Hey Big Spender

by Gemma Halliday

  I was just making my way to the front desk to fill Tate in on the fruits of his labor last night, when, as if thinking about it brought it back to life, I spotted Marcy, a.k.a. Marcy's Playground, pulling a suitcase across the lobby. Her head was down, and she was practically running for the front doors. Her conservative jeans, T-shirt, and hooded sweatshirt fit her personality much better than the largely nonexistent outfit from the night before. I only prayed this was not a morning-after walk I was witnessing.

  "Marcy!" I yelled.

  She stopped in her tracks, whipping her head around and looking for the source of her name. I popped my hand in the air, waving in her direction. I yelled her name again and moved toward her.

  Her gaze shifted between me and the floor as she pressed a finger to her chest and eked out, "Me?"

  Realization hit me that she had no idea who I was, thanks to Tate's magical makeup case. "Yes, you," I said, scrambling to come up with a cover. "My name is Tessie King, owner of the casino. A friend of mine told me you might be looking to change careers."

  Her eyes stayed rooted to the ground, and her chest heaved. "Who? How?" was all she could get out as she gasped for air.

  "A friend of a friend, but that's not important," I soothed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "What's important is that we have several positions open at our restaurants, and I believe even one at our front desk."

  Her breathing returned to normal after a big sigh, but she continued to study her shoes intently. "I don't have any training in either area, but thank you for the information." She turned to leave, but I firmed up my grip, keeping her next to me.

  "We will train the right person. You come highly recommended."

  "Really?" A tiny smile curled her lips as she looked up at me through her dark lashes.

  I nodded, guiding her back toward the front desk. Unfortunately, Tate wasn't in sight, but a perky blonde attendant was. Her head shot up at my approach.

  "Alicia," I addressed her. "Could you please give Marcy an employment application?"

  Alicia nodded, turning to grab the piece of paper.

  "Be sure to list me as a reference," I told Marcy.

  "Yes, ma'am," she answered enthusiastically.

  Marcy seemed to bloom right in front of me. Her posture straightened, and her face brightened as she accepted the application from Alicia.

  I brushed a hand down Marcy's arm. "I'll leave you in Alicia's capable hands. Please call if you have any questions."

  Her head bobbed. "Thank you so much. You have no idea…"

  Oh, but I did. With a playful wink, I left her and headed down the hall to the Battle Buffet set.

  Taping was in full swing as I entered the arena. I tugged the sleeves of my heather-gray dress shirt back into place, smoothed my black A-line skirt, and checked my patent leather pumps for scuffs as I worked my way through the enthusiastic crowd. Wondrous smells of roasted garlic and sautéed peppers mixed with sounds of searing, whisking, and condescending broken French. The bleachers were stuffed with fans, some of them holding up handmade signs for their favorite competing chef and others for the judge, Chef Dubois, all hoping to catch the attention of one of the camera operators for their fifteen seconds of fame. Even the padded VIP section was completely full. Overflow milled about at each side of the seating area. The fact that most of the people there were also staying at the Palace—spending money at our boutiques, restaurants, gaming areas, and attractions—made me almost giddy.

  However, seeing Mr. Sicianni slink away in the company of a large man, whose nose appeared to have been broken so many times it was at a permanent ninety-degree angle, doused my enthusiasm much like a bucket of ice water on a January day.

  Was that one of his investors? The big guy certainly had more of a Mafia air about him than billionaire.

  Sicianni looked up at me and winked before disappearing into the hall with the man. Fear paralyzed me. Had he recognized me? The memory of his hands on me threatened to make breakfast reappear.

  Surely that was just his usual flirtatious way, and he hadn't figured out my stripping debut, right? I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and assured myself that no one on the set knew my little secret.

  Except Rafe.

  I felt his eyes on me before I spotted him. I looked over at the VIP area to find his gaze locked on me. His face held an expression I couldn't read. It wasn't exactly welcoming, but it wasn't anger either. I wondered again who had called him the previous night. He and Sicianni had certainly seemed close in the suite. On a first-name basis even. Of course, it was sort of his job to schmooze the bigwigs if he wanted to keep his sponsorship. But just how badly did he want to keep Sicianni happy?

