Dario spoke first. “I’d like to invest in your operation if you aren’t interested in an outright purchase.”
Rick leaned forward, his fingertips pressing together as if in prayer. “We aren’t interested in selling. Besides, the reason we work is because we are a neutral location, with neutral ownership. You don’t want to be seen at Bellagio, and they don’t want to be seen at your place.”
I watched the monitors as Lance spread his arms, encompassing the place.
“Here, you can all gamble in private and without padding any of your competitors’ pockets.”
“A good point.” Dario nodded. “But I could be a silent owner or investor.”
Lance shook his head. “We aren’t looking for either. Still, I appreciate the offer.”
“You’ll need a bigger bankroll. Who you going to call when you are in the red? The Italians?”
“I was under the impression that you were the Italians.”
There was a smile in Lance’s voice, but I still stiffened. In this town, success didn’t come to the innocent, and there were few men as successful as Dario Capece.
The devil smiled. “Everyone in this town is, in some way or manner, Italian. But I don’t want you having to get into business with them. If you need a short-term loan, call me. I’ll cut you a fair deal.”
Lance held out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Capece.”
I sensed the end of the excitement and moved to the door, my hand on the knob when his next words stopped me short.
“The woman who escorted me in. Tell me about her.”
I turned.
“You looking for new cocktail waitresses, Mr. Capece?”
I heard the edge of protection in Lance’s voice and silently warned him to be careful.
“I run casinos. I’m always looking for cocktail waitresses.”
“I can’t speak for Bell, but I think she’s pretty happy here.”
“You look worried, Mr. Blake.”
I turned to watch the monitor. On it, Lance’s arms were crossed over his chest, his imposing stance diminished by Capece’s powerful build.
“I’m concerned any time a stranger asks about someone I care for.”
“It’s just curiosity. I’m a man. She’s a beautiful woman. You understand.”
Lance shifted. “As I said, she’s happy here.”
“Noted.”
I watched the monitors as the two men shook hands.
“Call me if you ever need funds, or anything else.”
“Thank you.”
They turned, making their way back to the front room, and I looked away from the monitors, Rick’s gaze dead on mine, stopping me in my exit. “What?” I asked.
Rick spoke slowly, as if I might have trouble understanding him. “Dario Capece is bad news.”
“Yeah. Got it.” I tilted my head toward the gaming floor. “So are pretty much every one of those assholes out there. Don’t worry about me.”
“I saw you two. Whatever moment that was?” He flicked his index finger back and forth, between me and an imaginary Dario. “You’re a tiny minnow in this town, B. Sexy and smart as hell ... but still a minnow. And he’s—”
I interrupted him before he got fully into the lecture. “I KNOW. He’s a whale. Or a shark. Or a killer whale, or whatever freaking ocean reference you’re about to make. I get it. Focus on your own shit, because he came in here after your business, not my ass.”
I yanked the door open and didn’t miss the twitch that broke his stern expression into a smile.
“I got you peanuts.”
Meredith held out the bag, and I grabbed it, moving my feet and giving her room to pass. She juggled two beers and almost spilled both of them by the time she settled into the seat next to me. “God, it’s hot.”
I stole the second beer and lifted it to my lips, nodding in agreement. “Miserably.”
There was the crack of a bat, and we shifted out of the way as everyone around us rose to their feet, then moaned in disappointment and settled back down.
“Foul. I knew the minute I heard it,” Meredith said.
“Sure.”
“I’m serious. You can hear when they hit the right spot.”
I smirked, my mind taking the words in a dirty light, and she rolled her eyes.
“Stop.”
“You’re the one playing porn in our house all hours of the day. How are we supposed to keep our minds clean with all that?”
She sniffed. “I’m almost done with the project. Then, I swear, I’m done with glory holes and gangbangs for life.”
The soccer mom ahead of us turned, glared, and covered the ears of her teenage son, as if he’d never heard those words before. Meredith stifled a laugh, and I elbowed her with a smile. The kiss cam came on the scoreboard, and the crowd started to cheer.
“So ... tell me about this man.” She leaned in, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd.
I sighed, tipping back the beer and looking out at the stands. “You know. Another guy.”
Meredith scoffed. “Another guy? I don’t know anything about casino stuff, and even I know Dario Capece.”
“I shouldn’t have mentioned him. He checked me out. He was hot.” I pulled open the peanuts and shook a few out, offering the bag to her. “And he’s married.”
She nodded in the annoying way that typically precluded idiocy. “Uh-huh. Forbidden love.”
“Forbidden love? You’re so dramatic. Love and I aren’t even in the same hemisphere right now.”
“Not even with the sexy professor?” She put her beer in the cup holder and settled back in the plastic seat.
