If I didn't know better, I'd say Ryder was blushing.
Ryder patted her hand then awkwardly dislodged himself from her grip and stood. "Uh, thank you. But I think you've answered all of my questions for now. I actually need to discuss a few things with Tessie." He turned and offered me a lopsided grin, sending my heart into an erratic pitter-pat.
LeAnna's eyes narrowed at me.
"Well, I'm famished too," Britton announced, pouncing on LeAnna before she could respond. "Hey, why don't you and I go get something to eat?"
It was LeAnna's turn to force a smile as she stood. "Sure, why not," she muttered in a monotone that didn't quite match her sunny demeanor.
As Britton tugged her toward the front door, LeAnna turned to Ryder. "Rain check on dinner, okay?"
Ryder just smiled and waved as they walked out the door. He released a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "She's, uh, subtle."
"As a freight train barreling toward a stranded vehicle," I couldn't help adding.
His head tilted back with a hearty laugh. "I was trying to be nice, but I think your description is more accurate." He sat on the sofa again, motioning to the seat beside him.
I sat, choosing the other half of the cushion so the man could breathe. I did briefly consider assuming LeAnna's position when I caught a whiff of his heady cologne, but instead I folded my hands on my lap like a good girl and tried not to fidget with the too-short hem of my dress.
"So, you needed to discuss something?" I asked, trying my best to keep things casual. Even though they suddenly felt way too intimate with the two of us alone on my sofa.
Ryder nodded, a grin tugging at his lips as if he could sense my discomfort. "I did. I heard you went to talk with Jerry Taylor today."
My attention flipped from my hem to his steady blue gaze. "Really? How'd you hear that?"
"Britton glittered about the party."
"Seriously?" I rolled my eyes. "Am I the only one who isn't on that site?"
He pulled out his phone and swiped it on, showing me the bedazzled app. It sparkled, tossing rainbow-colored glitter across the screen when he pressed on it. "It's actually a very good place to get evidence and information. You'd be surprised at the number of people who don't lock down their accounts. Anyone can see what's being said, where people are, and who is with them. You would be surprised how many arrests I have to thank LifeBling for."
"Huh." I made a mental note to make sure Britton and Tate had their security settings at max on their accounts. Not that they would do anything that warranted an arrest, but I suddenly felt a little too vulnerable knowing that my moves could be tracked through my friends' social media posts.
"So, what did Jerry have to say?" Ryder asked, swiping the app off.
I shrugged, not sure how much to divulge. If the police had looked into LeAnna's life, it was likely they already knew about the prenup. But if they hadn't, I wasn't about to add fuel to their fire. "Mostly small talk. It was a party."
"I figured that much," he said with a glance down at my dress that might have lingered just a bit too long in the hemline area. "I also figured that you weren't there purely for social reasons."
"Who me?" I blinked in mock innocence.
"You know, you're kinda cute when you pull out the dumb blonde act like that." His grin widened.
I rolled my eyes again. "Fine, I might have had a little chat with Jerry at the party."
"Did he mention his stepmother?"
"A little." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "He said that his father wanted to meet with him here in Tahoe to talk about something. Jerry thought it might have something to do with LeAnna's pregnancy." I left off the part about it probably being about that pregnancy likely not being due to Gerald's swimmers.
"I take it Gerald didn't get a chance to chat with Jerry before he died?"
I shook my head.
"That's convenient," Ryder mused. "At least for LeAnna."
As much as I wasn't a fan, I felt myself coming to LeAnna's defense. "There are lots of other people who that might have been convenient for too, you know?"
Ryder raised an eyebrow. "Really? Like who?"
"Well…for starters, how about Jerry himself?" I said, jumping on the theory Britton had floated earlier. "If Gerald was planning to change his will to split his estate between his children, Jerry stood to lose half the fortune."
"Was he planning to change his will?"
I shrugged. "I dunno," I said, playing dumb again.
"Hmm," Ryder said, clearly not convinced.
"Okay, how about this one," I tried again. "What about Hammerhead?"
