Page 3 of High Roller
“Do I need to carry you, Mariposa?”
“No, Sir,” I mutter.
He chuckles at the honorific. “We aren’t at the club, Gracie.”
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
We walk to my door in silence. “You know you don’t have to see me all the way inside.”
“Of course I do. You’re a danger to yourself. Have to make sure you get inside safely.”
The apartment is dark, which means Sabrina hasn’t made it home yet.
When I flip the light on, a fresh bouquet of roses is sitting on the counter, and I groan.
“What is it?” Victor asks.
I go to the counter and pick up the card. Sure enough, it’s addressed to me with no name and a single letter written in the message spot.
“This is the second one of these I’ve gotten. No clue who is sending them.”
Victor plucks the card from my hand and turns it over. “No florist name. That’s disturbing. Bring me the other card.”
I stare at him, and he narrows his eyes. “Now, butterfly. Or I’ll momentarily forget we aren’t at the club and bend you over this counter.”
With a roll of my eyes, I go to my bedroom where I have the other card.
At the club, I’m a submissive, and Victor is my Dom. But we aren’t dating or sexual. Sometimes I think I’d like to be, but we both agreed in high school that it was a bad idea. Though lately I’m failing to remember why.
Back in the kitchen, I give Victor the other card and he lays both down on the counter. The letters are B and T.
“Do they mean anything to you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. And it doesn’t spell anything yet.”
“Anything unique about the flowers?” He picks up the vase, examining it.
“Nothing unique other than they’re my favorite color of purple.”
His eyes fly to mine. “That’s meaningful. How many people know they are your favorite?”
“Kara and Sampson. Any ex-boyfriend who actually lasted more than a month? My parents. You.”
His facial expression darkens. “When was the last time you heard from Kara or Sampson?”
I shake my head. “Not since we came to Las Vegas.”
His expression is pensive, and I put a hand on his shoulder. “This is nothing, Victor. Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”
“Gracie, it’s absolutely something. You need to be careful. Now text me the name of the place where you got your oil changed. Keep your doors locked and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I’m off tomorrow.”
“Whenever your next shift is, then.” His voice is tense, and I wonder what has him so spooked. But I don’t have time to be afraid of some flowers and shoddy mechanic’s work on my car. He’s just being overprotective.
I point at the door. “Go home, Victor.”
He flashes me a stunning smile that few get to see and kisses my cheek. “Only because I know you’re safe for now. Goodnight, Mariposa.”
