Hard Luck (The Vegas Obsession Series, #1)

by Chloe Grey

  I leaned against the doorframe, filled with new found confidence. “I’m telling you, Daisy is gone. Which means...”

  Monica’s eyes widened, and she blurted out, “I won’t have to deal with the drama queen anymore!”

  “True,” I agreed. “But it also means there will be a job opening.”

  Monica’s face instantly turned ominous.

  “Oh Les...”

  “Les what?” I asked, despising the look she gave me.

  “Don’t do this to yourself. You got your hopes up when the last person left and Daisy got the job. I don’t want to see you put yourself through this and I definitely don’t want to see your heart broken.”

  Every muscle in my body tightened.

  “I won’t get my hopes up,” I said, already lying, as my hopes had already passed over the clouds and hit the stratosphere.

  Monica raised an eyebrow. She knew when I was lying and this was no exception.

  “Fine. I’ll just wait it out. It won’t be too long. They’ll need to make a decision sooner or later. I won’t even think about it.”

  “Do you promise?” Monica asked, her voice soft and gentle.

  I gave a reluctant nod. I wanted to believe the promise I had just made. I didn’t want the letdown of being rejected and couldn’t handle a broken heart. It still needed to mend from when my ex-boyfriend decided he wanted some space, only a month ago.

  “I promise I’ll be completely satisfied with whatever happens. I’m not a little girl. I can handle disappointment.”

  Monica still didn’t appear convinced, but turned back to the mirror and met my eyes.

  “I love you, you know?”

  “I know. I love you too. Talk later.”

  I left the dressing room and couldn’t control the smile spreading across my face. Hope was almost as good as how it would feel to actually get the job. In my elated state, I rounded the corner to my desk and walked straight into the path of a man coming from the other way. I bounced back, startled at the specimen of a man standing in front of me.

  “Oh... excuse me,” I stammered, straightening myself up.

  “My fault entirely,” he replied, shooting me a smile that immediately made stomach clench and my toes curl.

  He was gorgeous, from the top of his brown hair to the hem of his nicely tailored suit.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked softly.

  His voice was a deep timber. It vibrated through me, and went straight to my womb. Sparks flew when he reached for my arm in a friendly, helpful gesture to make sure I was okay. Our eyes met and I couldn’t break away from the most magnetizing brown eyes I had ever seen. When his eyes kept locked onto mine, I had to look away. It was as if he could see into my soul and could touch that painful spot Brad had created when he left a month ago with no explanation. Or maybe he could see my initial shock of seeing him and instantly craving him.

  “Uh... no, not at all.” I answered. I was so uncomfortable by then, I stepped around him, unable to gaze at him again. “Excuse me.”

  I quickly walked past him and blew out the breath caught in my throat. I had never been so hypnotized by a man’s looks before and didn’t know how to handle it. It wasn’t just his looks, it was... something I couldn’t place.

  When I was safely back at my desk, I tried to be casual and glanced back to steal another look. That’s when I saw him – and his firm, sexy ass – walk into Mr. Barkley’s office.

  “Weird,” I mumbled.

  “What’s weird?”

  It was Monica, once again peering at me over the cubicle divider.

  “Uh... nothing,” I said for the second time today.

  This time, though, I tried to change the subject. Monica had more than her fair share of men after her, and for once, I wanted to hang on to the delusion that someone like him could be remotely interested in someone like me.

  “And what’s with the prairie dogging today? You always either walk around to see me or shout through our cube wall.”

  Monica shrugged. “Ahhh, no reason. Maybe I just want to see your cute face without leaving my cube.”

  “Right. Good one Monica.”

  “So, you want to go grab a bite to eat?”

  I looked at my desk. There was more than enough work to keep me busy for hours.

  “How about a rain check?” I suggested.

  “Girl, you haven’t eaten since we got here. Come on, let’s go.”

  “I want to be home early to catch a few winks before tonight. There’s a show I don’t want to miss.”

  Curious, Monica asked, “What kind of show?”

