The Bet by Max Monroe
Monday, March 19th
Jude
A little before eight in the evening, I walk down the marble staircase that leads into The Champagne Bar. The room is calm and quiet, and besides the chatter from the Monday night regulars and occasional wealthy guests blowing through town for the evening, only the soft cadence of classical music can be heard in the background.
I make a mental note that the massive space is only half filled and grin to myself. Oh yeah,the atmosphere is ripe with the slow and anticipatory vibe I wanted when I told Sophie to meet me here.
This bar isn’t my usual place, but more of an occasional, every-great-once-in-a-while place that is a well-known and iconic New York spot inside the Plaza Hotel. Anyone who is anyone in this city has been inside these walls and experienced the sophisticated ambiance that is floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted by thick, luxurious curtains and large crystal chandeliers providing the right amount of lighting to keep guests feeling cozy without understanding why.
It’s also the perfect place to show Sophie how good being bad can feel.
I sit down at the mostly empty bar and pull my phone out of my suit pocket, setting it on the marble surface in front of me.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” the bartender asks, and I offer a small smile.
“A scotch on the rocks. Thanks.”
He makes quick work of my drink, and once he sets it down in front of me, the bartender moves on to a new customer who just found a seat at the far end.
After a quick sip of chilled scotch, I grab my cell to check emails and to make sure I didn’t miss any text messages. Inside my inbox sits confirmation from my assistant Macy regarding a consulting gig in Las Vegas for a nightclub called Electric. It hasn’t opened yet, but it will be nestled inside a popular casino on the Strip, and the investors are hoping to have their first soft opening eight months from now.
A lofty fucking goal, but not unachievable.
And this kind of project, where I’m simply consulting, isn’t as hands-on as what I’ve been doing at Club Craze. Instead of being there in person and juggling all the things, I’m the go-to guy when it comes to creating the plan of how to properly kick off and promote their nightclub. If I agree to work with them, they’ll tell me their strategy and I’ll tell them what they’re doing right, wrong, and give them fresh ideas to add an edge to their launch.
Basically, they’d be paying me to optimize their blueprints and give them my expert advice on everything from staff, setup, music, drinks, food menus, security, marketing, advertising, and the like.
To be honest, it’s a fairly cushy gig that always pays really well.
I quickly scan the email for all the pertinent details.
Yo Boss,
Everything is set for this week. There’ll be a private plane for you at Teterboro, and it’s scheduled to leave at midnight on Wednesday. A penthouse suite will accommodate your stay in Vegas, and because Billy and the rest of the investors are thankful for your last-minute trip (aka doing everything in their power to kiss your ass so you agree to help them), they’ve added a few extra goodies to show their thanks.
One goodie I’m certain you’re going to love includes $20,000 in casino credit to satisfy your ongoing gambling addiction.
I pause and laugh to myself when I read her last comment.
Pretty sure it’s not considered gambling when I only take bets I’m sure of, Mace.
Macy has been my assistant for the past five years, the woman behind the scenes who keeps my schedule in order and ensures everyone who is supposed to get paid or is supposed to pay does exactly that, and her use of sarcasm knows no bounds. Honestly, it’s one of the things that made me hire her in the first place, and at this point, I’d be disappointed if she sent an email without some kind of sarcastic jab.
She keeps shit entertaining, and it’s a well-known fact that I like to be entertained.
The email goes on to mention several other comps the investors are sending my way, including the fact that if I want to bring a few guests out for my stay, they’d be happy to accommodate.
And Macy doesn’t hesitate to add her teasing two cents to that update.
I’d like to take this time to remind you that it’s not a good idea for you to bring a plane full of women to Vegas. Pretty sure we both know how that ends. And it’s not good. It’s actually a huge pain in my ass trying to fly rando women back to New York on commercial flights.
In my defense, I’ve only done that once. Over four years ago. And it was enough of a clusterfuck that I vowed to never do shit like that again.
I might be a noncommitment kind of guy, but these days, I prefer one woman at a time, thank you very much. Threesomes and crazy shit like that are only fun when you’re dumb and in your twenties. Once you hit your thirties, you realize they’re more of a hassle—and a fucking mess—than anything else.
