Taming Vegas (2 page)

“I think it’s endearing, Mother. Now, I have something to
tell you. Are you sitting down?” I had better ask if she’s sitting down because
if she’s not, she might fall down when I tell her about the rock on my finger.
The anticipation on the other end of the line is almost palpable on my end, and
I think she knows what I’m going to say before I even get to it. “I’m engaged.”

The earsplitting squeal that ensues has me pulling the phone
away from my ear, which snags on my loop earring and almost pulls it right out.
I swallow the curse about to erupt from between my pouty, rouge colored lips
and gently untangle the earring. My mother is still rambling on about wedding
plans and what-not on the other end of the line. I don’t have the heart to tell
her that I asked Mrs. Stanton to help me with that.

“You’ll have to tell me what colors you want, and we’ll go looking
for a wedding dress! Oh, we can to it over the internet,” She says internet
like in-ter-net as if it’s a foreign concept. “We’ll have to fly out there to
go shopping with you! Your father can take care of the bags, or maybe Oliver’s
driver
can do that! Oh, I’m so excited! My baby girl’s getting
married
!” I
cringe. Here it comes.

“Beth and Christina are going to be so excited that you’ll
be joining the ranks of the married sisters! Oh, this is going to be so grand! The
last daughter to get married, I’m just so, so,” I hear her tearing up on the
other end and lean back in the chair as I try to keep calm. This is not exactly
how I planned our discussion going. I wish I was talking to Dad right now.

“Is Daddy there?” I know, Daddy, such a childish term. Yet I
can’t seem to get over calling him that because for me father and dad are just
not loving enough.

“Of course he is! Where else would he be?” I sigh and wait
for her to get my hint. She doesn’t and starts to ramble on about flowers.

“Mom?” I ask her that twice before she realizes I’m actually
speaking. “Can I
talk
to Daddy?” There’s a huff, and then she calls out,
rather loudly, to my father to pick up the phone. I hear shuffling as they try
to figure out how to hang up one phone without disconnecting the line, and then
I’m finally on with my father.

“Melanie?” At least he calls me by my actual name, and not
Melon Ball. I hate to be reminded of the fact that I was a very chubby, little
baby.

“Daddy, hi. I guess you already know considering Mom just
bellowed it out to the entire state of California.” I know he can hear the
smile in my voice, but what I don’t count on is the fact that he can hear the
worry in it, too.

“Congratulations, hon.” There’s a pause, and then he dives
right into business. “Are you sure about this? He’s not rushing you into this,
is he?” I smile and feel immense relief at the overprotective tone. I can
always count on my father to understand that there might be something wrong
with the situation at hand, but I’m not sure I want to dash everyone’s hopes
for a wedding now. Not when I just broke the news to my mother.

Are you already trying to think up a way to break it to
everyone that you’re
not
going to marry him?
I shove that thought
aside and try for a reassuring tone.

“I’m fine, Daddy. He’s not rushing me into anything. In
fact, I guess it’s about time that he actually put a ring on this finger.” I
look down at the ring and regret that I’m not feeling elated right now, I’m
feeling deflated.

“Yeah, but are you ready?” He always wants a direct answer,
and I squirm a little as if I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar
again when I was five.

“I guess so.” He puts his hand over the speaker. I know
because I can hear the slide of his skin against the speaker and I have to
remove the phone from my ear. He must be saying something to my mother. I bet he’s
telling her not to get her hopes up yet.

“That doesn’t sound like an affirmative, honey. Listen, why don’t
you just tell Oliver you need a few days to think about it? Your mother told me
no twice before I finally got her to agree to marry me. She wasn’t ready, and I
could respect that. If Oliver can’t respect that you’re not read yet, then he’s
not the man for you.” I want to tell him all the classic excuses. I’m twenty
three, and I’m not getting any younger. Everyone in my family marries young,
and I feel strange for breaking that rule. Well, I guess I technically broke it
two years ago, but no one knows about that.

I also want to tell him what if Oliver is the one and I ruin
this by telling him I’m not ready. Besides, it’s just an engagement. We’re not
married
yet. I still have a few months to get my life in order and decide what I’m
going to do, right? But instead, I open my mouth and I lie to my father. It’s
not the first time. It probably won’t be the last, but each time I do, I think
a little piece of me dies inside.

