His redheaded sl t, p.1
His Redheaded Sl*t, page 1
part #7 of Cocktail Girls Series
His Redheaded Slut
The Cocktail Girls
Vivian Ward
Copyright © 2018 by Vivian Ward
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Redheaded Slut Recipe
The Rest of the Cocktail Girls Stories
Get Lounge Loot!
Special Sneak Peek of the Risky Series!
Risky Gamble
Risky Gamble
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Vivian Ward Newsletter
About the Author
Also by Vivian Ward
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
I hope you’ll love this story! One of my best friends in the romance world came up with this amazing series idea. Frankie Love is the best, isn’t she?
Every author who participated in the Cocktail Girls series is a very close friend of mine so I hope you’ll check out their contribution because they are all so talented. You can find links to their Cocktail Girls books in the back. I’ve read their stories and WOW! You have to read them!
This novella was so much fun to write. It’s over-the-top with a hot, dominate alpha and a feisty heroine. They say fight fire with fire, right? 🔥🔥🔥Well, this is one hot book! I’ve even included a (dirty) recipe for a redheaded slut, so here’s to the little slut that’s inside all of us!
Cheers!
xoxo,
Vivian
PS- Enjoy the bonus content that introduces you to my dark and dirty Risky Series!
For those who like a good drink!
1
Aaron
Walking through the door of the Millennium, I’m excited to be back here. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen that little fiery redhead, and I’m hoping she’s still here.
“Welcome to The Millennium, may I help you?” the young hotel clerk asks. She looks like she should be in high school but it’s probably because of the headband and heavy eye makeup; though, she seems sweet enough.
“Yes, I’d like to check in please.”
“What’s the name?” she asks, typing her password into the computer.
“Anderson,” I say. “Aaron Anderson.”
She gives a polite smile and nods. “Of course, Mr. Anderson.” Reaching under the black marble counter, she retrieves a key card and slips it into a small paper envelope.
“Here is your room key and I’ve also included a complimentary meal for each morning stay, Mr. Anderson.”
“Thank you so much,” I glance at her name tag, “Heather. I appreciate it.”
“Let us know if you need anything else,” she says handing me the small paper envelope.
The perks at this hotel are magnificent, but that’s not why I come here. Initially, I came here for business, but this weekend, I’m here for pleasure. With the slots right inside the hotel and the Little Black Dress club with the sweet waitresses? What else can a man ask for?
As I pick up my bags to head to my room, I glance toward the bar and read the sign, “LBD,” above the entryway to where I hope my little firecracker still awaits me. The Little Black Dress is where I first met Scarlett, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I met her almost two months ago.
She came to my table to take my drink order, but her curvy hips and spitfire attitude instantly drew me to her like a moth to a flame. Her dark red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail with side pieces that floated loosely against her pale face. I wasn’t sure if heaven had lost an angel as perfect as her porcelain skin was or if hell had cast one of its own with her wicked tongue. Oh, that tongue. I’d do anything to kiss her. The whole room lit up the minute you saw her, and it didn’t take long to warm up to her.
Scarlett is so damn flirty, but heaven forbid you try to invite her on a date. Every time I heard her smooth, honey voice, I wanted to press my lips tight against hers, but she wouldn’t have it. I tried my damnedest to get her into my room, but all she did was tease me that I couldn’t handle her. Little does she know, she’d be the one who couldn’t handle things if we were alone.
I’d throw her down on the bed while whispering sweet nothings into her ear as I turned those sweet nothings into the naughtiest things she’d ever experienced—if she’d give me a chance. But I’ve got news for her: this weekend I’m here to take, and I don’t care what she has to say about it because I’m not asking; I’m telling her.
Mark my words, Scarlett will be mine before I go back to Colorado because I’m not leaving until she agrees to be mine. The two things I have on my side are patience and persistance.
Tossing my luggage onto the bed, I decide that I’ll put my things away later. It’s been such a long trip at the airport that I just want to freshen up before I head down to the LBD on the first floor.
If memory serves correctly, she had a jackass of a boss that she couldn’t stand so it wouldn’t surprise me if she quit. She seemed like a tough girl, so I hope she’s stuck it out. All I need is one more chance—a full weekend, maybe longer—to get her to fall in love with me.
Should be easy, right?
Last time I saw her, it was only for two nights. I was here on business and came a day early because of a wicked snowstorm we were supposed to get, and that one extra day was my only real chance of seeing her. Of course, I went back to the bar the second night, but it was only for a quick drink to say goodbye before I had to board my flight. This time will be different, I just know it.
Climbing into the elevator, I press the button for the first floor. When the door pops open, I straighten my shirt and head to the bar.
