"Oh my God, you’re Vaughn Asher’s girlfriend?" Kristi squeals, shaking me by the shoulders. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"
"I am not his girlfriend, Kristi! Jesus, wake the hell up! That"—I point up at the TV where the bitch is still talking about the future Baby Asher—"is his girlfriend right up there!"
"Kristi, is it?" Vaughn asks in his I’m-the-reasonable-one-here voice. "Grace is my girlfriend, that bitch is the lying ho. Grace." He turns back to me. "She’s not pregnant with my baby. I slept with her once, six months ago, so there’s no way that baby is mine. I made it very clear there was going to be nothing more between us before I met you on Saint Thomas and she obviously took it badly. I did not sleep with her that night. I dismissed her. She’s a liar. You, Grace Kinsella, are the only woman I’ve slept with since we met."
"I don’t believe you," I sneer.
"I don’t care. You’re drunk so I’ll just explain it to you again tomorrow when we wake up."
"I’m not going home with you."
"Oh, yes, Miss Kinsella, you are. Because you have no idea what I just went through to make sure I could have you tonight. There’s no way I’m letting you go now."
And then he hoists me up and swings me over his shoulder.
"Send her tab to my room," he calls out over the cheers from a crowd of men as we pass. "She’s with me from now on."
Chapter Eight
GRACE pounds her little fists on my back, demanding to be put down.
"Will you come along nicely? Or should I carry you all the way upstairs?"
She lets out a groan as I walk, bouncing her along. "I’ll walk nicely."
I set her down and she straightens her dress, looking around at the people who are now staring at us. She smooths her hair and then squares her chin and shoulders, steeling herself for a confrontation as she looks me in the eye. "I’m not going to your room, Asher. That much is for damn sure. And if you pick me up again, I will scream."
And then she turns on her heel and makes her way towards a restaurant. She approaches the hostess, and then she disappears inside.
Jesus Christ. She tires me out. I just spent the worst hour of my life trying to win an opportunity to see her tonight and set things straight, and she blows me off like I’m some… some… some nobody. I scrub my hands down my face and go after her. Again.
Why, Asher? Why are you so fixated on this girl?
I look around at all the women in this hotel. So many to choose from. I spot ten or fifteen who would be candidates for my sexual attention. A few even catch my surveillance and openly flirt. But I don’t want them. I want the one who just walked away from me.
I huff out a breath and follow her. "Good evening," I tell the hostess. "I’m meeting the woman who just came in. I’ll just—"
"I’m sorry, sir. The lady said you were harassing her and asked me to call security if you tried to follow her."
"You’re kidding, right? She and I are dating."
"I’m sorry, the lady said she’s not interested and wants to be—"
"I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding. Perhaps she meant someone else?"
The hostess gives me a sneer. "Is there another Vaughn Asher who looks just like you? Perhaps you’re his twin brother?"
"Ha ha." I peek past the hostess turned security and spy Grace at the bar, chatting with the bartender. This restaurant is quiet and almost empty. "Look, just let me in so I can talk to her, OK? Obviously you can see we’re having a little fight—"
"Little fight?" The hostess laughs. "Dude, your girlfriend is pregnant and you’ve been cheating on her with that woman, who said she knew nothing of your secret life. So—"
"None of that is true, OK? I just need a minute to explain what happened to Grace and then she’ll see I’m the victim here. Me! I was never dating that bitch on TV and she certainly isn’t carrying my child since I haven’t slept with her in six months. She’s a fraud, a liar, a gold-digger! I’m innocent and you, ma’am, are helping to perpetuate her plan to ruin my life. That woman," I say, loud enough for Grace to turn around, "is the one I’m interested in. Grace," I call. "Just listen to me for a moment." I look back at the hostess. "Five minutes. Just give me five minutes and if Miss Kinsella wants me to leave, then I will. But I’m tired of fielding strangers who think they know what the f**k is going on when they don’t. I’m having my say tonight, whether you want me to or not."
The hostess crosses her arms and sneers. But just then a man in a suit approaches looking like he’s the manager. "Can I help you with something?"
"Yes," I say calmly. "That woman at the bar is my girlfriend. There was a public accusation against me today that is false and I need five minutes of her time to state my case. That’s all. Five. Minutes."
He looks me up and down. "Invisible Man?" He smiles. "Oh, yes! I love that movie! You rocked that shit, right?"
"I did." I give the hostess a smug look all the while beaming my movie-star smile at the manager. "So look"—I check his name tag—"Mr. Sollen, I just need a moment. That woman at your bar is the only reason I’m in Vegas right now. I need to talk. Please."
I stare at him as he weighs his decision.