One
Linda
I stare at my hair in the mirror and wince.
Welcome to Vegas, Linda.
I might like the heat, but humidity is not my friend, and my naturally curly hair is twice the size it usually is, giving it an “I just stuck my fingers in an electrical socket” look.
Fanfreakingtastic. I guess I should be grateful my stepfather insisted I dye it back to my mousy brown color from the soft baby pink it was before.
Apparently, having pink hair sent out the wrong message at my conservative job as secretary to Graham Asshole Morgan. All I know right now is, given its current look, I would likely be mistaken for a walking, talking stick of cotton candy, so in a roundabout way, he’s done me a favor. Not that I’d ever tell him that.
Using bobby pins, I try to tame some of the hair, but it's a lost cause. Eventually, I give up and pull it into a ponytail. It's not particularly fancy, but a glance at my watch tells me I’m going to be late if I don't hurry up.
I quickly shimmy into a fitted dark-gray pencil skirt that cups my ass and fits tight to the knee with a small split in the back. I team it with a dusty-pink, long-sleeved silk blouse, ever conscious of my father's words in my head about hiding my tattoos as they look crass in an office environment filled with professionals.
I brushed off his comments at the time, but even with my flippant attitude, his words always have the ability to leave a mark.
Slipping on my black Jimmy Choo’s, I snag my laptop bag and key card from the dresser before heading down to the meeting room on the ground floor of the hotel, where Graham will be giving his presentation.
Thank god for AC, or I’d be a puddle on the floor by the end of the evening.
I take a deep breath as the elevator doors open and will myself to bite my tongue. I made my father a promise, and I won’t break it if I can help it.
Just as I’m about to pull on the door to the conference room, it's forcefully pushed open from the inside, making me wobble on my heels as I’m nearly knocked over.
“There you are, Laura, Jesus fucking Christ. How hard is it to be on time?”
I glance at my watch. I’m five minutes early, but I don't point that out. Graham Morgan is a complete and utter asshole and won’t care what I have to say for myself. Men like him never do. Men just like my father.
I look up at the dark-haired, dark-eyed handsome man and somehow manage to keep the scowl off my face. Graham might be pretty on the outside, but his personality sure leaves a lot to be desired
“Sorry, Mr. Morgan. What can I do to help?”
“Make sure every potential buyer has a prospectus and a fucking drink. That’s not too much to ask now, is it, Laura?”
“No, sir, I’ll get right on that. And it's Linda…” My voice trails off as he walks away, clearly done with this conversation.
Yeah, fuck you very much.
Brushing my damp palms over my skirt, I plaster a fake smile on my face and stroll into the room to do his bidding. Ten minutes later, I’ve set up everything he asked for and seated myself in the corner with my laptop balanced on my knees, ready to take notes.
Graham walks back in, talking to a portly man with a ruddy complexion. I’m too far away to hear what's being said, but it's clear from the scowl on his face the portly man likes Graham about as much as I do.
I look away before I get caught and open the laptop, signing in to the hotel's Wi-Fi as people begin arriving and finding their seats.
I’m so focused on what I’m doing, I don’t realize Graham has approached until he coughs obnoxiously, making me jump.
“Tell me, Laura, how hard is it to get some fucking water in this place? I mean, I’m just dying to know.”
I look at him in confusion, my eyes trailing down to the almost full glass of water in his hand, then back up to his face. “Sir?” I question quietly.
He mumbles something I don’t catch before talking in a much louder voice than before, drawing the attention of those closest to us. “I have a three-hour presentation to give. Do you think in this heat that one measly glass is going to be sufficient?”
I close my eyes and mentally count to ten. “Sorry, sir, I’ll get right on that for you.” I offer him a weak smile and stand, placing my laptop on my chair before scurrying through the room and out the door.
I make my way across the lobby and into the restaurant, signaling the pretty bartender at the bar.
“What can I get you, miss?” she asks in an accented voice I can’t place.
“A pitcher of iced water, please, with a twist of lemon.”
She nods and busies herself with my request while I look around the room.
It's modern and upscale, naturally. Only the best will do for Graham Asshole Morgan.
The walls are dark wood paneling, the curtains a thick damask of red velvet and gold brocade. The same materials are echoed on the sumptuous wing-backed chairs and the seats of the dark wood stools that line the bar.
All the tables and bar match the wood-paneled walls, and although everything is on the dark end of the scale, the room is bright and warm thanks to the two dazzling chandeliers that light it from above.
“Your water, miss.”
I turn at the sound of the bartender's voice and offer her a grateful smile before thanking her and heading back to the conference room.
When I get there, I find the doors locked and a sign hung upon them stating that admittance would not be granted now that the meeting is in session.
“Fuck,” I swear, just knowing the reaming I’ll get for this later.
With nothing I can do about it, I take the pitcher back to the bar and decide to head up to my room. That’s when it dawns on me that my laptop bag with my keycard and phone is still inside the conference room.
“And isn’t that just the icing on the freaking cake,” I mutter, plonking myself down on one of the barstools.
“Something wrong?” the bartender asks, eyeing the water.
“No, I’ve just found myself locked out of a meeting I was supposed to be in, and I can’t get into my room because my stuff is still inside the conference room.”
“Damn, that sucks. Do you want me to call the front desk and get you a spare keycard?”
I’m so used to spending my days surrounded by vipers that it's nice to know there are still some kind people out there.
“You know what? I think I’ll have a drink and wait for the meeting to finish. Then I can collect my stuff without causing a fuss.”
“It's no problem if you change your mind, but I won't say no to some company before it gets busy. My name is Gina. What’s your poison for the evening? A cocktail, maybe?”
“I’m Linda,” I smile. “It's nice to meet you. I’ll take a beer, please, whatever you have on tap is fine.”
“Ah, a woman after my own heart.” She smiles and disappears down the other end of the bar when someone signals her, so I sit quietly and wait until she returns with my ice-cold beer in her hand.
“Thanks, Gina, can I charge it to my room, please?”
“Sure thing.”
“Ha—” My words are cut off when a man steps up beside me and snags Gina’s attention.
“Is there any way I can get into the conference room? I know I’m late, but it's important.” He bats his eyes at Gina, but she seems immune to his charms.