  What had he said? You're playing with fire. At the time I'd assumed he meant where Sicianni's carnal appetites were concerned. But now I wondered. In his suite Sicianni had all but confirmed that his investors were less than upstanding citizens. And Rafe hadn't seemed surprised to hear they were planning a big meeting at the dinner. The dinner that had been Rafe's idea in the first place. I bit my lip. Could Rafe be the connection between the Mafia and my casino that Ryder had been looking for all along?

  I snapped my gaze to the floor, avoiding Rafe's stare as I heard an announcer come over the loudspeaker. "Taping will begin in five minutes. We ask that everyone please take your seats, turn off your cell phones, and enjoy the show!"

  The announcement was met with thunderous applause from the assembled crowd. I dutifully set my phone to vibrate as I took a seat to watch the beginning of the show. Two of the six original contestants had been eliminated already, their kitchen sets lit with ominous red X's in contrast to the brightly staged other four. I noticed the tattooed woman was still in, contrary to Dubois's assessment of her mature skills. She was joined by a tall man with a head of stark-white hair, a round grandmotherly-looking woman, and a dark-haired lady with mounds of hair in a huge ponytail. All four stood at attention in their stations as the lights went up, the cameras started rolling, and Chef Dubois made his grand entrance onto the stage.

  The crowd went wild, and Dubois ate it up, bowing for a solid thirty seconds before even acknowledging that the contestants existed. When he finally turned to them, the audience went silent, listening intently to what today's challenge would be.

  I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and looked down at the readout to see Ryder's name. My lips instantly tingled at the thought of The Kiss.

  I quietly got up from my seat, moving toward the exit as I heard Dubious bark out his culinary demand to the contestants. "You will have thirty minutes to make an Asian-inspired appetizer using only freeze-dried fruit and canned fish. Your time starts…now!"

  I shuddered at the thought of having to taste those as I pushed through the exit and swiped my phone on. "Tessie King."

  "It's Ryder," he replied. "Are you with the Battle Buffet group?"

  I nodded even though I knew he couldn't see me. "I am. It's crazy in here. Good crazy, though." I couldn't help a lift of pride in my voice. The revenue this whole hoopla was generating was something that would've made my father proud.

  "Can you meet me in the east hall? I'm here," Ryder said.

  "Sure. I'll be right there." I swiped my phone off and made my way toward the east side of the auditorium. As I rounded the corner, I spied Ryder waving from down the hall.

  He met me halfway. He wasn't wearing his usual suit coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows. His tie was loosened and askew. His hands were shoved deeply in his pockets, and he wore a welcoming smile that instantly gave me butterflies.

  As soon as we were close enough, he pulled me in and gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

  I felt myself flush.

  "We need to talk," he said, either not noticing the blush or being gentleman enough to ignore it. "Some new information came in last night that I think you should apprise your security about."

  I cleared my throat. "Right. Uh, what kind of information?" I asked, not sure I could handl
e much more. In the last two days I'd already dealt with a dead vintner, foodie mobsters, and angry strippers—oh my!

  "We have it on good authority that the Gambias may not be the only crime family coming into the area," he said, concern puckering his brow.

  "Oh, that." I waved him off, feeling relieved. "Yeah, I know. For the big supersecret Mafia meeting that everyone seems to know about," I joked.

  Ryder's poker face came out. Clearly he wasn't in a joking mood. "Mafia meeting?" he asked, playing dumb.

  I couldn't help feeling a little irked that he always expected me to share info when he was Mr. Tight-Lipped Fed. I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know the dumb-blond thing isn't nearly as cute on you as it is on me."

  Ryder let out a big sigh, dropped the poker face, and grabbed both of my hands in his. Tiny little tingles danced across my skin. "I'm sorry, Tessie, but you know there are certain things I am not at liberty to discuss."

  "Uh-huh…" My mind was stuck in a loop of how much his touch affected me and where those tiny little tingles were congregating. I forced myself to concentrate.

