by Piper Rayne
Um, yeah, hi. My name's Lake Shellbrook. I've found a wallet belonging to Asher Chase? If you could give me a call back, that'd be great. I'll be at the Shellbrook Animal Shelter in Michael Way. Feel free to stop by and pick it up.
I remember thinking she sounded young, maybe nineteen or twenty. I'm surprised to find not a girl, but a beautiful woman before me. Her long brunette hair is pulled back and away from her face in a messy bun, loose strands of her locks framing her face. Her cat-like hazel eyes sport long, curling lashes. Her shirt is damp at the collar and shoulders, suggesting that she was probably outside in the rain recently.
I can make out the faint pink of her bra through the wet fabric, but I avert my gaze.
"Give me one second," she says hastily as she whisks the dog, Scooter, the way she just came. She returns a few moments later, patting the cover of my wallet like she would one of the animals in her care. She holds it out to me. "Here."
I take it, the tips of our fingers brushing for only a second. I remain silent, studying her.
"You're more than welcome to check if everything's there," Lake says, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
I do so, opening it to find that all of my cards and my cash are accounted for. "Interesting," I mutter.
Lake arches a brow. "What is?"
"It's all here."
"Why wouldn't it be?"
She says this so innocently it almost makes my toothache.
I shrug my shoulders. "Your honesty's refreshing. I feel like there are a lot of people who wouldn't have bothered returning this to me. Or, at the very least, took the money and said they found it that way."
Lake gives me a small smile. "Lucky you, then. Anyway, thanks for coming to pick it up."
The corner of my lip tugs up into a grin. "That's it?"
"Yeah."
"You don't want some kind of reward?"
"No. I don't think people should be rewarded for doing the right thing." Lake glances over her shoulder when a bunch of barking erupts from the back room. She turns back to me and gives me an apologetic smile. "I have to get back to work. Have a nice day, Mr. Chase."
She's gone before I can even say goodbye.
Interesting indeed.
I spend the ride back to the strip thinking about Lake.
Usually, I wouldn't have given her a second thought. She had my wallet, which has been returned—end of a business transaction. But the thing about business transactions is that there's usually a give and take, an exchange of sorts. Lake didn't want anything at all.
Most unusual.
Las Vegas is known for its excess, its overabundance. Those seeking distraction from their mundane lives come here in droves to test their luck, hoping to arrive with pennies and walk away with small fortunes. Vegas is a haven for opportunists, those seeking to indulge in their avarice.
Money. Sex. Drugs.
It's called Sin City for a reason.
And yet, hidden away in the outskirts of Vegas's vibrant neon chaos is Lake and her tiny, almost forgettable animal shelter. Curiosity gets the better of me. What's a girl like her doing in a place like this? Did she make a bad bet or something? I wouldn't be surprised if she wound up stuck here, up to her neck in debt and unable to pay for a ticket out. The more I think about it, the more I realize she doesn't seem like that kind of girl. If the temptation of my wallet wasn't enough to entice her, I doubt the games on the casino floors have much sway over her, either.
The Grandiose finally comes into view. It's not exactly hard to miss, except when taking into account our neighbors are just as flashy and stunning and loud. Call me biased, but I think they're tacky as hell. The Grandiose, in contrast, is elegant and serene. The building is coated in gold and sparkling lights. During the day, it shimmers in the sunlight. At night, it glows like a beacon from all the neon lights that bounce off its domed ceiling.
Todd pulls the car up to the VIP entrance, where a valet pulls the door open for me without hesitation. "Mr. Chase," he greets with a polite nod.
"Park the car and meet me up at the control center," I instruct Todd before getting out of the car.
The front doors of the casino are held wide open for me by uniformed doormen on either side. No sooner do I step inside am I joined by two lovely ladies in silver flapper dresses and ornamental hairpieces. They both serve as performers and waitstaff.
"Hello, Mr. Chase," says the one on my right. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Would you like me to grab you a cigar, Mr. Chase?" asks the one on my left.