“Especially not with Ian.”
“Yeah … A hot, smart guy with a job and a delicious Irish accent. I agree. Worthless. I can’t believe you’re even wasting your orgasms on him.”
I hid behind my beer as the mom ahead of us turned around again. I swear, we weren’t even talking loudly. And her son had to be fifteen. Too old to have his ears covered. Meredith was right. On paper, Ian was pretty damn awesome. Naked, his stock was even better. But other than having fun with him, there were no feelings involved, no fluttery emotions, or breathless anticipation of our next meeting. “I’m pretty sure our thing is going to end with the semester.”
“That sucks.”
“Not really.”
Meredith fished in her purse and held out a bottle of sunscreen. “Here, I brought this for you. Cover that pasty white-girl skin of yours.”
I took it without argument, and squeezed out a generous glob in my hand, eyeing her ebony complexion. “You need some?”
“Nah. Already got it on.” She settled back in her seat. “So, let’s get back to forbidden love. You think this guy’s gonna come back in The House?”
I sighed. “I don’t know.”
I’m a man. She’s a beautiful woman. I thought of the way he’d shrugged, as if because he was male, and I was female, that it was done. “He asked about me, said he needed cocktail waitresses.”
She asked where I’d make more money, and I mulled over the question.
“Probably staying where I’m at. Besides, I can’t leave Lance and Rick.”
It was the truth. They were too good to me, and they were like family. The thought of leaving them, of working at one of Capece’s giant supermarket-sized casinos—it was of no interest to me. Especially if it was one he owned. I didn’t need to work for a man like that.
I passed back the bottle. “And, I don’t think it was a legitimate job offer. He was just fishing.” Fishing to find out more about me. The thought shouldn’t have caused a reaction in me, but a spark of excitement still occurred.
Meredith dropped the lotion into her purse. “You’re not changing jobs, your lovefest with professor Hot Pants is ending in five weeks, and you’re basically the most boring person I know. That sum everything up?”
Damn, I loved this girl. From the moment she’d sat down next to me in a freshman orientation session, we had clicked. And
friendship—true friendship—was hard to find in this town of users. Which was another reason why I loved Rick and Lance so much.
I smiled and pulled my sunglasses back down, shielding my eyes. “Nailed it.”
Number 8, the shortstop with the great ass, walked up to bat, and we started paying attention to the game.
Five
The man, sitting at the first spot on one of the main tables, looked like a model and reeked of suspicion. I watched him carefully through his first few hands, delivered his drinks and stiffened when he reached out to tap me.
“A cigar, please.” He smiled, and I nodded, stepping away.
He was hot, whatever he was. Clean cut. Pretty eyes. An expensive suit that didn’t quite fit him right, like he’d borrowed it from someone or stole it off their dead body. In this city, either was possible. But a guy betting a thousand bucks a hand ... I eyed his chip count with increased suspicion. His suit should fit.
I took three more orders on the way to the bar and forgot him amid getting drinks, cigars, and a bottle of champagne for the chubby guy at table two. An hour later, I was on my way to the bathroom when the pretty boy stepped in my way, blocking the hall.
“I’m Chris.” He reached out a hand and I shook it. It was the sort of handshake that involved an object, though I couldn’t tell if it was cash or a note. I pocketed the item without looking.
“I haven’t seen you before.” He leaned one hand on the wall and his suit bunched around the shoulder.
I smiled politely. “Well, you haven’t been here before.”
He laughed, and I’m not that funny. I stepped to the left to see if he would move. He didn’t.
“I meant, I haven’t seen you around town.”
My bladder was close to breaking, and I lied through a pained smile. “My boyfriend keeps me busy.”
He winced. “Ouch. I was hoping that maybe … you work outside of here.”
He tucked his hands in his pocket, a casual gesture that didn’t soften the sting of the words. You work outside of here. He was asking if I was an escort. If he flashed five thousand bucks, would I suck his dick? If he promised ten, would I go back to his suite and spread my legs?
I shook my head. “I don’t have any side jobs. Just drink delivery and good luck carrier.” I patted his arm and squeezed around him, making enough of a production about it that he stepped out of the way.
“I’ll pay anything.” He followed me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a purple chip. A purple chip that could cover my bills for an entire year. Or even better, the remaining mortgage on my parents’ house.
He held it out. “Come on. Just a few hours.”
Just a few hours. It had taken less than one for Johnny and his father to ruin my innocence. This boy with the handsome smile wouldn’t—couldn’t—do anything worse. He’d probably want anal. A blowjob. Me to call him Daddy and let him fuck me against a Vegas window. It didn’t matter.
