Betting on Love Page 3

  I give Vanessa a nod, but she clearly isn’t sure about this whole arrangement. That confirms in my mind that she and Hadley are working together on something, but I still don’t know what. More interesting and possibly concerning is the fact that it obviously isn’t going well on Vanessa’s end.

  I close the door behind us, and as soon as we’re in privacy, Vanessa makes her way further back into the room and takes a seat on the bed, subtly taking a fistful of sheets and fidgeting with them while Hadley speaks.

  “Okay, so what’s going on?” she asks as she steps forward. I keep my distance, standing by the door and keeping an ear out for anything unusual. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “I... I probably shouldn’t have called, I didn’t mean to get you worried.”

  “Well, obviously I’m going to be worried,” Hadley says gently, taking a seat next to Vanessa. “You sounded like hell on the phone.”

  “I-It was my fault,” Vanessa says quickly, shaking her head. “I let something get out of hand and panicked, but he’s gone now.”

  “He?” I ask, taking a step forward and surprising Vanessa, despite moving slowly. She turns her body to the side, and I realize what’s odd about her movements: she’s hiding something.

  She’s hiding two somethings.

  The first is something barely sticking out from under the bed cushions, that she covers with her legs and her dress, and I realize why she suddenly sat down. I can only see the edge of it, but it’s obviously a briefcase—the kind of nondescript, still-unlatched briefcase I’ve seen dozens of times in my line of work.

  I’d bet my career that it’s full of cash. The only question is, whose cash?

  The second thing I notice is her arm, which she catches me noticing. She does the smart thing and uses it in hopes of distracting me from the briefcase before I can see it. She slowly brings her forearm up and shows it to Hadley, pretending to be doing so reluctantly. Hadley’s jaw drops.

  There’s a large bruise on her forearm, obviously caused by someone grabbing her hard, probably yanking her around for some reason.

  “Vanessa…” Hadley breathes, and I can see her eyes seething with fury.

  “It was just some guy from the casino,” Vanessa insists, shaking her head. “I was...he felt like he was being misled, it’s nothing to worry about. He’s gone now, and I don’t think he’ll be back.”

  “Can you describe him for me?” I ask, testing a theory.

  Immediately, I see her eyes dart to the side for just a moment, and her legs shift. They’re an obvious couple of tells. If she’s in league with Hadley, Vanessa is surely good at lying on most days, but whatever happened to her has left her shaken. Her guard is down. Now is the time to get any information I can from her.

  “Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, square jaw...he wore a suit with a black tie, deep voice…”

  I frown. She’s describing me, along with dozens of other young men working here. Like I thought, she’s lying. But who is she lying for?

  “Are you sure it wasn’t me?” I ask, and her face pales a little. I feel bad for testing her, but I want to see if she might be willing to give up whoever she’s protecting with a little gentle pressure. I don’t want to push her any farther than this.

  Normally, I wouldn’t be so interested in other people’s secrets, but this duo has proven that they’re skilled gamblers who have reason to hide large amounts of money from the kinds of men who aren’t afraid to leave bruises on women. That makes it my business.

  “Look, we’re not escorts, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Hadley says quickly, realizing that she needs to come to Vanessa’s side on this. I hold up a hand, nodding gently.

  “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a little. Listen, if someone’s threatening you, I can make that problem go away. You two are obviously a pair of women with good heads on your shoulders, and I don’t like the idea that someone around here thinks he can hurt one of you.”

  Hadley and Vanessa look at each other, and the brief glance they share is the kind of knowing look that tells me they know something important that I don’t. That makes me uncomfortable, but there isn’t anything I can do about it unless they’re willing to divulge. And I have a feeling it has to do with whoever gave Vanessa that bruise and paid her all that money under the bed to keep her quiet about it.

  Of course, I could just pull out my credentials on them and force the truth out, but Hadley intrigues me more than that. I want to see where she leads me of her own free will.

  “I think I’d really just like a drink tonight,” Vanessa says at last, looking at Hadley, who nods in understanding.

