Tough Luck: A New Adult Billionaire Romance (The Vegas Billionaire Obsession Series Book 3)

by Grey, Chloe

  “Of course it’s me,” I said. “Who else?”

  “I’ve been worried sick. When you didn’t come back to the room, I didn’t know where you could have gone. I called…I texted…I even knocked on Max and Drew’s hotel room door and no one answered. Where are you?”

  “I’m next door, in Drew’s room.”

  There was a long pause on the phone.

  “You were there all night?” She sounded annoyed and upset.

  “We got back here just before midnight.”

  Again, a long pause followed. “If that’s the case, then why didn’t you answer the door when I came… not once, but twice?”

  I couldn’t remember hearing a knock on the door, but then again, we were back in his room, caught up in each other. “I guess we were a little preoccupied. I’m getting dressed now. I’ll be right over.”

  “Okay.”

  “So what about that guy you met?” I asked as I searched for my shoes. Oh yeah. I probably left the shoes in the limo. I smiled, remembering the wild ride.

  “Right,” Monica mumbled. “That didn’t go anywhere after you guys left. The man had the personality of a paperclip.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll be there in a bit, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I disconnected the call, found my purse and left a note for Drew that Monica and I would be out most of the day.

  ***

  “So what’s on the agenda today?” Monica asked after we ate breakfast in the main floor bistro of our hotel.

  “Site-seeing on foot and some shopping.”

  “Good thing I wore comfy shoes. Lead the way, then.”

  The first stop we made was at Sin City’s iconic Caesars Palace. There was no way we would miss checking it out, having come all this way. Monica went directly to the casino floor. She threw a twenty dollar bill into a fruits and diamonds slot machine and pulled the lever. By the time she was done—in less than three minutes—her twenty had turned to fifty cents.

  “This is why I don’t gamble,” she joked. “Let’s see if the men are hot.”

  I followed her as she stalked around the game tables, attracting the attention of every warm-blooded man in the place. She really made her presence felt everywhere she went.

  “Let’s go, Monica, before you have an army in your entourage.”

  We strolled the indoor stores at the Forum shops—it was an experience all by itself. We stood enthralled at the sky-blue indoor ceilings, got a little out of hand in the luxury brand shops, and took pictures in front of the largest aquarium I had ever seen. Of course, given I was with Monica, we couldn’t go street-side until we stopped and had a bite at the Cheesecake Factory. Thankfully this was a day with lots of walking, so I could burn it off.

  We slipped on our sunglasses and went into the great outdoors. The South Strip was bustling with tourists, the odd street performers and shirtless male beefcakes for tourists to snap shots with. Monica made a beeline to the full grown Mickey Mouse smoking a cigar. Only in Vegas. From there, we took the monorail and made stops at New York New York, the St. Mark’s Square gondolas, and the Eiffel Tower at Paris Las Vegas.

  We were carrying bottles of water, but we both agreed to a glass of specialty wine at the Downtown Cocktail Room. After that half-hour of kicking back, we headed over to Madame Tussauds Wax Museum, where in addition to taking photos with carbon copies of some of Hollywood’s top performers, music and television stars, sporting legends and superheroes, we made a point of getting a shot with a white tiger.

  “Les. This is as close as you’re gonna get to a hangover re-do this time I’m afraid.”

  “What? No chickens clucking and running through our suite tomorrow morning?”

  “Not a chance,” she joked.

  “I feel jipped! That should come as a standard upgrade with the room.”

  “I’d like to see you make that room service call.”

  “It’s alright. I’ll settle for a visit to the Mob Museum.”

  We took a cab there, and got our money’s worth in details of organized crime and the mob’s role in establishing and expanding Vegas. Our feet had done a lot of walking, so we hopped on the Deuce bus—one of those double-decker buses that rambles up and down the Strip—and took in an elevated view of some more of the sites.

  A weekend didn’t seem long enough to take in all the major landmarks, but we tried to make do. Somehow, it seemed like we were climbing in elevation as the afternoon wore on. We took photos at the Bellagio’s famous jumping fountain, and made another stop to catch the Big Shot and the X-Scream—two of the four heart-stopping thrill rides on the Stratosphere Tower. It was a good thing we hadn’t eaten for a couple of hours. Monica looked green after the Big Shot, and I still forced her on the next ride with me.

  It’s impossible to tour Las Vegas without stopping for pictures at a wedding Chapel. The one where we stopped was not one of the more notable sites, but it did the trick.

  “You and Drew would look great outside this one,” Monica said out of the blue.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Come on, Monica. You and I know we’ve only known each other for two weeks.”

  “I didn’t say to get hitched this weekend, Les. I just said you’d look nice here.”

  “Monica, you know, you’ve never been the type to jump in with both feet when it comes to relationships.”

  “What can I say? I’m a free spirit kinda gal.”

  “Yeah. I noticed last night.”

  She laughed and tugged me inside the chapel. “Yes, he was cute for a while, but was missing something. I’ve got high standards for the random guys I sleep with, you know?”

  “Oh trust me, I noticed.”