“I’m ready, Daddy. So when can you two fly out here to meet
his parents? They’re dying to take you guys out to dinner and get to know you.”
I hear the rough sigh on the other end, but he realizes my intent on changing
the subject.

“I guess we could leave the vineyard in Christina and
Jeffrey’s hands for a week while we visit in New York. How about in three
weeks?” I get out my cellphone and tick through the calendar and see that it’ll
be the end of July when they get here. It’ll be sweltering hot in the city, and
they’ll feel right at home.

“Sure, three weeks sound good. And Dad?” He makes a hmm
noise. “Try not to let Mom call me past ten next time, okay?” I hear him
chuckle, we say goodnight, and he lets me off the phone so I can get some rest.

If only I could get my mind to let me off the line, too.

Facing reality can be a bitch, especially when she walks
through your door and slaps you with legal paperwork. ~ Alexander

I roll over, and instead of the scent of lavender reaching
my nose it’s the smell of tequila and limes. I wrinkle my face up into a
disgusted expression and quickly roll over to get out of bed. It’s the third
time this week I’ve woken up with a woman that smells pretty gross in the
morning. She’s not hard on the eyes, but she seriously needs to stop drinking
the tequila throughout the
entire
night.

“Why don’t you come back to bed, Alexie?” I cringe at the
strange pet name this one has come up with for me, and shrug one shoulder as I
head for the bathroom. I grab my underwear, jeans, and a white t-shirt on the
way so that she gets the hint that I’m going to shower. Yet she tries to follow
me. While I agree that she needs one, she is
not
getting into one with
me. Only one woman has wandered into my shower, and I want to keep it that way.

“Look, Candy-”

“It’s Sandy.” I roll my eyes. Why the hell should I care?

“Candy, Sandy, whatever. Just be glad you made it until
morning, and get your things, alright? I had fun last night. I hope you did
too, now go back to your husband, boyfriend, or whomever you left behind from
wherever you came from.” The anger flares in her eyes like it does in most
women’s eyes when I’m kicking them out of my suite.

“So that’s it? I don’t even get to
clean up
before
you kick me out? Asshole!” She already has her pants on her thin legs. I have
my arms crossed over my chest, and I manage to duck out of the way when her
shoe comes flying at my head. I’ve had that happen more than fifty times in the
last six months.

“Just get out.” I’m not about to go into the bathroom now. If
I do, I might come back out to trashed home and missing items, and yet she
tries it anyway. I’m not bulky muscle, but I do have a fair amount of strength
under my flesh. When she tries to dump my bedroom lamp on the floor that cost
me about two thousand dollars, I grab her from behind and escort her to the
front door.

Her disgruntled shout is met by the sound of my door closing
and the lock being slid into place. She’s forgotten her shoes, but this one won’t
be running back in to get them. I toss them into the trash and hum as I get
into the shower. This time, I don’t bother closing the bathroom door and let
the steam roll out into my bedroom.

When I get out, I towel off the mirror and glance at my
face. The scar above my right eye is still there as a perfect reminder of the
best night of my life. I can still smell the hint of lavender on her skin when
I woke up, and I remember the feel of her silky, black hair between my fingers.
The way she had blushed haunts me, and some days I find myself wondering what
it would have been like if I had just told her to stay a few minutes. I could
have asked her to breakfast.

Alas, I didn’t, and I’m here.

I’ve made some décor changes since the last time the
lavender scented siren visited. Yet the change of sheets and the new carpet doesn’t
dim the memory of her shy face when she had come in to grab her shoes. I smile
wantonly at the memory and pull on a pair of boxer briefs. I don’t wear the
same type of clothing either. A business man cannot walk around in a pair of
jeans and a t-shirt unless he’s one of the new, hip CEO’s of an internet
company, and I am certainly not an internet company owner.

I am, however, a nightclub owner.

Running my shoes under the nifty stand-alone shoe shiner my
sister got me last Christmas, I straighten my tie and glance at myself in the
mirror. I’m not buff like a bouncer, but I’m nothing but lean muscle, which
looks good in a suit. Grabbing the set of keys to my new toy waiting in the
parking garage below, I whistle a quiet tune as I step into the elevator that
leads to my private apartment. My trip down is uninterrupted since it’s pretty
early on a Wednesday morning.

