Page 70 of Cocky Prince
“I got rid of a few.” Like one pair. And it hurt.
He kisses my neck and tugs at the collar of my bathrobe. I slap his hand away and wiggle out of his arms.
Dropping to the floor, I crawl on my hands and knees and reach for a piece of fabric, toward the back of the closet, that’s stuck beneath a pair of suede Gucci ankle boots.
I hear him let out a tight breath. “If you don’t want me to touch you while you’re getting ready, this position isn’t helping. You know what it does to me.”
I look over my shoulder and hold out the tie with a smile, but he’s staring at my ass. “You’re going to be late, Adam.”
He shakes his head and grabs the tie distractedly, draping it around his neck. “I know, I know.” He buttons his shirt and reaches for his suit coat and wallet, his shoes in his hand.
Adam doesn’t wear his shoes in the house. He says he wants to keep the place clean. I think it’s sweet. I also think he’s a neat freak. Except in bed. There he’s a dirty, dirty boy.
He looks over and his gaze strips me bare. “Going to be a long day after that show you just gave me.”
I stand and lean up, grabbing the back of his head. I kiss him, and it’s not light. It’s long and needy, because as nice as it is to see him at work, it also sucks. We decided to keep our relationship a secret from the employees. Mira and Nessa know, of course, but other than our friends and their significant others, we’ve kept things quiet.
I want to know our one-week romance is of the lasting variety. Every instinct tells me it is, which is weird and a first for me. The other part of me says,This is Adam.
I never thought we’d make out, let alone turn our antagonistic working association into a romantic relationship. But we have, and I need time to figure out what that means. Adam is adamant we not tell our coworkers for reasons he refuses to explain. He particularly doesn’t want Blackwell knowing. I’m telling myself it has nothing to do with the fact that Blackwell hates me. It’s not like Blackwell can dictate whom we see. But those Blue Stars are tight-knit, and Adam works alongside them as though he were one. He doesn’t have the sapphire ring, and that’s all that matters.
I could ask Adam what’s really going on at Blue. That was the plan in getting close to him, but somehow that feels dirty now. Like I used him. What we have isn’t about Blue Casino; it’s about us. Besides, the longer I go without evidence of the illegal suite, the more I question whether it still exists.
So I found the Bliss schematics. What does it really mean if there is no proof of something illegal? I’ve talked to Mira about the new suites, and she thinks they could be what we’re looking for, but I have my doubts. And as long as those doubts exist, I’m going to entertain the idea that Bliss is nothing more than the set of luxury suites it appears to be.
* * *
Adam
If I thoughtI enjoyed my job before, now that Hayden and I are together, life feels damn near perfect. With the exception of the Bliss venture.
We have three weeks until our grand opening, which coincides with the auction and burlesque event. The burlesque show gives people a reason to come to the casino, and provides the casino a chance to show off—by invitation only—its exclusive Bliss suites to the wealthy.
Inside my office, the party planner runs down a list of food for the Bliss welcome party. “Cauliflower fritters and caviar, blue cheese and pear tartlets, and Kobe beef sliders to start.” She taps her pad with her pencil, her brown hair swept into a severe bun on top of her head, so tight it pulls the corners of her eyes back. “Dom Pérignon will be offered to kick-start the party after the burlesque show. Blue’s specialty wines will be on offer throughout the rest of the evening and early morning, along with a fully stocked bar.”
William sits forward, his distinct eyebrows winging up with enthusiasm. “We’ll have three or four of the burlesque dancers who perform that night mingling with party guests.”
The party planner ticks off items on her list. “And the celebrity DJ from Los Angeles?”
“I’ve already contracted him,” I say. “The engineers are working with the DJ’s assistant on setup preparations for inside the suite.”
The planner checks off more items from her clipboard. “Each invited guest will be asked to wear a platinum and sapphire pin to commemorate the event and to help employees identify potential Bliss members as they work their way around the casino and hotel.”
“What about rooms for the guests?” Paul asks, looking to me.
“We’ve booked the second half of the penthouse, and the floor beneath. All of the rooms will be stocked with premium towels and personal care products from the Bliss line.”
Paul glances at his phone and nods to the party planner. “Looks like we’re all set, then.” He stands and the party planner does too, juggling her clipboard and huge workbag, filled with the pamphlets and brochures we’ve used these last couple of months to place orders for the event.
He shakes her hand. “Thank you for your hard work,” he says, barely looking at her. She’s not flashy or beautiful, and I get the feeling Paul doesn’t give women like her much attention.
“My pleasure,” she says.
Paul walks her to the door and closes it behind her. He sits next to William and crosses his legs. “We have a hundred and twenty full membership slots available, thirty-seven of which are already accounted for. Blackwell wants to offer a lesser plan for rotating members who intend to use Bliss on a short-term basis. It will cost them less overall, but more per day, and it allows us to up our membership without compromising full members. You know what that means, don’t you?”
I stack the paperwork the planner handed me. “Blue will be coming into a windfall.”
“As will we.” He grins at William, who returns the look.
