Vegas, Baby - Volume 3

The headache I’d been dealing with all day—after getting virtually no sleep because I’d tossed and turned throughout the night as dreams about my mystery man plagued me—ratcheted up another notch. My voice was weak as I croaked out, “How can I help you, Mr. Lennox?”

“Call me Drew,” he smoothly instructed.

“O-okay,” I sputtered. “And I’m Amelia.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Amelia. There was a bit of a mishap with your group’s reservation this evening.”

“Oh.” My gaze darted over to where Maria and her friends were gathered at the wet bar, pregaming for tonight’s celebration before we started getting ready. The hangovers they’d struggled with this morning hadn’t stopped them from gulping down mimosas with breakfast and sipping frozen cocktails at the pool all day long. I dreaded having to tell her that the dinner she’d been looking forward to was canceled. “You’re right; that’s not good.”

“Mistakes like this rarely happen at the Lennox,” he assured me. “When they do, we work hard to make it up to our guests. I was hoping you’d be willing to move your party to a private VIP room at The Crescent Moon, next door at The Artemis. Everything will be on the house, including an open bar.”

“Wow,” I breathed, stunned by his generous offer. “You really do go above and beyond when someone on your staff makes a mistake.”

“I hope this means you’re okay with the new plan?” he asked.

Thinking about how much alcohol this bachelorette party could suck down in a short time, I laughed. “I’d be a fool not to. Although, you may come to regret offering to cover everything once you see the final bill.”

“No worries there,” he chuckled. “As long as you’ll be at The Crescent Moon this evening, feel free to go hog wild.”

He seemed completely unconcerned, but I guess the cost would be pocket change for a billionaire. “I’m sure the bride will be more than okay with the change in plans. Thank you so much for taking care of this.”

“It was my pleasure,” he assured me before we said our goodbyes and ended the call.

Walking over to the bar, I announced, “Change of plans! There was a little mix-up with our reservation, so the hotel is springing for a VIP room at a restaurant in the hotel next door. And the best part is...the whole thing is covered, including all the liquor you can guzzle down.”

“VIP room?” one of them screamed, jumping up and down in excitement.

“Open bar?” another bridesmaid asked, her eyes going wide in surprise.

“Oh my gosh, Amelia! You’re a miracle worker.” Maria rushed over to hug me. “I can’t believe you got them to pony up so much for such a small mistake. This is why you’re the best maid of honor ever!”

I squeezed her back. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“You know what’ll make me happy?” She leaned back and flashed me a sly grin. “If you let me pick out your clothes again for tonight. I packed lots of extra outfits with you in mind.”

Thinking about the halter top and skinny jeans she’d talked me into wearing last night, I mentally groaned as I pasted a smile onto my face. “I’ll look at what you brought, but I’m not making any promises.”

“You better like one of the dresses I brought because we’re going VIP tonight.” She dragged me into the bedroom where she was sleeping and flung open the closet doors. “We need to look the part.”

“Looking the part” turned out to be code for trying on a half dozen dresses until I found one I felt semi-comfortable in. It was the stereotypical little black dress with a sheer illusion neckline that gave a peek of my cleavage and a ruffled high-low hem that hit right above my knees in front and behind them in the back. Then we spent three hours primping—showering, shaving, blow-drying, hair curling, and applying makeup. By the time we walked to the hotel next door, I’d been forced to do the whole shebang. It had been intense, but even I was willing to admit I looked better than I ever had before. And much more comfortable than I’d been the night before since Maria okayed my black wedge sandals.

It added some extra confidence to my stride...right up until I almost tripped over my feet when I spotted my mystery man standing next to a booth in the far-left corner of the restaurant.

“Hey, isn’t that—?”

I practically shoved my cousin into the private VIP room the hostess was leading us to. “Shh,” I hissed. “He might hear you.”

“Why is that a problem?” she asked as she made a beeline over to the bar set up on the opposite side of the room.

In a hurry to get away from the open door and windows that looked out on the main part of the restaurant, I stalked after her. “Then he’d see me.”