“What’s going on in here?”
As if I burned her, she retreats and straightens up from Graham’s appearance, she must know exactly who he is.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Larson. Mr. Saint and I are just doing some training.”
Yup, she knows who he is.
Tucking his hands in his pockets, he stands tall and says, “Are you the new cocktail waitress we hired for the high roller suite?”
“Yes, sir. My name’s Nell Prescott.”
He nods his head as if he recognizes her name. The fucker barely knows who works in his hotel, he leaves that “menial” work to his managers and head of house.
“And you said you’re training?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Interesting.” Graham walks around the room, observing the intricacies before walking straight up to Penelope. Looking her up and down, he asks, “And who might be training you?”
“Umm… Mr. Saint.”
What is this dipshit up to?
Graham turns to me, a smirk on his face but still talking to Penelope. “Miss Prescott, Gavin here has zero right to train you. He’s a poker player, a damn fine one at that, and he observes cheaters in the control room from time to time, but when it comes to training staff, he has no experience in the matter.” I give him no reaction; I know he’s looking for one. He turns back to Penelope and asks, “What would possess you to ask him to train you in such a high stakes case? Especially after the trouble you caused in here yesterday?”
“Wh-what?” Penelope shoots daggers at me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Larson, but Mr. Saint convinced me, under false pretenses, that he was in charge of me. If I was aware that, in fact, he’s not, I would have asked for someone else with the proper authority to train me.”
“A simple mistake that won’t go unnoticed. I’m sure he taught you a great deal, but please remember, Miss Prescott, fraternizing with the players as an employee at Hotel Paragon is frowned upon. Keep that in mind when you are serving Gavin to the left and his fingers are grazing your thigh next time.” He smiles brightly and says, “You’re dismissed. We’ll see you tomorrow. Be sure to clock out, you will be compensated for your time today.”
“Yes, sir,” she says quickly before scurrying off.
Once she’s out of sight, I turn my attention to Graham who is giddy with pleasure. “You’re a giant dick. You know that?”
He laughs a hoity laugh that echoes through the room. “Nothing like a well-executed cock block to put me in a good mood.”
***
“Then he walks in, with his dick leading the way, chest puffed out like the fuck boy he is and blows up my spot.”
“I cock blocked that motherfucker,” Graham adds. “You should have seen how quickly I shut down his poor attempt at seducing the unsuspecting waitress.”
Scott chuckles while taking a sip of his beer. “That’s cold, dude. You know Karma’s a bitch right?”
Scott Turner works in the corporate division of the National Fighting League, has a penchant for dating women completely and utterly wrong for him, and has been a good friend for years. Since Hotel Paragon hosts all the major fights, Scott is often on premises, dicking around with Graham and me.
“What the fuck ever,” Graham says. “The prick deserved it. If you were in the control room watching his power trip, you would have done the same thing.”
Wavering, Scott says, “Yeah, you’re right. What were you trying to do with this girl anyway, Gavin?”
Chewing down a bite of pizza, I swallow before answering, trying to gain myself some extra time to answer. In all honesty, I had no right training her, I’m not even in charge of her, as Graham pointed out, but when I saw her on camera, putting Ramos in his place, I had to get to know her better, I had to get my chance to talk to her up close. Therefore, I came up with my little training farce and held it at a time where I knew the room wouldn’t be occupied. What I managed to forget was Graham is a goddamned gossip and likes to stick his nose in my business whenever he gets the chance.
“She has hot legs,” I answer shallowly. “Plus, she’s a fireball. Just from the looks of it, I know she’ll be a good fuck.”
Giving me a disapproving look, Scott, the moral police, says, “Gavin, aren’t you ever going to settle down? Don’t you feel empty at all inside? Like you’re missing something important in your life?”
I give him a “go fuck off” look. “You should know me by now,
Scotty
, I don’t fraternize with emotions. They’re not for me.”
“In place of his heart is a second dick calling the shots. Our boy has zero ability to feel anything for another human,” Graham offers. “He’s just like me, a bachelor looking for the next pussy waiting to be twiddled.”