  She stood with me under a neon Just Married sign and took a selfie of us.

  “We should send this to Sam at the station. She’d get it to all the staff before the weekend is out. That’s sure to cause a sweet round of fresh office gossip.”

  “Yes. And just wait until it gets on Facebook. Come on, Monica. Lets’ get a couple more hours in. Drew asked if you and I want to spend the day with him tomorrow. He said Max has got a few things planned.”

  “I’m up for it if you are. I’m easy, remember?”

  “How could I forget?” I teased.

  “Oy. Watch it, sista. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before we have our first lover’s quarrel.”

  We rode the Deuce again and zigzagged up and down the Strip as we stopped off at the Luxor, Pharaoh’s museum, Palazzo, Mandalay Bay and the city center. I had no idea if or when I’d be back in Sin City, so we made the most of it.

  On our way back to the hotel, we took a cab to Wynn Las Vegas, and I wished we had gotten a room there instead. It was gorgeous. While we walked the terraces, Drew sent me a text to see what we were up to. While I was sending him a text back, Monica pulled me to the bottom of an ornate spiral staircase and took a selfie of us.

  “We haven’t taken enough photos, Les. You want to remember this, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Let me finish this text to Drew.”

  “What’s up?”

  “He wants us to join him and Max for dinner.”

  “Sounds fancy. I think I’ve got a cocktail dress for tonight.”

  “No no. We’re not wearing anything we brought to go out to dinner.”

  “Seriously Les, you’ve spent enough on those dresses from last night.”

  “No I haven’t. I won’t be shopping when we go back to Dallas, Monica. There’s nothing this…adorable!”

  I caught sight of a red and gold, floor-length, silk scarf-hem dress in one of the windows. It was luminescent, and beautiful under the store’s mood lighting.

  “We’re getting these,” I said, dragging her inside behind me. “Look. There’s purple. And pink too. And this one has those lovely sleeves. Come on, Monica. When do we ever get to wear clothes like this? Let’s try these on.”<
br />
  She didn’t take much convincing this time, and the first one she tried fit her perfectly.

  “Well, it does look good on me.”

  “Yes it does.”

  “That red is great on you, Les. And the gold is amazing with your new hair color.”

  I had to agree with her. We stood in the mirror and admired the look.

  “Drew is going to love that on you.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. He’s really into you, Les.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, Les. Anyone can look at him and tell. He’s got the bug. Come on. Get that credit card out, and let’s pay and head back. I could use a foot massage and a nap before dinner.”

  “How about a little stop at the spa when we get back? But we’ll have to skip the nap, though. I told Drew we’d meet him in front of Caesar’s in an hour.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 9

  Drew

  The rest of the day with Max was enlightening. Not only was I quickly learning the ways of wealth according to Max, but in a strange way, I got a little closer to the father I never knew until he died. One thing I quickly grew to appreciate was that Max was a decent man. He was my brother. I had a brother! I was still coming to terms with that.

  I remember wishing for one when I was younger, and my mom only had girls after she had me. I was fiercely protective of my sisters and all my family. This curveball, however, was such a strange irony—losing a father and gaining a brother.

  As we sat in the suite for a drink before dinner, I thought a few things needed to be said.

  “Max, you know, I get the feeling we’ll be spending more time together, in the business at least, and well, as brothers.”

  “Yes. It’s been wild so far, finding out about you.”

  “No doubt. So far, I can’t think of a better scenario for a—a reunion, so to speak. We could have been polar opposites, you know?”

  “Of course. I had seen you on TV after I found out about you, and had no idea what to expect. It was a little funny, to be honest—I had seen you on the news before all this, and it never dawned on me. But then, once I found out, and really looked at you, it was obvious. We look almost exactly alike. And we both look just like Dad.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to believe. When you phoned and invited me to Vegas with you, I wasn’t sure what to think either. I mean, sitting where I am, and knowing that our dad threw you a curveball too, well, I guess you could have taken this curveball in his will badly, or at least, differently.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, having to split your inheritance with me—a complete stranger. I don’t feel I deserve a penny of it, for the record.”

  “I don’t think of it that way, Drew. The way I see it, it’s your birthright. And in some ways, Dad, and maybe your mother, or my mother, for all I know, robbed you of its enjoyment for all these years.”

  “I appreciate you feel that way, Max. I’m still processing it. I don’t even know what he looked like, you know? It’s a lot to take in. Anyhow, as we’re here in Vegas and our schedules aren’t too tight, can you tell me about him?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell me what he was like. Not the kind of details I can google.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “For starters, was he born into wealth?”

  “Not at all. In a nutshell, Dad was a capitalist—pure and simple. He grew up in the mean streets of inner city New York. They had it hard. He would say living in New York was worse than fighting in a war zone for the Army. From there, he moved to Dallas and got his first gig working the offshore oil rigs. Somewhere in those early days, he got to working for an oil magnate. That was in the seventies.

  Maybe that guy took him under his wing. I don’t know for sure, but from then on, he put every penny he earned into oil stock. There’s a whole slew of articles online about the story, but the gist of it is, he got wind of a disagreement among the board members and took out a massive loan to buy up more shares. Six months later, a hostile takeover quadrupled the stock value, and he sold all his shares.”