  “We’ll get room service up here,” Hadley says. She then looks up at me, stands to her feet, and strides over, taking out her phone. “I don’t want to make you think I’m not grateful for everything tonight.”

  “I can think of worse ways I’ve been kicked out of a hotel room,” I say with a pleasant smile that seems to almost make her laugh.

  “Then let’s stay in touch and see if I don’t kick you out again next time,” she says with meaningful, lidded eyes.

  We trade numbers, and I tell them both one more time to get in touch with me if anything goes wrong tonight. I can feel both pairs of eyes on my back as I leave two women alone and close the door behind me. In the hallway, I take a deep breath before heading down the hallway.

  I call up one of the other enforcers running security with me once I’m far enough away that I don’t think there’s a chance either of them could hear me if they wanted to.

  “Tim,” I say when he picks up. “What’s the situation on the floor?”

  “All’s well. Think people noticed how you dealt with that schmuck who tried to pick a fight with the bartender and figured tonight wasn’t their night.”

  I chuckle.

  “Good, glad things don’t melt down without me.”

  “Where you been, anyways?”

  “Just following a lead. Didn’t turn anything up though,” I lie. “So I owe you a beer for not telling anyone I ran off on the job.” That’s a joke, of course. Those of us running the floor are perfectly entitled to take care of business as we see fit, and if there had been a real problem, my phone would have been blowing up with calls from the guys.

  “Sure thing, overachiever,” Tim chuckles. “Not like you’re on thin ice or anything, so you got nothin’ to worry about. Ain’t no secret that Jerry likes you. That’s pretty fuckin’ rare.”

  “High praise, coming from you,” I say mildly.

  “He treats most of us like shit, so yea, take all the praise you want. But let’s not pat ourselves on the back too much tonight,” he says. “We got another problem to look into. Boss says we got cleaned out good tonight, and I mean real fuckin’ good. Professional-good. It’s gotta be a team, and he says he wants their heads on plates yesterday.”

  I stop dead in my tracks, and I’m sorely tempted to look back.

  You just got a hell of a lot more interesting, Hadley.

  “You there, Dom? Did that lead of yours give you any clue about what might be going on down here?”

  I think for a moment before replying.

  “No,” I lie.

  Hadley

  “Would you like a glass of champagne, miss?” asks one of the waiters roaming around the casino in a pressed white suit. He holds a round silver platter up nearly over his head as he bends slightly to address me. I’m sitting at a poker table, doing my damnedest to pay attention and keep my winning streak from burning out.

  It’s nearly seven in the evening and I still need to hit my quota. Normally, by now I might have struck that magical number and been set free to hit the casino bar and have a celebratory drink before retreating back to my hotel suite to sit in bed and order room service.

  It’s not that I really mind being around a lot of people. I can cope with just about any social interaction with ease. People don’t make me nervous anymore, even the big shots and the annoying fo
lks who can’t keep their noses out of my business.

  But at the end of a night, I usually just want to be alone. I celebrate my success alone, and I would endure my failures—if they ever happened—alone. It’s just the way I function.

  “No, thank you,” I tell the waiter, forcing a demure smile and batting my eyelashes. “Champagne is for winners, and I’m not feeling all too confident about my hand tonight.”

  It’s a lie. A flat-out, bald-faced lie. I am actually feeling pretty damn confident about my likelihood of utterly wiping this game. But everything I say and do is meant to accentuate and flesh out the character I’m playing at the moment.

  Right now, I’m betting against two men in their late forties to early fifties. They look like new money. Like they’ve only been to a casino in their dreams up until now. The two of them are dressed in that overly ostentatious manner with which men who don’t know how to wear wealth well get dressed. The suits are too big. They haven’t learned the benefit of hiring a tailor yet. Their ties are slightly askew and too loose. They’re the wide and short variety that’s gone way out of style by today’s standards. Their shoes are too shiny, too stiff-looking. Brand new. Probably bought here in the city.