It’s not too crowded, but all of the cocktail girls are busy tending to their tables. They’re all wearing the signature—and mandatory—little black dress that the hotel bar is so well known for, and they all look amazing, but there’s only one that I want.
Scanning the bar, I search for Scarlett’s crimson hair among the crowd and nearly bump right into one of the waitresses.
“Watch where you’re going,” she says, giving me some serious side eye.
This girl’s attitude is just as sassy as Scarlett’s, and she has tattoos galore. Her black hair and resting bitch face make her seem impersonal, but somehow I just know that she knows Scarlett.
“Sorry,” I apologize as I continue scanning the room. “I was looking for someone, maybe you can help.”
She rolls her eyes before smacking her red stained lips. “Who are you looking for? All the men in suits are that way,” she points toward a cluster of secluded tables near the back. “And everyone else is just kind of all over the place so take your pick,” she sighs.
I can tell she’s annoyed to be here, but that’s not really my problem. “No, actually, I was hoping you could help me find a girl that works here, or maybe she used to work here.”
She puts her hand on her hip, eying me up and down. “You a cop?” She asks.
“No,” I laugh, “nothing like that. Her name is Scarlett, and she has red hair. Do you know anyone like that?”
She shifts her weight to her other foot and pulls her empty tray a little closer. “What’s it to you?”
I knew it! I knew she knew her. “We have some unfinished business, and I’d like to sit in her section.”
Reluctant, she points me toward a group of tables where a few people are spread out. “Have a seat. I’ll let her know she has a new table.”
I take my seat and impatiently wait.
2
Scarlett
“What?” I ask Tempest as she tells me about a man who’s here to see me. I don’t really have any regulars since patrons come and go so often. “Where? Which one?” I peek through the doorway that leads to the front of the bar.
I can’t really see much because I’m so short, but I do see the top of a man’s head sitting at a table in my section. “OMG!” I whisper-shout as I duck back behind the wall.
“What? Who is he?” Tempest asks.
“Oh my god. Okay, so a few months ago, this guy came in on a business trip. He was only here for a couple of days, but he was hitting on me hardcore! Are you sure he asked for me by name?”
There’s no way he’d remember my name, is there? I mean, what are the chances he’d remember a cocktail girl’s name from a hotel bar that he visited months ago?
Tempest picks at her fingernails, bored at my excitement. “Yes, I’m sure,” she huffs. “It’s probably because you flirt so much. Who wouldn’t remember you?”
“I do not!” I protest. “I mean, sure, I’m friendly, but I don’t flirt.” I think about how I interact with customers for a minute. “Do I?”
“Yeah, you do,” Lucy chimes in. She’s worked here about as long as I have, maybe longer. She and I have become great friends, and I love going out dancing with her. Lucy probably knows me better than any of the other girls here.
“You think so?” I reply. “What am I going to do you guys?” I ask, peeking up front again. He’s
Tempest shoves her empty tray in my hands, “Go take his drink order?” She huffs before heading off to grab some more napkins. It’s been a long day for her because some idiot spilled his drink on her shoes, so she’s been in a pissy mood ever since.
My friend Lucy peeks out at the tables and immediately sees him. “He’s cute!” She whispers to me. “Want me to go talk to him for you?”
Lucy is adorable, and I love her to death, but she’s always trying to set me up with guys who come into the club. She means well, but sometimes it embarrasses me.
“No!” I gasp. “That guy’s got it for me bad. I still can’t believe he remembers me.” I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. “Okay, here goes nothing, wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Lucy giggles.
Pulling at the hem of my little black dress, I try to make sure it’s providing ample coverage. Maybe I do flirt a little, but this guy was trying to get me to go out with him just because I served him a couple of drinks—and he was persistent!
Hopefully, he’s only here for a day or two for another business meeting because he comes on stronger than black coffee. Of course, I have no problem telling him to go shove it, either, so there’s that. I just don’t want to get into any trouble with my boss, Maximo Donatello—or Assimo Fatsimo as I like to call him.
He’s such a douchebag. I hate working for him, but it pays the bills. Assimo has plenty of money, which is why he’s in charge, but he’s a complete womanizer. He thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips, but his pot belly and receding hairline are so fucking ugly. Like, “U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi.” I’m sure that song was made just for him.
But women flock to him. I know it’s not for his good looks and charm. It’s for his cash and his Ferrari since he tries to act like he’s in his mid-twenties instead of his mid-fifties. He’s so disgusting.
But, like I said, living in Vegas is expensive, and I make a living wage waiting on all of the wealthy businessmen who come here so I’m stuck working here until I can find something better. Right now I can’t even think about leaving until my dog, Pancakes, gets his surgery. He’s my baby, and there’s no way I’d make enough working somewhere else to pay for his vet bill. At least the job is easy enough, and I like my co-workers.
