King's Treasure (Oil Kings Book 3) by Marie Johnston (great novels .TXT) 📗

like Chief was the last guy I wanted to marry. Brady and I had joked about getting married to throw Chief off his game, but Chief had left me alone the last few months.

I should’ve known. He loved Lex. A wonderful addition to the firm. He was in military intelligence, you know. He comes from a good family. In Chief speak, that meant Lex’s family had money. Unlike me, Lex probably had his own money.

And he had all the arrogance to show for it. I didn’t want a husband like my sister Em’s. Chief had set her up with another guy just like Lex, who happened to be just like Chief. He thought lightning could strike twice, but the last thing I wanted was a stilted marriage like Em’s, one that paralleled my parents’ way too close for comfort.

Em was a housewife, like Mother. She spent her days managing the house staff, planning soirees, and volunteering at any prestigious event that’d make her and her husband, Carter, look good. Mother had her own money, but Chief was in charge of the finances. Em was dependent on the allowance Carter gave her.

Was it wrong to try for more than that? As often as I got smacked down, it seemed like it.

“I remember Lex, but—”

“Sapphire. I’m flying to Vegas to bail you and your friend out—again. It’s time you grow up. You’ll be at lunch tomorrow and you’ll talk to Lex, and when we return home, you’ll work for me.”

“Only until I get on my feet,” I said sullenly.

“Sure.”

My teeth ground together. He didn’t think I could do it. The call ended and I filled Brady in on what Chief had said.

He whistled. “Tough blow.” His grin spread wide. “Until then, I’m partying in Vegas on Abbot money.”

I rolled my eyes. As tempting as that was, I had to prove Chief wrong. I was one more screwup away from being kicked out. I couldn’t waste time. “I think I might look for a job or something.”

“We’re in Vegas, baby. It’s Valentine’s Day. Let’s party.”

Brady was an opportunistic playboy. I avoided men like Chief but somehow ended up with guys like Brady. Somewhere between Peter Pan syndrome and commitment-phobe. That was the spectrum of men in my life.

But I wasn’t here to date. I had the rest of the afternoon and the evening to prove Chief wrong. He thought I’d give up, marry Lex, and have little babies with buzz cuts who’d grow up and work at Abbot Security.

I wasn’t that girl.

The Venetian dominated this block and spelled out love with its windows, as if the whole city was on the Chief’s side. While I waited for him to transfer money to my account, I would have to do something drastic to show him who I really was.

It was a good thing I hadn’t told Chief what I was trying to do. Finding a career-advancing job in one afternoon in a city I didn’t live in and hadn’t planned on job hunting in wasn’t my best idea. But there I was, wandering down the Strip back to my hotel.

Brady had messaged me and told me not to disturb his room because he had a guest. The guy worked fast. Good thing I had my own room in the suite. I’d have to fire up my laptop and keep searching.

My feet hurt. My head ached. And I was desperate.

A group of people dancing behind a woman holding a sign blocked my path. I slowed. I was close to my hotel. Which also meant I was close to the hotel I was supposed to have had the meeting of my career in. How awesome to get stalled at the scene of my latest failure in life.

Instead of pitching a project I was passionate about, I was going to meet Gentry King and impress him with my ability to take notes for Chief. I’d done so much research, dammit! When I learned that oil companies hired environmentalists, I’d been over the moon. Finally, I could work with a company where I did more than make a slide show telling their employees to recycle and turn their lights off.

King Oil didn’t just talk about pro-climate business practices, they modeled them. King Oil headquarters was LEED certified. They hired companies that captured natural gas instead of flaring it into the atmosphere. They invested in alternative energy projects, and they adopted energy-efficient practices. I could be part of major change instead of saving a few square feet in the landfill by using a refillable water bottle, all in an industry that had a reputation for resisting any green practices. It would be a huge ego boost after the way my parents had tried to talk me out of my environmental science degree.

But I’d be sitting on the sidelines taking notes. On paper. Then, Chief would want a copy typed up. And more copies made and distributed.

I watched the group ahead of me. It was a walking tour of the Strip. The gaggle of women had stepped out of a ’60s catalog, with gauzy shirts that revealed more than they covered, and bell bottoms more up to date than their vintage counterparts. Beneath their flower crowns, some of the women had long, frizzy hair that resembled mine. I’d finally let mine out of its tight bun, and if I hadn’t flat ironed it this morning, it’d frizz just like that.

They danced and twirled, their arms held to the sky as they laughed and giggled. It was like a Valley Girl’s reenactment of Woodstock. A little too much peace and love, not enough knowledge about the whys.

One had her flip-flops in her hand, braver than I was to walk barefoot on the concrete. Two others were hanging on each other, nuzzling necks and sneaking kisses. Of the two guys in the group, one had his mouth smashed on another flower girl’s throat, but they somehow managed to keep up with the group.

The barefoot one waved to a passing man,