  “The Billionaire Takes a Wife: Vegas Edition.”

  Monica looked at me in disbelief and held up a hand, unable to keep from laughing.

  “Don’t laugh,” I said in defense. “It’s enthralling. Ten Vegas showgirls vie for the love of this one uber-rich man, and tonight we find out who won.”

  “Seriously?” Monica face palmed herself. “You really need to get a life, Les.”

  I didn’t mind Monica’s scolding. It was true, but I still wanted to be home to see it.

  “It’s down to just two,” I countered, dismissing Monica’s assertion.

  “Oh... gee, why didn’t you say so?”

  Sarcasm snaked around her words, but a smile played on her lips as she gazed at me.

  “Fine... why don’t you go to Bill’s Diner and I’ll meet you there. I’ll be a few minutes.”

  “Cool. Just don’t take too long this time, okay?” she called over her shoulder.

  When Monica was out of view, I turned back to Mr. Barkley’s office. The hot guy was still hidden away behind those blinds. I was sure it had nothing to do with Daisy leaving. But then again, she had been threatening to leave for so long, Barkley probably had a shortlist of potentials lined up. Shit. I was jumping to conclusions again. Dashing my hopes and sabotaging my success again, before I could get out the gate.

  I quickly prioritized my desk and left to meet Monica. She did not like waiting and this day’s fact-checking work was as unremarkable as me.

  Chapter Two

  Drew

  “Thank you so much for meeting with me, Mr. Barkley,” I said, shaking the older man’s hand.

  “You’re welcome Mr. Masterson.”

  “Please. Call me Drew.”

  “Yes of course. I’ll be calling you in the next few days, Drew.”

  “Perfect timing.”

  “Not to worry, young man. You’re my first choice, and around here, I think it still counts for something. Speak to you soon.”

  That interview was not too shabby. The job was not a definite slam dunk, but I liked the odds. As I left, I made sure to pass by the hallway where I had bumped into her. She was adorable in a sexy girl-next-door way. Fine lips, cute nose and perfect skin that had turned rosy when she blushed.

  She wasn’t someone that people in the television news industry would call breathtaking, but to me, she was perfect. To top it off, she seemed to have a natural charisma about her. And I was already mesmerized by that familiar look in her eyes. I glanced around the building. Damn. She was gone.

  I had just gotten to my car when I saw her again. Must be kismet. Her ponytail danced in the wind as she walked through the parking lot to her car. My chest tightened and I knew I was already captivated. I wonder where she’s going. Probably lunch at this time of day. The brief encounter left me so wound up, even if I couldn’t quite figure out why.

  Like I would know how to pick a winner. I had never been lucky in love. Heck, I wasn’t even lucky in lust. For all the women who gravitated to me, I couldn’t name one who wasn’t moody, crazy or just plain psychotic. And it got worse whenever I tried to do the picking. The last woman I picked turned out to be the wife of my boss’s boss. She never admitted she was married – funny how some women do that - and all but got me fired from the sweetest TV anchor job I had scored in my entire working life. The sex was kicking, though.

  It reminded
me of a conversation I had just had with my friend Marshall. Marshall would always say he picked women in the hot drama zone – a reference to the upper right quartile of a graph of women’s looks against their sanity. According to Marshall, he found himself with the hottest, albeit craziest women around. For a moment, I wondered where Marshall ever came up with the theory, and where on the graph this woman I bumped into would fall. Given my past luck, I had no doubt she would be in the no-go zone, the upper left quartile featuring average looks and a crazy as fuck mental or emotional state. And here I am already putting her into a box when I don’t even know her name.

  As I backed out of the parking spot, the phone rang.

  “Hello?” I answered using my Bluetooth.

  “Drew, Shannon here.” It was my attorney, Shannon Wainwright. “I have an update on the court hearing.”

  God. The last thing I wanted to discuss was the consequence of marrying - and now divorcing - the craziest woman out there.

  “Okay. What’s up?”

  “The time’s been moved from eight o’clock Friday morning to three in the afternoon.”