  “Isn’t that insider trading?”

  “No. Not at all, for three reasons. First, he wasn’t a major shareholder and not serving on the board, so he had no control of decision-making. Second, he had been buying the same stock for years. And third, he wasn’t officially tipped off on when to buy or sell. He was all about gut instinct. When he finally did sell, he was a multi-millionaire in the early eighties. From there, he invested as a minority partner in smaller oil firms’ explorations, and put the rest into aircraft manufacturing. He would always say the Gorber’s have oil and risk-taking flowing through our blood.”

  “That’s incredible. And what was he like?”

  “He was a good father, if that’s what you’re asking. He traveled a lot, but tried to be there for the big milestones. There are some shorter articles about him being a bit of a ladies’ man in the eighties.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. And he’s been married three times.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “I think your mom was his second wife. My mom was his third, and she had her hands full with him. I don’t believe he had any kids in his first marriage. At least, he never confessed to it, and no one ever showed up out of the blue.”

  “That’s crazy. So what did he enjoy doing?”

  “He loved golf, the oil business, and his family.”

  “Did he have other siblings?”

  “Yes. Four tough brothers in New York. All reasonably successful. I met two of them at Dad’s funeral. And I had spent a summer with another back when I was a teen. You’ve got a lot of second and third cousins up north. Well, we do.”

  “Some of them must know about me…”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you remember most about him?”

  “I’ll tell you two things. One thing that I loved about him, and the other that I hated. I hated that he had no appreciation for the arts or philanthropy. One example. A classic. I had asked him to make a contribution to my symphony a couple years back, right? You know what he said to me? He said, What’s the ROI, Max? Tell me the ROI. I mean, it’s a miracle I learned to play at all. Thank goodness my mother balanced him out. And he never gave to causes. The man would probably only donate to the poor if they were standing right in front of him. He had it tough growing up, so he showed no pity to anyone who couldn’t rise above their bad circumstances. No empathy there at all.”

  “But in the same vein, he treated his employees like gold. And anyone who showed the smallest bit of motivation, he supported them like they were his kids. I’m surprised his will didn’t have a clause about the company staff, to be honest. You would have gotten a kick out of this. Over five hundred of his workers wailed at his funeral. They couldn’t say enough good things about him. All in all, he wasn’t perfect, but he was a good man.”

  I paused, thinking about everything Max said. I still couldn’t shake the burning question. “Why did they keep me from him? I know you don’t have that answer, but God, why did I have to find out about him after he was gone?”

  He didn’t answer. I didn’t expect him to. I’m sure he had asked himself the same thing a few times more than I did, given he learned about me on from his dying father. Our father. He rested a hand on my shoulder, and there wasn’t anything more that needed to be said.

  “We should probably head out for some dinner, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. Yes.”

  “Are the ladies coming along?”

  “Let me text them and see.”

  I sent a message to Leslie and she answered a few minutes later that they were still out shopping. She asked if we’d wait an hour for them.

  “Can we hang tight for an hour or so?”

  “Sure. Want to come try your hand at poker with me and my buddies in the meantime? It’s a lot of fun!”

  “Thanks man. I play a mean gam
e, but I’m not—I didn’t really budget for that on this trip.”

  “Sheesh, you keep forgetting, Drew. Money’s not an issue. Just charge it to the room, bro. What, do you need some cash to walk around with?”

  He got up and went to his master bedroom and came back with a large, legal-size envelope. It was one of those black plastic ones that expanded at the bottom, with the button-and-string closure; something I saw often at the station. He handed it to me, but I couldn’t take it.

  “No man, I can’t take money from you like that.”

  “Come on, Drew. This is half yours. At least. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  He held out the envelope until I reluctantly took it.

  “Alright. But I’m paying all of this back.”

  “Suit yourself, Drew.”

  I peaked in the envelope. There was a thick wad of hundred dollar bills and several stacks of Caesar’s Casino chips. I pulled one out. Each chip had a five hundred dollar value to it. There had to be over one hundred thousand dollars in that envelope, in chips alone. That was a heck of a lot more than what I earned at the station.

  “Oh, wait. There’s one more thing. Just a second.”

  He hurried back to his room for a moment and returned with what looked like two identical business suits in dry cleaning suit bags.

  “I think we’re the same size. Here, put this on. Now let’s go kick some poker ass.”

  ***

  Agreeing to go along with Max’s idea turned out to be brilliant. Until then, I had never played poker for real money. From the second we sat at the private table with Max’s friends, the poker Gods smiled down on me. Either that, or those men had sorry ass poker faces. I had nothing to lose, so I bet more than I folded, was aggressive when it came time to lead the hand, and never chased the pot.

  By the time we had finished playing for an hour, I think I doubled or close to tripled what had originally been in the envelope. Max was more upbeat about the fact that I had beat his buddies.

  “You handed out a serious ass-whooping at the table, big brother. I could learn a thing or two about Texas Hold ’em from you.”