The other eyebrow went up. "Excuse me?" he asked, his poker face slipping into place.
"Oh no." I wagged a finger at him. "Don't play coy with me, Agent Ryder. Look, you're the one who said Mr. Taylor might have connections to the Gambia family in the first place. I know about Hammerhead Hank, and I know about the other family men coming to town, too. And no, they have nothing whatsoever to do with the casino."
"Except that they're all staying here."
I waved that small detail off. "So maybe Mr. Taylor had a falling out with the Gambias, and Hammerhead bumped him off."
Ryder's lips quivered. "'Bumped him off?' Have you been watching Mob Wives again?"
I narrowed my eyes. "I'm glad you find it humorous that there may be Mafia hits happening in my casino."
He tried to swallow the smile. "Look, I promise you that the FBI is looking into all angles when it comes to who killed Mr. Taylor."
"Uh-huh." My turn to play at unconvinced.
Captain Jack took that moment to make an appearance, pouncing into Ryder's lap. He immediately began head-bumping Ryder's hand in a not-so-subtle attempted to be petted. I realized I had no idea if Ryder was a cat person or a dog person or a no-animals-of-any-kind person. Within seconds my question was answered as Ryder tucked his fingers under Jack's chin and scratched. Loud purring filled the room as the cat seemed to lose all skeletal shape, forming a limp, furry black-and-white rug across Ryder's lap. I couldn't help but smile.
"I think he likes you," I said through my grin.
Ryder's eyes scanned me from his peripheral vision. "And what about his owner?"
I coughed, the question taking me off guard. "I…uh…"
He laughed, a low, warm, rumbling thing that made my skin tingle.
"She's undecided," I finally settled on.
"So I still have a shot?"
"Maybe," I found myself answering against my better judgment. I tried to keep that humiliating moment on New Years' Eve in my head, but the image was growing fuzzier by the moment. Maybe due the effects of champagne and his cologne. And, I mean, he had apologized. Didn't everyone deserve a second chance? At least someone who smelled this good.
"Would it tip the scales in my favor any if I mentioned how amazing you look tonight?" he asked.
I fought back a big, goofy smile and tugged at the hem again. "Uh, thanks, I think. It's Britton's."
"The color was made for you." His gaze locked with mine. His free hand trailed up my arm toward the nape of my neck, and a sensual hum lingered on every place his fingers had touched. He leaned in closer, and I think I stopped breathing, feeling as though his touch was the only thing keeping me from floating right off of the sofa. I watched through heavy-lidded eyes as his face inched closer to mine, his hand guiding me to him. His lips touched mine in a soft kiss…
Just as someone began banging on the penthouse doors.
We flew apart to opposite sides of the sofa like teenagers caught making out in the basement. Jack regained his bone structure and fluffed to twice his size, hissing his displeasure. He leapt from Ryder's lap and spun out on the coffee table before scooting down the hall toward my room in a fuzzy blur.
"Tessie!" Tate yelled from the other side of the door. "Open up! Code Black!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I flung the door open, not sure if I was grateful for the interruption or annoyed with it. Tat
e came bouncing in from the other side, squealing like a chased pig in his paisley shirt, pink today, as he clutched a large metal case and oversized shopping bag. "Girl, have I got a plan!" He paused when he spied Ryder. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't know you have company." His eyebrows both rose up into his bangs as he turned a questioning gaze on me.
"That's okay. I was just leaving," Ryder said, standing and striding toward the door. He gave me a quick wink as he slipped past Tate and toward the elevator doors. My lips still tingled from his kiss as I reluctantly watched him go.
The second the doors closed on him, Tate stared fanning himself. "Wow, that man is smokin'."
I touched my lips, not able to contain the huge smile stretching them taut. "Agreed." I shook myself back to reality, taking in Tate's bags. "What's all this?"
Tate clapped his hands, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. "I'm going to make you into a stripper!"
I blinked, hoping I hadn't heard him right.
"You're going to what now?"
"I just got a juicy tidbit of info from Colene in entertainment. Mr. Italian Stallion Sicianni ordered some 'girls' tonight." He made air quotes with the word girls then pulled his phone out and checked the time. "Like, in an hour!"
