The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

I hear a cough to my left, and see the undercover security guard still hovering with a fist pressed to his mouth. Ignoring him, I look back at Sophie and frown.

Maybe I should offer her and her friends a ride. Car service drivers aren’t always honorable, especially in this city. I’ve read articles about inebriated women getting sexually harassed and sometimes assaulted by drivers after a night of heavy drinking.

“My brother is coming to get us,” the blonde calls out as if sensing my unease.

I give her a nod as Sophie’s body sways toward mine. Her hands land on my chest just before her forehead bangs into my chin.

“Ow. Fuck,” she shouts, jerking herself backward before rubbing the sore spot. “What did you do that for?”

“Me?” I ask, soothing my fingers over my chin. “You crashed into me, sweetheart.”

“Yeah? Well, you ruined my life,” she shoots back, repeating her earlier words.

“I’m sure I did,” I say, then look back toward Sophie’s friends. “Is he on his way now?”

“Don’t placate me, asshole,” Sophie growls, crossing her arms over her chest. “My life has gone to shit thanks to you.”

“Sophie, maybe we should go,” the blonde suggests, dragging the raven-haired one along as she moves closer.

“No, Zoey,” Sophie says. “We were here, first. Maybe Douchenozzle McAssfucker should leave.”

She nods in my direction as my eyebrows hike up. “Douchenozzle McAssfucker?”

“It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” she asks, her lips curving up into a smile.

The expression transforms her face from simply beautiful to fucking breathtaking. My right eye twitches as my attraction battles with the annoyance already coursing through me. I don’t like the feeling.

Sophie Jameson is a sexy-as-fuck, frustrating, gorgeous, royal pain in my ass.

“Come on, Sophie. Let’s go,” the woman she called Zoey says quietly as she hooks her arm through Sophie’s and pulls her away.

“You’re a heartless bastard, whoever you are,” Sophie calls out over her shoulder with one last glare in my direction.

I remain rooted to the spot as I watch them head for the entrance on the strip side of the building. The three of them veer off to the right before Zoey angles them back toward the glass doors. Shaking my head, I turn and walk to the bar.

“What can I get you, boss?” James asks, placing a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of me.

“Club soda with lime,” I answer, then cock my head. “Do you know those women? Do they come here often?”

He shrugs as he finishes filling a glass of ice with soda water. Popping a lime wedge on the rim, he hands it over.

“I’ve seen them a few times, but they aren’t usually that intoxicated. They must be blowing off some steam tonight, because they were pretty far gone when they got here.”

Blowing off some steam? That’s an understatement.

“The redhead seemed pretty pissed,” he observes, obviously digging for information to satisfy his curiosity.

I drain the drink and hand the glass back to him without acknowledging his statement.

“Thanks, James. I’ll see you next week.”

“See you, boss,” he says, holding two fingers to his brow and giving me a little salute.

Yeah, the redhead was pissed. At me.

But she’ll just have to get over it. That painting is far more important to my mother than it could ever be to whoever her anonymous boss is. I’m sure he or she will find something else to take its place, and everything will go back to normal for Sophie.

I head back through the casino toward the gaming tables to find Sam for that drink I promised him, a gorgeous, cherry-red smile and piercing blue eyes haunting me the whole way.