"Don't worry about me, ladies," I tell them flatly. "Attend to the high rollers."
The girl on my right —I've never bothered learning all of their names because turnover's always been so high— pouts and shoots her friend a look. "Are you sure, Mr. Chase? You must be thirsty after that little detour you had today."
"How did you hear about that?" I ask.
She hooks her arm in mine and pulls in close, deliberately squeezing her breasts against me. "The same way I know you like a good old fashioned Sazerac on the rocks," she says, her voice sultry and low. "I pay attention."
I lean in ever so slightly to speak in her ear. "If only you paid this much attention to those whales at poker table seven, maybe you'd finally earn an ounce of my respect." I shrug her off. "Get to work or don't work at all. I won't ask again."
Miffed but unable and unwilling to come up with a comeback, the pair scuttle off and attend to my guests.
As much as I like being out on the floor, I prefer being in the control room more. That's where I'm able to watch over all of my kingdoms. I see all from the craps tables to the long conga line of flashy slot machines and even to the extravagant buffet. I'm surrounded by monitors, watching every hand dealt, and chip played with unwavering focus. Spotting cheaters isn't as easy as the movies make it look, but I've been at this game a very long time to know what to look for.
It's all about the math. The house wins an average of ten percent of all money gambled at craps. Our chips are all RFID, too, which means our cameras are better able to track anyone with unusual win patterns. Once a member of my security team spots something fishy, we zero in and watch like hawks. One slip up, and it's all over. It's hard to describe the thrill that comes over me when I catch a cheater in the act. It's a special kind of high.
Todd finally arrives, cell phone in hand. He holds it out to me. "It's Mom. I mean, uh… It's Sarah."
I take the phone from him. "You know I don't appreciate calls at work."
"Don't be such a brat," my sister says with a huffy laugh. "I just wanted to check in on my favorite brother. And, you know, to see if you've worked my poor boy into the ground yet."
"Not yet. Trying, though."
"Be nice to him, please."
"You knew what you were getting him into. No free passes."
"Did you hear that, Todd?" she shouts, loud enough that the whole room can hear her voice. "No free passes!"
Todd rubs a hand over his face, turning away to hide his embarrassment. "God."
I roll my eyes. "Has he been complaining about me?"
"Not at all, Mr. Chase."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Wait!"
I sigh. "What?"
"I'm stopping in on Friday. Grab a drink with my friend and me—"
"I swear to God, if you say Michaela—"
"Michaela. Come on, Asher. She's a lovely girl. Great personality."
I resist the urge to cringe. "We all know what that's code for."
"Would you come down from your high horse already? When was the last time you even went on a date?"
"I have to go, Sarah. I think there's a cheater at the blackjacks table."
"Fine, ignore my question. Natalia really messed you up bad, huh?"
Natalia.
A bitter taste coats my tongue as thoughts of her flash through my mind. Once upon a time, I would have given that woman the world. In hindsight, I now realize the world wouldn't
have been enough.
I force her out and say into the phone, "Don't call me at work again."
"Fine," Sarah says, though there's no heat behind it. "Big baby. Text you later."
"Mm-hmm," is all I offer as I hang up and hand the phone back to Todd. "What did I say about personal calls?"
My nephew lets his head hang low. "I know, I know. Never during business hours."
"It's an issue of professionalism."
"Yes, Mr. Chase."
"Now, observe. That screen there. You're going to make the call."
Todd stands up a bit straighter. "R-really? Um, okay."
"What were the tells I told you about?"
"Deck manipulation," he recites. "And collusion. Cheaters often work in groups. Catch one, and you throw their whole game plan off."
I pat the boy on the shoulder. "Good. You're learning."
Though I don't face him to see it, I know Todd's smiling. An odd sense of pride fills my chest to know that my lessons haven't been a complete waste on him.