However, when I step off the elevator to the scene in front
of me, my smile actually falters for a second. Then I regain my composure,
continue forward, and click my tongue as I shake my head. I’m twenty five years
old, own a nightclub, and I’ve been pretty successful my entire life. So Candy,
I mean Sandy, thinks that trashing my car is going to set me back?

“Candy honey, what are you doing?” What I’d honestly like to
know is where she obtained the baseball bat, but I won’t ask her that. She’s
made a sizeable dent in the windshield, and my driver’s side mirror is
currently on the ground. The passenger side mirror is hanging on by a mere
thread grotesquely. If she’s not careful, she might step in the glass with her
bare feet.

I approach her quickly before she can hurt herself, and
pluck her up off the ground in one easy swoop. Her shrieks of indignation and
the curses that fly from her mouth are far from ladylike, but not many people
can hear us down here. I get a good elbow to the gut, and she swings the bat
for my face, but I grab it before it can strike and twist it right out of her
grasp.

“You son of a bitch! I had
plans
, and you just
ruined
them!” I furrow my brows, what the hell does she mean by that? She seems to see
the question all over my face. “You were supposed to
love
me!”

“Oh God, you’re a stalker, aren’t you? Jesus, I should have
seen this one coming. Sandy, last night was amazing, fun, grand, but I don’t
just marry every girl I sleep with.”
Just one.
“And I’m sincerely sorry
if you got that impression. Now, I’m going to call you a cab so that you can go
home, and if you don’t come around again, I’ll forget all about this mess here.
Sound good?” She’s having a hard time inhaling and exhaling like a normal
person, her breasts are quite the sight in her small top the way she’s
breathing, but I digress.

“So you’re just going to throw me away like a used condom?”
Her voice carries throughout the garage filled with vehicles, and I wonder how
she got down here. Then I remember she probably used the elevator from my apartment.
I’m just glad she didn’t smash someone else’s vehicle in the first place.

“No, you’re not a used condom.”
Not yet, but in a few
more years you’ll look like one if you don’t quit the drinking.
“But I’m
not ready for marriage yet.”
At least, not another one.
“Look, if you don’t
take my offer, I’m going to have to call the police. There’s going to be a mark
on your record for this, and you might spend some time in jail for attempting
to assault me.” She makes a sound like a cat right before it’s dumped in water,
but I keep my calm as my fingers tighten around the baseball bat handle.

Sandy makes the right decision; at least, I hope so. I pull
out my cellphone and use the app to find her a cab, and then I hand her a
hundred dollar bill from my wallet. She looks like she’s thinking about taking
the wallet right out of my hands, but changes her mind when her eyes stray
towards the baseball bat. I’ve chosen some winners to sleep with in the past,
but this one is starting to top them all on the crazy scale.

With her dingy looking top and her hips swaying
suggestively, she waltzes from the underground garage and gives me a double
middle finger salute as the elevator doors close. I roll my eyes to the ceiling
and take in a deep breath as I set the baseball bat down beside my car. The
insurance company will most likely pay for this, but I genuinely brought it on
myself. I call the cab driver’s personal cellphone number and wait three rings
before he picks up.

“She in the car Dean?” All I get is a grunt as an affirmative,
and then I hear her shooting her mouth off in the background. “I’ll send you an
extra-large tip later. I’m sorry about this.” He hangs up the phone, and I take
that as him telling me to go fuck myself.

Next, I call the only mechanic in town I trust with a
Mercedes SLS. This little thing is my driving around town vehicle. If I honestly
wanted to impress Candy-I mean, Sandy, then I would have picked her up in my
Veneno last night. I saved for that thing for two years, and I’m not about to
drive around just any woman in it. In fact, the poor thing sits in the private
parking of the garage most of the year.

It looks as if it’s going to see the light of the day this
Wednesday morning. I pull the keys from my pocket and sigh when I glance over
at the Mercedes. The mechanic will drop by and pick it up for me, and then I’ll
have it back by Friday at the latest. I’m going to need to call a driver
tomorrow to save the poor Veneno from sitting in traffic. Yet I’m not that
upset when the garage door opens, and I press the start button on my keys.

The seats are elegant, and I automatically crank the
air-conditioning. Late July in Vegas can be hotter than Hell, and I’m not about
to sweat to death on my way to the nightclub. Just as an added bonus, I crank
up the volume on the music playing and pull out like a gentleman from my
parking space. It’s crowded out on the streets even though it’s seven thirty in
the morning, so I’m careful as I drive to work. Maybe tonight I’ll have a
little more fun out on the desert streets, who knows.

