Vegas Baby: A Bad Boy's Accidental Marriage Romance

by Amy Brent

  There were several hundred people in the Grand Ballroom downstairs, mostly women, waiting for yours truly to bring a little wit, wisdom, and advice into their otherwise empty lives.

  They wanted me to tell them it was okay that they were totally fucked up because there was a fix. There was hope. And it was detailed fully in my latest book, which they could have autographed for $50.

  If they wanted a selfie with me it was $100.

  If they wanted to attend the private VIP dinner later on tonight that was $1,000 a head. The dinner was capped at 100 and had been sold out for months. I still had a hard time believing anyone would pay $1,000 to dine in the same room as me, but I sold out these events wherever I went.

  I can honestly say that I love my job… especially since I usually got one of these wonderful blowjobs or a nice quickie in the elevator before every event and usually had several ladies to keep me company for the night afterward. I loved one-on-one sex, but I really loved it when the bed was crowded with naked bodies.

  My phone stopped buzzing. I looked at my watch. It was time to get the show on the road. I put my hands on the sides of… what was her name… oh yeah…Meredith… I put my hands on the sides of Meredith’s head and helped her along, bobbing her head over my cock, hitting the back of her throat without so much as a gag. Her fingers tightened around the shaft as she milked it up and down, twisting as they went, the ball in her tongue rolling over the underside of my cock, setting off a thousand tiny nerves that made my whole body tense.

  She could feel my muscles tightening. She let my cock slide from her mouth, then used her spit to lube the shaft. She started pumping faster and faster. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum…” she said, though I had not had the chance to even touch her pussy. “Shoot your cum on my face… Dr. Curtis… make me… fuck… I’m cumming…. Yes… yes… yes…”

  I pointed my toes and let the orgasm hit, crashing into my balls like a wave slamming into the shore. As Meredith pumped my cock like an oil derrick, I shot ropes of milky white goo in the air. It rose and fell on my cock and on her hand. She giggled like a kid watching a funny show and clamped her mouth onto the head and pumped the shaft until I had nothing left to give. She swallowed every drop, then cleaned me off with her tongue. I lay back, spent, struggling to breathe, until someone knocked on the door. That would be Ari. Telling me play time was over and work time was at hand.

  I smiled down at Meredith, who was licking her fingers as if she’d just had a gourmet meal. I tucked the hair behind her ear and smiled.

  “Did you get everything you need?” I asked.

  She licked her lips and smiled. “Yes. Everything.” She pushed herself up and dabbed the corners of her lips with her fingertips. “If I need anything else… can I…”

  “Of course,” I said with a smile. “I’ll have my assistant text you my number.”

  “That would be great,” she said, leaning in to kiss my cheek as the knock on the door came again. She gathered up her things while I put myself back together. She packed them into her bag, and followed me to the door. When I opened the door, Ari was standing there with an impatient look on her slender face.

  Arianna Goldman was fifty-seven, stick thin, with short silver hair and coal blue eyes that could stare down a cobra. She was dressed in her usual black pants suit and silk blouse with six-inch heels that brought her to about five-foot-eight. She wore no jewelry other than the silver Rolex I had given her ten years ago after she sold my first book at auction. Ari was my manager, my friend, my confidante, and my keeper. If it wasn’t for her I’d still be doling out hack psychiatric advice from a tiny office somewhere in Encino.

  “It was great meeting you, Dr. Curtis,” Meredith said officially, sticking out her hand for me to shake. Her hand was sticky to the touch. Ari just rolled his eyes.

  “It was great meeting you, Meredith,” I said, letting go of her hand and giving her a little nod. “I look forward to reading your article.”

  She giggled a bit, then skipped off down the hall. Ari shook her head as we watched her go. “Jeez, man, it sucks being you,” she said. “The last time I had a girl that hot in my hotel room she left with my purse and a big chunk of my pride.”

  “I’m sure it was a small price to pay for that moment of bliss,” I said with a sigh. “Is everything ready downstairs?”