3
LAKE
I don't believe in fate, but even I have to admit that it's kind of weird I'd end up at The Grandiose for the shoot. There was some sort of last-minute change. The bride-to-be decided that she'd rather rent out an event room here than the one she originally booked at the Bellagio. I suppose it doesn't make much of a difference to me. They've already paid me a deposit for my services; now all I have to concentrate on is showing up, doing the work, and making sure I get paid the other half of my rate.
The place is extravagant to the point of blinding. Everything shimmers with artificial light. I'm kind of worried that the glare will ruin all of the shots I'm after. I may only do photography work on the side, but I'm no hack. I understand that proper lighting is necessary for my pictures to come alive. I need to make sure that this shoot goes off without a hitch because my business mostly relies on word of mouth. Happy customers mean happy reviews, happy reviews hopefully means more work in the future.
Given how things are working out at the shelter, I really can't afford anything to go wrong with my side hustle.
The bride and her bridesmaids are all drunk off their asses, but they appear to be having a good time. Dancing and laughing, drinking and eating. I load up my camera with as many candid shots as possible, finding that my clients tend to like those the best compared to posed shots. They're an incredibly rowdy bunch, but that gives me more opportunity to work and capture stunning moments. I prefer photography events with lots of energy instead of those where everyone is stiff and struggling to have a good time. Still faces don't make for very good pictures.
As I watched through the viewfinder, I briefly wonder what it must be like to be so carefree. I'm the slightest bit envious. I can't remember the last time I could even afford to attend a party like this one. I'm thankful that I'm allowed to partake in the food and drinks while I'm here. There's more than plenty to go around, so if I pack an extra sandwich or two for lunch tomorrow, nobody notices or cares.
It's only when one of the bridesmaids accidentally bumps into one of the waitresses and spills an entire tray of drinks that I start to believe things are getting out of hand.
"Watch where you're going, dumbass," the bridesmaid slurs.
"You're the one who knocked into me," the waitress counters.
"You calling me a liar, bitch?"
I take it back. Now things are getting out of hand.
"Ladies," I say softly, stepping in. "Let's just calm down. No need for name talking."
"Stay out of it," they both snap at me.
"Look what you did," says the bridesmaid. "You've ruined my dress. Do you have any idea how expensive these things are?"
"Do you have any idea how expensive my uniform is?" demands the waitress, running her hands over her now drenched silver flapper dress.
"Uniform? This skimpy little thing?"
"Listen here—"
"No, you listen—"
Before I know what's happening, the argument gets out of hand. Another waitress comes over to back up the first one; the remaining bridesmaids come over to back up their friend. It looks like something straight out of West Side Story, Sharks versus Jets. I usually don't like to get involved in conflicts like these, preferring to keep to myself. But that's a little hard when I'm smack dab in the middle of it all.
I try to get out of the way, but I'm not fast enough. They start to shove at one another, and by extension, me. I trip over someone's feet and go tumbling.
My camera comes crashing down with me—the fatal crack of the lens echoes in my ear.
Everyone finally stops what they're doing, a mix of stunned horror and bewilderment written over their faces.
"Oh my God," the bride gasps, rushing over to help me up. "Are you all right? Is the camera okay?"
It doesn't take much of a genius to know my camera's a goner. I mentally kick myself for not saving it in time. Maybe I could have held it up above my head or gotten out of the scuffle faster. A long, spidery crack stretches across the lens, and its digital screen is now pixelated and impossible to navigate. I'll be able to salvage the photos from off the memory card, but I don't think I'll be able to save my camera without expensive repairs.
Repairs that I really can't afford.
My heart sinks at the thought of being unable to afford a replacement. Without a camera, I won't be able to do my freelance work. Without freelance work, I probably won't earn enough to keep the animal shelter running. I don't like the thought of having to close it down. My dogs need me; they need a safe space. If I can't provide that to them, there's no telling where they'll end up.
I can't let that happen.
"What's going here?" a man's voice calls out. I recognize it immediately.