  "Tell me about the meeting," he prompted.

  "I don't know much. Just that, like you said, more than one family is involved," I hedged, not quite sure how he'd feel about the fact that I'd apparently be hosting said meeting.

  "Any names?" he asked. He rubbed his thumbs across my palms, and my mind went numb.

  "Um…I dunno. I tried to find out, but Mr. Sicianni changed the subject."

  "Mr. Sicianni?"

  "Huh?" Man, those tingles were distracting.

  Ryder let go of my hands to tilt my chin upward, making my eyes meet his. "You asked James Sicianni about an organized crime meeting?"

  "Uh…sorta?" Only it came out more of a question.

  "And he just blurted this information out to you, the owner of the casino?"

  "Uh…kinda?" My voice was rising in octave increments.

  His eyes narrowed. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not telling me everything?"

  Because he was a very perceptive man.

  Ryder released a huge sigh and dropped his hands to his sides. "Tessie, these are dangerous guys we're talking about here—"

  Only he didn't get to finish, as the door to the auditorium flew open and Rafe stepped out. "Tess, there you are." He made quick strides toward us. "We need to talk." He paused, looking back and forth between Ryder and me. "Am I interrupting anything?"

  "No!" I said. Maybe a little too loudly in hindsight. I took a quick step away from Ryder as if I was guilty of something.

  "Good. Because I need to get my jacket back from you."

  "Oh, uh, right. Sure. I have it in my room."

  Ryder cleared his throat, his hands firmly shoved back into his pockets now. "Tessie has your jacket?" He shot me a look that I couldn't read. "In her bedroom."

  Rafe nodded. "I'm sorry—does that concern the FBI?" I could have sworn I heard a note of condescension in his voice.

  Ryder stood up a bit straighter. "At the moment, everything that goes on in this casino concerns the FBI."

  "Look, I just borrowed it last night," I said, trying to diffuse what was quickly becoming a tense situation.

  Ryder's gaze whipped to mine. "Last night."

  Uh-oh. "Uh…yeah?"

  "Would that be before or after I visited your suite?" The words and kissed you hung unspoken in the air.

  I bit my lip. "After?"

  Ryder nodded, the set of his chin going granite hard.

  "You were in her suite last night?" Rafe asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at Ryder.

  "Official business," Ryder said. "I had some questions to ask a witness. That's all."

  Ouch. Way to downplay the kiss.

  "Hmph," Rafe grunted, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Ryder.

  "Huh," Ryder shot back, lifting his chin to glare at Rafe.

  Oh boy. If this went on much longer, I expected one of them to lift a leg and mark his territory.

  "Oh, wow, look at the time. I'm supposed to be…somewhere…" I trailed off, leaving the standoff before things got ugly.

  I skittered through the lobby toward the elevator. If LeAnna had a magical effect on men, I apparently had the opposite—the ability to turn them sour in one conversation. Not that either of those guys were my guys. I mean, Rafe was seeing Tiffany Weston and LeAnna at the same time. It's not like he had any time or interest in me, no matter how flirty his green eyes and warm hands had been. And Ryder had just made it abundantly clear that the kiss between us had meant nothing. And why should it? I was no glamorous LeAnna or bombshell Britton. I was just Tornado Tessie after all, the spastic little girl who awkwardly sat by the pool every summer with her father's girlfriend of the week while the other kids snickered and stared.

  Yes, I was totally feeling sorry for myself. In my defense, I'd had a heck of a week. My eyes fought back tears of anger mixed with self-pity mixed with the oddest sense that I'd just experienced some sort of breakup. Though with whom, I wasn't sure. I needed a strong morning mimosa, a bubble bath, and a cuddly cat, in that order. I quickly pushed through the penthouse doors, slamming them behind me.

  "Tess? That you?" Britton called, dropping a magazine on the coffee table before bouncing to a standing position. "What's the matter?" She pounced at me in a skintight, animal-spotted microdress that showed more cleavage than I could ever hope to own. She'd topped it off with a furry, black three-quarter-sleeved shrug. Instead of looking like a fashion statement, she was leaning more toward an unkempt black panther wrestling a full-grown leopard. She brushed back a loose curl from her face.

