Page 99 of Menace in Vegas

“Just a little Vegas agreement,” he murmurs, smooth as a devil in designer cologne.

I narrow my eyes. “It’s not a prenup, right?”

He laughs. “Of course not, baby.”

“Cool.” I grab a pen and sign it without reading it. Without questioning it further.

Why would I think? That’s for people who haven’t just done tequila shots with their enemies.

I slide the paper back. “Where’s Harp and the girlz?” I hiccup. “Shouldn’t drink alone. S’bad luck.”

Connor just laughs, arm sliding around my waist. He folds the paper and shoves it in his pocket. It swallows the contract like it’s the winning ticket to my soul.

He’s glowing. Positivelybeaming.

That should concern me.

I squint. “Wait… What’d I just sign?”

He kisses my forehead. “Nothing to worry about.”

“You sure?”

“Promise. I’ve got you, babe. I’ll take good care of you.”

I narrow my eyes. Something isn’t right.

But the tequila tells me it’s a tomorrow problem.

Right now?

Tonight’s about bad decisions, Vegas chaos, and a man who smells like cedarwood and orgasms.

37

CONNOR

This moment is the highlight of my entire fucking existence.

And Allie has no idea what just happened.

I grin as she staggers toward the bathroom, blissfully unaware of what I’ve done.

I’m so fucking happy I yank the contract from my pocket and kiss it. Full-on kiss it.

Then I press it to my forehead like it’s some holy relic.

I even let out a tiny, high-pitched squeal like the one Allie made when she saw the pink Barbie car.

I’m unhinged from the happiness lighting up my insides. Like a man who just single-handedly won the Stanley Cup.

She signed it.

She actually signed the contract. The one I had Stryker draft through King Morine’s team of lawyers.

Now she’s mine!

No annulments. No divorces. No escape.

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