  Ari nodded as she let her eyes go up and down me. She noticed the wet spot on the crotch of my pants. “Yes, but you need to clean up and change,” she said, rolling her eyes like a teacher scolding a student she was fond of. “Then get downstairs. There are five hundred women ready to hang on your every word and write you a check.”

  “Okay, I’ll hurry,” I said, stepping back into the room and leaning against the door. “And you’re right, you know.”

  She frowned at me. “I am? About what?”

  “It does suck to be me.”

  I grinned at her until the door swung shut.

  Chapter Three: Lane

  Arianna took two ice cold Coronas from the hotel room mini fridge and brought them over to the sofa where I had gotten the Meredith-special earlier in the day. Now, I lay stretched out with my shirt and shoes off and an arm over my eyes. I was wearing a pair of black boxers and nothing else, my body still warm and damp from the steaming hot shower I had just taken after calling it a day. I wasn’t bashful in front of Ari. She was like my mom—or my big sister—and she was a lesbian. We’d seen each other in various stages of undress for years. Hell, back in the old days, we slept in the same hotel room bed and shared a shower to keep costs down. No number of pheromones or glances at my cock or her tits was going to change our relationship. Thank God. Sex just muddied things. That was a complication Ari and I would never have.

  She set one of icy bottles between my bare thighs, making me jump, then took her beer and sat on the other side of the coffee table in one of the plush leather chairs. She kicked off her shoes, stretched out her long legs, and wiggled her toes.

  “Ah, that’s better,” she said, bringing the bottle to her lips. “That was an incredibly long fucking day.”

  I took a long drink and sighed. Drinking Coronas after an event had become a ritual for us. It started years ago when I was doing seminars for a few dozen people at a time in tiny motel meeting rooms. Now, I could fill a major hotel grand ballroom without blinking an eye and could afford to toast with Dom Perignon, but we still drank Coronas. It was our homage to the past.

  Ari and I knew we were two of the luckiest two people on the planet, doing everything we got to do and getting paid insane amounts of cash for it. Ari got 15% of every nickel I made, and massive bonuses throughout the year based on sales and productivity. And she was worth every penny.

  She not only managed my career, but negotiated book deals, lined up the speaking gigs, coordinated the seminars and events, oversaw the sale of schwag at the back of the room, and managed every other aspect of my life except for getting me laid. And she would have managed that for me if I had asked her to. For now, I had no problem lining up my own pussy. When you have pussy lining up, it’s not that hard.

  “That was a long day,” I said with a sigh. I glanced sideways at her with the bottle resting on my chest, the condensation leaving a cold ring of moisture that felt good against my hot skin. I had been onstage for two hours, signed autographs and posed for pictures for another two hours, then held court at the VIP dinner for three hours. I was tired and sweaty and wrung out like a dish rag. All I wanted to do was finish my Corona and collapse into bed. I was so freakin’ tired it didn’t even bother me that I would be sleeping alone, for a change.

  “Long, but profitable,” Ari said, the dollar signs dancing in her eyes. Ari had been a successful lawyer and accountant before I convinced her to chuck it all and roll the dice on a no-name psychiatrist and first-time author with big dreams of building an empire like Dr. Phil’s. We weren’t quite there yet, but we were getting closer and closer every year.

  I smiled at the look on her face.
She was grinning like the Grinch and counting dollars in her head. “I bet you know exactly how much we made today,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. I licked the beer from my lips and waited. “Come on. Give. How much?”

  She pushed her thin shoulders up and down. “We’re looking at a couple hundred thousand net, give or take the price of lobster.” She was referring to the cost of the VIP dinner of one hundred steaks and lobsters. Attendees had paid a thousand-dollars a head, giving us a hell of a profit margin. Ari smiled with the bottle at her lips and said, “Either way, we came out okay.”

  “That’s good,” I said, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand. “Maybe now we can take a break and enjoy some of that cash we’ve been stockpiling since this book tour began.”