Asher Chase.
His words are deep and rich to the point that they reverberate in my chest. It's like he has subwoofers for vocal cords. I remember being surprised when I first heard him speak back at the shelter. Entrancing, hypnotic, seductive as hell. It's the kind of voice that captures everyone's attention without the slightest bit of effort, one that commands the room in an instant.
While the party guests and waitstaff all gaze at him, Asher looks only at me. Without a word, he extends a hand. I take it, slipping my palm neatly into his. Asher helps me to my feet, glancing at my ruined camera.
"You," he says to the waitress. "What's going on here?"
"N-nothing, sir," she stutters. "Just a little spill."
"Clean it up," he orders.
"Of course, r-right away."
After the waitress scurries away, Asher turns to the bride and her party guests. "Please accept my sincerest apologies for her behavior, ma'am. I hope that this hasn't soured your experience here at The Grandiose. Suppose you'd like to provide my assistant with your name and contact information. In that case, I'd be happy to reimburse you for the event room and offer you and your friends free food and drinks for the year."
The bride's face turns bright red. "Oh, um… Wow, that's nice of you, mister…"
"Asher Chase," he introduces with a curt nod. "I'm the owner of this fine establishment."
The owner of The Grandiose? Now his excessive cash-carrying suddenly makes sense.
"Please feel free to resume your evening," he says. He places a hand on the small of my back. "And you," he whispers in my ear. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?" I ask him.
"You'll see."
"That's not much of an answer."
Asher simply chuckles, the sound rumbling straight through me. It's arguably the most captivating sound I've ever heard. A part of me wonders just how low he can make his voice go.
Asher guides me from the hotel portion of The Grandiose to the casino side of things. It's a lot for me to take in. The constant smell of cigarette smoke, the scent of heavy liquor, the flashing lights of slot machines, the loud ticking of the roulette table, the ever-present melody of bells and whistles and chimes going off somewhere to
signal that someone's just won big.
As we both pass one of the many poker tables, several people dip their heads in acknowledgment at Asher. He repeats the gesture, wearing a charming smile.
"Do you know them?" I ask, curious.
"Those are some of my VIPs," he explains like it's no big deal at all. "It pays to give them more of a personalized experience. Here, just this way."
Asher opens a staff door and guides me down a long hall. When the door shuts securely behind us, the noises of the casino are suddenly drowned out. I feel like I've stepped through a portal to an entirely different place. It's incredibly interesting to get to see what goes on behind the scenes. Massive windows look into different rooms, each of them appearing to be security centers with walls upon walls of screens streaming camera feed.
We finally end up at a smaller, quaint room at the very end of the hall. It's cramped and dusty, and huge shelves pushed up against the perimeter of the space. Various items have been cataloged and stored, arranged neatly around us. There are all sorts of things here, kind of like a consignment store. There's a huge bin of purses to my left, abandoned cellphones to my right, and coats of all styles and colors on hangers just in front of me.
"What is this place?" I ask.
"Lost and found," Asher says. "People leave all sorts of things here. Including cameras."
He reaches for a plastic storage bin from one of the top shelves, allowing me the briefest of seconds to admire the sturdy length of his torso and strength of his arms. There's something about the way his dress shirt pulls tight around his waist that gets my face feeling that much warmer.
"Here," he says, placing the bin in front of me. "Pick something you like."
I frown. "Are you serious? Don't these belong to somebody?"
"Trust me, it's fine. These have been sitting here for months. The likelihood that they'll ever find their way back to their owners is slim to none."
I look inside the bin. Some of these cameras are incredibly nice. I'm talking about top of the line DSLRs. Some of them even come with accessory bags, too. There's a Canon DSLR in particular that catches my eye. It's brand-new, not a scratch or dent to be seen. I've wanted one of these for a long time, but I never could afford it. I pick it up and inspect it. Working with a camera like this would do wonders for the quality of my photos.
