Champagne and con gamesRumero walked through the lobby of the hotel like he owned it. He wore a crisp shirt, dark sunglasses, and a cocky smirk—typical Rumero. The staff didn’t pay him much attention anymore; they had seen him here too many times. This was his usual spot. This was where he met Tamara.Room 407.He didn’t bother knocking. He slid the card in, opened the door, and stepped inside like he lived there.Tamara, 24-year-old blondie young woman already waiting, curled up on the king-sized bed, wearing nothing but a thin silk robe and her signature red lipstick. Her phone was in her hand, but the moment she saw him, she tossed it aside.“Took you long enough,” she said with a smirk, stretching lazily like a cat.Rumero shut the door behind him, loosened his shirt buttons, and walked toward her. “Had to deal with Natasha first. She swallowed the bait—hook, line, and sinker.”Tamara raised an eyebrow. “How much this time?”“Cool cash baby,” he said proudly, sliding onto the bed
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