One More Night (Seductive Nights: Julia & Clay Book 3) Blakely, Lauren on Amazon.com.FREE. shipping on qualifying offers. One More Night (Seductive Nights: Julia & Clay Book 3). Directed by Chris Columbus. Based on the popular horror video game, a man starts a job working as a night watch security guard at the restaurant Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, where he discovers the animatronics move at night and will kill anyone they see.

• Five More Nights Fnaf
• One More Night Fnaf Song
• One Last Night Fnaf Song

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Song Released: 2012

One More Night Lyrics

1. 1TOP RATED

   anonymous

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   Dec 13th, 2012 12:19pmreport

   
   

   i would have to say this is about two people in a relationship. he is a fighter and is always leaving and she is afraid to tell him he needs to stay so she gets upset he keeps saying i will be with you for one more night then but he keeps staying cuz he loves her and they have a child together and after awhile she leaves and takes her goldfish in the end along with everything else how she knew which one was hers in just scary though.

2. anonymous

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   Mar 29th, 2017 3:39amreport

   
   

   This song is hands down about heroin. I knew it as soon as I listened to it. I guess one would have to experience this type of relationship with drugs in order to truly understand what he's saying. But I'm positive that this song is about drugs and most likely heroin.

3. anonymous

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   Jan 30th, 2017 1:32pmreport

   
   

   I think two people hate each other but end up falling in love and now they can't live without each other.

4. anonymous

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   Sep 1st, 2014 9:53amreport

   
   

   I think the song is about drugs, specifically heroin.

5. anonymous

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   Jun 18th, 2014 6:49amreport

   
   

   He is sick of the relationship.

6. anonymous

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   Dec 7th, 2013 12:23pmreport

   
   

   It's about a relationship upon its death throes before it ends. No one is happy anymore and merely existing within it is simply not enough. Sure, both partners know the triggers and tricks to get each other to do what they want or feel a certain way...but its beyond the breaking point...one more night and its over...buh-bye....

7. anonymous

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   Mar 25th, 2013 3:36pmreport

   
   

   It's about sex

8. anonymous

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   Dec 21st, 2012 12:20pmreport

   
   

   it's about a sexual realtionship maybe he feels that it is not right to be with the girl yet he can't fight his feelings for her or for how she makes him feel and each time he blames himself for not taking a final decision to leave beacause simply he can't resist her ;)

9. nobodyyouknow

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   Dec 13th, 2012 12:26pmreport

   
   

   It's about a relationship. One of them wants out but they can't find it in themself to leave.

10. anonymous

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    Dec 7th, 2012 12:04amreport

    
    

    I think it is about a guy and a girl in a relationship, he wants to leave. They are always fighting but they have sex and he stays. He wakes up and is annoyed at himself for staying -.-

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Tucking the pearls back into the box, he glanced up at her. “I want you to wear these when we go to Brent’s comedy club later tonight.”

“And you’ll look at me all night with lust and secrets in your eyes, knowing where they’ve been.”

He winked. “Exactly. That’s exactly what will be running through my mind every time I look at you,” he said.

They settled back into their seats, Julia kicking up her shoes on the wide footrest in front of her. “Can we take this jet back to New York on Sunday night?”

“I believe that is already the plan.”

“You spoil me.”

“I intend to spoil you even more,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing her hand. An image flashed through his mind of how her ring finger would look with a diamond on it. Beautiful, perfect, and his.

“Let’s watch a movie for the rest of the flight. I have Ocean’s Eleven on my iPad.”

“How fitting. Let’s just hope we don’t run into a ton of trouble in Vegas like they did.”

“But they got away with it.”

“Then if we get into trouble at a casino, I want to have the same luck on our side that they did.”

Two satisfying hours later, the movie ended the way it always did—with eleven thieves walking away from the fountains at the Bellagio, one by one, having gotten away with the heist, luck on their side.

Five More Nights Fnaf

Soon the jet touched down in Vegas. Julia shook her head and smiled as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I can’t believe you’re dropping me off in Vegas. On a jet. How did this become my life?”

“When you made the very wise decision to hit on me in your bar one night in San Francisco.”

She laughed, the sweet sound washing over him. “Right. That’s how it happened. I just jumped on you and gave you no choice.”

“Or maybe I hit on you,” he mused playfully, as he stood up and carried her bag to the steps of the jet. “Either way, it all worked out. I’ll see you soon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves things pretty much wide open.”

* * *

When the Cessna landed in Los Angeles thirty minutes later, he gathered up his laptop and phone. But he couldn’t find his purple tie. He searched under the seats, on the seats, even in the bathroom. It was nowhere to be found, and he texted Julia, hoping she had it.

She replied that it wasn’t in her luggage or her purse, and that she was enjoying the view of the Strip from the penthouse at the Allegro.

He was glad she liked the room, but suddenly his mind stayed fixed on his damn tie. Maybe it was irrational, maybe he was superstitious, but he had the sinking feeling that his luck was running out.