Approaching the table, I make sure my hair is neat and put on a friendly smile. “Well, hello! Welcome to the LBD,” I greet him. Gosh—I can’t even remember his name, yet he asks for me as if he’s known me forever. It’s so embarrassing, and I can feel my cheeks heat up as we make eye contact.
“Scarlett,” he stands. “How nice to see you. Long time no see.”
He tries to lean in to kiss me, but I pull back. “Um, excuse me! Who do you think you are!”
He grins, showing off his chiseled features and perfectly sculpted jaw. “Aaron Anderson, owner of Anderson Oil Company, and your future husband.”
Is he serious?!
“You are not my future husband,” I state matter-of-factly. “I thought we covered this last time you were here. I don’t date customers, and you’re not my type. Now, what can I get you?”
I take out my notepad to write down his order, but he pushes the pencil down and leans in dangerously close to me. His exotic cologne is intoxicating, and I could get drunk off the smell. “You could get me a date with you on your day off. When is it?”
See what I mean? He’s completely persistent. Actually, this guy is nuts! He doesn’t take no for an answer. “My next day off is none of your business, and besides, I already have plans. Your drink order, please,” I try to get our conversation back on track.
“What are your plans?” He asks.
“Again, that’s none of your business, Mr. Anderson.” Pressing my lips together, I try to remain polite but it’s not working in my favor. “Drink order. Now.”
I’m not your typical Vegas cocktail waitress. Initially, I’m from Missouri—the Show Me State. I’m also a bit of a southern girl, so I don’t take shit from anyone. My momma said it was my crimson hair that gave me my spitfire attitude, but I’d like to think it’s because of my small stature.
At 5’2”, you learn how to fend for yourself pretty quick. I grew up around three boys, so I know how to throw down and take control. They’re my cousins but damn if they weren’t more like brothers to me. They taught me how to stand out and speak up for myself. One of them even taught me how to land a right hook square on the jaw to knock anyone out, no matter their size.
I’m not about to let this gorgeous, wealthy man tell me what to do. Nope. Not a chance in hell, but his face is so close to mine that he could kiss me if he wanted and I can smell the mint from his toothpaste. Oh, how I’d kiss him if he weren’t such an ass.
What is wrong with me? I never think this way! No customer has ever had this type of effect on me, but Aaron Anderson does.
Damn him.
Staring into my eyes as though he’s trying to read my mind—and I’m worried that he might be able to—a sly grin tugs at the corners of his lips.
“I’d like a redheaded slut, please.”
I start to write it down but stop as soon as I write ‘re—,.’
“Oh, you’re clever,” I sneer. “I’m not that kind of girl,” I say, pushing my cleavage out a little farther just to tease him. He can look all he wants, but I’ll never let him touch.
“Not yet,” he smiles.
And I want to believe his words are a lie but with the way I’m drawn to him—the way he’s drawn to me—I’m scared of the truth that’s in them. Be careful, I warn myself. I know this man is dangerously sexy so I put on my best A-game and try to pretend his words have no effect on me; only that is a lie.
3
Aaron
Little does she know, I’m very good at getting most women to do things that they’d never dream of, but I ordered the drink as more of a shock factor to her. Getting a reaction out of her was my sole intention.
I love the way her little rosy cheeks blushed a shade darker as she realized what she was writing down. Pursing her lips together, she says, “I’ll be right back with your drink, Mr. Anderson.”
Flashing her a big smile, I watch her as she turns around and walks to the bar. Her little black dress hugs every damn curve of her body. My favorite part is watching her ass sway back and forth in the short dress. It’s like watching a pair of perfect globes hypnotize me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I win her over.
I can tell from her accent that she’s not from Vegas which only adds to the charm. She seems more like a Southern Belle, but with the right amount of sweet and sass. The trouble with girls like her is they’re little firecrackers, but I’ll be sure she sees the fireworks.
From my seat, I can see her and the tattooed girl talking. The black-haired girl is staring me down hardcore, but eventually, a sweeter, friendlier girl joins them as the bartender makes the drinks. Every few minutes, one of the trio will glance over at me and giggle before the barkeep finally hands her my glass.
Placing it on her tray, she carefully brings it back to the table. “Here you are, Mr. Anderson. One redheaded slut,” she looks me straight in the eye when she says it.
For a moment, we hold each other’s gaze, and I can see how bad she needs a good spanking. Who does she think she is completely defying me?
“Thank you, Scarlett.” She turns to walk away but I grab her wrist, and when I do, I can feel a magnetic pull from her. It’s like she’s made for me. The perfect pair of magnets. “Tell me again, what time do you get off tonight?”
Rolling her eyes, she keeps playing hard to get. “I’m not telling you,” she sings with a sigh.
