Las Vegas, Nevada

February 18, 2005

I rarely got nervous.

I was Vivienne Cartwright, after all.

Other people would tell you that I'd have very little cause to be. They'd go on to list a number of compelling reasons why.

From a wealthy and well-connected family, check.

Creative and intelligent, check. Feisty, even.

Pleasing to the eye, check.

So poised and stylish I leave a trail of envious drooling behind me, check.

Seriously.

It might all sound awfully vain but frankly, it was nothing more than a repeat of the same thing I've heard my entire life. I tried modesty once, dismissing the compliments with an embarrassed laugh or a shake of my head. That got me accused of false modesty so I got over myself and left people to their opinions. Why would I waste my time changing them when I didn't give a rat's ass what they thought of me?

Funny thing, the whole not-caring approach.

The less you cared, the more people bothered themselves with trying to make you care. What an absolutely idiotic way to live one's life.

At least, that's what I'd tell myself each time I tried not to care about the one person whose opinion meant, unfortunately, the whole world to me.

Oliver Yates—he was my Achilles's heel. My kryptonite. All the adjectives synonymous to weakness.

He was the only person who could make the unflappable Vivienne Cartwright nervous. Around him, my intestines might as well be pretzels.

If there was anything that could tangle me up in pathetic nervous knots, it was facing Oliver Yates.

Oliver, whom I'd known all my life, was the only person who held such power over me.

For a while, when I was going through my more rebellious years, I hated it. I hated that he influenced many of my decisions without even being aware of it—or even caring one whit that he did.

I'd spent a couple of years trying to rid myself of it through every way possible without giving myself away but like my usual approach in life, I stopped as soon as I realized the inevitable. I resigned myself to it and let it happen.

I let go and flung myself deep in love with a man I never should've fallen for—my older brother's best friend, a determined bachelor, and the white knight who put me high up on a pedestal and treated me like a princess—one he would never think he deserved, and one he would die to protect.

As romantic as that all sounded, I didn't relish being treated like a princess. I wanted him to treat me like a woman once and for all.

If I were traditional, I'd rock back on my heels until he got around to it but tradition wasn't the same rules I imposed on myself. Besides, I needed him to seal the deal now because with graduation a little under two months away, I was about to make some big decisions with my life.

Two days ago, I got a call from one of Paris's fast-rising fashion houses. Eva Proulx had been a guest critic at the History of Dress exhibition we'd put together last year. She hadn't explicitly praised my work but apparently she'd followed my progress in the year that followed. She'd offered me a spot in her team—in Paris—after graduation if I wanted to.

Any aspiring fashion designer with half a brain wouldn't even blink before saying yes but to move to Paris meant leaving Oliver behind.

It was one thing to be living in opposite sides of the country. To move to another country for a new job was an entirely different story.

This was what prompted me to book a trip to Las Vegas on my birthday, lethally clad in a daring silver gray dress that hugged my every curve and showcased an ample amount of cleavage and legs.

I normally didn't dress like a femme fatale but I needed something to shock Oliver into seeing me in a completely different light. If I had to assault his senses, I would.

I turned twenty-one today and instead of going out with my college friends for a big celebration, I made up the excuse to go see my family while telling my father and brother that I was staying in New York to party with my friends.

A lie, I know, but a necessary one.

I did have birthday plans but it only involved Oliver who told me in our last phone conversation that he was staying a few days at the Bellagio for business. He promised to see me on Monday in Manhattan and take me out for dinner where he'd surprise me with a present.

I didn't resent the fact that he was pursuing business instead of spending time with me on my birthday. Since the tragic accident that killed Oliver's family, the already struggling Yates hotel-chain empire had been left in the incapable hands of his Uncle Bertrand. The man had a good heart and good intentions but he was no business genius. Oliver had been struggling to hang on to what he could in the last few years, taking risks himself to find a way to dig the family business out of debt. He worked too hard for someone so young but from what I'd seen lately, it paid off considering how he'd scraped up everything he had in the last few years and achieved a bit of financial stability.

That he was still finding the time to drop by and see me in New York every now and then, or call me a few times a week just to see how things were going with me when I was really technically just his best friend's younger sister, gave me hope that there could be more with Oliver.