CHAPTER FIVE

Friday, 1:33 p.m., Las Vegas

Julia’s red-soled heels clicked against the black-and-white marbled floor of the Allegro lobby—though lobby hardly felt like the right word. The entryway was stretched out like a palace, with two giant wings that wrapped around the circular hotel creating a long, tall oval in the middle of the Strip. She’d read up on the design, and the architect had waxed eloquently about being inspired by infinity pools and wanting to create that same sort of feeling of circularity, he’d called it. More like trickery.

Julia suspected the design had more to do with the ease of being swallowed up in the casino, sliding quarters into slots, slapping down chips on tables, and never being able to find your way out. This hotel typified that Vegas mentality of keep them inside. But it did so elegantly because the walls were adorned with art, replicas of some of the very paintings inside the Allegro Gallery in the heart of this hotel that boasted authenticated works from masters like Monet, Goya and Matisse.

Gorgeous emerald-green plants and small, potted trees lined the walls too, offering an inviting feel and sending the message that this was both a welcoming and an opulent place to stay.

Lord knew their room was stunning, and seemed to go on for miles. Earlier, she’d run her hands along the royal-blue comforter and leather headboard on the king-size bed, and was then drawn to the full-length glass windows that looked over the city: all of Vegas, all of gambling, all its secrets spread out below them.

She’d sighed happily, drinking in this city. Being here was like a second chance. She and Vegas used to be bedfellows, happily in love and lust when she’d taken girls weekend trips here, playing the tables at the nearby Bellagio late into the night. But then Charlie the mobster had forced her to be his ringer and to hustle for him in rigged poker games in San Francisco to pay off her deadbeat ex-boyfriend’s debt. That had sapped her love of the game just the teensiest, tiniest bit. She’d reclaim it this weekend; she’d already started taking poker back for herself, playing in New York games with Clay and Cam and a rotating cast of actors, producers, and friends. Now and then even Michelle Milo joined them. That woman had grown on her; they’d had a brief heart-to-heart when she moved to town, Julia thanking Michelle for giving Clay some of the advice he’d needed, and Michelle thanking Julia for making him—her good friend—so happy.

Here in the perfectly-modulated, precisely temperature-controlled hotel, she made her way to meet Tad Herman from Farrell Spirits at the poolside bar. The meeting wouldn’t start for another twenty-five minutes, so after she passed a painting of Monet’s Japanese Bridge, she turned into the casino in the center of the hotel, weaving her way through the tables, the flurry of quarters, nickels and dimes from the slots becoming the casino soundtrack. This sound was the music of gambling, of bets being laid, of chances being lost and won. It was the song of hope, of hands rubbed together as one-armed bandits were pulled, the players longing for the metal splash of money.

When she reached the poker tables, she scanned for one with a $25 minimum. Not too small potatoes, but nowhere near a high-roller location. She settled in with two other players, an older couple, both decked out in matching Hawaiian shirts and sipping on gigantic Pina Coladas.

Placing a $100 bill on the green felt of the table, she nodded a hello to the dealer. He was dressed in a simple yet classy black shirt with a tan vest. “Change please.”

He slid four green-and-white chips to her, tucked the cash into a drawer, and began dealing.

“Welcome to our game. We’re celebrating our thirtieth anniversary,” the woman said in a cheery voice, flashing a bright smile at Julia.

Raising an invisible glass, Julia toasted to the couple. “To another thirty. The best is yet to come,” she said.

The woman dropped her hand on top of her husband’s, bumping shoulders with him and planting a kiss on his cheek. Julia smiled to herself, glad that her poker companions were a happy couple rather than a coterie of Charlie’s plants, brought in to pad the game as she took down unsuspecting high-rollers. There was none of that here. She was playing without a net, playing for fun.

The way it should be.

* * *

He watched from a set of stairs by the entrance to the private club. The steps were bathed in the soft, golden glow from the bar lighting. Blending into the scenery in his Allegro-issued pit boss dress-pants and shirt, one hip rested against the brass railing on the stairs as he folded his arms over his sturdy chest.

The redhead was here.

One More Night Fnaf Song

He’d known she was coming. He’d gotten word from the front desk. She was on a list—a list that he checked regularly, and had his associates monitor too. A known hustler, she was one of the most wanted in the country. Rumor was that she had some kind of magic touch. Could take down nearly anyone. She was probably a card counter, too. He’d get closer soon enough, see if he could pick up on the telltale signs from her eyes. The very best card counters were hard to pinpoint, that was the point; their leopard spots blended into a thousand other leopards, whether it was the fanny packs on their waists to appear like other tourists, or the high-class designer clothes to seem like the big spenders. But if you knew what you were looking for, if you studied those bastards closely, you could find the cheating in their eyes, and in their foreheads. The Botoxed effect, he called it, because that kind of rocket-speed counting came from intense concentration. Their eyes would be steady, and focused, their brain fixed on numbers, and the net effect of that was visible in the forehead—no furrowed brows in the best of the best. They counted without the evidence on their face, so the evidence lay in the frozen stoicism of their features.

