Page 117 of For the Boys
“Berkley…” Brent warned.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. But yes, I do know you’re not just with me for the incredible head I give.”
“Berkley!” Brent scolded her. “Have you been drinking?”
“I may have had a glass of wine at dinner. But don’t change the subject. I do give great head. Admit it.”
“You give great head,” he deadpanned.
“Thank you. And you know I’m not with you for your money, right?”
Brent stiffened, her unprompted response striking a nerve as he remembered more of his conversation with Bobal. “Of course,” he said.
He often had to remind himself that she really didn’t want him for his money. She was so smart, so talented, so personable, that once she graduated from law school, she would make an absolute killing as an attorney. It was a struggle for him to come to terms with the fact that Berkley really was with him forhim, especially after spending two and a half years with Ashley only to realize at the exact moment all his dreams were coming true that she was only with him for superficial reasons—for the status it could give her, the opportunities it would provide her, the chance to never have to actually work again.
He knew it was true that Berkley was with him forhimand nothing else, and yet he couldn’t always make himself believe it. Thanks to Ashley, he tended to lead with his money. Berkley thankfully liked his personality, but he was reverting back to the same habits with her and he couldn’t make himself stop.
“I’m glad you realize that,” she said, pulling him from his inner turmoil. “Don’t you forget it.”
“I won’t, babe,” he said. “I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Berkley
In the same way that Berkley hated Brent spoiling her, Lexie, Kimber, and Amelia loved it. They spent the entire flight to Vegas the next week chatting excitedly about all of the things they were going to do and see. Berkley sat next to Kimber, earbuds in, preparing for the Bar. Her friends rolled her eyes at her when she pulled her study guides out, but they didn’t understand the pressure she was under. July would be here before she knew it, and she refused to be caught off guard.
Besides, Logan would never let her live it down if she didn’t pass on the first try.
When they landed and deplaned late Friday evening, they collected their luggage and made their way toward the exit. They were about to step outside when they were intercepted by a man in a suit, his bald head shiny under the airport lights.
He held a sign with Berkley’s name written on it. “Which one of you is Berkley?” She sighed and raised her hand. He smiled and said, “Mr. Jean sent me to retrieve you.”
“Retrieve me?” Berkley asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t start, Berk,” Lexie scolded. “We do need a ride to the hotel. You can yell at Brent later.”
“I won’t yell at him,” she said.
“No, because you’re too afraid to rock the boat and tell him how you really feel about all of this,” Amelia said knowingly.
Berkley glared at her. “No one asked you.”
The ride from the airport to the hotel was quick. Brent had booked them a suite at New York, New York, which was situated right next to the arena. It was also where all the players were staying.
When they arrived, a bellhop came out of the lobby to greet them, ushering them inside before hurrying back out to help the driver with their bags.
The girls walked into the lobby, which was decorated in golds and reds. Banners announced that the hotel would serve as All-Star Weekend headquarters. Reception was a section about twenty feet wide, spanning the entire length of this end of the building and was presided over by a large mural of the New York skyline, which was reflected on the stone floors. It was all glitz and glam with polished dark wood, giving Berkley a very 1920s, Golden Age vibe. The casino was off to the left, and beyond reception were the shops and restaurants.
Berkley and her friends joined the queue, snaking their way through velvet ropes until it was their turn to check in.
When the woman at the desk asked for the name on the reservation, Berkley said, “You know, I’m honestly not sure. My boyfriend, Brent Jean, booked the room, so it could be under his name. If not, it would be under mine, which is Berkley Daniels.”
The woman looked at her skeptically but began tapping away at her keyboard. She seemed to find what she was looking for, because she wordlessly began to navigate the screen, printing a sheet of paper for Berkley to sign. “How many keys will you need?”
“Four would be great,” Berkley told her with a smile.
After programming the keys, the receptionist handed them over. “You’ll be in room 1739. Have you been here before?”
