home now.”
I nodded my agreement, realizing that, in essence, I was lying to my friend. There was just no way around it. My allegiance had to be to my future and to my client rather than my buddies. Even my family had little knowledge of how I was spending my summer. I’d told my mom I had an internship with an athlete, and that I’d be in Las Vegas. Beyond that, the woman who’d birthed me nearly twenty-one years before was completely in the dark.
I couldn’t tell Braden shit. If I gave him a sentence, he’d demand a thesis. Best to just let him think this summer was like every other one so far. Home for sixteen weeks and back again, with an occasional visit to the condo when the whole family thing got to be too much. Only this time, I wouldn’t be coming back at all over the break.
By the time my plane took off, I thought I might need a Valium to calm my nerves. But I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to lie to people’s faces anymore or war with my inner self to keep from spilling my guts to someone… anyone… everyone .
How do you keep such exciting news a secret without losing your mind?
At the other end of my flight, there were two burly men in dark suits waiting for me. They were the same guys who had been with Michael Kage the night we’d met, and one of them held a poster board with my name misspelled on it.
Jammey Atwood.
I let it slide, though. Men who looked like they’d just stepped off of the set of Goodfellas could spell my name however they damn well pleased. As long as they didn’t shoot me and dump me in the Colorado River, I figured I could be gracious enough to overlook the fact that they were phonetically challenged.
WHEN the car pulled up to the front of a hotel on the Vegas Strip, I just about shit my pants. I suppose I’d expected my new job to be in the sweat-scented office of some dingy little back alley gym. This was something else altogether. The building had a glass front that showcased a glittering lobby in a sophisticated color palette of blues, greens and grays. As one of the goons opened the glass door, I was assaulted by the sights and sounds of the darkened casino that lay beyond the lobby.
“Nice,” I said lamely. It was the first word I’d uttered since climbing into the car. And by car, I mean sleek white Range Rover SUV limo. Apparently, this was what rich dudes were being driven around in these days.
The goons ignored my comment, which was not surprising. They’d spent the entire ride pretending I didn’t exist. Now one walked ahead, and I followed, feeling goon number two close on my heels as we crossed the diamond-patterned carpet to the front desk. A porter stepped up beside us, pushing a cart that held my two suitcases and duffel bag. They looked underwhelming, a little too trailer trash for this establishment. The only thing that could have been more embarrassing than my ragged luggage was plastic grocery sacks.
“This is Kage’s new intern,” the first goon told the young man behind the counter. “Mr. Santori said put him in a suite.”
The tiny blond desk clerk, whose name was Steve according to his silver name tag, tapped on his computer keyboard. “Best available?”
“Whatever.” Aldo grated.
Steve frowned at my testy chaperone. “ Jesus . Who pissed in your cornflakes, Aldo?”
Aldo literally growled. “Aaron and me got babysitting duty today, as you can see.” He hooked a meaty thumb over his shoulder in my direction.
Steve smiled at me, and his gaze roamed freely over my body. I was wearing a t-shirt— a tight red one that Braden would have shaken his head at— and a pair of low-slung jeans, but I got the impression that Steve’s imagination was ripping them right off of me. “Cute baby. What’s his name?”
Aldo shrugged. “Trouble.”
“This baby does have ears,” I pointed out. “And my name is not Trouble, it’s Jamie Atwood. Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand, and Steve shook it. Delicately and
I nodded my agreement, realizing that, in essence, I was lying to my friend. There was just no way around it. My allegiance had to be to my future and to my client rather than my buddies. Even my family had little knowledge of how I was spending my summer. I’d told my mom I had an internship with an athlete, and that I’d be in Las Vegas. Beyond that, the woman who’d birthed me nearly twenty-one years before was completely in the dark.
I couldn’t tell Braden shit. If I gave him a sentence, he’d demand a thesis. Best to just let him think this summer was like every other one so far. Home for sixteen weeks and back again, with an occasional visit to the condo when the whole family thing got to be too much. Only this time, I wouldn’t be coming back at all over the break.
By the time my plane took off, I thought I might need a Valium to calm my nerves. But I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to lie to people’s faces anymore or war with my inner self to keep from spilling my guts to someone… anyone… everyone .
How do you keep such exciting news a secret without losing your mind?
At the other end of my flight, there were two burly men in dark suits waiting for me. They were the same guys who had been with Michael Kage the night we’d met, and one of them held a poster board with my name misspelled on it.
Jammey Atwood.
I let it slide, though. Men who looked like they’d just stepped off of the set of Goodfellas could spell my name however they damn well pleased. As long as they didn’t shoot me and dump me in the Colorado River, I figured I could be gracious enough to overlook the fact that they were phonetically challenged.
WHEN the car pulled up to the front of a hotel on the Vegas Strip, I just about shit my pants. I suppose I’d expected my new job to be in the sweat-scented office of some dingy little back alley gym. This was something else altogether. The building had a glass front that showcased a glittering lobby in a sophisticated color palette of blues, greens and grays. As one of the goons opened the glass door, I was assaulted by the sights and sounds of the darkened casino that lay beyond the lobby.
“Nice,” I said lamely. It was the first word I’d uttered since climbing into the car. And by car, I mean sleek white Range Rover SUV limo. Apparently, this was what rich dudes were being driven around in these days.
The goons ignored my comment, which was not surprising. They’d spent the entire ride pretending I didn’t exist. Now one walked ahead, and I followed, feeling goon number two close on my heels as we crossed the diamond-patterned carpet to the front desk. A porter stepped up beside us, pushing a cart that held my two suitcases and duffel bag. They looked underwhelming, a little too trailer trash for this establishment. The only thing that could have been more embarrassing than my ragged luggage was plastic grocery sacks.
“This is Kage’s new intern,” the first goon told the young man behind the counter. “Mr. Santori said put him in a suite.”
The tiny blond desk clerk, whose name was Steve according to his silver name tag, tapped on his computer keyboard. “Best available?”
“Whatever.” Aldo grated.
Steve frowned at my testy chaperone. “ Jesus . Who pissed in your cornflakes, Aldo?”
Aldo literally growled. “Aaron and me got babysitting duty today, as you can see.” He hooked a meaty thumb over his shoulder in my direction.
Steve smiled at me, and his gaze roamed freely over my body. I was wearing a t-shirt— a tight red one that Braden would have shaken his head at— and a pair of low-slung jeans, but I got the impression that Steve’s imagination was ripping them right off of me. “Cute baby. What’s his name?”
Aldo shrugged. “Trouble.”
“This baby does have ears,” I pointed out. “And my name is not Trouble, it’s Jamie Atwood. Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand, and Steve shook it. Delicately and
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