Driven to the Edge: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance by Morgan Black

Author:Morgan Black [Black, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01CPX0CY8
Goodreads: 29470117
Published: 2016-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

16

~ Alicia ~

There’s a difference between cheap champagne and the good stuff, it turns out. The problem being I don’t realize how much I’ve had until the server asks if we want another bottle. Fortunately, Jake says no.

The steak is incredible, melt-in-your-mouth and cooked to perfection. It’s easily the best meal I’ve had in my entire life. Me being me, I got french fries for my side. But they’re french fries with shaved European cheese I’ve never heard of and truffle oil. Holy shit.

On the way out, I notice Jake eyeballing the exits and the staff. He said he needed to come to Augustine’s Casino to check it out. Which left a bad, bad taste in my mouth. I’m assuming his version of checking it out means preparing to murder a lot of people here.

Light-headed with a buzz and feeling foreboding, I’m relieved when Jake leads us back outside. The Vegas evening air has just a hint of a chill to it. I’m glad I wore my blazer. We were in the restaurant for almost three hours.

“We’ll be staying just down the road,” Jake tells us. And then to my surprise, he climbs into the driver’s seat once the valet brings the Maybach back around.

But I suppose it makes sense. I’m his fake fiancee now. Not his chauffeur.

He drives us to a slender, high tower three blocks down the street. Now that the sun is starting to fade, the lights of the Vegas Strip have come out to play. And they’re breathtaking.

The hotel we’ve chosen is just off the main strip, presumably for security reasons, but that gives us an excellent view. The glittering lights and iconic architecture bring out the photographer in me. I wish I had a camera with me, to capture the way the giant spotlight bursts from the roof of the Luxor or the streaking cars down the broad lanes.

Another valet sweeps the Maybach away and we go to check in to our room.

I don’t know what to expect. The hotel is smaller than many in this part of Vegas, but it seems private and upmarket. There’s a wrought-iron fence all the way around the building and when we walk into the lobby, I catch a glimpse through a glass panel of a lushly-manicured courtyard.

Jake drags me with him to the marble desk that splays along the lobby wall and I force myself to look like a winsome newlywed. Or about-to-be-a-newlywed, rather.

He gives the desk clerk a completely different name--his fourth or so that I’ve heard him use--and before long, a bellhop is guiding us over to a glass-walled elevator.

“The Founder’s Suite is our finest room,” the bellhop says to Jake with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll love it.”

When he throws open the French doors, revealing our suite, I can’t say I disagree with him.

The sprawling suite looks like something out of a movie set. Like it can’t even be real. I’ve stayed in some nice hotels doing what I do for a living, working with the clients I work with, but nothing like this.

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