  Shit. I wanted this over with, and it seemed like obstacle after obstacle kept prolonging it. Still, it wasn’t a big delay.

  “No problem. Any reason for the time change?”

  “The judge has a conflict,” she said.

  “Okay, three p.m. it is. Anything we need to worry about?”

  She seemed to hesitate before finally speaking. “Have you talked to her?”

  “Have I talked to who?” I asked, playing dumb. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to irritate my attorney, I just didn’t want to be the one to say her name.

  Shannon signed a deep long exhale that crackled through his earpiece.

  “You know exactly who I’m talking about. Have you talked to Tasha?”

  Just hearing her name felt like a knife was pushed through my chest. Again. Doing my best not to react, I focused on driving, turning a corner and heading down the street toward my apartment.

  “No. I haven’t talked to her.”

  “Oh...” she said, seeming surprised.

  “Why is that so surprising?” I asked. “We aren’t together anymore.”

  “Just curious. Often, the closer a couple gets to their court date, the harder it can become. If either of you are having second thoughts, I want to be the first to know.”

  “It’s been two years this Saturday since I’ve seen her,” I replied, tightening my hands around the steering wheel. “And no, nothing has changed. Did you need anything else?”

  “No, but don’t be late. I don’t know if the judge will be as understanding this time.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I was saving...”

  “I know, I know,” she interrupted him. “You were saving a puppy from getting run over on the highway. You told me more than once, but the point is... if you hadn’t had such an understanding judge you might have been thrown in jail for contempt.”

  I laughed. “You’re too dramatic. You know this isn’t criminal. But I promise I’ll let future puppies die just for you.”

  “You better see to it that you do,” she warned, but with levity in her voice.

  She hung up before I could give another smartass remark.

  Pulling into my complex, I parked and headed up to my apartment. Inside, I yanked off the annoying tie and looked around the living room. I lived the bachelor’s dream. I had splurged and bought brand new furniture after I left her; all in dark leather. It was as sexy as it was comfortable.

  I needed a beer. Damn, I deserve this. It wasn’t something I did often. I worked out too damned hard keeping this body in tip top shape to throw it all away on a six pack of beer. But once in a while it was good to throw back a cold one. Working out was my thing, and had been since my teenage years.

  Thinking back to Shannon’s call, the memory of Tasha flooded back and felt like another sucker punch in the gut. I collapsed on the couch and propped up my feet on the coffee table, almost knocking her picture over.

  Fuck.

  As I picked up the frame, I couldn’t help cursing all over again for keeping it out. For the five years we were together, she was everything to me. I didn’t know why I never put her picture away. In no time, I caught myself lazily trailing my fingers over her features, from her red hair to her gentle smile. And then I remembered. That gentle smile could turn to a seething grimace of pure wrath at the drop of a hat.

  There was a time I was so sure I could make it work. Until the claws came out that very last time – because I was upset that she cheated on me -and I promised it would never happen again. A man can only take the verbal abuse for so long, and then, no matter how good the sex is, it was not worth it anymore.

  She was definitely in the drama zone, but at first, like most smoking hot women, she started out in the marriage zone – gorgeous, funny, fun to be around, not too talkative, and oh so low key before they got hitched. Maybe it was me who didn’t see the warning signs. There had been phone conversations in the early days when we were dating, where she would rant about her parents or girlfriends. To me, it was pretty normal, considering so many women I knew did the same thing, my sister included. Maybe she was so hot I put blinders on and hoped for the best. Marshall would have pegged her as a drama-zone-wolf-in-marriage-zone-clothing. For a long time after I left, I wondered how I managed to keep it together for five years.

  She turned out to be a pure bred vixen, fitting every stereotype there was about redheads to a tee. Some stereotypes are so fucking true. I set the picture down, turning it so it faced the counter. At least for the moment I wouldn’t have to remember.

