***
Allie tried to ignore him. He was doing everything he could to get a rise out of her, but she wouldn’t be goaded into an argument. He wanted a mistress, not a girlfriend—sure as hell not a friend. He didn’t want advice about his family. He didn’t want to be called out on his ridiculous behavior toward his parents. Fine. That was just fine with her.
She was a fuck toy, so be it. He wanted sex, she’d give it to him. Without emotion this time. Without aching for him, without feeling anything at all. Because fuck toys didn’t have feelings. And that’s why she was there. To pleasure him whenever he wanted. British bastard.
In the meantime she would be cheerful and pleasant. He thought he could rattle her cage, but he’d underestimated her. He thought he was dealing with an amateur. He must not know she was employee of the month fifteen times in the past four years. When she spoke to him, she pretended he was just another hotel guest and assumed her customer service face—the peaceful, unruffled expression that calmed even the most belligerent tourist.
She ran a hand over her hair. “Is this all right, Trevor?” She let her gaze bounce on him before looking away. That was one thing she couldn’t bring herself to do—look at him. She couldn’t gaze into those light gray eyes and not want to burst into tears.
You’re a fuck toy. Those words had ripped her to shreds. No, she hadn’t just been hurt by what Trevor had said, that was too mild a description. She felt as if she had a gaping chest wound.
The thing was, she had actually started to like him, thought they had a connection, a bond. But Trevor didn’t have bonds with people. He had employees, not friends.
That’s what she was, his employee. So she held on to that customer service smile like it was a lifeline and she was drowning. Because if she didn’t, he’d see how much he’d hurt her.
She felt his cold gaze flash over her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shrug and raise a brow. “It looks fine, I suppose.”
Allie just smiled at the comment and turned her face toward the partition. She didn’t know where they were going for dinner, didn’t care. In the past three days, she’d interacted as little as possible with Trevor. Except when he’d made her take tea with him, go on ridiculously long, rambling walks in the garden—which under normal circumstances she’d have enjoyed—and forced her to play chess with him until late in the evening.
The last activity had her nerves frayed. She kept expecting him to try and seduce her. And she would give in to him too, because, as she’d reminded herself enough times, that’s why he kept her around. But to actually let him kiss her, touch her, slip inside her body would be almost more than her faux cheerful attitude would be able to take. So, she’d tried to prod him into sex, at least that way she would be in control. “Would you like to have sex now, Trevor?” He’d been shocked the first time she said it. His eyes widened, his cheeks paled. But she kept asking, in a cool, polite voice. But after a while, he’d snapped back and she didn’t dare push him any further. Knowing Trevor, he’d take her up on it out of irritation.
And to be honest, for all her pep talks to herself about having sex with no emotion, she was almost positive she couldn’t do it. The times they’d had together haunted her. She dreamed about them, played them over and over in her mind. She’d never felt so satisfied, so emotionally connected. She knew Trevor didn’t feel the same. He’d told her that in a dozen different ways.
No, she needed to keep up the pleasant façade, needed to keep her emotional distance. It was the only way she’d survive this. Survive him.
Simmons dropped them off at one of the largest casinos on the Strip. Trevor didn’t speak at all but placed a hand on her lower back and guided her through the door and into the elevator. As they slowly climbed to the twenty-first floor, he stood with his back against one wall, his hands thrust in his pockets, and stared at her. She looked straight ahead and did her best to ignore him but could see his reflection in the brass doors. It was going to be a long night without Brynn, Mags, and Nigel as a buffer.
The doors slid open, and still not speaking, Trevor escorted her to a restaurant she’d only heard about. It was even more beautiful than she’d imagined. The white and ivory décor should have felt impersonal but, instead, was inviting. As they were shown to their table, Allie’s eyes traveled upward to the enormous glass bubble chandelier that encompassed the middle of the restaurant. The maître d’ took them to a corner table by the window, which allowed them a view over the lighted city, making the Strip’s neon signs look exotic in the night sky.
Trevor held Allie’s chair before taking the seat across from her. “What do you think, Allison?” he asked, nodding toward the view.
“It’s very nice.” She watched his jaw tighten. She was getting under his skin and she was glad. He deserved it.
She picked up a menu. She’d never heard of most of the dishes listed, but when the waiter appeared, Trevor ordered for the both of them. She hated when he did that.
“I think we’ll start with the caviar and a bottle of ’96 Cristal. Then we’d each like a tasting menu with the wine pairings. Thank you.” He handed the waiter his menu.
She didn’t like caviar. He probably remembered that and ordered it on purpose. Allie thought back to some of her worst customers. The ones who were angry about having a room too close to the ice machine. The drunk ones she’d caught peeing in the hallway. The ones who called her a fucking bitch for not having two queen-sized beds in one room. She smiled as she handed the waiter her own menu.
Trevor leaned back in his chair. “You look lovely tonight.” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“Thank you.” Her eyes skidded over him and got caught in his gaze. Those gray eyes were so penetrating, so intense… She blinked and looked away, directed her attention to the street below. She ignored him, refusing to look his way again until the waiter brought their champagne and caviar.
Trevor fixed her a plate of blinis and topped the thin pancakes with a scoop of caviar and a dollop of crème fraîche. “Here you are, darling. Eat up.”
Allie took the plate and nibbled the blini. This stuff was disgusting. She swallowed it with a gulp of champagne.
Wearing a concerned frown, Trevor reached out and patted her hand. “I forgot, you don’t like caviar, do you, darling?”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s an acquired taste. You’ll get used to it. I’m sure that if I ate…” He waved a hand at her. “What did you eat? Something made of hamburger no doubt.” He gave an affected shudder. “I’m sure it would take me a while to get used to that.” He gave her his most charming, sexy smile.
“I’m sure it would.”
She poked at her food and even managed to choke down a couple bites by the time their dinner arrived. The waiter poured a red wine, and when she glanced down, she wasn’t sure what was on her plate. A small steak with something on top.
“Filet Mignon Rossini,” the waiter said. He turned and left.
“Steak with foie gras, black truffle, and cabernet sauce.” Trevor cut into this steak.
Allie did the same. After taking a bite, she decided it was the best thing she’d ever tasted in her life. She glanced up to find Trevor staring, a strange look on his face. When he saw her notice, his blank mask slid in place. She shifted her gaze and stared at his nose.
“How is it, darling?”
“Very nice, thank you.” Her cheeks were becoming sore from smiling so much. But she wasn’t backing down. Not when it bugged the hell out of him.
“By the way, since we’re here, I got a room. We haven’t fucked in a few days, what with the relatives in the house. Try your wine, love. It’s absolutely delicious.”
Allie continued to smile, but it was an effort. He was pushing her as far as he could. He wanted her to break. And a part of her wanted it too. She wanted to tear into him, tell him what an ass he was, how much she hated the sight of him. Still, she refused to give him the satisfaction. And she knew that her pleasant persona was driving him apeshit and this was his retaliation. Well, she wasn’t backing down. He wanted a fuck-toy mistress, he was going to get it. With both barrels.