Also, I can’t deny this email shows the glory in doing what I do. Most jobs don’t include free casino credit to play blackjack and craps and generous offers of accommodating extra guests.
I quickly shoot Macy a short response—letting her know she’s a smartass and I saw her email—and then I move on to my text messages, where I find a bunch of random chatter from my brothers in our ongoing group chat.
Before I read whatever bullshit they’re spinning this evening, I steal a quick glance toward the staircase. I have no idea if Sophie Sage is going to follow through with her Okay to meet me here, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
Truthfully, she’s a bit of a conundrum.
I can tell she’s the type of woman who prefers a plan, a well-thought-out scenario. She wants to know what she’s getting herself into before she agrees. And she wants to feel secure in knowing what to expect.
But she’s also someone who can thrive in spontaneous situations. Hell, more than that, she fucking blossoms. She can be impulsive and spur-of-the-moment and even find immense pleasure from those things, but it’s a matter of if she’ll let herself give in to it.
If I’m being honest, I normally wouldn’t bother trying with a woman like her. In the past, I’d consider her hesitancy far too much work for a guy like me, but there’s just something about Sophie that makes me want to spend more time with her.
Have a lot of fucking fun with her.
Do all sorts of dirty, sexy shit with her.
She’s the ultimate challenge—the one woman who wants to experience all the fun I can give but struggles with giving in to that desire.
Man, it’d be a trip to bring her out to Vegas and show her the kind of fun the City of Sin can provide…
The fact that I even have the silly thought to invite her on a work trip makes me shake my head. I’m fucking drugged on her pussy, obviously.
I resign myself to kicking back at the bar and relaxing until she arrives, and with my eyes back to my cell, I check out what my brothers have to say.
Ty: Anyone want to hit a party in the Village with me?
Flynn: Nope.
Ty: You still in Montana?
Flynn: Nope. Just don’t want to go hang out at some hipster party in Greenwich with you.
Ty: It’s not a hipster party, you jackass.
Flynn: Who told you about the party?
Ty: Kip Morlein.
I laugh to myself, already knowing what Flynn’s reaction will be. Ty somehow manages to have the most eclectic groups of friends, and Kip Morlein is a perfect example of that. The man runs an art gallery in Bushwick and is weird as fuck. Super nice, but a total fucking weirdo.
Flynn: LOL. Now, I’m definitely not going. The last time I went to a party that Kip Morlein told you about, they were serving organic wine, and everyone was wearing white dresses like it was some kind of cult.
Ty: You’re fucking dramatic, dude. It wasn’t that bad. And they weren’t dresses, they were togas because it was a theme party.
Flynn: You know, that distinction doesn’t make it sound better.
Ty: The chick he was dating at the time was into all the vegan shit, and the togas made it easier to ensure no one was wearing, like, fur or something.
Remy: How’s that shovel feeling in your hands, bud? Is it heavy? Do you want to stop digging for a while?
Flynn: Haha
Remy: You need to take a page from Flynn’s book and start hanging out with his MC buddies.
Ty: Stop acting like Flynn is hanging out with badass biker dudes on the regular. He spends his time with us, not the Sons of Anarchy.
I can’t stop myself from jumping on the Ty-razzing bandwagon. When you’re the youngest brother out of four, you learn quickly to take every opportunity to join in when you’re not the butt of the joke.
Jude: $100 bucks says Flynn’s MC could take on Ty’s artsy, vegan friends.
Ty: Kip isn’t an artsy vegan, you dick.
Remy: What’s Kip do for a living again, Ty?
I grin, knowing full well where this is headed.
Ty: Shut the fuck up.
A quiet chuckle slides from my lungs, and I fire off another message.
Me: Pretty sure what Ty means by “Shut the fuck up” is that Kip runs an art gallery in Bushwick. Thereby, making ole Kip very much artsy. And, well, the vegan thing we’ve already established.
Ty: Sometimes, I really hate you guys.
Remy: Aw, you don’t hate us, Ty. You love us. And you know what? We accept you for your artsy, vegan lifestyle.