  I resisted the urge to pet her arm. "Nothing. I'm fine."

  "I've lived with you for about a year now. You've never slammed the door. This isn't you being fine." She waved a hand around my general direction for emphasis, a dozen or so bangle bracelets clinking together at her wrist.

  "Where's LeAnna?" I sniffed. The last thing I wanted to do was break down in front of the she-devil.

  Britton shrugged. "I haven't seen her since last night. I figured she went back to her suite."

  I shook my head. "No, I just signed off on it this morning." I fought back a sickening image of LeAnna lounging in Rafe's suite, enjoying a breakfast in bed after a night of playing tonsil hockey.

  Britton bit her lip. "You know, I've tried calling her a couple of times. Her phone's off. We were going to do some shopping together this morning."

  "I'm sure she's just sleeping in and enjoying her morning-after somewhere."

  Britton slapped me on the shoulder. "Tess! She may not be a saint, but LeAnna wouldn't do that. She's pregnant and a grieving widow to boot."

  Widow—yes. The grieving thing I'd yet to see.

  "Maybe she went to the Battle Buffet shoot?" Britton mused.

  "Actually, no," I reluctantly told her. "I was just there. I didn't see her in the VIP area." Which, now that I was thinking about it, struck me as odd. LeAnna had been glued to that set since taping had started. LeAnna and TV cameras went together like a sparkly cocktail and a bubble bath. Two things that were looking like less and less of a possibility as I watched Britton's features grow more and more distraught.

  "Tess, I'm starting to worry about her. Her bed hasn't been slept in," she admitted. "And you've seen her around here. That phone goes wherever she goes. Why isn't she answering it?" Tears welled in her eyes.

  "Maybe it's just out of charge," I offered, though the excuse seemed weak even to my ears. Britton was right—I'd never seen LeAnna without her phone on. "Tell you what—let's ask around. Maybe some of the staff have seen her. Maybe she just…needed a little alone time, you know?"

  Britton sniffed back the tears and nodded. "Right. Yeah. Okay. I'm sure we'll find her and bring her right back home."

  I paused. "I'll help you look for her, but the police are done with her room. Home is no longer here. Deal?"

  "Deal." She picked up her leopard-print clutch and trotted toward t
he door.

  "Aren't you going to change?"

  She blinked at me a few times before scanning her outfit and then looking back at me. "Why?"

  "Okay, then."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After I grabbed Rafe's errant jacket and left it at the concierge desk for him, our next stop was the local rumor mill at the front desk. Had Tate been manning the front desk, we would have undoubtedly found LeAnna within seconds. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found and not answering my texts. I suspected he was in hiding, somehow aware of how closely I'd come to being Sicianni's plaything and afraid of my wrath. I hadn't quite yet decided how afraid he really should be.

  Britton leaned across the front counter, chatting with the tiny brunette wearing a blazer with the Royal Palace logo. "I have a photo of her on my phone," Britton offered, pulling it from her furry clutch, swiping across the screen repeatedly until she found one. "Here, this is LeAnna Taylor. Have you seen her this morning?"

  The brunette shook her head. "Sorry, no."

  Britton's shoulders drooped.

  "Not since last night," the brunette amended.

  "You saw her last night?" I pounced, watching Britton perk up again beside me.

  "Yeah. I think I saw her head out the front doors, but…" The girl backed away from Britton, confusion etched on her face, her fingers nervously fidgeting with her jacket buttons.

  "But what?" Britton pushed. "Was LeAnna…" She looked over both shoulders before continuing in a whisper, "Abducted?"

  The brunette shook her head so hard that her hair flipped in front of her face. Swiping it from her eyes, she leaned back toward Britton. "It's just that I'd heard she was pregnant, and Mrs. Taylor was…staggering."

  LeAnna Aiden-Taylor, mother of the year, folks.