The Reading

By M.E. Clayton

So, eight drunk friends walk into a Las Vegas bar-
No.
Scratch that.

So, eight drunk friends walk into a Las Vegas psychic palm reader’s humble place of business...can you guess what happened next?

Probably not.

Just Another Day
Vivian Morris hadn’t believed Madam Brousseau’s prediction for one second. Nevertheless, with Valentine’s Day on the horizon, it would have been nice to believe that she was going to meet her soulmate before the dreaded day, but that was not what Madam Brousseau had predicted. Nope. According to Madam Brousseau’s crystal ball, Vivian already knew her soulmate...

Enter Cash Daring.

What’s Another Beer?
Sloane Vicious wasn’t a naïve girl walking straight off the farm. Nope. She was smart, ambitious, successful, and very fiscally responsible. While she could use some help in her love life, was she desperate enough to believe the ramblings of a Las Vegas palm reader though? Of course, she wasn’t. However, she was desperate enough to listen to her St. Patrick’s Day green beer, and well...

Enter Reign Claymore

A Basket Full of Something.
Kit Vicious was very happy with her life, though it would have been a little more exciting had they actually found a genuine voodoo priestess, but that was neither here nor there. However, her love life could use a bit of sprucing up, but coloring Easter eggs was about as close as she was getting to a pair of...well, a pair of anything these days...

Enter Lucas Bellinger.

Hello, Fireworks.
Hattie Jacobs refused to believe Madam Brousseau’s prediction, contrary to the arguable proof in front of her. I mean, what were the odds? Plus, what happened in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas. Besides, the town already had enough excitement with Fourth of July happening, she certainly didn’t need anything...uh, extra...

Enter Ethan Turner

Nothing Scares Me Anymore.
Channel Ainsley was starting to believe in Madam Brousseau like Catholics believed in The Pope. I mean, how could she not? The evidence was everywhere. Though Halloween was just around the corner, there was something far more pressing that frightened her, and that was the possibility of Madam Brousseau’s prediction being spot on...

Enter Wyatt Valinsky

Thankful for Toilet Paper Rolls
Rachel Graham had a perfectly good head on her shoulders. Sure, love was in the air and whatnot, but that was simply coincidence; a simple case of happy coincidence, and it had absolutely nothing to do with a palm reader from Las Vegas. I mean, if she was going to be thankful for anything this year, it’d be for a guy to past that damn toilet paper roll test...

Enter Taylor Mannis

Nice, Naughty, and Holy Crap.
Zara Domingo wasn’t fanciful, no matter that she was still researching genuine voodoo priestesses. Still, when she had the kind of boss that made her work on Christmas Day, it was hard to say when she’d find the time to run into her soulmate. In fact, the more that she thought about it, the more she believed that it could be someone at work...

Enter Hudson Royal

A New Everything This Year.
Alessa Rule had every reason to detest love and the institute of marriage. I mean, after all, she was the reason that they’d all gone looking for a voodoo priestess in the first place. Still, she was determined to look into life’s possibilities with her eyes wide open. However, she was going to have to save her new beginnings for until after New Year’s Eve since she had to work...

Enter Carter Nightingale

NOTE: This book contains adult language, adult situations, explicit sexual encounters, a bunch of misunderstandings, a psychic palm reader, a lesson in empty toilet paper rolls, and no voodoo practices whatsoever. If sensitive to any of the aforementioned issues, please do not purchase.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.E. Clayton
• Release date: Oct 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005024468

M.E. Clayton

M.E. Clayton works fulltime and writes as a hobby only. She is also an avid reader and Pinterest addict. When she's not working, reading, writing, or on Pinterest, she is spending time with her family and friends, or her dog, Boy, or her cat, Seatbelt. She lives in California with her husband and enjoys doing nothing but reading. Seriously. She does nothing but read. However, that's how she likes it.

Book preview

Just a couple of things before I let you go and get your read on. While I am doing my best to work with better editing and proofreading software, all my books are solo, independent works. I write my books, proofread my books, edit my books, create the covers, etc. I have one beta who gives me feedback on my stories, but other than that, all my books are independent projects.

That being said, I apologize, in advance, for the typos, grammar inconsistencies, or any other mistakes I may make. Since writing is strictly a hobby for me, I haven’t looked into commitments in regard to publishers, editors, etc. My hope is that my stories are enjoyable enough that a few mistakes, here and there, can be overlooked. However, if you’re a stickler for grammar, my books are probably not for you.