Flynn: 100% acceptance, my man. Tomorrow you could tell me you’re a fruitarian who prefers wearing togas and Crocs, and you know what? You’ll have my full support, bud.
My phone buzzes in my hand with another message, most likely from Ty calling us assholes, but my attention is completely pulled away when I glance toward the staircase again and spot a fucking vision of beauty. She’s in another dress, butit’s not green like last time. It’s this mesmerizing shade of gold that shimmers and shines beneath the soft lights as she gracefully moves down the stairs.
She followed my instructions.
A rush of exhilaration dumps into my veins.
Fuck yes. This is going to be a fantastic night.
I put my cell in my pocket, slide off my barstool, and stand to my feet.
Sophie is still looking around the room, trying to scout out a familiar face, and I’m looking at her. Her dark hair falls in waves down her shoulders, and her tight little body looks like a fucking dream in her shimmery dress and rose-gold stilettos.
Damn. This woman never disappoints.
Honestly, I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her if I tried.
In three long strides, I cut the distance between us, and that’s when she spots me. Her stunning green eyes flash with recognition, and one corner of my mouth quirks up into a grin.
“You made it,” I say, coming to a stop right in front of her at the bottom of the staircase.
“I did.”
“Color me pleasantly surprised.”
She tilts her head to the side, and her long dark hair falls across one shoulder. “You thought I was going to stand you up?”
“I wasn’t sure.” I hold out a hand toward her, and when Sophie places her hand in mine, the warmth of her small fingers resonates against my skin. With a gentle tug, I pull her toward me, wrap one arm around her waist, and press a kiss to the spot just below her ear. “But I’m real fucking glad you came.”
She leans back and meets my eyes, and I don’t miss the way her long dark lashes fan across her cheeks with each blink.
“How about a drink?”
“Okay.” She licks her lips, and it takes everything inside me not to drag her out of this bar and back to her place.
But instead, I remind myself of the plan. A genius fucking plan that revolves around teasing and anticipation that leads to hot, illicit sex where I get to enjoy watching the enthralling view that is Sophie coming on my cock again.
With a gentle hand to her lower back, I lead her toward the bar and help her onto one of the stools before sitting down beside her.
“What do you want to drink tonight?”
She opens her mouth to answer but wavers for a moment before finally saying, “Surprise me.”
I grin. Oh yes, sweet Sophie, I can promise you that tonight will be full of surprises.
A few minutes later, the bartender slides two drinks across the bar. A fresh scotch on the rocks for me and a drink that serves an exact purpose for Sophie.
“An old-fashioned?” she questions as she stares down at the glass of amber liquid.
“For memories,” I tell her and take a sip from my rocks glass. “A reminder of the Raines Law Room.”
“Hmm. Memories, huh?” she asks through a little giggle. “Kind of like how I’m still missing my favorite pair of black silk panties?”
“Exactly like your missing panties. Only, this time, you get to keep the drink.”
She quirks one curious brow in my direction. “But you’re still keeping my panties?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that something you do often, Jude? Collect women’s underwear?”
“Actually, no.” An amused laugh jumps from my lungs. “You’re the first.”
“The first of your collection?”
“Babe, it’s not a collection if there’s only one pair in it.” I flash a wink in her direction. “Though, I may add another pair tonight.”
She takes a long sip of her old-fashioned before turning in her seat and crossing her legs to face me. Her mouth quirks up in a mischievous smile as she leans closer to whisper, “What if I told you I’m not wearing anything under my dress right now?”
My gaze can’t stop itself from glancing down at the apex of her thighs, and my mind flirts with the reality that beneath the gold material lies her perfect pussy. But…is it magnificently bare?
I lick my lips. “Then I’d tell you to lean back and close your eyes because I’m about to lick your sweet cunt in front of a whole lot of people.”
When I finally lift my eyes back up and onto her face, she’s grinning like a little minx, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment. Whether it’s at the threatened gesture or my use of the c-word, I don’t know, but either way, it looks really sexy on her.
“Wow, okay. Well, don’t get too amped because I’m not going commando tonight.”
