Page 83 of Packed Up In Vegas

“Gifts?” Callie asked.

“The tips from the shows are run through a separate system from the regular pay, and with all of the chaos I never authorized the payout.”

Callie sat up sharply and twisted around, not seeming to mind in the least that she was naked around Miles. That probably boded well for the future. Miles passed her an envelope and she tore it open, pulling out a payment statement.

“Miles! Oh my god.”

“Like it? After the house took its cut and we accounted for taxes, you made $112,000.”

“Holy shit. How much does the house take?”

“20%. And that’s just your cut. You get as much as the performers combined.”

That meant our statements had around $37,000 on them. We hadn’t made tips like that on one show in our entire career.

“I don’t understand. Did they pay me again for the performance after the confusion?”

“No, sweetheart. That’s just your tips. People got very generous over the bonding.”

Callie burst into tears, clutching the paper to her chest. Amir, Kai and I gathered her close, her sitting on my lap.

Miles sat on the end of the bed. “We have enough to buy out both contracts if we want to now,” he said. “Or I can keep working on them while we figure everything out.”

“Push them for now,” I said. “I know we’re not going to do the contracted performances, but I hate the idea of letting them win. We’ll pay out the contracts when we’re good and ready.”

It was pure fucking villainy how much we had to pay to get out of our contracts. I would much rather we be able to figure out something sustainable before having to fork over that much cash.

“This made it into the correct account this time?” asked Kai. “The ex doesn’t get a fucking dollar of this?”

“I triple-checked the account numbers myself,” Miles promised.

We were all so careful with her the rest of the night, settling in for a movie that she fell asleep halfway through. We had a tentative path forward, she was more financially secure for the moment, and we were all dedicated to making this work.

By the time the morning rolled around, Callie was in a much better mood and the whole house felt infinitely more relaxed.

“Are you feeling up to going on our date today?” I asked.

“As long as part of it involves keeping me fed and hydrated,” she replied.

“Like I would ever let my omega go hungry.” I grinned at her. “I have a lot planned, so we should get going if you’re ready to rock.”

“I’m all yours.” She was dressed in a pair of hot pink shorts and a shiny, drapey white tank top.

“Hold up.” Amir marched in with a spray can of sunscreen in his hand. “Step outside so I can protect your pale ass.”

Callie pouted but obeyed, moving to stand on the front step, eyes closed and arms extended for Amir to coat her in the sunscreen.

Then he passed it to me. “Every two hours. If you bring back a lobster, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I’m not that bad,” she protested.

Amir raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You and Miles are pasty as hell. If you had been blessed with at least a little bit of melanin I wouldn’t have to worry, but here we are.”

“I’ll set a timer,” I promised. I did that right then so I wouldn’t forget, and Callie tucked the sunscreen into her purse.

Once we were in the car, I turned the AC on full blast and Callie preened in the cool air.

“You’ll notice he didn’t give a shit if I get sunburned,” I said with a laugh. “He likes you a lot more than he’s willing to say.”

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