  It was hard to believe only two years had passed since we split up. The nightmare of the marriage had turned to the shit-storm of a separation. Her email blame game, the guilt-tripping, the barrage of questions to figure out our finances, and the repeated middle of the night sexting from Tasha made the first six months feel like a whole lifetime of hell on earth. Thankfully, she rented the house and moved to Arizona to be close to her mom. I landed a late night news anchor gig here in Dallas. At least she never took to social media to let out any dirty laundry, given I worked in the media and that shit would have been damning.

  But just as suddenly and intensely as she had pursued me after I left, she went dark. The woman stopped all communication one day and I never heard from her for a year. A full three hundred and sixty-five days of the silent treatment was damn good, but so uncharacteristic of her. I figured she was finally over it and went to Shannon to legally do what made sense at the time – tying up the loose end that was our marriage. Bad idea.

  All hell broke loose the day Tasha received her notice of divorce. Denial and isolation soon turned to a knock-down, drag-out, one-sided war. She was out for blood and took every opportunity to accidentally drain and depreciate what was left of our shared assets by any means necessary. From crashing the car into the garage door, to losing the George Rodrigue lithograph worth in the vicinity of six figures, to setting a small fire in the kitchen of the house we had called home for five years, she spared no damaging expense.

  Then there were the angry calls and midnight threats. I was damned if I did and up shit’s creek if I didn’t. Finally, there was the bargaining and her self-diagnosis of depression. Maybe there was something to it, but it didn’t help that she would threaten to kill herself immediately after threatening to reach through the phone and slit my throat from ear to ear.

  Wrenching myself back from the past, I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding in. The divorce hearing was finally back on the table, thanks to Shannon’s legal prowess, and soon I would have my life back. For now, I needed to get the edge off. Cursing again, I dug out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. It was time to get over this shit. Pushing the call button, I smiled. I knew exactly what would take my mind off of it.

  Chapter Three

  Leslie

  I filled in my numbers, one by one,
until I got to the last one. I had been playing these lottery numbers for years. My ex, Brad had gotten me into the habit, and eventually I began playing in a lottery pool with Monica and three co-workers. Lately, I’ve been playing alone.

  As I filled in the final number, I thought about my ex, and how it had become our ritual. We enjoyed the suspense of it all, the finger-crossing, hope and dreams moment before learning whether we won. We never did; not even a few dollars. When we broke up, I thought about stopping, but ended up playing out of habit. I couldn’t let him ruin another one of my guilty pleasures.

  I stared at each number again. There were six that had been randomly picked by members of the pool. The seventh, we had chosen by a draw. It just seemed fitting to keep playing the same numbers until I quit... eventually.

  I stepped back and turned to Monica, who was flipping through a fashion magazine while she waited.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to put money in for this one? I feel it will be lucky.”

  Monica rolled her eyes and let out a mocking laugh. She had played for a while and was the first to bail.

  “Breaking news: they always feel lucky, Leslie. I love your positive attitude, but geez you have never won anything. You know I feel it’s a complete waste of time and money, babe.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “I’m telling you, Monica. I can feel it. Sooner or later my luck is bound to change.”

  Monica put back the magazine and began to play on her phone.

  “Les, do you realize you have a better chance of being struck by lightning twice? I mean, I have just as much of a chance of winning whether I buy a ticket or not. Hun, I make my own luck. Besides, if you win you can always take me out to dinner.”

  “The jackpot is twenty-eight million,” I answered as the cashier took my credit card, processed my pick and issued a ticket. “If I don’t win, this is the last time I’ll ever play. And if I win, I’ll buy you a whole lot more than just dinner. We’re flying first class to Vegas and I’m splurging on the two of us. We’ll stay in the presidential suite at Cesar’s Palace and there will be no limits on the blackjack table. Or the wine. Or the hot men. And wait! We’re finding a way to get into a taping of The Billionaire Takes a Wife: Las Vegas Edition—even if we have to storm the set. And no matter what we do, we’re making time to get front row seats at whatever Cirque du Soleil show is playing, and definitely the Johnny Vegas show at Wynne Las Vegas. And that’s a promise.”