She rolls her eyes. “Wyatt,” she says, in a faux admonishing tone, “they’re called crooks.”

I snap my fingers. “That’s it. He smacks her ass with a crook.”

For a flash of a second, Natalie’s breath seems to rush from her lips. “Kinda sounds like fun,” she says in a saucy tone, like maybe she’d want to play that sort of game. “What if I lost my sheep?”

And evidently, she does.

“Want me to help you find them?”

The look in her eyes is inviting. “Yes. But to find them I need another drink. I want a vodka tonic this time,” she says, and since the bartender is circling, I order two.

As he sets to work pouring, she parks her chin in her hand, looking straight at me. “I love vodka tonic. Want to know why?”

“You bet I do.”

But before she can reveal the root of her love for this liquor, the phone dings from her purse, bleating loudly enough to get our attention. She fishes around for it and clutches it close to her chest like a precious thing. “It’s Lila. At this rate, she’s probably calling to say she wants to pay us even more.”

“Fuck, yeah. And I’ll give you all the extra.” I puff out my chest. “Because I’m a generous guy.”

See? I can treat her well, and I’m not even thinking of nailing her.

This second, that is. Ten seconds ago I totally was.

“I think I might love you,” she says, and blows me a kiss as the bartender delivers our round.

She slides open the screen, and her expression transforms. Her lips curve down, and she lets out a long, never-ending “oh fuck.”

Her eyes slip shut, and she swallows then takes a breath. “Fuck a duck,” she says, but it doesn’t sound cute or playful. She sounds frustrated.

My heart pounds against my rib cage, and worry takes root. “What is it, Natalie?” I ask, reaching for her arm.

She opens her eyes and speaks in a monotone. “The job is cancelled.”

All the buzz leaks out of me. “For real?”

That just doesn’t compute.

She nods.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask again, because this makes zero sense.

“I wish,” she says flatly, then reads the screen aloud. “Dear Natalie: I’m so sorry to be sending this, but Mr. Mayweather had a deal on another property that just went south. Sadly, I have to put the Vegas remodel on hold. I’m hopeful to return to it soon, and please know I can’t wait to work with WH Carpentry & Construction on it.

P.S. I’m taking the jet home right now to comfort him. I know it’s not nearly the same, but I’ve arranged for first-class tickets on a commercial airline for you and Wyatt, leaving tomorrow afternoon. The tickets are in your email. I hope the service is sufficient. My best, and we will regroup soon.”

Natalie drops the phone on the bar with a dejected clang, the sound resonating in my bones.

Because . . .

Fuck a motherfucking flock of ducks. This stings.

I grab the vodka tonic and down half in one big gulp. She does the same with hers.

“I’m sad, Wyatt,” she says, as those pretty lips droop once more.

And that does it for me. I can’t stand the thought of this girl being sad. I want that smile back on her face, and I’m going to find a way to do it. I don’t care about how this job loss makes me feel. I need to make Natalie happy again, and that will also take my mind off this shitty news. “Hey,” I say, gripping her shoulder. “We’re in Vegas. Let’s make the best of it. Okay?”

She sighs dejectedly.

I park my hands on both her shoulders. “Seriously. We’ll figure this out. We’ll make this work. I’ll give you the raise regardless. But right now, right here, we have fun. Got it?”

She shakes her head. “You’re sweet to say that, but you don’t have to give me the raise. I know it was conditional on the Mayweather job.”

“No,” I say, correcting her, holding her gaze. “It was conditional on you being amazing at what you do. And that hasn’t changed. We’re not going to let one setback get us down. You’ve never been to Vegas before, and I promised to show you the sights. You name it. This town is yours, and we’re doing whatever you want tonight.”

She shrugs then waves a hand dismissively. “I should have known better. It was a ridiculous, overpaying, crazy job. It was too good to be true. There’s no such thing as calorie-free chocolate, or a guy who’s funny, well hung, and sweet.” I want to protest, but she’s right, since no way am I sweet, “And the same is true for a client willing to pay twenty percent more for this job. They’re all unicorns.”

“Natalie, it’s not ridiculous. It’s reasonable. You said it earlier. We’re good at what we do. Lila knows that. This is just a snag. Deals fall apart. I’ve seen this happen time and time again in this business. Hell, Nick goes through this with his job. I’m sure your sister would say the same. I bet she and Spencer have had deals from suppliers that fell through—it’s just the way it goes. We wanted it, it didn’t happen, we move on.” Since she hasn’t agreed to my make-the-most-of-the-night proposition yet, I keep going, the determined mofo in me steering the ship. “And no matter what, you still get a raise, so you can make your videos. And tonight? We’re having the time of our life. Deal?”

Her lips twitch, and that’s the hint I need to press on more. I won’t give her a chance to be bummed. I search the bar quickly, and my eyes land on a middle-aged man in a turquoise tropical shirt, and a woman wearing a matching one. I drop my hand from Natalie’s shoulder, but lean in close and whisper, “Handcuffs for the Hawaiian shirt duo. Tonight, he’s cuffing her. And he’s giving it to her good and hard against a bedpost in the Flamingo.”