I shook my head, palms stretched out in front of me, still not understanding what was going on. Whatever he had up his sleeve, I feared I wanted no part in it.
He released a huge sigh. "Work with me here. Rumor has it he gets very chatty with the ladies from the Pretty Kitty."
"Okaaaaay," I drew out, still very leery of his plan.
"You're going in so he can chat with you."
My outstretched palms of confusion turned into flailing hands of complete defiant understanding. "No. No, no, no. There's no way I'm going to strip for a guest!"
Tate waved me off. "Oh, honey, you don't have to take it that far. Just mingle with him, look seductive, and chat him up."
"And I would do this why?"
He rolled his eyes. "Duh! To find out what he knows about the Gambias!" He shook his head at me. "Girl, do I have to spell out everything for you?"
Apparently so, because I still thought this scheme had harebrained written all over it.
"Mr. Sicianni had met me. Won't he know I'm the casino owner and not a…party girl?"
"Never fear, my cute little BFF. I've brought in the big guns." He opened the metal case and bag, revealing a huge makeup assortment and several wigs. "When I'm done with you, no one will recognize you."
"Can you really do that?" I asked, more out of curiosity than as consent as I snuck a peek at the array of makeup.
"You bet your little booty I can! Besides, he's only met you, like, once, right?"
"I don't know…"
"Well, luckily for you, I do. Sit," he ordered, pointing toward one of the kitchen stools at the counter.
"There's no way I can talk you out of this, is there?" I asked in vain.
He shook his head. "No, because you know I'm right. This is a fab idea."
While I wasn't sure fab was the word I would use, he had one thing right. I was dying to have a candid chat with Mr. Sicianni about just who was backing his show. I wasn't sure what I'd do if it was true that Battle Buffet was being used as a cover for some sort of Mafia meeting, but if there was any way that Mr. Taylor had gotten wind of it, it provided the Gambias a strong motive to take him out of the picture. Unless of course Mr. Taylor had been in town for the meeting himself.
"Where did you get all of this stuff?" I asked, sitting reluctantly as he pulled out a platinum-blonde wig.
"Oh, I have my connections," he said, a sly smiling lighting his lips. "There's this adorable drag queen who does a show on North Shore."
"Great. I'm going to be a drag queen stripper."
"Hush!" Tate commanded. "You just leave it to me. When I'm done, even your own mother wouldn't recognize you."
I was counting on it. Because I had a bad feeling that I'd never live it down if someone did.
* * *
After Tate's makeup magic and platinum-blonde-bombshell wig, I turned out looking a lot like Marilyn Monroe and Lady Gaga's love child. Between the amazingly transformative effects of his shadowy bronzers and thick eyeliner in several different shades, I looked absolutely nothing like me. I'll admit, I had doubts at first when it seemed like the makeup was heading more toward Marilyn Manson, but Tate pulled it off. I just needed a stripper-type outfit to go with it. I'd raided Britton's closet first, even considering a couple of LeAnna's dresses. They each had many outfits befitting of a party girl. However, they were all way too big in the chest area for me.
Go figure.
Donning Britton's trench coat over my underthings, I slipped the sparkle heels back on, and Tate and I made our way down the service elevator into the entertainment division's costume storage area. Digging through the rack of leftover outfits from our cocktail waitresses and various performers, Tate found a white halter dress with an extremely short hem.
"You need to change quickly," Tate warned me, pulling out his phone again and checking the time. "The girls are supposed to be arriving at Sicianni's suite in ten minutes."