Oh, he hadn't curbed his appetite for women at all but having grown up around my brother's friends, all red-blooded males, it didn't faze me. They didn't take anyone seriously—well, except maybe for Stellan but he was a saint so he didn't count. It reassured me that Oliver would easily give up his wicked ways for the right girl, which was, of course, me.

I believed this to be the truth for years now but it was time to make Oliver see it for himself.

Squaring my shoulders, I tipped my head up and smiled as the seater for the Japanese restaurant greeted politely and directed me to the bar.

Finally twenty-one, I wanted to order my first cocktail. It wouldn't be my first alcoholic drink but it would be the first one I'd order for myself while happily showing my real ID. But I wanted to wait until Oliver arrived and joined me for dinner.

I slid up on one of the stool bars and asked for a mocktail.

The bartender was a young, friendly guy eager to chat but I silently drew the line with my usual dismissive smile and kept an eye trained on the door for Oliver.

I'd texted him earlier asking what his plans for the evening were and he mentioned a business meeting over dinner and probably a drink or two at this bar. It was one of his favorites.

My phone buzzed with a text message.

I was wondering what you'd say to birthday dinner if you already haven't made plans for it.

I smiled at Tate's typical shy but sweet persistence.

Tate Worthington was a business major from Columbia I'd met through mutual friends at a party about six months ago. Tall and cute in a preppy way with a down-to-earth charm, I didn't mind him so much, even after he'd asked me out a handful of times in the last half a year. He'd tagged along when I went out with friends and we'd gotten coffee a few times when he was around campus but we'd never gone out on an official date.

He could tell I liked him but that I wasn't interested in anything more and the fact that he knew to stay well behind the line was the only reason I haven't cut him loose like some of the guys who'd hounded after me like I was steak meat.

I typed up a quick reply: I do have plans but thank you.

And typical Tate relented and messaged me back: Well, I'll at least buy you a drink next time we're out. Happy Birthday! Have fun.

I had every intention to have fun as soon as Oliver showed up.

I glanced at my watch.

It was already eight-fifteen. Given this was Las Vegas but a normal dinner should be over by now. Oliver should be walking into the bar any second from now.

I craned my neck around, as elegantly and discreetly as anyone could but he was nowhere to be seen.

I'm hopeless in chasing after a man.

I flashed the bartender a smile as he gave me a fresh drink, aware that I was attracting some attention from the male population in the vicinity. I was drinking solo by the bar, advertised to the hilt in my dress.

I was probably hopeless because I never had to chase a guy down before. They snuffed around my heels but I never went out of my way for any of them. Why would I? I only wanted one man.

Only Oliver.

"Why don't you let me buy you something stronger, sweetie pie?" Glenn, the guy who had abruptly arrived and invaded my personal space a few minutes ago when he plopped down two stools away from me and promptly told me his name, asked with a suggestive quirk of his brows as he leaned in. "Something that will make you all tingly happy."

I'd already glared at him once or twice when he leered down my neckline and licked his lips as if he were already tasting the feast he was planning me to be but the dude just couldn't take a hint.

I caught a whiff of his cloying cologne and wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Why don't I point you to the nearest bathroom so you can wash up? Your bellini is seeping out of you."

Glenn pulled back, startled, his expression drawing in with dismay. "Whoa, sugar! You're feisty."

I arched a brow at him. "And you're irritating the hell out of me. Get lost. Pronto."

His eyes narrowed. "I think someone needs a spanking so she can learn better manners. You interested?"

Amused at his nerve, I gave a short laugh and shook my head. "All that practice and that was the best you could come up with? What you lack in charm you certainly don't make up for with intelligence. The only thing worth playing with here are your testicles after I snip them off you and skewer them with the olives for the next cocktail order."

"What a nasty bitch you are," he hissed under his breath, his arm shooting out to grab me by the shoulder.

Stumbling off my stool, I let out a loud, emphatic ouch and yanked my shoulder back, slugging the guy in the face with my chain-strapped Chanel bag. It had enough momentum to send his head snapping back to one side.

"Call me whatever you like, pond scum, if that makes your pathetic self happy," I spat out at him as I took a step back and tossed my hair over my shoulders, slinging my purse back on. The whole bar was watching but I didn't care.