“So, there’s another pair of sexy panties beneath that dress?”
She nods.
A soft chuckle slips from my lungs, but also, outright satisfaction makes my mouth lift at the corners. “Good.”
“Good?” she asks. “Why is that good?”
“Because I want to add to my collection.”
She snorts. “You’re kind of a pervert, Jude. You know that?”
“What can I say?” I shrug one shoulder and lift my glass in the air. “You bring out the best in me, Sophie.”
“God, you’re incorrigible.” Her amused laughter is music to my ears, but when she lifts her glass to take another sip from her drink, my gaze homes in on her mouth. Her throat vibrates in the subtlest way as she swallows it down, and once she’s done, she licks a few drops from her lips and carefully sets the glass back down on the bar.
Fuck, the things I’d love to see that mouth of hers do.
But not right now. Not yet. Tonight’s game is focused on prolonging the anticipation.
So, instead, I purposefully place my hand on the bare skin of her thigh and squeeze tenderly.
Her eyes flash back to me, the depths of green curious and hopeful that my touch will lead to something, but I school my face into neutrality and pull my hand away to grab my drink off the bar and take a hearty pull of scotch.
Though, once my glass is back down on the marble, I reach out and lightly brush my fingers across her bare shoulder and slide a few rogue pieces of her hair behind her ear.
“You look stunning,” I tell her and move that pesky hand of mine back to her thigh. Though, this time, I just let my fingertips linger over the skin in a soft, delicate motion. Just enough to make her think about my touch, but not enough to give her any sort of satisfaction.
“T-thank you,” she whispers back, and I don’t miss the way her hips shift and fidget a little in her seat. By sexualizing things right out of the gate, I’ve got her right where I want her. Desperate and anticipatory, she doesn’t know when I’m going to touch her or how, and for the sake of her future orgasm, I’m going to do my best to keep it that way.
“So, tell me, how was your day?”
Her eyes search mine. “My…day?”
“Yeah, how was it?” I move my hand higher and higher up her thigh. “Good, I hope?” I add when my fingers skirt along the hem of her dress.
“Uh-huh…” She pauses, swallows, and her gaze dips down to where my hand meets her skin.
“That’s great to hear. I take it the event planning business is still booming?” I question, using small talk as a means to keep her wondering what in the fuck is happening.
“Um…what?” she blinks and looks up to meet my eyes, and I have to fight back the urge to smile.
“The event planning business? It’s still booming?”
“Oh…uh…yeah…I guess you could say that.” She shrugs, and her ability to concentrate almost comes back at full force.
That is, until I slip my fingertips beneath the hem of her dress. But my hand is still only on her upper thigh. And still too far from where she’s most likely awaiting my next move with a wet and wanting little pussy.
Her gaze is back to where my hand meets her thigh, and I have to bite down on my bottom lip to stop a satisfied smile from consuming my mouth.
Oh yes, sweet Sophie. We are about to have some fun.
No doubt, when I do give in to the nearly irresistible urge to make her feel good, Sophie Sage will be dripping wet for me.
“How about some dinner, babe?”
“Dinner?” She furrows her brow“As in eating actual food?”
“Of course. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Uh…yeah…right. Food. Let’s eat some food,” she answers, and she has to clear what sounds like disappointment out of her voice.
I fucking love it.
Sure, disappointing her, of all people, isn’t my priority. But in order to give her the most intense pleasure possible, this state of confusion she’s currently experiencing needs to occur.
It’s a means to one hell of an orgasmic end.
I stand up from my barstool, pull my wallet out of my back pocket, and slide a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar to cover our tab. “Come on. I made a special reservation for us at The Palm Court.”
Last-minute reservations at The Palm Court are hard to come by, especially when you’re requesting for the chef to make the full Plaza Hotel in-room dining menu available to you, instead of the restaurant’s standard appetizers and small bites with afternoon tea or evening cocktails.
But my career has blessed me with lots of friends in high places.
“That sounds…great,” she answers like she’s not sure if she actually believes her words.
But I know it’s great.
In fact, it’s about to be mind-blowingly great.