Page 10 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

I drum my fingers against the bar top, considering my next move.

“You’re right, Ev. We’re practically strangers,” I admit. “But I want to change that if you’ll let me.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice betrays her curiosity.

“Spend the night with me,” I state boldly.

3

EVERLY

I CAN’T BELIEVE THE AUDACITYof this man. We’ve only spent five minutes together, and he’s already trying to get me to have sex with him—unbelievable. I’ve heard the rumors about him, but I didn’t think he’d be this brazen, and with me no less.

“That line may have worked on the roster of women you’ve been with in the past, but it will absolutely not work on me.” I scowl, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “If Theo heard that you just tried to proposition me in a hotel bar, he would be appalled.”

Cash presses his lips together, attempting to hold back from laughing. “Ev, if I were asking you to sleep with me, I’d come right out and say it.”

I sigh in relief, but a part of me feels dejected at his apparent indifference.

“You’re not?” I ask, giving him side-eye.

“Don’t think for a second that it means I’m not interested,” he says, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. “A friend of mine owns a nightclub next to Premiere, and I always stop by when I’m in town. They serve top-shelf alcohol, which is loads better than the watered-down shit they serve here.” He gestures toward the liquor display behind the bar. “What do you say? Get a real drink with me?”

He thinks that’s more convincing.

“No thank you,” I say without hesitation.

Men spell trouble, and I can’t forget it. Although August’s notion of embracing one night of making bad decisions plays in my mind. Getting a drink with Cash would undeniably qualify as a bad decision.

“Why not? It’s just one drink,” he urges.

I rub my temples, trying to keep calm despite his persistence. “Because I have a hunch one drink would turn into two with you,” I say bluntly.

The adult version of Cash exudes sex appeal and confidence and cannot be trusted. He’s the type of man I avoid like the plague. They lure you in with pretty words, lavish gifts, and empty promises—leaving you to pick up the broken pieces once they’re gone.

“Ev, it’s only a drink with a friend,” he assures me like he can read my mind. “It sounds like you’ve had a long week and could use a night out.”

“I have no interest in watching you get plastered and gyrate against every woman in the club. Now, why don’t you take a hint and disappear like Larry?” I regret my comment when a brief flash of hurt flashes across his face.

“Whoever caused you to become so distrusting deserves to suffer for what they did.” Cash places his hand on mine. “Word of advice. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Just because I haven’thad a serious girlfriend since high school and like to have a good time doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy.”

He leans in so his mouth brushes against my ear. “For the record, I was going to take you to a piano bar on the club’s second floor. You’re the only woman I have any interest in spending time with tonight,” he murmurs as he lifts his hand off mine.

I feel a pang of loss when he moves back, takes out his wallet, and places a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the counter. He didn’t order anything, so I assume it’s to cover my martini and leave a generous tip.

A sense of unease washes over me when he slides off his barstool without a word.

I’d let him walk out the door if I knew what was good for me. However, despite my pretense of indifference, the thought of not seeing him again for an undetermined amount of time doesn’t sit well with me.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

August’s advice from our earlier conversation pops into my head.

One drink with Cash Stafford can’t hurt, right? Like he said, it’s just a harmless night catching up between two childhood friends.

I must be a masochist because I have a habit of putting myself in situations with men who I think I can trust, only to end up hurt and alone. I shake my head in disgust. That line of thinking is exactly what Cash called me out for. I’m so cynical and quick to make assumptions. He has done nothing to deserve that.

When I look up, he’s halfway across the lobby. I toss my phone into my purse and chase after him.

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