"If you think you can inflict yourself on every woman unfortunate enough to be in your vicinity and expect them to be charmed by your dazzling personality, sweaty upper lip, and blubbering wit, go run into a wall head on and keep at it until you wake the hell up," I went on in a slow, measured and cold tone that anyone who knew me well enough would tremble from.

People around us gasped out loud when Glenn suddenly lunged forward to swipe at me but a strong arm circled my waist from behind and moved me out of the way.

"Step aside, princess, if you please," said a deep, familiar voice as Oliver stepped forward and slammed his fist into Glenn's jaw, sending him sprawled on the floor.

Heat and excitement rippled through me finally at the sight of him, but instead of the usual warm smile on his face and the laughter glinting in his eyes, Oliver's sharp profile and ice blue gaze were stony and cold with rage.

"Get up and leave if you don't want me to mop the floor clean with you," he bit out at the man crumpled in a heap at his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'll be more than happy to rearrange your organs for ever laying a finger on her."

I fought the urge to pipe up and tell him that I would gladly do the honors if he didn't want to get his hands dirty but the taut stillness of his body reminded me of a sleek panther about to go in for the kill. I backed off.

A groaning Glenn curled up in pain as he scrambled to his feet and knees, stumbling frantically as he tried to get away from us as fast as possible.

Two casually-uniformed security men met him on his way to the door and escorted him out. No one bothered us. I swept the bar with a glance, giving everyone a look until they all averted their stares.

"Hey," I said softly, placing a hand on Oliver's arm which stiffened as he turned around to face me, his expression dark with fury even as his eyes moved over me quickly in silent inspection for any sign of injury or distress. His hostility made me nearly draw back but I reminded myself that this was Oliver. He would hurl himself over a cliff first before ever hurting me. My hand curled into a gentle grip on his arm as I raised myself on my toes to kiss his cheek.

"What in hell are you doing here in that dress with that guy?" Oliver said through gritted teeth as he stood perfectly still, allowing the kiss but doing nothing to reciprocate the affection.

I frowned. "I came to celebrate my birthday."

I resisted the urge to reach up and link my hands behind his neck as I sometimes did when I hugged him. I contented myself with looking my fill of the man I desperately loved.

If Oliver ever disappeared, I could recite a perfectly accurate description of him. Perhaps, even draw him. I knew him like I knew the back of my own hand. He stood at six-foot-three, lean and muscular, his black hair styled in a slightly grown out buzz cut, his profile all sharp angles and tanned skin. His beauty was dark and sleek, especially paired with the somber set of black jeans, boots and shirt that he always wore. His only accessories were a short poem verse in black script tattoo inked on his left side below his chest and a simple necklace made of dark and light wooden beads that I'd made for him on his twenty-first birthday. He never took off.

Many women loved Oliver for a lot of reasons.

I only had one—I just did.

But it didn't always mean we got along. Or that I agreed to his every demand. Or put up with his occasional senseless rant.

His topaz blue eyes flashed until they were practically shimmering with his anger. "You flew all the way out to Las Vegas in half a dress with that sleaze ball for your birthday? And just how exactly were you planning to celebrate your birthday together?"

Trust Oliver to be dense when it came to very obvious things about us. "I flew here on my own. I only met that sleaze ball ten minutes ago while I was hanging out here waiting for you. You're the one I came here to celebrate my birthday with and no, this in not half a dress—it's a bandage dress with side cut-outs and I made it myself!"

Oliver's thick, dark brows furrowed. "Well, whatever kind of dress it is, it looks like it needs more material and more room. You look so constricted in it your breasts are spilling out."

I didn't miss the catch in his voice and the flare of heat in his icy gaze as the word breasts stumbled past his lips. I secretly celebrated my victory as Oliver moved backwards fractionally and sucked in a breath as his eyes slid from my chest to the rest of my curves. I had them. I used them. And they worked.

"Setting aside my possible respiratory problems in this dress, I think you like what you see—including everything that's spilling out," I said boldly, meeting his gaze when his head whipped back up at my statement.

His jaw clenched and he cleared his throat, shaking himself out of his obvious mesmerized state.

"I don't know what the hell you were thinking flying out to Vegas, hanging out in a bar in that scandalous dress and picking up a fight with a man easily twice your size when you know fully well that you're courting trouble," he said with a slow exhale, clearly trying to rein in his temper and other possible emotions. "Do your Dad and brother know you're here?"