  And most importantly, both of these guys are smirking at me like I’m an easy target. Like I’m some wispy ingenue of a woman who can hardly count to one hundred, much less count cards and do the kind of mathematical gymnastics required to wreck their spanking-new fortunes singlehandedly.

  As offensive and unpalatable as it is to be regarded like a little girl who just happened to wander into a casino and get lost, I have to remind myself that this is good. This is where I want them. Because if I can convince them I don’t know what I’m doing, they let their guard down. They get cocky. And cocky men make big mistakes.

  Sure enough, my little fake confession to the waiter makes them both call it. I know they think they’ve got it in the bag—two on one? How could they lose?

  But lose they do, and as I collect my winnings, I give them a dazzling smile.

  “My goodness. I guess beginner’s luck isn’t just a myth!” I giggle as I scrape the chips into my designer handbag. “Have a lovely evening, gentlemen. It’s been a real treat.”

  With that, I swish away from the table, leaving those gape-mouthed, mid-life crisis goons behind. I’m very nearly at my quota now. Just a little more. But annoyingly, the second I’m not fully engaged in a game, my mind wanders back to a much less helpful topic: the events of last night.

  I have to admit, it’s all being weighing on me pretty heavily. Vanessa is a good friend of mine, or rather, the closest alternative to a good friend a girl like me can have in this industry. We don’t know each other extremely well, which is par for the course in our career path. The less you know about one another, the better. It lessens the chances of somebody slipping up and spilling all your secrets, both legal and illegal.

  But I like Vanessa. She’s a genuinely kind, sweet soul, and she doesn’t deserve to be mistreated. Besides, if there’s a guy stalking through the casino looking for women to victimize, that’s bad news for all of us. Me, included.

  It’s why I rarely even give a man I don’t know the time of day. Hell, even the men I do know have to work for it. I don’t have space in my life for a man. Not for romancing one, anyway. I already have one great love, and it’s the thrill of a win. It’s the satisfaction of hearing my armful of chips clatter over the exchange counter. It’s the feeling of cold hard cash in my hands.

  I have yet to meet a man who can elicit the same exhilaration from me that money can.

  Except... that might not be true anymore.

  I have met a man who could probably compete with my love of chasing dollar signs, if I give him the chance. I woke up this morning with his face in my head. Those brown eyes smoldering with mischief and danger. His dark hair perfectly coiffed, but in a way that told me he never needed to put much effort into it. He isn’t one of those guys who carries a little tube of hair gel to comb it back into some Wolf of Wall Street oil slick. And that body… I could tell exactly how powerful he was even through the clean lines and angles of his tailored suit. That is a man I could have some fun with. I am one-hundred-percent certain of that.

  But I’m not here to play around with some startlingly good-looking stranger. I’m here to win. I’m here to get my job done so I can pay my boss and finally breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I’m in the clear once again. I’m one of his biggest earners, and my boss sees me as a cash cow.

  I know that because he’s told me so.

  He’s not exactly the most subtle or tactful guy, but when you have the kind of fortune he’s accrued, the normal rules of social niceties don’t apply to you anymore. However much the toll is for being a raging asshole, he can pay it. No problem. Just cut a check and saunter off with a middle finger high in the air.

  That’s the level of wealth and jackassery I’m dealing with here. I need to keep him happy and meet my number for the day. Happy boss, happy me. At least, that’s the way it’s been so far.

  I know I’m his star card counter, but it’s still a position I need to claw for every day. Every time I bet, there’s a chance I could lose and slide back out of his good graces. I can’t let that happen. Besides...the ten-percent cut of my winnings that I get to keep is important to me.

  I’m saving up. I’m going to buy myself a way out of this cycle, travel the world, eat bread and cheese on some wrought-iron balcony overlooking fields of olive trees.

  But for now, there’s another fantasy elbowing its way in front of that usual daydream.

  It’s the fantasy of running into Dominick again, of bumping into his hard, strong body at the bar and following through on the night of passion we were so crudely interrupted from last night. Not that I blame Vanessa. It’s not her fault someone attacked her. And all day I’ve been telling myself it’s fate, intervening to keep me from making the big mistake of sleeping with a mysterious guy like Dom. He’s just a distraction.

