she doesn’t understand my insulting question by the look on her face. “Right, welcome.” I motion for Shan and his friend to go into the living room. The only other people who could possibly stop by are Lana or my father. Usually, my father won’t attend these functions because he looks culpable in the solicitation of gifts.
More people arrive. They’re either associates of my father or friends of his new wife. Either way, it doesn’t bother me. The larger the audience, the better the outcome. There is always someone who wants to outdo their competition.
The drinks are flowing. My champagne fountain seems to be a hit, especially with Tiffany, and the staff has put out our dinner. I stand back and watch the investors meander in and out of my library where I conveniently have the Majesty on display, along with the potential earnings if the remodel is done right. The Majesty is one of the rare properties in Vegas where expansion is possible.
“What’s your father looking for?” Shan asks as he comes to stand next to me on the balcony.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leans his arms on the railing and nods. “I was at the car show the other day, came across the Lambo Huracan. I put a down payment on it. I was thinking of ordering two.”
I nod. “Probably a good idea.”
Shan brings his drink to his lips and swallows the rest of his Scotch. He leaves me there, knowing the price my father is willing to accept to streamline the permitting process. What would normally take years, he will make happen in days. Suddenly, when one of these applications crosses his desk, he’s not very busy and can make things happen rather quickly.
I step back into my house and watch the people I’ve invited into my home. They mingle among themselves, talking business and setting plans to get together for their imaginary golf games. As I look over the crowd, there’s a set of blue eyes, which do not belong here.
Walking through the crowd takes me longer than I intend with people stopping and talking to me.
“How’d you get in?” I ask, meeting his gaze. I’m taken aback by his strong jawline, which is covered in the perfect amount of stubble. I find this feature extremely attractive. My fingers itch to run through it, to feel his coarse hair tickle my skin. The rest of him looks perfect as if he were cut out of Vogue and set in the middle of my room to entice me with his broad shoulders and his visible physique. However, it’s his already sexed, roughed up looking hair that garners my attention or is it his mesmerizing blue eyes? Maybe a combination of both? Doesn’t matter because I didn’t invite him here.
Even though he has a glass of bourbon in his hand, he doesn’t take a drink. Most often, men will do this when approached by women. It’s their way of mustering up the courage to speak to the opposite sex. Yet, he holds it between his thumb and index finger, letting the amber liquid slosh back and forth. Odd, but his choice to ruin a perfectly fine l
iquor.
“The door was open?”
“Not likely,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. I wrack my brain, trying to recall his name, but to no avail. This is unlike me. I pride myself on remembering everything about everyone. “Try again?”
This time, he brings the glass to his lips, and that’s when I see it, the Mark of the Fates. I step back, wondering why I didn’t notice this when we met. Instantly, I reach for my cross, only to find it’s not hanging around my neck. He notices but doesn’t budge, but his eyes meet mine. I don’t know what compulsion feels like, and I’m not willing to find out. “Excuse me.”
I leave him standing there and rush to my room. All I want is my necklace. Once it’s securely around my neck, I turn to find the vampire standing in my doorway. I swallow hard and try to stand tall, but my legs wobble in my stilettos. “Please leave.”
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Then why are you here?” I can feel my pulse throbbing, and I imagine he can see it pushing through my skin, beckoning him to come sink his teeth into my flesh.