It was all the easier to blend in when you were engaged in conversation with tablemates, and this hot piece of work had made fast friends with the silver-haired couple in their palm-treed shirts. Had she known them already? Were they her sidekicks? Plants to camouflage her hustle? He’d have to talk to the dealer later; see if he picked up on anything from her. For now, she was flashing wide smiles full of straight white teeth to the couple at her table. Then, she turned her focus back to her cards, appraising her hand, and laying down a bet.

Ten minutes later, she’d doubled her money, scooped up eight green-and-white chips, and waved goodbye to the couple. He pressed a finger against the Bluetooth device in his ear, quickly ringing up one of his colleagues.

“I need you to keep an eye on her. See where she goes.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up without another word.

Tucking the chips into a small purse, the redhead walked away from the table, her fine ass in those tight blue jeans looking quite the fodder for a shower jerk. He bet she liked it hard. He bet she liked things done to that fantastic ass. He’d love to yank down those jeans, run his hands over her smooth flesh, give her some of what he had packing. She’d probably never had it as good as what he could do.

Then he nearly smacked his wandering mind. He wasn’t here for his dick. He had a job to do, and she was getting in the way of it.

CHAPTER SIX

Friday, 2:12 p.m., Las Vegas

A light breeze rippled across the cool blue waters of the pool, sleek and elegant with dark stone and classy wooden lounge chairs that surrounded it. A wrought-iron fence on one end sealed off the rooftop pool, but you could peer over it six stories below and watch the crowds roll by along the Strip, packs of sightseers and throngs of conventioneers jamming down the sidewalks of the city, popping in and out of the hotels and shopping malls that beckoned to them.

The warm air rustled her hair, blowing a few strands across her cheek. She pushed it back, then took a drink of her iced tea. Tad had an iced water. She wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t drinking. It was a business meeting, after all. What surprised her was his teetotaling attitude. When the waitress had stopped by the high table where they perched on cushions on bamboo stools, he’d held up his hands and waved off the idea of liquor like it was a virus.

“Oh no, I never drink,” he’d said.

One Last Night Fnaf Song

Julia had wanted to make a joke about his age, but she’d bit her tongue. He did look like his mom drove him to the meeting—he had a tiny nose, the smooth, baby-face of a pre-teen and the skinny body of a boy barely in puberty. Add in the towhead blond hair, and she’d have carded him in a heartbeat at Speakeasy. But she knew from researching him in advance that he was twenty-nine, and the son of the company’s chief marketing officer.

She’d gleaned too, from spending a few minutes with him that he was serious. Intensely serious. He placed his hands together, and she did the same. Tad’s all-business persona made her mirror him: serious, straightforward, and focused.

“As you know, Ms. Bell,” he began, and Julia stifled a small laugh, because no one ever called her Ms. Bell. “We want to expand your role at Farrell Spirits. The Purple Snow Globe has been a big hit.” He proceeded to rattle off numbers and percentages that thrilled her. She was proud of her drink-baby; consumers loved it, and stores had picked it up and stocked it, then sold out of it.

“I am delighted that it’s been doing right by you, and I so appreciate you taking a chance on my drink.”

He held up his hands in deference. “No chance taken there. You deserve all the credit for creating it. In fact, our market research tells us that consumers both love the drink, and you. They want to know more about you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Market research about me?”

“Not exactly about you. But the beverage, and what they like. Of course, they love the taste, but they also like you—the article Glen Mills ran about discovering your drink was one of the most popular in his magazine and drove hundreds of thousands of views online. We’ve been tracking the reviews and write-ups in blogs and across cocktail sites for those who try the drink in person at Speakeasy in New York. The bottom line is—they want more of you.”

“Why on earth would someone want more of me?”

He furrowed his brow at her as if her question didn’t compute. He reached inside his briefcase, took out a stack of papers, and stabbed his finger at it. “Because they call you the beautiful bartender. Because they like your . . .” He paused to read the notes again. “. . . charm. Your confidence. Your conversations.”

He looked up as an extremely tall man in a black suit passed behind the table, sunglasses shielding his eyes. “After crunching the numbers and running a P&L, we’ve concluded that we can grow the Purple Snow Globe business significantly if the drink and you become synonymous,” he said linking his fingers together as if to demonstrate.

She couldn’t resist. She simply couldn’t not touch that. “So they want to drink me?” she asked in a sexy purr.

A blush crossed over his baby cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Poor guy. She’d been too bawdy when this young man clearly needed the safe-for-work Julia. “No, it’s okay. My apologies.”

He took a deep breath, perhaps recalibrating. “So, we’d like you to appear in some ads, in the marketing materials, maybe even a TV spot, and on the packaging. We think it can help skyrocket the product even further, and we’re prepared to pay handsomely for the additional role we’d be asking you to take on,” he said, then shared a number that nearly made her jaw drop. But she’d mastered the poker face long ago, and it came in handy here as she gave a curt nod and let him continue. “There’s only one stipulation,” he said, then cleared his throat.