“Just like you?” I question Graham, not adapting his dipshit philosophy of pussy’s being twiddled. I don’t lie there and twiddle, that’s something a vibrator and some Energizer batteries can accomplish. No, I hover over her and fuck her senseless.
Glaring at me, Graham asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Want to talk about a certain personal chef named Page?”
“Oh, I do,” Scott encourages me, looking happy to also have something against the self-righteous Graham.
He’s my boy, but I’m not lying when I say he’s a pretentious asshole with the ability to make you feel inferior in the matter of seconds, just from one swipe of his AMEX. Too bad for him, Scott and I are the only two people not intimidated by his stature.
“What does she have to do with anything?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who didn’t want to talk about her.”
“Because she’s not worth it.” He quickly takes a sip of his drink. He should know better than to give me a blatant tell like that.
“I’m calling you on your bullshit. Next time you’re trying to bluff, don’t take a sip of your beer, asshole. You didn’t even drink with your pinky out like you normally do.” Both Scott and I take sips of our drinks, pinkies out obnoxiously.
“Fuck you both.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and then tosses it on his plate. “I’m out.”
“Oh come on, don’t leave. We promise to stroke your ego if you stay. Scott will even use lube this time, make it nice and smooth for you.”
Graham walks to the front door of my villa. “Just for that, I’ll make sure your little girl toy is at every game of yours, distracting the shit out of you.”
“Never going to happen,” I call out before the door slams shut.
With his beer bottle next to his lips, Scott asks, “Pretty sure he just menstruated on the way out the door.” Scott sniffs the air and nods. “Yup, dude’s on his meriod.”
“We’re not going to talk about how disgusting it is that you sniffed the air just now.”
A deep chuckle escapes him. “So tell me about this girl.”
“Who, the personal chef? Don’t know much about her, just that Graham hired her a while back and something happened between them but he won’t tell me what.”
“I’m not talking about the chef. I’m talking about the waitress.”
“Penelope?” I shrug, holding a blank face. “Not much to say. She’s got an amazing body and is sassy and fiery as hell. Like I said, she would be a good fuck.”
Scott eyes me skeptically, trying to pick up on my vibe. Too bad for him, I give nothing away… not that there’s anything
to
give away. Penelope is just another girl on my list to check off, and she will be checked off, there is no doubt about that.
“We’ll see,” Scott says, reaching for another piece of pizza. “Maybe this Penelope girl will finally call your bluff.”
Doubtful.
**NELL**
That cocky motherfucker!
After being humiliated in front of the owner of Hotel Paragon by the one and only, dickhead of a man, Gavin Saint, I retrieved my purse, shot a text to Page and told her to meet me at our spot and bring some pie.
Whenever one of us has a bad day, and I mean a
really
bad day, we are to drop what we’re doing – unless at work – and meet each other in the fourth alcove in front of the Bellagio Fountains. We eat pie, sit on the wall, and stare at the fountains. Sometimes we talk, but most of the time we just shove sugary confection down our throats.
Not only am I incredibly embarrassed, but I’m furious! If I wasn’t so desperate for this job, I would march my sweet ass right back into the high roller suite and introduce Gavin’s crotch to my knee. Show him the same action Ramos received the other day.
Where did he come off acting like he could train me? And why did I fall for it? I should have known better. He’s the most highly regarded poker player in the world, why would he be spending his afternoon training a cocktail waitress?
“Gah!” I yell in frustration just as a tourist walks by. He eyes me with a funny look and it takes all the energy in my body not to pluck my heel off my foot and shove it through his cranium.
“You know I love you, right, Nell? But you look like shit right now,” Page says, sidling up next to me and taking a seat on the wall.
From the canvas bag she has with her all the time, containing random ingredients and cooking supplies, she reveals a French silk pie, covered in whipped cream and ready to be consumed.
“I’m going to ignore your last remark only because of what rests in your hand. How did you know I was needing French silk in my life?”
She hands me a fork and I don’t even bother waiting for her invitation, I dig in. Tourists chatter, gazing at the fountains behind us, and occasionally eye the two girls sitting on the stone wall, sharing a full twelve inch pie with each other.
“Well, I know you had training today with the one and only Gavin Saint, and after reading your text, I just assumed it didn’t go very well. Am I right?”