  Besides, now that he knows I lied to him about my name, I’m sure he’s too put off to want me anyway. That’s the price I pay for secrecy. No one gets in.

  I sit down at another table. This time, it’s a group of men in their twenties. Barely old enough to slip past the bouncers. Children, really. So I don’t go for the wilting violet this time. I play the femme fatale. I cross my legs so that the split up one side of my sleek black dress exposes more of my milky-white thigh. I arch my eyebrows. I don’t say a word with my lips, but I dole out warnings with my eyes. Before long, I’ve got these kids shaking in their designer sneakers. I sweep the game and walk away far, far above my quota.

  My faith in my ability to focus and win is restored. My recurring fantasies of Dominick aren’t cramping my style. That’s a relief. I’m flying high, my handbag clinking with chips, when I get a text message.

  I check my phone, expecting it to be Vanessa. But to my surprise, it’s Dom.

  My heart starts to pound as I read the message.

  You look divine tonight.

  Before I can hammer out a response, another message appears.

  Look up. Across the room. Straight ahead.

  I do as I’m told, raising my eyes to stare across the crowded casino. As though a spotlight from heaven is shining on him, I immediately lock onto Dominick, who’s standing at the mouth of the hallway that opens into the broad, busy room of the casino. My breath catches in my throat, my heart racing. I can feel my veins flooding with adrenaline. I feel both hot and cold at the same time and there’s this magnetic, irresistible pull dragging me to him. I can’t resist, and I don’t want to. I’m already riding high on victory tonight. Why not cap it off with a little reward?

  My legs carry me across the room as though I’m floating in mid-air. When I reach Dominick, there’s nothing we have to say. We both know exactly what we want, what we’re here for. He reaches for my hand and I let him take it. I lead him down the hall to the elevator. As soon the
metal doors slide shut, I press the button for the fourteenth floor and then turn to kiss him on the lips. He leans into me, his broad hand sliding around to cup the back of my head. His fingers tangle in my long, red hair as his tongue probes into my mouth. I let out a little sigh, molding my body to his as the elevator ascends. I’m already getting wet. I can feel myself warming, opening, blossoming for this man.

  We’re going to pick up right where we left off. That’s a given.

  Ding.

  The elevator doors part, and I lead Dom by the hand down the short hallway to my suite. I swipe the key card and the door creaks open, the two of us spilling into the room. He presses me up against the wall in the foyer, and I let out a slightly startled giggle as I reach blindly, fumbling to close the door behind us.

  Dom doesn’t let up. He doesn’t ease into it. His hands slip down my face, his thumbs tracing the slant of my jawline, then further down over my neck, closing gently, lightly around my throat. A spiral of delight rips through my body at the soft pressure of big, powerful hands pressing against my throat. I smile against his lips, shuddering with pleasure.

  Most men are too afraid to toy with me like this. They fear me.

  I know what I look like. I know how intimidating I can be to lesser men. They look at me and see a woman who is untouchable, made less of flesh than marble. I’m just an object to be admired from a safe, respectful distance, never to be touched, for fear that I will shatter into a thousand pieces and cut them. That’s not to say that men don’t fantasize about doing to me the same thing Dominick is doing, but none of them have the cajones to follow through.

  I’m not looking for a man to coddle me, though. And I sure as hell am not looking for a man to try and tame me. I just want him to regard me like the strong, thrill-seeking wild animal I really am. If we can stoke each other’s fires, that’s what I want. Don’t let me burn out. Keep the flames licking higher and higher.

  “I can’t get you out of my head,” Dom hisses in my ear, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. His hands slip down to my breasts, groping me through the thin black fabric of my dress. I’m not wearing a bra. It’s intentional. Sometimes when I sit down at a table with a group of men, all it takes is for me to lean forward slightly, and they’re all goners. The natural bounce of my ample breasts when I shift around is more than enough to keep their eyes on my chest rather than on the cards in their hands. It’s just another lure to catch losers.