I nodded and slipped into the female employees' locker room, panic buzzing through me as I hoped no one recognized me. Luckily we were midshift, and it was nearly empty. Only a cocktail waitress swapping out her sparkly tutu for a pair of jeans and a server from the Minstrel Lounge tying on her black apron were in the vicinity. I quickly found a quiet corner, wondering how Tate had talked me into this as I tried to put the tiny halter dress on over my bra and panties. Which totally showed beneath the white dress, I realized as I turned toward the full-length mirror hanging at the end of the row of lockers. Crap. The thing was wet-suit tight, making comical outlines of everything I was wearing beneath. Making the only decision I could, I slipped my undies and bra off and went au naturel beneath the formfitting dress. While the effect was much smoother, it made my stomach do flip-flops as I stuffed my undergarments into the pocket of the trench and stowed the whole lot in an empty locker. Tate may have made me look like a lady of the evening, but I had much less confidence that I could act like one. Sure, I was no prude. But I usually wore panties when I danced.
Get in, chat with Sicianni, and get out. I mentally made my game plan as I forced one stilettoed foot in front of the other toward the elevators. I arrived on Sicianni's floor just as a second bank of elevators opened to reveal a group of similarly scantily clad women. I hurried to catch up to them.
A girl in a long red wig that hung down past her booty turned and gave me the critical once-over. "Who are you?"
I smoothed my dress, nervously alternating between having my hands on my hips and dropped at my sides. "Marilyn Monroe."
Her brow crinkled in confusion. "You filling in for Kelsey Jo?"
I hadn't even dreamed there'd be a roster. "Uh, yeah," I lied again, hoping Kelsey Jo wasn't just stuck in traffic.
She squinted at me. "A little heavy on the makeup there, girlfriend."
"Uh…I'm trying a new look."
"Huh." She flipped her hand in a tiny wave. "Well, my name's Candy. You know, Candy Striper the Stripper. Get it?" She motioned at her red-and-white-striped apron, which barely covered much of anything, snorting at her own joke.
I forced a smile and turned to the scantily clad girl next to her. "Who are you?"
The tiny brunette fidgeted, shifting her weight from one bedazzled hooker-heeled foot to the other. "Marcy the Weird," she mumbled.
"Marcy the Weird?" I repeated, wondering exactly what kind of weird stuff she did but not really wanting to know.
"Marcy DeWeerd," she loudly corrected.
"Oh, sorry."
Candy slapped her hands to her thighs and barked, "No, you're Marcy's Playground, remember?"
Marcy's eyes went to the floor again. "Right."
"And you've got to kind of pout and draw your hands down your sides all seductive-like when you say it." Candy huffed. "Newbs."
We m
ade it to Sicianni's suite, and I could hear music and raucous laughing through the closed door. I could just imagine the complaints about the noise we'd be getting at the front desk from the honeymooners next door tonight.
Candy turned on her heels to face us. "It's showtime, ladies. Smiles. And remember, stay in character and follow the dance routine."
Dance routine? Crap. The nervous flip-flop of my stomach turned into gut-wrenching fear.
I took deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate as Candy knocked on the door. It was opened by a burly-looking Italian guy in a suit whose face lit up like Christmas when he spied us. "Entertainment's here," he called over his shoulder.
I heard Sicianni's voice respond, "Cut the lights, and show the ladies in!"
Cut the lights? Oh Lordy, what had I gotten myself into?
Candy led the way into the suite. I let the other girls file past me, joining in as the last to enter. The room was dark, strategically placed black lights casting an eerie glow over the shadows. I could make out several men lounging on sofas in the suite's sunken living room. The rest of the suite's furniture had been tucked away somewhere, making a large dance floor in the center of the room. Everyone had a drink in their hands except for two bulky guys standing guard by the door.
Beyoncé's voice, crooning "Dance For You," filled the room, spurring all of the girls into a well-choreographed, sexy dance routine. Their hands slid across their own bodies, hair flinging and tossing as they ground their hips and moved to the music. I hung to the back, gyrating to the best of my ability and slowing down an old high school cheerleading routine into what I hoped was a similar dance. Thankfully, I had the good sense not to start it off by screeching, "Ready? Okay!" and left out the high kicks and jazz hands. All was going well until the other girls started easing down shoulders on their dresses, pulling off tear-away skirts and pelting the men with their discarded items. No way was I following suit. My cheeks burned hot as I tried not to look conspicuously overdressed. I was just finishing the fifth round of my cheer routine as the music thankfully came to a stop.
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