I rolled my eyes. "Take a wild guess, genius. I don't want to have to remind you that I'm an adult now and there's no need to treat me like a fragile child. I'll go where I want to go and see whoever I want to see. I came to see you but now that you've reminded me of just how miserable your company is, let me leave you to your evening while I go find a good time somewhere else."

Thrusting my chin up, I dug through my purse, slapped a fifty on the bar and turned on my heel to head for the door.

People got out my way without a word but I didn't make it more than a few steps when Oliver's grip caught me by the elbow. He spun me around and pulled me against his hard chest, his head tipped downwards that his forehead nearly touched mine.

"If you think I'm going to let you out of my sight now, you're mistaken, Viv," he muttered under his breath in a low, dangerous tone before he slipped an arm behind my waist and steered me back to the bar. "I need a drink now more than ever and you're going to sit here like a good girl next to me while I finish it. Then I'm walking you back to your hotel room to pack so I can put you on the first flight back to New York."

I dug in the four-inch heels of my black patent leather pumps and scowled at him. "I'll sit down with you at the bar because I need a drink myself but I'm not going anywhere I don't want to go or do what I don't want to do. I've booked to stay the weekend and that's what I'm doing."

He looked positively furious as he helped me up to a stool. "You can't seriously be considering staying in Vegas on your own for the entire weekend. You can't—"

"I wasn't planning on going solo on my weekend here, if you must know, but seeing how surly you are, I'm going to take my chances instead of saddling myself with a grump like you," I shot back before snapping my order at the bartender.

I stuck out my ID for the man's inspection and it irritated me that Oliver's awful mood had taken the joy out of the experience of ordering my first legal drink.

"You came all the way here to spend the weekend with me?" he asked in a lower voice once the bartender moved away to make our drinks.

"That was the plan and it seemed like a great idea but I think you've enlightened me enough on the fact that I was very wrong," I muttered at him, gathering the heavy mass of my hair that tumbled around my shoulders in thick, soft waves. I pulled it over one shoulder and rotated my neck, trying to loosen the stiffness there.

"Why would you do that?" Oliver asked quietly.

The raspy quality of his voice was a little odd. I glanced back at him and saw him swallowing hard, his eyes focused on my bare neck. Heat shot down between my legs.

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

Oliver looked up to meet my eyes and his expression was tense with barely-held restraint. "Fly to Vegas to spend the weekend with me—alone."

I shrugged even though my heart started pounding so hard the sound practically filled my ears.

I knew what I came here for and why but I hadn't exactly planned on what to say when he asked.

I looked down into the glass of Manhattan the bartender had just handed me and swallowed the lump of emotions in my throat.

I rarely explained my actions, much less admitted my secret feelings.

My personality, which might be described as somewhat strong, to put it mildly, limited the number of people I got along with. I knew a lot of people who were eager to be my friends, probably because I was popular and filthy rich, but I had somehow managed to keep a lot of them at arm's length. I could say it was because I didn't suffer fools, especially ambitious ones who so clearly just wanted to use me, but it was probably more because the time I didn't spend hanging out with my family or designing and creating gowns in my studio, I spent with Oliver.

Something had started that spring day, right after Oliver buried his family eleven years ago, when I followed him around the cemetery and asked him to write down his sorrows so I could keep it away for him in my Ugly Box. He became the handsome prince I wanted to marry one day after that accidental brush of his lips on mine, and I seemed to have become his.... favorite person? God, that sucked. I wasn't sure exactly but since that day, Oliver treated me like I was the most important person in his world.

Even after Dad and I returned to New York and Oliver was struggling to finish school and take on the family business before it completely crumbled in his uncle's hands, he made a point to see us every couple of months. He visited often with Stellan, but even while away, he called often to chat with me and sent me letters regularly over the years. Short, random ones telling me of his misadventures and asking me about school, my friends and my then increasingly growing passion for fashion design. The letters were always handwritten and old-fashioned, full of his scribbled-out mistakes, coffee marks, ink stains and wrinkles as if he'd been writing them on the go. We sent each other photos, cards and all sorts of random things we thought the other would find interesting. Oliver always showed up for my birthday and although I always threw a party, he would do something special just for the two of us after, may it be to go see a movie I really wanted to see but couldn't drag my brother to, go for a picnic at the park or enjoy the amusements at Coney Island—whichever struck my fancy.

