Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

“My career decisions, specifically. I’ve racked up quite a bit of student loan debt, but when I graduated, I said I wanted to take a year off from school so I could work more and pay them down, then I would start this year-long program to get a specialized master’s degree. I told her it would open up more—and maybe better—job opportunities.”

Rafe nods. “Okay, that sounds sensible.”

“It does. The problem is, I was supposed to start that program several months ago, so I think she’s starting to suspect I’m stalling, and she doesn’t understand why. It’s not like her questions are unfounded, I just don’t feel like dealing with them.”

“So, why didn’t you start the program?” he asks.

“A few reasons. Mostly, before I sink myself $35,000 deeper in debt, I need to decide if I actually want to do it. I’m already in so much debt from my last degree, I can’t really afford to go back to school just for fun. If I’m going to invest more money, I need to be reasonably sure I’ll use the degree.”

“What’s the decision depending on?”

More things than I can explain to him. I segment out the reasons I can’t share with him, and go with the next most relevant.

“Positions of this type are fairly limited, and I don’t exactly have a passion for that field,” I explain. “There’s really only one place I’d be interested in working, where it would feel personally rewarding and not just like a hard-earned paycheck, but even if I do land that job, that will forever close the door on the career I originally invested all that time and money preparing myself for.”

“Sounds complicated.”

I nod my head. “So, for now, I’m sticking with the restaurant, but my mom doesn’t understand why. To the outside world, it’s an easy decision. There are essentially two paths I could take that would lead to personal success. One would even be pretty good for the world. The other, not so much, but it would be good for my bank account. Instead of making a choice, I’m currently sitting down in the middle of the road with my hands over my ears, insisting, ‘you can’t make me!’”

Rafe nods slowly in consideration. “Passion vs. paycheck. A classic conundrum.”

It’s a little more complicated than that for me, but since I can’t explain that, I nod my head. That’s close enough for him to understand my struggle. “Yeah, so… I didn’t feel like fighting about it. Figured I would stay home and buy myself one more year. Maybe by next year, Trent will finally get himself fired and I’ll at least be managing the restaurant,” I joke.

His lips curve up faintly. “Do you want to manage the restaurant? I’m sure I could find a reason to fire Trent.”

“No, I don’t want to cost someone their livelihood. I was joking. Mostly. If he ever quits, you should definitely make me the manager. I would do a much better job than he does.”

“If I promote you, though, who will bring me my dinner?” he half-jokes.

I smile and run my hand over his chiseled abdomen. “I’ll always bring you your dinner.”

“Always, huh?”

I nod my head. “Even if they make me queen. I’ll have a private jet fly me back at dinner time just so you never have to worry about your meal getting fucked up. Any ordinary waitress might make the horrific mistake of not bringing you a refill before your glass empties, and then you might get a bite on your fork and realize you don’t have anything to wash it down with. You’d have to wait for her to notice, then wait again while she went and filled your glass. I bet she’d take her time, too.”

Shaking his head in mock disgust, Rafe says, “The audacity.”

“Mm hmm. I would never inflict such a fate on you.”

Rafe smiles and leans down, brushing his lips across mine. “I’ll have to see about getting you a raise. I could make you head waitress. It’s not a position I’ve ever officially staffed, but I could make one and give it to you so I could pay you more.”

“I don’t want special treatment,” I say, guiltily.

“Nah, that’s goodie goodie talk. This is the real world. Take special treatment where you can get it. You should be the head waitress, anyway. You’re the best one there and the owner’s personal favorite. I’ll look into it after Christmas.”

Well, that would give me a valid reason to weigh in on some of the stuff Trent doesn’t do well. In the end, putting me in a positio

n with more responsibility would benefit Rafe. Everyone listens to me at the restaurant anyway, so it probably wouldn’t be unfair to accept commensurate pay for the effort I put in. “All right, if you insist,” I decide.

“Or I could just give you a different job altogether,” he adds, his large hand sliding around my waist, down my side, and around the curve of my ass. He gives it a squeeze. “I’ve had thoughts of making you my maid.”

“Oh, have you? I think you just want to see me in a maid uniform,” I tell him.

“Entirely possible. But I could double your salary, and then your only job would be taking care of me.”

“I’ll do that for free,” I volunteer, hooking my leg around his as he moves on top of me. His lips move across my jawline and I sigh with pleasure.

We kiss for a little while and my blood starts to heat again. His must, too, because he pulls back and tells me, “We should try to get a couple more hours of sleep.”