  We’d been on the road nearly six months promoting my newest book, Trade Offs, with book signings, speaking at seminars and big events, and I had no idea how many personal appearances. And we had done an endless stream of radio, TV, cable, and satellite promotion. I had talked so much about the fucking book that I wanted to poke my eyes out. It was fun and nothing like real work, but the road was kicking my ass. I hadn’t been home to my place in Malibu in months and it was starting to wear on me.

  “We have another month of this,” she said. She propped her bare feet on the coffee table with her ankles crossed. For a woman of her age, she had exceptionally pretty feet. And don’t ask me why I noticed that. Ari is a lesbian and old enough to be my mom. Still, I’m a dude. Dudes notice shit non-dudes never do.

  “Another month?” I whined, blowing out a long breath. “Fuck, Ari, I need a break. Six months on the road is too much.”

  “You want that villa in Tuscany?” she asked, one penciled-in eyebrow cocked.

  I huffed into the bottle. “You know I do.”

  “Then stop your whining because when this tour is finished you’ll be able to pay cash for it.”

  “Well, I just hope I’m still alive enough to enjoy it,” I said, leaning my head back on the cushion to stare at the ceiling. “It just gets old sometimes. You know?”

  “I know, sweet cheeks,” she said, her head bobbing. “Just think how I feel. I’m doing all this with you for a lousy fifteen percent.” We smiled at each other. Her fifteen percent had totaled over five million dollars last year, not to mention another million in bonuses, and a new Tesla that she had never even bothered to drive.

  “Tell you what,” I said, turning on my side to face her. I propped up on one elbow and aimed a finger in her direction. “You get me some time off and I’ll raise that to twenty-percent for the rest of the tour.”

  “As tempting as that sounds, my dear one, the schedule is set in stone,” Ari said, mocking me with a sad face. “Quit your fucking whining. It’ll all be over in a month. Just hang on. Then you can spend an entire month at Northwoods decompressing with your usual gaggle of girls.”

  The mention of Northwoods, my secluded, luxury retreat in the California mountains made me sigh. “Gaggle of girls?” I echoed with a broad grin. “Is that like a gaggle of geese?”

  “If geese had great tits and asses,” Ari said with eyes wide. She finished her Corona and let her feet drop to the floor. She set the empty bottle on the coffee table and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. “Okay, hot shot, I’m done. I’m gonna turn in. How about you?”

  “After I finish this,” I said, tipping my bottle at her.

  “All right. Good night, my love. See in you the morning. Get some sleep. We’re on a plane to Chicago at ten.”

  Ari pushed herself out of the chair and came over to give me a goodnight kiss on the forehead. She hooked her shoes with two fingers and padded barefoot across the plush carpet toward her room As great as my life was, it was a little sad that my best friend in the world was a middle-aged lesbian who treated me like a whiny little kid, mainly because I often acted like one.

  I swung my feet to the floor and picked up Ari’s empty bottle. I finished off my beer as I walked into the little kitchenette, and set the bottles on the counter. I was about to head to bed when I heard a tap-tap-tap on the door. Somehow, I knew immediately who it was, but checked the peep hole just to make sure. I opened the door with a tired but happy smile on my face.

  “Why, Meredith Wilson, what are you doing back here at this time of night?” I asked, hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and wiggling my eyebrows at her. My cock twitched as my eyes sent word down its way that Meredith was in view. “I thought we finished our interview.”

  “Oh, we finished the interview,” she said slyly, stepping into me until her lips were an inch from mine. She slid her right hand inside the boxers and grabbed onto my plump cock as her left hand went around to squeeze my ass. “But you didn’t finish me.”

  “Well, well,” I said, wrapping my arms around her as her hands went to work. I slid my hands over her luscious ass cheeks and ground her pussy into my hard on. “Let’s see what we can do to remedy that.”

  Like I keep saying.

  I just love my job.

