Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
It’s easier if I promptly disabuse them of any notion of a happily ever after. “Look… um…”
I falter, struggling to recall her name. Her eyes widen in disbelief, and her jaw sags open. “Sonya.”
“Sonya,” I repeat, an apologetic tilt to my head. “I don’t date. I don’t do relationships. Long ago, I learned my money is too big of an attraction for too many people. Since then… I don’t get seriously involved with women.”
“I am not after your money,” she snaps, but there’s a high pitch to her voice. Yep, she’s a gold digger.
“Perfect,” I say with a genuine smile. I nab my robe from the end of my bed where housekeeping put it when they completed the turndown service in my suite, long before I returned with Sonya in tow. “There won’t be any misunderstanding or hurt feelings when I don’t ask for your number then.”
“You’re an asshole,” she exclaims, rolling out of bed in the opposite direction. She stomps around, snatching up her clothing. I pull my robe on, then cinch it at the waist.
I don’t bother refuting her claim. I can definitely be an asshole when it’s warranted. In this case, I don’t feel like I’ve reached that level of atrocity, but I’ve definitely killed her snuggly mood with my blunt honesty.
Sonya storms into my bathroom, then slams the door. Shrugging, I exit the master suite through a small foyer that connects with the main living area. I moved into the penthouse suite of the main building a little over a year ago after we cut the ribbon on the newest Blackwood property, the elite five-diamond Blackwood Vegas. It’s a sprawling resort set on sixty acres of lushly pristine grounds well off the Strip. While we have our own casino—hello, it’s Vegas—it’s more of a desert oasis getaway for the wealthy. In addition to the expansive hotel with luxurious rooms and suites, we have private villas and cottages. Because I directly oversee the construction and opening of our five-diamond resorts—the most expensive and exclusive, but also the rarest—I live on-site to ensure everything is run to my family’s exacting standards. Vegas is only the fourth five-diamond resort we’ve opened. The other three are in Paris, Abu Dhabi, and New York City.
Vegas seemed like a bit of an underdog when we were considering our next five-diamond location. But the amount of money that filters through this little desert town is on par with some of the world’s most expensive cities. It’s an investment that has already more than paid itself off.
Moving into the kitchen, I note the sun is hanging low in the sky. I lean against the counter as my first cup of espresso brews in the fancy machine. When the doorbell rings, I figure it’s housekeeping. They know I like to have my suite cleaned early. I’m always up with the sunrise, and I prefer to have my privacy back as quickly as I can. I don’t always spend my days in the executive offices located on the third floor. Sometimes, I prefer to work from my private office.
Padding through the living room, I reach the penthouse door just as Sonya stomps out of my bedroom. I open the door, vaguely pleased to see the new maid we’d hired last week. While I rarely pay attention to the staff milling about on any given day, this one is hard not to notice.
Couldn’t help but do a double-take the first time she arrived at my suite to clean. While she wears the Blackwood housekeeping uniform—traditional knee-length dress in black with a white Peter Pan collar for a classic look—there’s no denying her natural beauty. Dark brown hair, golden skin, and amber-colored eyes that slant slightly enough to make her features exotic.
Sexy as hell, too. She fills her uniform out a little too well. Petite but curvy, she has an ass that was made to be gripped hard.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood,” she says demurely. Head bowed, she doesn’t meet my eyes.
I don’t reply, making a sweeping motion for her to enter. At the same time, Sonya reaches the door. The two women eyeball each other for a nanosecond. The maid pauses, shifting sideways to give Sonya room to exit.
She glides past me, nose in the air, and mutters, “Asshole.”
I don’t reply. I’m simply happy she’s gone without a big confrontation. I’ve been on the end of a few ugly, screaming tirades when women refuse to understand I don’t want anything but a fuck. Honestly, it’s the reason I spend so much time at The Wicked Horse. The members of the club are there for the same reason I am.
Sex and nothing else.
My gaze returns to the housekeeper, her gaze still averted in a subservient manner. Somehow, I sense she doesn’t have a demure bone in her body. Her straight posture screams she’s not the type to bend to people.