“It’s just a question,” he says low, like that should make me feel better about him being an intrusive jerk.

“How often do you sleep with women you meet in this club?” I ask, and his jaw tics. “What? It’s just a question.” I get up from the couch and take my plate to the garbage can, shoving it in with a little more force than necessary.

“Come sit down, Mags.”

“No.”

“I won’t bring up Wyatt again,” he says, spitting Wyatt’s name out like it tastes bad.

“Good, my relationship is none of your business,” I tell him firmly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“For now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I cry, throwing my arms in the air.

“He’s bound to come up eventually, Mags. You work here, remember?”

“So you’re telling me that I have the right to ask you about the women you’re spending time with outside of the time we’re working together?” I ask, watching his nostrils flare and his eyes dilate in anger. “I didn’t think so. I expect the same respect I’m showing you,” I tell him, slipping on my shoes.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he asks, watching my every move.

“I’m using one of my sick days. I suddenly don’t feel so great,” I retort, grabbing my purse from the hook near the door and swinging it over my shoulder. Giving him one last look, I leave the office before he can stop me. The moment I get downstairs, I spot Zack coming toward me with his hand on his ear, and I know he’s speaking with Sven.

“I’ll walk you.”

“I’ll walk myself.” I shake off his hand and rush through the club and out the front door.

“You okay?” Teo asks when he spots me.

“Fine, have a good night,” I say, giving him a shaky smile as I hurry past him to my car. I know it seems like I’m running, but I don’t like the feelings Sven evokes in me, even if it’s because it’s the first time I’ve felt them in a long time.

Chapter 3

Maggie

Her Name’s Maggie, Not Mags

“SO HOW LONG is it going to be until you talk to me?” Sven asks as soon as I open the office door and step inside. Carrying my cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of folders in the other, I balance them carefully as I turn and use my foot to kick the door closed. It’s been three days since our blow up, and in those three days we haven’t spoken…or I should say I haven’t spoken to him unless it has to do with work. No one has ever set me off the way he had, and that alone gave me pause when dealing with him.

“I talk to you everyday,” I murmur as I place the stack of folders on his desk then use my coffee as an excuse to avoid looking at him directly.

“You ask me what you need to do, but avoid any kind of communication otherwise,” he says, sounding frustrated, and when my eyes meet his, I grudgingly notice the lavender shirt he has on today makes them even more gorgeous.

“If you’re finding me lacking, you can fire me.” I shrug, watching his eyes narrow and turn a darker shade of blue-green.

“I think I’ll keep you,” he replies in a tone that sounds like a threat, but it does something strange to my belly making it dip.

“So what did you need me to do today?” I ask ignoring my body’s reaction to him.

“I have to meet with a friend to discuss business and would like you to come along,” he says as I take a seat across from him.

“Oh.” Looking down at my black jeans, I run my finger over one of the rips in the material, trying to think of a way to get out of going, then raise my eyes to his. “Is it necessary for me to be there?” I finally ask, and a small smile twitches the corner of his mouth.

“Are you my assistant? The best assistant money can buy?” He raises a brow in a silent dare.

“Touché,” I mutter under my breath, dropping my eyes again when I see him smile his gorgeous smile.

“Give me five and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Alrighty then.” Taking my coffee with me, I leave the office without a backward glance and head down to the floor below. Walking through the empty club, I make my way toward the bar when I see Eva standing behind it, wiping out empty glasses.

“Hey, girly,” she greets when she spots me.

“How are things?” I ask, climbing up onto one of the barstools, setting my bag and coffee on the countertop.

“Busy as ever.” She smiles, setting down one glass and picking up another.

“How’s school going?” I question as I take in her tired eyes. Eva, like most women who work behind bars in Vegas, is beautiful. Looking at her, I can see her Native American heritage and can picture her dressed in custom tribal attire with bright clothing that would accentuate her caramel skin, and braids with feathers in her hair dark.

“Thank God I only have a few months left,” she sighs, setting yet another glass down.

“Then you’ll take the Bar exam?” I ask, knowing she is studying to be a lawyer.

“Yep.”

“You don’t seem too happy about that,” I note quietly.

“I’m happy about finishing school, but my whole future from then on out is completely mapped out for me. I know when I pass my bar exam, I’ll work for my father and our tribe, I’ll marry someone I’ve probably known my whole life, and then I’ll have two kids. All I can hope is, somewhere in there, I’m happy.”

“You can always make your own way,” I say quietly as I study her somber expression.

“I wish it was that easy,” she mutters then nods behind me, and I turn to look over my shoulder at Sven, who is walking—no, prowling—across the empty club floor. He’s looking more handsome than I’ve ever seen him, in jeans and a plain tee with Converse on his feet. “Please be careful with him,” Eva whispers, and I pull my eyes from everything that is Sven to look at her.

“You don’t have to worry about me, honey,” I whisper back with a smile as I slip off the barstool.

“Ready?” Sven asks, nodding at Eva behind the bar once he reaches my side.

“Yep,” I agree then ask, “Am I overdressed?” as we step outside.

“We’ll stop and get you some sneakers,” he says absently, typing into his phone.

“I have shoes in my car,” I tell him, half tempted to take the phone out of his hand and toss it into the street. He’s always on his phone or looking at his computer and as much as I hate to admit it I like when his attention is on me. Walking away from him, I head to my car and grab my own Converse from the trunk. “I thought you said we were meeting with a friend of yours to discuss business,” I mutter as I exchange my heels for my sneakers.

“We are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, folding up the bottom of my jeans so my look is more casual, then stand and unbutton my dress shirt.

“Leave the shirt.”

“What?” I question, turning to face him.

“Fuck.” He frowns as his eyes move from my breasts up to my face. “This guy loves women, so just do me a favor and leave the shirt on.”

“This tank covers the girls,” I say, looking down. Yes, I have cleavage, but it’s not too extreme, and it sure as heck is less than a lot of women show, especially here in Vegas.