He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. He looks out of place in this five-star eatery, yet he seems more at ease than anyone else.
I tug my tie from my neck and tuck it into my jacket pocket.
“Don’t hide that tie. I have a better place for it.”
I turn at the sound of the breathy voice that just tossed those words in my direction.
A pretty blonde has her hands clasped together in front of her. “It would look perfect wrapped around my wrists.”
Her friends let out a chorus of giggles and one hoots for good measure.
I give them one of my dimpled smiles and carry on.
Rocco’s on his feet by the time I reach his table. “Sounds like you’re making plans for later.”
I shake his hand and pat him on the back when he goes in for a hug. “You know Vegas. Everyone is up for anything.”
He eyes the women at the bar. “They are. They invited me to join them when I arrived.”
“Yet you’re sitting all by your lonesome, old man,” I joke. “You don’t think you have the stamina for all three of them?”
Rocco’s thirty-four and he’s accomplished more in his life than most people twice his age. He was a professional poker champion before he dove into the world of investing in other people’s dreams.
He’s brought mine to fruition and I couldn’t be more grateful. He knows it. I know he doesn’t mind when I goad him about his age.
“If I invited them back to my hotel room, I guarantee no one would leave with a complaint,” he says, motioning for me to take the seat across the table from him.
He waits for me to sit before he does the same.
“I doubt like hell you could make that claim, Jeremy.” He takes a sip of our prize-winning vodka. “You’re what now? Twenty-two?”
I shake my head, laughing. “You know I’m twenty-nine, you bastard.”
His hand is in the air motioning to someone to bring a drink for me. “I take it you’re drinking Rizon tonight?”
“Every chance I get.” I lean back in the chair. “How is it that you can conduct business all day dressed like that and I had to wear a fucking suit?”
The two suits I packed weren’t designed for Nevada heat in mid-June.
“That privilege comes with age, young man.” His blue eyes rake me over. “Give yourself a few years and a few million more in your bank account and you too can leave your suits back in Manhattan when you head west.”
“You’ve given me yet another reason to work my ass off.” I grin as the server places a glass of vodka in front of me on the table. “Thank you.”
She rests her hand on my shoulder, smiling in appreciation. “The chef is preparing the daily special for you both as requested by Mr. Jones. I hope you like grilled octopus, sir.”
I look over at Rocco before I glance back at the server. She’s b
arely legal age. I swear I can see imprints on her perfect white teeth from where braces once sat. She’ll get chewed up and spit out in this town in no time flat.
I inch back far enough that her hand falls. “That’s fine.”
Her hazel eyes lock on mine. “Do you need anything else from me?”
“We’re good, Sherri,” Rocco interjects. “You’re needed at table twelve.”
Her gaze darts to Rocco. “Of course, sir. I’ll take care of that now.”
Rocco watches as she walks away. “I’m working with the management team to lower the turnover rate. It’s why I flew here two days ago.”