The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

Pulling out my black pantsuit, I smile. The jacket is slim-cut and accentuates my waist while the pants are wide-legged and make my legs look a mile long. I grab a silk tank the exact shade of blue as my eyes and lay everything on the bed.

I showered when I got home, so I all I have to do is change and fix my hair before putting on some makeup. A half-hour later, I’m satisfied with my appearance. My red hair is styled into a sleek ponytail and my makeup is minimal and professional-looking. I feel like a million bucks in this suit, and my black heels are as comfortable as heels can be.

Pulling open my front door, I pause to rap my knuckles against the wooden doorframe. You can never be too careful, and I need all the luck I can get. I knock on the wood one last time for good measure, then head out.

This job is mine for the taking. I can feel it.

* * *

I madeit up to the executive suite without issue, but now that I’m here, I’m not feeling quite as confident as I was when I left my apartment. The waiting room is teeming with applicants.

All female.

All gorgeous.

If there wasn’t a string of giant letters on the wall declaring this The Black HartExecutive Suite, I’d think I’m in the wrong place. These women all look like supermodels or actresses vying for a role on T.V., or something, with their skin-tight dresses that accentuate their curves and show a little more cleavage than what can be deemed professional.

I glance down at myself before letting my gaze dance over the ten or so other women milling around. Maybe the casino is interviewing for other positions, as well. Or maybe I misunderstood what the job actually entails.

A door to my right opens and a woman walks out, her pace swift as she practically stomps past the rest of us in her designer sky-high heels. I turn to watch her go, and her short, tight skirt reveals small peeks of her ass cheeks with each step she takes.

A slender man in a button-down and slacks emerges, his blue eyes raking over the crowd before landing on me. His handsome face seems to sag in relief before he lifts a hand to point at me.

“You. What’s your name?” he calls out.

“Sophie Jameson,” I reply, straightening my posture and lifting my chin.

He gives me a short nod. “You’re next. Come on in.”

The other women don’t hide their frowns of disappointment as I pass. One even breathes an insult in my direction as I walk around her, but I ignore the jab and give the man, who I assume is Scotty Branson, a wide smile.

“Thanks for fitting me in,” I say as I take his proffered hand in a firm handshake.

“Scotty Branson. And thank you for coming,” he says, and I don’t miss the frustration in his voice.

He closes the door behind me and directs me toward one of the padded chairs in front of a sleek wooden desk. Moving around to the other side, he collapses into his seat with a sigh. He digs his fingertips into his eye sockets before looking at me with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry I have to ask you this, but after days of interviews, I can’t afford to waste any more time here. Do you have…uh…personal, romantically-based reasons for applying for this job?”

“Pardon me?” I ask, rearing back.

He seems to deflate, his relief evident as the tension drains out of him.

“Thank the fucking lord,” pops out of his mouth, shocking a laugh out of me. He shoots me a small smirk. “Sorry about that. Totally unprofessional, I know. But I’ve spent the last two weeks interviewing candidates for this position, every one of them women hoping to get close to Mr. Hart for reasons other than work. Apparently, he’s Vegas’s current most eligible bachelor.”

His words are punctuated with a snort, which makes me laugh again. He asks for my resume, and I hand it over, waiting in silence as he reads. His eyebrows hike up, and he looks up at me from beneath his eyelashes.

“Personal assistant to Stephen Hatfield. Impressive.”

I suck in a breath and shake my head. “I should tell you not to expect a positive reference from the man. He fired me for…not completing an impossible task, something completely out of my control, despite doing stellar work for him until then.”

Scotty nods. “I’ve heard he’s a bit of a terror. Just the fact that you worked for him as long as you did is a check in the plus column.”

He smiles then, putting me totally at ease. I cock my head and narrow my eyes.

“So all those women are here to what? Make a play for Mr. Hart?”

Scotty rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe some of the skills a few of them added to their resumes.”