Daddy's Rich Enemy

But the man in the couch chuckled again deeply.

“Mortimer? Naw, loser’s not pissed, trust me.”

I whirled to face him.

“How do you know? I just got this job,” I choked. “I really need it, and I’m gonna be fired now.”

The dark man looked at me wryly.

“I know because Morty works for me,” he tossed out casually. “Grayson Channing at your service.”

And suddenly I realized why those blue eyes looked so familiar, why there was an aura of command around him. Because this was the owner of the Milano, Mr. Channing himself. I’d seen that mug in dozens of magazines, always with a pretty girl hanging off his arm, if not two or three. I was here with the most powerful man on the Strip, and my body went weak, mind hazy.

“Um, Mr. Channing,” I mumbled. “Why am I here? I’m a good employee, I swear,” I began. “I swear, tonight’s my first night but I’m usually much better. I don’t know why I spilled those drinks, I’m sorry I ruined your carpet …” the words came babbling out.

But the big man wasn’t interested.

“Naw, it’s not that,” he rumbled. “You’re here for a reason.”

I gulped.

“Do you need a drink?” I said quickly. “I’m happy to serve you. Here, let me just find the bar,” I spun around, looking for a liquor cabinet.

But the big man rumbled deep in his throat.

“Naw, I brought you here for another reason. The Milano’s filled with pretty girls, but you’re the prettiest,” he tossed off casually. “And I want to see a private show.”

My breath stopped in my chest.

“What do you mean, a private show?”

He shrugged.

“I wanna see you work it a little, you know, dance.”

Okay that was too much. He might be the owner of this casino, he might be an alpha billionaire, but you can’t just force girls to do what you want.

“I’m a waitress,” I stammered, cheeks flushing hotly. “I’m a waitress at your hotel, not a stripper.”

Mr. Channing merely looked at me amused.

“What was your name again?” he drawled.

I swallowed thickly.

“Kitty- Katherine,” I muttered. God, even though I’d just been propositioned rudely, for some reason, instead of being offended, I was titillated. Deep inside somewhere, I wanted to dance for him, I wanted to be someone else for a change, letting my hair down and going wild. I wanted the alpha male to look at me and devour my curves.

And like he could read my mind, the billionaire grinned wolfishly.

“Well, if you want to keep your job, then you’re gonna dance,” he tossed off casually, like it was no big deal. “You can do it.”

I shook my head slowly.

“But I don’t know how,” I whispered, eyes pleading. “Please don’t make me do this.”

The gleam in his eyes deepened.

“You wanna keep your job?” he asked.