I took another step away. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t do that. The terms don’t matter.” I moved further and wondered if he’d follow. Wondered if those eyes would turn hard, his grin morphing into a sneer.
“Good luck,” I called the words over my shoulder and pushed open the ladies room door. I stepped into the empty space and reached into my pocket as soon as the door shut behind me, looking to see what he’d slipped me.
It wasn’t cash, and I pouted a bit at that. It was just a piece of paper, his first name and phone number scrawled across its front as if we were fifteen years old. I tore the paper into pieces and dropped them into the toilet, unzipping quickly and handling my own business. A purple chip. Fifty grand. My first week at this job, I would have been tempted, even knowing the risks. Back then, I was still living at home, watching illegal cable, and living off fast food and diner leftovers. Now, I had no excuse. I made good money, and becoming a prostitute was absolutely not part of my future plans. I flushed his number, washed my hands, and reentered the floor, my mind going over the interaction, my early suspicions about him growing.
He hadn’t just been a john looking for love. Who had he been with? Las Vegas PD? A competitor or a human trafficker? Had he come specifically for me, or had I just been an attractive opportunity?
I stepped back on the main floor and glanced over the open tables, but whoever Chris was, he was gone.
DARIO
The door to the limo opened, and the Chippendale dancer folded himself into the backseat.
Dario looked up from his phone. “Well?”
“I don’t know.” The man stretched out his legs and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of cash and handing it over. “Here’s your change.”
“I don’t know isn’t an answer.”
“She’s not a prostitute.” Chris watched as Dario took the cash.
“Are you certain?”
“Short of her slapping me in the face? Yeah. She mentioned a boyfriend, but that seemed bogus. Either way, I gave her the number you gave me. So maybe she’ll change her mind and call.”
Dario finished counting the cash and looked up. “Are you sure you had the right girl?”
“The brunette with the great ass?” The kid grinned, and Dario wanted to punch the expression off his face. “Yeah. Her name is Bree or Bee, or something like that?”
“Bell.”
“Right. Anyway, it was her.” Chris leaned forward, rubbing his hands and eyeing the roll of money. “So, we done here?”
Dario nodded, his eyes lingering on the casino’s dark entrance, the dim lighting that gave little hint as to what was inside. He’d heard rumors of the place for years, and had felt a pull of nostalgia at the idea of a small house casino, something built by kids, a business model that reminded him of late night games on back porches in Louisiana. The rumors had persisted, and he had grown to want it: the building, the business, the clients. Bell Hartley had been a surprise, one that had stuck. But he needed to refocus on the task at hand—acquiring The House. A cocktail waitress shouldn’t matter in this equation. She couldn’t.
Which was all easy to say, but he was still sitting in a limo, looking at a stripper in a rented suit. All for what? To find out if this potential acquisition also dabbled in illegal prostitution? Or to see if a prospective cocktail waitress would moonlight as an escort?
It was all a complete waste of time. It didn’t matter if The House had hookers; that was an issue that could always be fixed. And it didn’t matter if Bell Hartley fucked strangers for money. She wasn’t looking for a job, and hiring waitresses was about a dozen levels beneath him. Not to mention, if escorting was an eliminator for employment, half of his floor staff should probably turn in their resignations.
There was no plausible scenario to explain why he was here, yet he was. Dario pulled five bills off the stack and passed them to the model.
“Thanks.” The man pocketed the cash and cracked open the door. “Appreciate it.”
Dario nodded and waited until the door was shut, the locks engaged, before he unbuttoned his jacket and reached for the bottle of ice water. Unscrewing the lid, he poured it over ice.
“What’s going on?” The question came from the man next to him, the bodyguard who had been at his side for the last decade. Dario ignored the question.
“You fuck this chick somewhere? Is that why you’re interested in this place?”
“No.” Dario tilted back the water glass, taking a long sip. “I met her here the other night.”
His man stayed silent, letting him collect his thought. It was a courtesy Dario appreciated, and he leaned back in the seat, thinking about the girl, the way her eyes had held his without fear. The way the corner of her mouth had twitched with the hint of a smile. The way she had flowed when she’d walked. He lived in a world of beautiful women, a constant buffet of sex and temptation, yet … ever since he’d met this woman … he couldn’t get her out of his head. When he had first looked up, mid-frisk from a security guard, and saw her—he’d had to force hi
mself to look away, force his breath to even, his heart to calm.
One look and she’d had some sort of a hold on him.
One conversation, a few lines about drinks and business, and he was obsessed.
Obsessed was probably the wrong word, but intrigued was far too pale. And everything he’d done since—running background checks, going through this dog and pony show with the Chippendale model … it fit into the obsessive mold as cleanly as a dollar bill was eaten by an Amatic slot machine.