Page 17 of Married to the Frenemy

And I’ve only been here an hour.

It’s the last place I want to be right now. I’d much rather be celebrating Christmas Eve with Maggie. I should be celebrating Christmas Eve with Maggie.

Instead, Frank threatened to fire me if I didn’t show up for my shift. Claimed he needed all hands on deck with the hotel at full occupancy.

I’m pretty sure he scheduled me as punishment for all the times I’ve been late for my shift, considering he knows I have a daughter. Being here on Christmas Eve is definitely making me give serious consideration to Beckham’s proposal. But can I really marry him and survive with my heart intact, knowing the power he once held over me?

The power I fear he still holds.

“It’s a jungle out there tonight, isn’t it?” Ivy exhales as she joins me at the serving station. “At least the tips make working on a holiday worth it.” She takes a few bills off her tray and shoves them into the top of her dress.

“I’d rather be home, to hell with the tips.”

“Why are you working?” She fully faces me. “Shouldn’t you be home with your kid?”

“Frank said he’d fire me if I called out. And since I’m on the verge of being homeless as it is, I had no choice but to come in.”

“What a prick.”

“Tell me about it.” I roll my eyes as I set my drink order on my tray. “Not only do I have to miss out on reading The Night Before Christmas to Maggie and listen to her excitedly talk about Santa, I won’t get home until four, so I’ll probably only be able to sleep for a few hours before she’ll be up.” I push out a breath. “I’d love to quit this job.”

“You just need to find a sugar daddy to pay all your bills.” She playfully nudges me. “There’s a casino full of prospective applicants, if you know what I mean.”

“Tempting, but no.”

“Suit yourself,” Ivy shoots back. “But if agreeing to be some rich dude’s mistress means I don’t have to work, I’d jump on that in a heartbeat. But you do you.”

“I always do,” I sing as I carefully balance my tray and head back into “the suck”, as I call the casino floor.

Machines whirl and clang as excited voices bellow through the space, the only evidence of it being Christmas Eve the decorations and pop remakes of carols being piped in through the sound system.

With a congenial expression plastered on my face, I skirt through the crowd toward the blackjack tables and drop off drinks for the men spending their evening gambling instead of with their families. After removing several abandoned glasses, some still full, I head toward the next table, where a bunch of rowdy men gamble.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” I ask in a sweet voice after the dealer finishes a round.

Their eyes shift from the cards to me, their gazes lingering on my body like predators sizing up their prey.

“Are you on the menu?” a tall blond slurs with a suggestive waggle of his brow.

“I’ll come back when you know what you’d like to drink,” I reply with forced patience, ignoring his comment. I start to turn, but his voice stops me.

“How about an Irish redhead?” he asks, as if it’s the first time I’ve heard that.

I should be used to this by now. After all, these assholes are no different from all the other men I’ve dealt with since taking this job.

But tonight, it hits differently. Maybe it’s because I should be home with Maggie, setting all the presents beneath the tree. Or because Frank’s a prick for scheduling me to work when I requested the night off months ago. Or because I can’t stop thinking about Beckham’s proposal.

Whatever the reason, I’m more irritated than usual tonight, dangerously close to snapping.

“No. That’s not it. Not in the mood for that.” The heat of his eyes creeping over every inch of my body makes my stomach churn. “How about a redhead in bed? Think you can get me that?”

With every word he speaks, my smile fades, my grip on my tray tightening. Especially when his friends only seem to encourage his behavior, not a single decent one among them.

“Nope. Nope. That’s not it, either. As much as I’d love a redhead in bed, I think I’m in the mood for something different.” All the amusement disappears from his tone as he moves toward me.

I abruptly step back, my eyes briefly locking with the dealer, who raises a brow in question. I shake my head, telling him I can handle myself. No doubt Frank would find my inability to handle an unruly customer as another reason to fire me.

“Do you know what would make my Christmas really memorable?” He glances back at his friends, his smirk growing. Then he returns his gaze to mine. “A redheaded slut.” He licks his lips as he rakes his stare down my frame. “From where I’m standing, you most definitely fit the bill.”

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