When I moved back to Cobalt Bay with Dad when I was sixteen, Oliver and I spent even more time together. He came to escort me to prom, which made all the girls in school wild and the boys highly irritated, and he came to attend my high school graduation. A few years ago, when I moved back to New York to attend the Fashion Institute of Technology, he flew in with me and dropped by at least once a month to spend a weekend with me, may it be to stroll around the city or do a lazy movie marathon at my apartment.

If Stellan and Dad thought that Oliver's special treatment of me was strange, they didn't say. Maybe because I was still considered a darling little sister by all of Stellan's friends who'd spoiled me like a princess growing up, while my father would never understand how people could not dote on me like he did. Whatever the reason may be, they never curbed the time and attention Oliver and I devoted to each other. Oliver always behaved like a perfect gentleman around me, and despite his old wild side, he'd always served to be the only voice of reason that could ground me back to earth when I got a little wild myself. I suspected my family probably just counted themselves lucky to have someone who wielded some influence on me. I couldn't fault them for that.

Oliver wasn't just the love of my life—he was my best friend, my champion, my biggest fan.

"Angel, you didn't have to come here, you know?" he said gently with a half-smile as he put a hand over mine. "I was going to fly out first thing tomorrow to see you in New York. I had actually booked to leave earlier today, to surprise you, but Greaves wanted to meet up to close the deal on Cranston. I figured I'd wait a few hours thinking you might have been busy partying with your friends anyway."

My heart felt warm and heavy inside my chest.

He did want to make it to the last few hours of my birthday but Cranston was the largest Yates hotel sub-chain that Oliver was buying back and Wesley Greaves so far had been his biggest financial backer. From what Oliver had told me, the banker was a puffed up social climber and always set up his meetings at highly visible places where he could be seen rubbing elbows with important people. The Yates empire may have been hanging on by a thread in the last decade but the family name and history were important enough to Greaves that he had no qualms doing business with Oliver. It didn't hurt either that Oliver was best friends with three influential young men who ran their own family empires.

"I've partied enough over the years that it's gotten old," I told him as I took a sip of my drink. "I thought I'd do something different with you. I've never been on my own in Vegas. I thought maybe you could take me around, show me what the fuss is all about."

He raised a brow in amusement. "You really don't drink or gamble. I highly doubt that you're going to find what you're looking for here."

I smiled. "Oh, I found exactly who I came here for. Despite what you walked in on earlier, I was actually having a good time. I was just waiting for you to give me a blast."

I inwardly cringed. God, that was such a pick up line.

I was usually sharper on the wit but with Oliver, I didn't always have my feelings under wraps. When my emotions ran free, my dry sense of logic evaporated.

Oliver laughed, the sound of it instantly soothing the emotional pretzel I was turning into inside.

I could never do wrong in his eyes. It often gave me relief but I sometimes worried that because of that same fact, he would never see me as someone he could have as his. I wanted to be with him as a woman, not some prized item in a glass box for him to stare at and worship.

"Well, in that case, I'll take you around tonight," he said as he tossed back the rest of his martini. "Vegas is really all about what happens at sundown. But tomorrow morning, we're flying back to New York where we can properly celebrate your birthday."

I pursed my lips. "Can't we just stay here for the weekend? It's nice and warm here and I even brought my bikini."

That starved look crossed Oliver's face again and I had to bit the inside of my cheek to keep my smile from showing.

"I'm not sure Jack and Stellan would approve," he said although there were telltale signs of his resolve cracking.

I grinned. "Good thing we don't need their approval."

He didn't look convinced.

I squeezed his hand which had been covering my other one. "Come on, Oliver. Since when did become such a prude?"

He scowled at me. "Since one of us had to keep a level-head which you aren't interested in doing. If you're going to spend the weekend here, at least call your family and tell them you're here and that I'll keep you out of trouble."

"I can't tell them that," I protested and took another sip of my drink. The alcohol had already started to warm me up inside. A couple more glasses and I'd be bolder about going for what I wanted. "I am planning on getting into trouble. Just the pleasurable kind, if you know what I mean."

Okay, I guess I didn't have to wait after a few more drinks.

