Gold - Linde K. A. (книги без регистрации бесплатно полностью txt) 📗

But Hugh was the piece de resistance. There weren’t many sugar daddies out there who could top a resort owner. She would make it work.

Bryna fitted the Atlas diamond earrings into her ears and adjusted her Harry Winston B around her neck—the perfect finishing touches to her ensemble.

Since she wasn’t sure where they were going, she had gone for a killer outfit but nothing too fancy. She wore a skintight racerback burgundy dress and black high heels with gold glitter bows. She had a matching black clutch. Her hair was twisted around the back of her head into a loose side ponytail where it flowed long and curly over her right shoulder.

She was prepared for anything that might be thrown her way. By the time the doorbell rang at her condo, she was cool and confident.

When she answered the door, Hugh was standing in the doorway in the hottest tailored suit she had ever seen. He paired it with a black button-up, no tie, and the top button was undone. He was freshly shaven and looked utterly delectable.

His easygoing smile was her favorite characteristic about him. He drank in her beauty but still held the self-confidence of a man who was used to getting his way. She found that super hot.

“Bri,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. It’s good to see you,” she said, meaning it. She grabbed her clutch and followed him through the door.

Her heart was beating with excitement. She couldn’t believe she was doing this—actually following through with her plan. It was exhilarating.

A black town car was waiting for them at the front of her building, and the driver held the door open for her to climb into the backseat. It was spacious and decadent, but a part of her had hoped for a sports car. Her father, Lawrence Turner, was obsessed with them and had passed that obsession on to her. She had learned to drive a stick at a very young age, and guys who drove them would get an automatic pass from her.

The drive was short, and soon enough, they were pulling up to the backside of the Paris Las Vegas Hotel and Casino. Bryna was surprised. She had expected a little more glitz and glamour from the man who owned his own resorts. She could go to a casino hotel any day of the week, not that she did. The only time she ventured to the Strip was when she wanted to go shopping. Most locals avoided the tourist traps.

“This way,” he said. He took her hand and directed her through the glass doors.

A man greeted them at the entrance. “Welcome to the Paris Las Vegas Hotel and Casino. Allow me to escort you.”

Bryna raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Maybe she had been too hasty in her assumptions.

The man took them through a side elevator not accessible to the public. Up, up, up they went. Still, Bryna remained silent. Anticipation was a knot in the middle of her stomach.

Where the hell is he taking me?

The elevator dinged open.

“Here you are,” their escort said with a grin.

When Bryna rounded the corner with Hugh, her mouth dropped open. There were only a couple of upscale restaurants inside the Paris hotel, and she had kind of figured he would choose the best, but she hadn’t expected this.

They were inside the Eiffel Tower Restaurant, renowned for its French cuisine. It sat over a hundred feet above the Vegas Strip, overlooking the Fountains of Bellagio, which were lit up at that very moment.

But the most incredible thing was that the restaurant was completely and totally empty. Not a single person was inside. Candles blazed on every table, and soft classical music filtered in through the speakers.

“What is all of this?” she asked breathlessly. More of her surprise came through with her question than she should have let on, but she couldn’t help it.

Hugh had set a new bar for a first date.

“The head chef and I are close friends. When I told him of my intentions, he offered a special culinary experience unlike anything you’ve ever seen. I assume you like French food?” he asked casually, as if renting out the Eiffel Tower was no big deal.

Good God! Maybe it was no big deal.

She wasn’t normally blinded by luxury. Her father was an incredibly successful Hollywood director. Her family always had money, but this extravagance for someone he had just met surprised her.

She tilted her head up and let the shock pass over her. She was worthy of this. She was fucking Bryna Turner. This was the treatment she deserved and the treatment she would continue to expect. This was her game after all.

“I spent half of my summer in France. Of course, I enjoyed their food.” She sent him a radiant smile.

He seemed to be judging her reaction to the whole thing and was pleased that she wasn’t freaking. Perhaps she had passed her first test.

A waiter appeared a minute later and showed them to their seats against the glass windows where a single rose sat in a vase on the table. She tried to refrain from crinkling her nose at the flower. Jude Rose had made her hate her once favorite flower. She should have realized all those thorns were there for a reason.

“I’ve never been here before,” she confided.

“Well then, you’re in for a treat,” Hugh said. “The chef has prepared a special menu for us—five courses, all original creations.”

Bryna raised her eyebrows. He was bringing out the big guns early. Is he trying to impress me, or is this normal behavior?

Their first course was paired with win that complemented the dish, and it was then when she finally felt like she could lead the conversation to more important things.

“So, this is all incredible,” she murmured. “How is this even feasible?”

He laughed softly. “Anything is possible. I thought you would enjoy it.”

“I am. I was just curious, what exactly do you do?”

She knew it was the fatal question. Do or die. It was the one that would seal her fate as a gold-digging slut-bag whore. But she’d asked it anyway, completely on purpose. She didn’t want to be in over her head. She had chosen this, and she wanted to make sure Hugh wasn’t about to walk away at the first sign.

Hugh raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t look me up?”

“I already knew of WC Resorts. When I saw your business card, I knew who you were,” she told him.

“Yet you didn’t call right away.” Surprise slipped into his voice.

She liked it. He knew that his name elicited a certain reaction, and she had deviated from that. Good.

“Well, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You did. I figured any man who was confident enough to leave his card with a girl deserved a phone call. It usually works the other way around,” she teased.

“I figured a girl who was confident enough to call me back deserved the Eiffel Tower.” His eyes were alight with humor. “It normally works the other way around.”

She laughed lightly. “All it takes is a phone call?”

“For you,” he said pointedly.

“Fair.” She smiled at the compliment.

Clearly, he thought she was special enough to give her the star treatment, to offer her the Eiffel Tower.

“Besides taking me out to dinner, what does a resort owner’s life look like?” she asked.

“All business. Little time for pleasure,” he said the last word delicately. “I keep the business running, visit the various locations, meet with investors—that kind of thing.”

“I see. You’re not in Vegas all the time?”

“No. I live in Vail and work out of the resort there. I’m usually only in Vegas once, maybe twice a month,” he said.

“I see.” She made a mental note about that. It would only make this whole situation easier for her. Between cheer, classes, and her rather active social life, fitting in a digging situation would be difficult. This seemed perfect.

“What about you?”

“What about me? I live here. I’m here all the time,” she said, playing coy.