With my mouth full of pie, I answer. “You’re spot on.”
“What happened?” There is a calming tone to her voice, it’s almost motherly. I’ve come to count on Page and her immense amount of empathy. She’s the yin to my yang. I’m short-fused and hot tempered, she’s sweet and patient, a distinct contrast that works for both of us.
“Would you guess that Gavin isn’t in charge of training the cocktail staff?”
“Oh no, did he not show up?”
Chocolate and cream flood my taste buds, cooling off the inner rage boiling in my body. “Oh no, he showed up and trained me.”
Page cringes. “Uh oh, I don’t like where this is going.”
“He was demanding, cynical, rude, and… powerful.” Not meaning to, I say the last word on a sigh.
“Powerful?” Page’s brow rises in question.
I wave my hand in front of my face and clear my thoughts. “You know what I mean.”
“So a powerful jackass.”
“Exactly!” I point my fork at Page. “He demanded perfection, whispered in my ear, and ran his hand up my thigh…”
“Whoa.” Page stops me. “He ran his hand up your thigh?”
I scoop some more pie into my mouth, muffling my speech. “That’s not important. What’s important is that he was mid finger to my panty line when Graham Larson walked in the room.”
“Why is that name so familiar?” Whipped cream flies out of her mouth when she says “why”. We both glance down at her black pant leg and ignore it; we’ve spit out worse.
“He’s only the fucking owner of Hotel Paragon.”
“Nooooo.”
“Yes!” I jab the pie and scoop up another bite. “Graham Larson walks in, chest puffed, wearing an ascot...”
“An ascot? What a tool.”
“Yeah, he reeks of money. Pretty sure he burns cash just for the hell of it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he uses it to wipe his ass, too.”
“I know of the man,” Page says, in a far off tone. I’m too far gone in my own situation to even question her acquaintance with him. “What did Graham say?”
“Funny you ask, because the whole time Graham was confused as to why his new cocktail waitress was being trained by a poker player who has no right to do such a thing.”
“Oh no.” Her face falls for me.
“Oh yeah,” I nod, taking another bite. “The arrogant prick lied to me, set me up for some unknown reason, and Graham caught him. I was excused from the room and sent home.”
“Were you fired?” Panic sets in her features.
“No. I wasn’t. But I didn’t make a good impression, that’s for damn sure. I mean, Gavin’s hand was up my skirt when Graham walked in. What is he supposed to think?”
Page shrugs. “That you are like every other cocktail waitress on the Strip, being panted over by horny men. At least your horny man is Gavin Saint. Pretty sure women would sell their right nipple for a chance at serving him.”
“I guess,” I sigh. “Still! Why the hell would he do something like that?”
“Maybe he likes you.”
I snort, shooting whipped cream out of my nose. Moving quickly I cover the milky snot from tourists passing by. “There is no way that man likes me. It’s just some sort of sick game to him.”
“But what if he did?” Page, the ever-present romantic. “Wouldn’t you just want to know what one night with him would be like? You’ve seen how he casually flicks his poker chips to the center. I bet he could do wonders with those fingers.”
Heat spirals up my back from the thought of Gavin’s fingers on my thigh. I might hate the man, but I can’t lie about the way his intense stare intrigues me, or the way his mysterious eyes make me want to know more about him.
I shake the thoughts out of my head. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t stand the man. He’s just a big… jerk!” I can’t think of any better terms at the moment. Taking another scoop of pie, I ask, “Did you make this?”
“Yeah. It was supposed to be for my clients tonight. But instead of pie, they’ll be getting fruit with yogurt now.”
“Wow, sucks for them,” I reply, not feeling a single ounce of remorse. I need this pie more than them, anyway.
***
Shit. I’m nervous. Why did I have to be so damned nervous at just the thought of seeing Gavin Saint again? I don’t even
like
the guy.
No, that’s an understatement. I can’t stand his cocky, pretentious, spoiled-little-rich-boy ass! But if that were really true, then why are my hands sweating like crazy?
The door to the suite opens just before a loud, “
YAY!
” echoes off the pristine marble floors. “You’re back! I was so worried they were going to fire you after… you know… the last time.”