I snuck up a glance at him and saw his gaze grow hooded as my words sank in.

Determined, I brushed the tip of my forefinger along the curve of his rough, calloused knuckles. The soft, fleeting touch was charged with an undercurrent so strong we both jumped a little and broke off the contact. My throat went dry and I gulped down more of my drink and signalled for another one.

"What game are you playing, Viv?" Oliver asked huskily, his brows drawn in. "This isn't like you at all."

I smiled wryly. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe this is really like me and I've just been holding back all this time?"

"You never hold anything back, Viv," he snorted. "A tornado can't help itself."

I frowned at the comparison. "Just as a tornado keeps such a frightening, destructive front no one and nothing would want to get close enough to see inside it?"

A strange expression flickered across his face. "You know that I'll still try to hold you in my arms even if you're going to rip me to shreds, Viv. I think you've known that for a long time."

I sighed. Of course, I knew.

"Because I was that sweet, little girl who yanked you back on your feet when you were about to let yourself be swallowed by grief?" I asked flatly, looking directly into his eyes. "If it's because you owe me, Oliver, then you can shove it up your ass. I don't want it. I'm not looking for a lifetime of gratitude."

He exhaled sharply. "Then what are you looking for, Vivienne? What else can you possibly want?"

I bit my lip. "I want you."

Oliver's pale blue eyes widened and his jaw clenched as he struggled with his reaction.

"You've always had me, Viv," he rasped, his fingers tightening around his glass that I worried for a second it would snap into pieces. "You've had me for years."

"Yes, I've had you for everything but that one thing I want you to be," I answered, my voice slightly shaky. "I want your heart, your body, your love, Oliver. I want it all."

I couldn't remember the last time I felt so vulnerable. But then I've never laid myself bare like this before. I had hoped for years that I wouldn't ever need to but Oliver didn't come around as quickly as I'd like once I got old enough for him to see me beyond being Stellan's sister. He never once tried to kiss me or treat me with anything but respect. I was sick of waiting for him to come around. After more than a decade of being in love with him, I think I'd shown enough restraint. I was going after what I wanted and never look back.

Several minutes passed and not one word was uttered.

Oliver was still staring into his glass, deep in thought, his face pinched with an emotion I couldn't put a finger on.

At this point, I was mortified enough, my cheeks ablaze.

He was probably figuring out how to best let me down without hurting me. Oliver may not love me like I loved him but he would never hurt me intentionally.

Everything felt like it was crashing around me. My heart was in a heap of shards in my chest, stabbing into me and drawing blood.

Get away, Viv. Get away.

I slapped another fifty on the table and slipped off the bar stool.

"I'll be on the first flight out to Cobalt Bay tomorrow," I said quietly, avoiding his eyes. "I'm going to call it a night. Goodbye, Oliver."

How I managed to walk out of there with my eyes dry and my head up, I had no idea.

I just knew that he didn't come after me.

It wasn't until I closed the door to my hotel suite behind me that the tears spilled down my cheeks, scalding hot against the cold, clammy feel of my skin.

Vivienne Cartwright never had a broken heart.

Tonight, it was all I had.

***

So, what do you guys think?

One thing I'll say I'm starting to really love about Vivienne is just how much of a go-getter she is. It probably helps that she's all that and she knows it. Wish I had that kind of confidence in real life but still, it's fun to watch her.

I hope you all enjoyed and will stick around for the next post.

Please don't forget to vote and comment so I know you're enjoying this story and would want to see more.

Thank you!

XOXO,

Ninya

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: I Was Made For Loving You by Tori Kelly feat. Ed Sheeran ♪♪♪

A dangerous plan, just this time

A stranger's hand clutched in mine

I'll take this chance, so call me blind

I've been waiting all my life

Please don't scar this young heart

Just take my hand

I was made for loving you

Even though we may be hopeless hearts just passing through

Every bone screaming I don't know what we should do

All I know is, darling, I was made for loving you

Hold me close through the night

Don't let me go, we'll be alright

Touch my soul and hold it tight

I've been waiting all my life

I won't scar your young heart

Just take my hand

Cause I was made for loving you

Even though we may be hopeless hearts just passing through

Every bone screaming I don't know what we should do

All I know is, darling, I was made for loving you