I pull down into the private parking of my club and turn
down the music as I glance around all the vehicles. My lips quirk at the
corners as I inhale deeply and exhale slowly; it’s a Wednesday morning in July
in Vegas, and my club is still packed. That’s an excellent boost to the ego.

Jingling the keys once, I put them in my Dolce and Gabbana
trousers. I wear Armani on the weekends. The bouncer by the elevator gives me a
curt nod as I step on, and I wonder if I’m paying him enough to be standing
down here all on his own. At least the other bouncers get to interact with the
customers, whether it’s on a friendly or more compelling manner.

Just as the door is about to close, he puts his hand in and
furrows his brows as he looks at me and then my choice of vehicle today.

“Something going on today, Mr. Pope?” I feel a wry smile
curling my lips as I look down at the floor of the elevator and then back at
him without raising my chin. “I see,” he responds with a small twitch of his
lips, and then the elevator door closes.

The short ride to the first floor is less than
anticlimactic. I check my wrist watch to make sure that it’s eight in the
morning, and step out into the heady crowd dancing away as if it’s one in the
morning still. The second bouncer by the entrance to the elevator on this level
gives me a small wave and then he pays attention to something being said on his
headset. I leave him to his business and check the bar to make sure that Anna
has enough alcohol for the guests.

“Almost got robbed last night by the Zeons!” She shouts over
the music. I lean on the bar, and she pours me the usual, a glass of water. For
monetary reasons, I never touch anything other than the water in this place.

“Low enders or professionals?” I ask her over the thumping that’s
threatening to blow out my eardrums. A few ladies attempt to grab my attention
nearby, and I politely ignore them. Anna is my top priority here. It is not
getting more tail, especially not after last night.

“Low enders this time, probably trying to prove themselves. But
I’m not concerned about their status. It’s what they said that gets under my
skin.” I wait for her to explain, but she has to deal with a customer first. I don’t
mind. I’m not a demanding boss. “They said that Hector is going to show his
face tonight, and it’s going to get ugly.” I make a pfft noise and get off the
stool.

“Don’t worry about it, Anna. Hector isn’t that high up, and
unless he’s coming in through the sewer, the boys downstairs know how to keep
him and his cronies out.” She looks a little less concerned about the matter,
and I decide that my job here is done. Seeing that everything is running
smoothly on the dance floor, and with the DJ, I make my way back to the
elevator and move up to the second floor.

This is the V.I.P. lounge, and while it’s currently not in
use, I want it to remain under top security at all times. The first person I
run into is the third bouncer by this elevator. Downstairs there are twenty
hired men to keep things in order, but only ten up here. That’s because I
usually only have a maximum of one hundred guests up here at one time. That’s
usually enough for celebrities to invite close friends and relatives for a
gathering.

Up here, the accommodations are much classier, and if
someone’s very lucky, he or she is able to book this for a wedding. If it’s a momentous
occasion such as that I up the amount of guests available, for a fee of course.
Showing my face at this establishment is of the upmost importance because I
want my employees to know that I’m involved in running this place, and I want
them to know they can come to me if they see or hear anything upsetting. I don’t
like rumors in my nightclub. They can kill morale.

Seeing that everything is in order, I step back onto the
elevator and bypass the next thirty seven floors to the thirty-ninth floor of
the building. The floors in between are not my own. They’re owned by the hotel,
and my guests are simply allowed to stay there if they wish. I step out into my
office and inhale deeply with relief as I look around at all the windows
surrounding me. The building comes to a point at the top, and the last floor,
my office, is only eighteen thousand square feet.

Directly in the center of the room is my desk, and off to
the north side of the building is a suite built in with a bathroom in case I
have the urge to stay overnight. I have one rule. I never bring a woman up here
to that suite because that would be mixing business with pleasure, and every
business owner in Vegas knows that mixing the two can get a man into trouble.

This is my sanctuary, and I like it that way. Up here, no
one can see in the windows unless they’re in a helicopter and that’s not often.
At night, it’s as though I can reach up and touch the stars during the off
season when the light pollution has decreased. I sit down in the cushy, leather
chair and flip up my laptop. It’s time to look at my finances and make sure
that everything is running smoothly. I’m not a greedy man, so when my profits
drop a little I keep my prices the same. In the end, it all evens out.