Also, I am an avid reader-I mean an AVID reader. I love to read above any other hobby. However, the only downside to my reading obsession is when I fall in love with a series, but I have to wait for the additional books to come out. So, because I feel that disappointment down to my soul, when I started publishing my works, I vowed to publish all books in my series all at once. No waiting here…LOL. Now, the exception to that will be if enough readers request additional stories based off the standalone, such as in Facing the Enemy. At that point, if I decide to move forward with a requested series, I will make sure all additional books are available all at once. As much as this is a hobby for me, I am writing these books for all of you, as well as myself.

Thank you, for everything!

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I really appreciate you reading my book and I would love to hear from you! Now, unfortunately, because I do have a full-time job and one part-time job, plus a family that I love spending time with, I’m not very active on social media. However, for the sites I do participate in, here are my social media coordinates:

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Dedication

For Kam –

I love how much you love a good love story.

Prologue

There were eight of them, and they were drunk.

Granted, most of the people that came in here were drunk, but it wasn’t often that I had this large of a crowd. Usually, it was a couple of friends, looking for a fun time. It was rare that I got someone in here for a serious reading, but I didn’t mind. The ones that did come in here for genuine guidance always left me feeling bereft in some way. People wanted yes or no answers, and that wasn’t how this worked. With the God-given miracle of free will, we were in charge of our futures more than we realized.

The happy group was made up of a couple of pretty brunettes, a set of cute blonde twins, a captivating redhead, a black-haired beauty, a sweet platinum blonde, and a wavey, walnut-brown-haired lovey. They were an attractive group, and they were also drunk off their nut.

Ah, Las Vegas.

Adorning my customary smile, I said, Welcome, Ladies.

The redhead started to glance around the room. Is there enough room for all of us?

We can make room, said one of the twins. Though they were identical twins, this one had some pigment missing from her left eye, easily setting them apart from one another.

There’s plenty of room, I assured them. Please, make yourselves at home. It took a few seconds, but once they were all settled, I asked, So, what brings you to my humble shop?

Do you do voodoo spells? Like a voodoo priestess? the black-haired beauty asked.

Though my lips twitched, I was able to manage to hold in my laugh. Uh, no, I answered. Voodoo is not my specialty.

That’s a shame, the other twin muttered.

May I ask why you are looking for a voodoo priestess?

My friend over there- I turned as the brunette with brown eyes pointed to the platinum blonde. -found her fiancé screwing her sister a few weeks ago, so we’re out for revenge.

That would do it, I agreed.

We came to Vegas, so that she can screw her way into forgetting all about him, but it’s not quite working out like we’d hoped, the walnut-brown-haired lovey added.

It’s like we’re attracting nothing but douchebags, and that’s not helping anyone, the brunette with amber eyes chimed in. So, we’re going with Plan-B, which is where you come in. We need to cast a spell on Cortland Culpepper.

Who in the hell names their kid Cortland, anyway? the redhead huffed.

The walnut-brown-haired lovey snorted. Her first clue should have been when he didn’t pass the toilet paper roll test.

There is that, the black-haired goddess agreed.

I’m sorry? The toilet paper roll test? With my interest peaked, I just had to ask.

The brunette with the brown eyes got comfortable. Yeah, so…if you want to test if a man measures up to his…promises, then take an empty toilet paper roll and have him try to stick his dick in it.

The twin with the pigmented eye joined in. If his dick can’t slide through, then he’s good because he’s got girth.

However, if it slides through, but comes out the other end, then he’s still good because he has length, her twin added.

What if it slides in, but doesn’t come out the other end? I asked.

Then his wife loves him very much, and he should be grateful for that, the redhead answered.

Indeed, I muttered, trying not to laugh my ass off.

Ignoring her friends, the platinum blonde asked, Well, if you’re not versed in voodoo or can cast spells, what can you do for us? I don’t want to feel like this was a wasted trip.

I can tell you what I see, I answered. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do.

Not much? the brunette with amber eyes snorted. That’s a hell of a lot more than we can do.

Yeah, the other brunette grumbled. We’re all single, so what the hell do we know about men?

Okay, that’s fair, I agreed. So, I’m going to have to take each of your hands, feel your energy, then I’ll be able to tell you what all I see.

I hope it’s Cortland’s dick falling off, the platinum blonde muttered.

While I hadn’t seen any visions of Cortland Culpepper’s dick falling off, I had seen a lot.

Too bad they’d all been too drunk to believe me.

Just Another Day.

She’d said that I already knew my soulmate, but she was wrong.

She had to be.

After Madam Brousseau had informed our drunk asses that we already knew who our soulmates were, I had wracked my brain with all the men currently in my life, and I’d been both horrified and disappointed. While there weren’t a lot of men in my life, they were clearly categorized in the friends, family, or no thanks sections of my life.

Never mind that she’d been a psychic palm reader nowhere near the Las Vegas Strip, never mind that she’d given us all the same prediction, never mind that we’d all been drunk out of our minds, never mind all that.