  Chapter Four: Lane

  Four weeks later…

  Northwoods Resort & Spa, California

  I had never been so freakin’ happy to be off the road in my life. After leaving the lovely Meredith sleeping in my hotel room bed in Vegas, and after one more month of traversing the country peddling books and cookie cutter psychobabble to thousands of lovely ladies (and a few gents), I was almost ready to slit my own wrists.

  You would think knowing what I know about how the brain works, I could control my feelings of angst and frustration. Just because I know what causes something does not mean I can control. I am, after all, only human. I sometimes have to remind myself of that fact, especially when others seem to think I’m not.

  Ari knew I had about reached the end of my rope, too. I was as snippy as a teenage girl on the rag by the time we wrapped things up with the big event in New York City. She did what she could to keep me sane but sometimes it wasn’t enough. I’d blow a gasket over some little something, and she’d patiently let me vent then give me a motherly hug and tell me to shut up, stop whining, and get back to work.

  Ari was great at keeping the bullshit to a minimum, and she dealt with things so I wouldn’t have to, but putting on a smile for twelve hours a day and keeping the energy up was exhausting. I did not know how Tony Robbins did it, but after this tour, I had a newfound respect for the guy. I still thought he was full of bullshit, but I respected his energy and work ethic, nonetheless.

  The last night of the tour I didn’t even stay at the hotel. We were in New York City and Ari wanted to stay for the weekend because she had met a group of lesbians and wanted to fuck her way through them all. I understood, but I was all fucked out. I left Ari in New York City, chartered a private plane back to LAX, then climbed into my Jeep and drove up to Northwoods all by myself. It was the first time I’d been truly alone in months. I knew that I’d quickly get bored, but at that moment I was in Heaven.

  Northwoods was my haven, my retreat, my getaway, purchased with the money I’d made from six bestselling books, lots of six-figure speaking gigs, high-dollar seminars, and dozens of weekend boot camps.

  Northwoods was located in the mountains north of San Diego. It covered fifty wooded acres with a 30,000 square-foot luxury lodge that contained twenty-five rooms, a 5-star restaurant with a Michelin chef, an Olympic sized swimming pool, a huge sauna and full-time masseuse, and every amenity you could imagine and money could buy.

  And for an extra ten-grand, you could get a private session with yours truly to help work out all your sexual issues, so to speak. Northwoods was also the scene of some of the wildest orgies you can imagine, real Roman-style shit, both spontaneous and scheduled.

  Northwoods was closed for the month because Ari had scheduled no retreats knowing that I’d be beat to hell coming off the road, so other than a few staff members, I had the place to myself.

  As I sat on the balcony of my penthouse suite at the top of the lodge, lookin
g out over the mountains as the sun set in the west, I thought about how truly fortunate I was. This moment reminded me why I did all the things I did. Six months on the road were swept away by the cool mountain breeze.

  I was proud of myself. Not bad for a poor kid from Encino who worked his way through college waiting tables and playing on a partial football scholarship. None of this had been handed to me. I had worked my ass off for everything I owned. I also knew how lucky I was. I knew a lot of people who were much smarter than me but had seen far less success.

  I started thinking about my best pal Wynn Driver, a classmate at UCLA who had published his first book a year ago and was following in my footsteps, more or less. His book, cleverly entitled, What’s Your Vagina Thinking, was a runaway bestseller and had put Wynn on the fast track.

  Despite the somewhat comical name, which probably came out of a three-day brainstorming session by a bunch of marketing geeks, the book tackled a serious topic and offered lots of helpful advice.

  Wynn’s book focused on the connection between a woman’s brain and her vagina, and how that connection made women make the decisions they made; good, bad, and indifferent. Sort of like guys thinking with their dicks (which never comes to any good). Wynn put the shoe on the other foot, so to speak, and his book—and message—was a hit.

  Wynn was now doing book signings, and appearing on talk shows, and getting invited to seminars and events that couldn’t afford me. In this business, like most, the more you’ve accomplished, the higher your price. Wynn was on the fast track, clearly in my rearview mirror. Success could not have happened to a nicer guy, and I could not have been happier for him.