Loving the Odds (What Happens in Vegas) Read Free Page B

quite appreciated in a man.
    “I don’t know.” She hesitated. “You could be anyone.”
    “But I’m not anyone.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Lance.”
    “A first name doesn’t mean anything. Everyone has a first name, even serial killers.” But she accepted his handshake anyway because politeness had been ingrained in her since birth. His fingers were warm around hers and a little zing of electricity bolted up her arm. “Ted doesn’t sound so bad…until you attach Bundy to it.”
    “I’m not sure why we’re talking about serial killers, but I’ll go with it. My last name is Fulton.” The laughter in his voice made his eyes sparkle. “And, for what it’s worth I’m here on business. The hotel has my details and”— he paused and looked up—“security cameras.”
    Bailey wasn’t the type to rely on gut instinct, especially since she held her gut responsible for the false belief that Julian cared about her. In her comfort she’d forgotten about the facts, about the data. What a colossal mistake.
    But the odds of Lance hurting her were slim. And he was right; there were plenty of security cameras around.
    When in Vegas…
    “Well, I guess two heads are better than one.” She nodded. “I’m Bailey Reuben, by the way.”
    Yes, she was definitely skating downhill on the wild side.
    …
    Lance wasn’t a list kind of guy, but he could easily have come up with a bunch of reasons for why he shouldn’t be taking this woman for a drink. Reasoning, however, could be bent to suit his whim and right now he wanted to know more about Bailey.
    Didn’t you just have a conversation with your boss about being impulsive and risky?
    He shoved the thought aside. There was nothing wrong with a little distraction. This distraction in question sat perched on one of the gaudy gold and purple stools at the bar, her hand clasping a glass of white wine. Pale pink lipstick had smudged along the rim. There was something very “sexy librarian” about her. The pencil skirt and blouse combo. The thick glasses which completely failed to hide away a pair of electric blue eyes and hair the color of polished ebony neatly pinned back…except for one strand, which kept slipping out and framing her face. And she had this prim and proper demeanor that was doing all kinds of strange things to his insides.
    A sexy woman with a puzzle to be solved? That was his personal brand of catnip.
    “So tell me, what was your plan when you came to Vegas? How did you think you were going to get the watch back?”
    She sipped her drink. “I was going to ask him to give it to me.”
    “Okay,” Lance said, sounding the word out slowly as he swished his scotch around in the low tumbler. “Given your ex is the kind of person to steal something from you, did you really think that would work?”
    “Well, I have a good reason for wanting it back. The watch is important to me. My grandfather would not have wanted him to keep it since it was intended to go to someone who cared about me. And,” she continued, placing her wine glass on the mask-shaped coaster, “since he breached the core values of our relationship, he should not have any claim to the watch. It’s a solid argument. He can’t disagree with it.”
    He paused, trying to figure out what to say next without causing insult. Sure, she had a good argument but they tended to fly right out of the window when it came to breakups and their messy aftermath.
    And he would know, breakups were a dime a dozen in his life. “I take it you haven’t attempted to present this argument to him.”
    “Well, I…no.” She adjusted her glasses, even though they sat perfectly straight on her pert nose. “I was going to.”
    “You’ve seen him here?”
    She nodded. “Turns out he’s dating some famous sexy writer person. Selena something.”
    “Selena Lockhart?” Now there was an interesting twist. The current flavor of the month had a reputation as being a heartbreaker. Hopefully Bailey’s ex