A month later, based on the ramblings of a complete stranger, I was still trying to figure out who my soulmate was, and I was coming up empty.

Absolutely empty.

It could be that Valentine’s Day was making me antsy, and it was causing me to focus on my love life a little more than I normally would, but still. Plus, if we were really measuring miseries, Alessa had more to complain about than the rest of us. She’d caught her fiancé screwing her stepsister, and if that wasn’t jacked-up, then I didn’t know what was. If any of us should be drinking straight out of the bottle this Valentine’s Day, it should be her.

Nevertheless, ever since our visit to Madam Brousseau, we’d all been acting on edge. Every man was a possible option or a horrifying thought. Madam Brousseau had really done quite the mindfuck on us girls, and it sucked.

It wasn’t even that my clock was ticking or anything serious like that. I was just tired of wasting my time with dates that never led to anything. I was thirty-two, and I’d had my fair share of dates and relationships, but they’d all wanted the same damn thing.

A mother.

They hadn’t wanted a successful, passionate, dedicated partner. They’d wanted someone to cook their dinner, wash their clothes, and replace their holey underwear when the time came. They’d wanted a caretaker with the benefit of sex, and that wasn’t me.

My biggest fear in a relationship was turning into that washing, cooking, cleaning machine that women often turned into without even realizing it. While they were at home with macaroni in their hair because their kids were horrible, their husbands were screwing their sexy secretaries because their secretaries didn’t walk around with macaroni in their hair and think that it was okay.

Now, while I didn’t have a problem with taking care of my partner, I didn’t want to become a structure in the home. I didn’t want him coming home from work and seeing me as a piece of the furniture; something that was just there and would always be there.

I wanted my husband to come home from work with his dick hard for me, not caring if the children were asleep because we’d mastered the quickie. I wanted my husband to look at me and see me. I wanted a man that chose me because he’d never be able to live without me, not because I looked like I wouldn’t put him in a home once he started wearing diapers.

Putting away the last of the dishes, I groaned when I heard my phone chime with an incoming notification. Since I had a special ringtone for work-related calls and messages, I knew that it was work, and I knew why they were messaging me.

Great.

I was an insurance adjustor, and not for automobile accidents or stuff like that. I was a home insurance adjustor, specifically natural disasters. So, if your home got wrapped up in a tornado, hurricane, earthquake, tsunami, volcano eruption, or just God wanting to strike your house down with a lightning bolt, I was the person that got sent out to assess the damage.

Granted, it was a depressing job, but I was good at it, and I hadn’t lost my compassion for my fellow man just because my love life sucked.

Grabbing my phone, I saw a text from my immediate supervisor, Cash Daring.

Bossman: Pack ur bags, Morris. Oklahoma in the morning.

So much for a romantic Valentine’s Day weekend getaway.

Chapter 1

Vivian~

Every hotel room was the same, no matter what the moniker on the front of the building read. Nothing was as comfortable as being home, so when the hotels came with no mini-bar, that really sucked.

Living in California, the flight to Oklahoma had been long enough, but not too terrible. I worked for Krusade Insurance, and they always flew their agents in business class. They also didn’t skimp on the hotel rooms that they booked. Though they might not always be five-star, I hadn’t ever walked into a hotel room to find a chalk outline of a body, either.

Plus, there were worse people to work for and travel with than Cash Darling. He’d already been in a supervisor position when I had started working for Krusade three years ago, and though he could be a dick at times, he was good at his job and fair most days.

Cash was also hot as sin, and it was a shame that he was gay. At six-foot-one, he made my five-foot-three feel very feminine whenever he stood next to me. He also had dark, thick, chocolate-brown hair, bright hazel eyes, that chiseled jaw thing happening, and the man worked out. Now, while I didn’t make it a habit of ogling him, we did travel a lot, and he liked to use the hotel gyms when they were available.

The man was sexy as hell.

Unfortunately for me, he was also batting for the other team. While there was nothing wrong with that, it didn’t do me any favors. When I had first started at Krusade, Mindy Crepes had been quick with the gossip, and letting me know that Cash was gay had been right up there with the vending machine eating dollar bills if you weren’t careful. The woman had a hoard of coins that she used for the vending machine, and if I’d been on the federal reserve of the United States, I would have been concerned.

So, armed with that very crucial piece of information, I had put all sexy thoughts about Cash Daring out of my mind, and good thing, too. When Cash was good, he was good. However, whenever he was on one, he was a complete asshole. In my opinion, he lacked the tact that it took in doing our job. He was a numbers guy, and there’d been a few times when I’d wanted to smack him upside the head for his insensitivity.

