Wild Billionaire Romance - Chapter 27: Chapter 27

DESTINY
Hindsight was twenty-twenty, wasn’t that a saying? But it was my third night in a row on my feet and I hated the stupid high heels we were forced to wear. Besides, I was working a double.
But maybe Royce wouldn’t have been such a hardass, making me work the tables in the crappy section all fucking night long if I’d worn the right shoes.
Whatever.
I’d love to see that asshole try to serve drinks in the nearly pitch black club on ice pick heels! Since he had the final say in our uniforms, I knew he was responsible for the ridiculous attire.
Sure, it was a good job. The place was always crowded, and the clientele tipped well. But I didn’t want to break a leg to make a dollar.
With everything going on in my life, I did not need the added stress of a possible work injury. So, no. There was just no way in hell I was wearing the four-inch ankle breakers Mr. Royce had made part of the official cocktail waitress uniform for the rest of my eight hour shift.
I’d been on the floor since two that afternoon and it was already midnight. Also, I wasn’t lying about it being my birthday.
Swapping my shoes was a little act of rebellion. A birthday gift to myself.
It sucked, I had to work tonight. I would have much rather stayed in and read the new steamy romance novel I’d splurged on to celebrate turning thirty.
Thank fuck for eBooks and subscription services. I could never afford to keep myself in paperbacks.
But I was there instead, waiting on the rich and beautiful who came to Las Vegas by the throng to lose themselves in the neon glamor and madness of this adult playground.
Sin City. It was an apt nickname. I’d seen men and women slip on their horns and tails and do things they never would have anywhere other than in this town.
Las Vegas could get to you if you weren’t careful. But I was usually careful.
I’d just served a table full of beautiful women out to celebrate their friend who was wearing a birthday sash across her hot little black dress.
There were ten of them, and I delivered their champagne with a smile. A pang of envy sliced through me, but I shoved it away. I was happy for the other birthday girl and silently wished her the best.
This was stupid. Feeling sorry for myself was a waste of time. I wasn’t the only person in the world who had to work on their birthday.
Hey, at least you’re not spending it alone like last year.
My inner optimist’s attempt to cheer me up fell flat. No, I wasn’t alone. I was busting my ass, covering twelve tables, and they were all full.
But since I was determined to be a cup half full kinda gal, I decided that was a good thing. I needed the money. Besides, I really needed to focus on a way to run out of there without Royce seeing me at the end of my shift.
“Hey birthday girl! How about a shot on me?” Enri shouted from behind the bar, sliding a shot glass filled with pink liquid at me.
“What is it?”
“Bubble Gum Vodka! My own,” he winked.
I tossed it back, even though I rarely indulged. Tonight seemed to call for an extra jolt of something, and I figured it might as well be a little liquid courage.
“Wow, Enri, this is delicious!”
And it was. My mouth was buzzing with sweet bubble gum flavor, and I grinned, thinking he should bottle the stuff.
“I know, right?” he asked, and winked.
“Yes, definitely. Hey, can I have another round for table thirty-seven, please,” I called out to my absolute favorite bartender.
Enri was a character. He was originally from Indiana and his real name was Henry. But he did a mean French accent. Seriously, it was flawless.
He’d confessed one night after shift he’d increased his tips thirty-five percent over the past six months since he became Enri instead of plain old Henry.
Smart bastard.
The taste of bubble gum was nice in my mouth. I tapped my fingernails on the table as he got my order ready. There was a weird sort of energy in the air, but I attributed it to my nerves and all the mess going on with me. Maybe that was why I hadn’t heard Royce approach.
“Move your ass, Dollface. Table forty-one has just been seated,” Mr. Royce hissed.
“That’s not my section.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, uh, I am going right now, sir,” I mumbled, grabbing the drinks for table thirty-seven and a clean menu for my new table.
Forty-one was all the way on the other end of the second level of Lux. A VIP table, which I usually loved getting, but I was so busy already.
I grimaced. I was going to have a helluva time juggling the rest of my tables, plus this one. So much for my rebellion. Royce was always doing shit like that on purpose. Especially when he wanted to teach one of us a lesson.
He was such a total douche canoe. I’d always looked forward to the day I could give that creep a piece of my mind.
I knew I should have been grateful to have even landed that gig. But no one should have to put up with a creepy, grabby boss.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers though, and in this town, I was too old to beg.
Thirty year old cocktail waitresses who were thick in the middle with fat thighs and big butts didn’t typically get hired to serve the highbrow VIPs who frequented places like Lux.
A major attraction on the Las Vegas Strip, Lux Lounge was for A-listers only, which usually meant top shelf staff. It was a miracle I got the job when I applied almost a year ago.
Lucky for me, my beady-eyed cretin of a boss had taken a liking to me. He’d been trying to put the moves on me for months now, but I’d always managed to slip away no worse for wear.
His patience had worn thin, and it had always been a matter of time before things got too close for comfort. Like they had tonight.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t lucky. Like not at all.
There was always the chance he wouldn’t pursue what he’d insinuated in his office. I didn’t want to be one of those people who read too much into what others carelessly tossed out.
He wasn’t right. And he wasn’t good. But maybe he didn’t mean what I thought he meant?
I was grasping at straws, and I knew it. I had plenty of practice turning down unsavory advances. Anyone who’d worked as a waitress as long as I had could probably tell you the same thing.
There were no ands, ifs, or buts about it. I was positive Royce was going to make a pass at me after my shift, and when I refused, I was going to be fired.
Any second now.
But I wasn’t done. Not yet.
Rent was due on Monday, and Cindy, my latest ex-roommate ran off with her current boyfriend, leaving me to foot the bill alone.
I needed to make some serious cash during this shift. And maybe get a line on a new job.
It seemed like I always needed more money than I was making, but I still had some pride. I wasn’t desperate enough to sleep with my slimy boss to get it.
I tried to live my life by simple rules. I worked hard, didn’t cheat, and I didn’t steal. Honesty was important to me.
If there was one thing moving to Vegas had taught me, it was the future wasn’t guaranteed. God, I’d been so young and stupid. I thought running away was the answer.
Life taught some pretty hard lessons. Losing my family after I ran away to elope with my best friend was difficult. Losing him a few days later to the disease that had stolen his childhood was even worse.
But I’d stayed in Vegas. I had no choice. I’d been estranged from my family, cut off by my parents, and I had nowhere else to go. I’d made my bed and twelve years later I was still there.
But I was more than surviving, and that had to count for something. At least I hoped it did.
Whether you were rich, poor, fat, skinny, smart, average, young, old, good, or not so good—in the end, death came for everyone.
No matter how much money or power you had, or didn’t, there was no escaping that Grim motherfucker. In the end, he was going to reap us all, so why bother?
But people were just people. Mortality was the great equalizer, and I tried to remember that as I served the hungry crowds of revelers and thrill seekers who came to Vegas searching for something they’d likely never find. It made me sad sometimes to think about it.
Everyone deserved to be happy. To feel like they belong. I knew I did. I wanted that for myself. Happiness, friends, family. I had a handful of people I was friendly with, but I found long term relationships difficult to maintain.
Everyone was always coming and going. But not me. I remained.
Stagnant.
I would never experience the carefree, lavish lifestyles the customers who frequented Lux Lounge had, and that was alright. I knew who I was, even if I didn’t know where I was going.
And I was happy.
Sorta. Mostly. Ish.
So, until Mr. Royce bounced my fluffy ass out the door, I was going to do my job.
And I was going to do it in three, not four, inch heels, fuck you very much.