The knock on the door had me rolling my eyes. Not that I was in any danger of being ravished in the middle of the night-and for the record, I wouldn’t resist-Cash always booked adjoining rooms. It was as if having to walk outside his room to knock on my door offended him somehow. Granted, we worked late a lot when we were out of town, but still.

Unlocking my side of the door, I swung it open, and Cash Daring stood on the other side, and he was looking like it was a travesty that he was gay. Well, it wasn’t a travesty for the gay community, but it was definitely one for the heterosexual female one.

Barging right on past me, he walked into my hotel room like permission was a foreign word to him. We have three houses to assess this week, so I’m going to need your full attention, he said in lieu of a greeting.

Leaving the door opened between our rooms, my eyes followed him as he made himself at home, his hands on his hips, scanning my room like he was making sure that I wasn’t getting anything extra that didn’t come with his room.

"Since when do I ever not give my job my full attention?" I huffed, annoyed that he was so damn hot and so damn gay.

Well, it is Valentine’s Day weekend, and I know how you women get, he retorted, and I wanted to be extremely offended on behalf of women everywhere, but he wasn’t necessarily wrong. We did get stupid when Valentine’s Day came around and we were dateless.

It’s Valentine’s Day, Cash, I drawled out. It’s not like it’s Christmas or an actual federally recognized holiday. It’s like…St. Patrick’s Day or Cinco De Mayo.

Except those are drinking calendar dates, Valentine’s has a way of making women get all in their feels, he pointed out.

Did you knock on my door just to be a dick? I asked, tired, hungry, frustrated, and, yes, horny as hell.

Those hazel eyes of his regarded me shrewdly, and my hand was itching to slap him, simply because he looked like he needed to be slapped. "Are you hungry?

Okay, maybe he didn’t need to get slapped after all.

Starving.

*****

Cash~

I loved my job, and I was good at it. Though I could do with a little more sensitivity training, numbers were my thing, and I was good at delivering the bottom line that made everybody involved happy.

The only downside to my job was Vivian Morris, the thirty-two-year-old sexy brunette that made me stupid with those curves that she sported with no thought to what it did to the male population whenever she walked down the street.

When she had first started working for Krusade Insurance three years ago, I had cursed the heavens when they had paired her up with me. Not that I made it a habit of dating coworkers-subordinates or otherwise-Vivian Morris would be the exception. Dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, a face that I jacked off to often, and a body that dried out my tongue, I’d change careers if it meant having that woman in my bed every night.

She was also more than her looks. Vivian was smart, compassionate, feisty, confident, all those good adjectives that would make a man proud to have her on his arm. Even though I was her immediate supervisor, Vivian wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and let me know what she was thinking, especially if it was to disagree with me. She seemed to really enjoy disagreeing with me.

Though we weren’t what anyone would consider friends, I had managed to find out a few things about her over the years. She was an only child, both of her parents were still alive, she had this group of friends from college that all still hung out, and she couldn’t keep a plant alive to save her life. That was it though. Anything more personal than that was a mystery to me.

My life pretty much mirrored hers, except that I had an older brother that’d been married to his high school sweetheart since forever. Also, I wasn’t a plant murderer. It wasn’t all that hard for me to remember to toss a glass of water on my plant life.

At any rate, in all the years that we’d been working and traveling together, Vivian hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash at me, so I’d always assumed that she was in a serious relationship. Granted, it could simply be professionalism with me being her boss and all, but whatever it was, it stood between us with a huge, red, blinding Stop sign in its hands.

It wasn’t that I thought that I was this irresistible sexual dynamo, either. It wasn’t my ego noticing the slight, so much as the fact that I was passable in looks, and I worked hard to keep my six-pack intact, and that wasn’t an easy thing to do at the age of thirty-three. At least, not like it’d been when I’d been twenty-three. Still, the woman had never looked my way, and she still didn’t.

What the fuck?

Now, I was stuck with her, during the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, and it was all I could do not to picture her dressed in nothing but heart pasties on those luscious tits of hers, and a little ribbon wrapped around her hips, waiting to be untied.

True, this wasn’t our first Valentine’s Day together, but I was finding it harder and harder to hold my thoughts at bay and keep from making shit super uncomfortable. The longer that we worked together, the more I found myself wanting to ask her out and seeing where this could go.

We could do room service, or we could drive around until we find something, I suggested.

Did you research the town when you booked our rooms? she asked, and I just stared at her. Okay, okay, she huffed. My bad.

We were one town over from where the tornado had hit, but I always did research on the towns that we stayed in. No matter what, Vivian’s safety was a priority for me when we traveled. Even if I had to pay for our hotel rooms out of my own pocket to keep Krusade from