All In

by Nell Stark

  He looped his arm through hers. “We can’t have that! You coming, V?”

  “I’ll be right behind you.” She followed them slowly, his words echoing in her ears. Don’t you ever get lonely? Of course she did. Drowning herself in work wasn’t a good solution, but it was certainly better than the alternatives. Falling in love wasn’t safe, and safety was still her first priority.

  She stood near the door and watched as TJ piled sushi on his plate and accepted a glass of sake from Amelia. After stepping outside briefly to call Jeremy, she touched base with the caterer and then with the butler. Feeling restless, she walked through the public areas of the suite and paused to double-check on the sitting room. It had been arranged to accommodate a poker game, which TJ would undoubtedly crave at some point.

  Poker made her think of Nova, but when she caught herself smoothing the lapels of her suit jacket, she stalked back toward the party. Yes, she found Nova attractive. No, she did not want a relationship. It was that simple.

  On returning to the dining room, she quietly joined in when Ethan led the group in a raucous, atonal rendition of the “Happy Birthday” song, and she clapped along with the others when TJ cut his cake. With every passing second, her anticipation grew, despite her best attempts to distract herself with idle chatter. What was Nova playing at? Was she trying to be fashionably late?

  When Jeremy finally texted from the airport that he was bringing a rather intoxicated Mr. Deloreo back to the hotel, she decided to meet them in the lobby, if only to give herself a break from the waiting.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she whispered at her reflection in the gleaming metal walls of the elevator.

  She sat on one of the benches and stared at the World Tree Pool, watching ripples move across its surface as new water fell rhythmically from the antlers of the stone stag. She realized this was the same bench where she and Nova had sat and talked only days ago. Had she chosen it tonight by coincidence or subconsciously? And why was everything suddenly reminding her of Nova?

  Don’t you ever get lonely?

  With a shake of her head, Vesper forced her thoughts out of their rut and instead began to mentally review the dossier she had compiled on her latest client. Bizmark “Biz” Deloreo was the newest member of the Sphinx’s board of alumni trustees. He was also thirty-six years old, a political king-maker in New York City with an unrivalled war chest of money and connections, and unmarried. His preferences ran to Davidoff cigars, single malt scotch, rib eye cooked black and blue, and the Yankees. Could he be more stereotypical? Her mouth twitched at the thought. She was about to find out.

  Whether he was playing a caricature of himself or not, her job was to entice him to gamble as much money as possible over the course of the coming week. With some digging, she had discovered that he had made past trips to Vegas, but until now, he had always stayed at the Luxor. Theodore Senior had opened the door for her by arranging the board meeting at the Valhalla, but it was up to her to reel Mr. Deloreo in.

  The first step was to make him feel special. She’d successfully outmaneuvered several other hosts at last week’s meeting and had managed to get him an upgrade from an Asgard suite to a Celestial Palace. A bottle of Macallan 18 and a box of Davidoff Grand Cru was waiting on his dining table. She had baited the trap. Now all she had to do was keep him happy while the house milked him for all he was worth.

  Squaring her shoulders, Vesper angled her body toward the door. The mental exercise had left her feeling more focused and balanced than she’d felt all night. When Mr. Deloreo first saw her, he would find her attentive, not distracted.

  When, seconds later, the doors slid open, she recognized Jeremy and rose from the bench. He was moving slowly, rolling a large suitcase behind him, and keeping time with the unsteady gait of the man walking beside him.

  “Vesper!” Jeremy’s hail sounded oddly relieved. He shot her an intense look that seemed like some sort of warning. “This is Mr. Deloreo.”

  “Well, hello, hotness.” The stocky man who stepped forward had short, dark hair, liberally coated with product to stick up like porcupine quills. His face and neck were mottled, and his breath, as he approached, stank of whiskey. “You’re the lucky lady looking for me. I’m Biz.”

  Before she could move or protest, he leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth, one arm snaking around her waist in a clumsy attempt to grope her butt. Shocked, she took a quick step backward, barely restraining herself from shoving him in the process. Jeremy dropped the suitcase and jumped forward to steady her. A quick glance at his face revealed his anger.

  Her palm tingled with the desire to slap Biz’s flushed face, but she didn’t dare. Still reeling, she forced herself to assess the situation. He was visibly drunk, but he was still a member of the board and an associate of Theodore Senior’s. She had to be as respectful as she could manage. But if he tried to grope her again, all bets were off.

  “Mr. Deloreo?” Vesper stuck out one hand—more to keep him away than out of a desire to touch him again—and smoothed the front of her dress with the other. “I’m your host, Vesper Blake. I’ve been coordinating with your secretary.”

  “Who will be fired for neglecting to tell me how fucking hot you are.”

  “We only spoke on the phone.” Vesper felt a wash of sympathy for the poor woman who handled Biz’s daily affairs. “Shall we get you checked in?”

  He leered at her. “And then you’ll be my date at that party for Hamilton’s kid.”

  “I’ll be happy to show you to Mr. Hamilton’s suite,” Vesper said, hoping the refusal in her subtext would reach his liquor-addled brain.

  “After you, sir.” Jeremy’s voice was smooth, but as he reached past Vesper, he whispered, “I’m coming up with you.”

  She nodded in acknowledgment, hoping he could sense her appreciation. Thankfully, the available clerk at the front desk was a middle-aged man named Dale, and Biz behaved himself through the check-in process.

  “Would you like to stop by your suite first, Mr. Deloreo?” Vesper asked once he had surrendered his bag to the bellhop.

  “Only if you’ll come in with me.”

  She stared up at him, wishing she were taller and waiting for him to realize that she was deliberately ignoring his come-ons. After a long pause, his mouth twisted into a grin. “Fine, sweetheart, let’s party first. Give you a chance to warm up to me.”

  As they walked—and Biz stumbled—toward the elevator, Vesper tried to engage him in small talk by asking if this was his first trip to Las Vegas. Unfortunately, he proceeded to regale them with stories in lurid detail from his best friend’s bachelor party earlier in the year. Fortunately, the VIP elevator was an express, and the ride was short.

  “Here we are,” she said, cutting him off in the middle of a story about two strippers. Jeremy matched her pace as she walked briskly down the hall, forcing Biz to hustle behind them.

  “Slow down,” he complained. “Where’s the fire?”

  As they approached the door, the party became audible. Laughter and shouts mingled with the heavy beat of the electronic music TJ enjoyed, but the noise seemed well contained. When she rang the buzzer, Biz moved in close behind her. Trapped. The old panic welled up from her gut at the sensation of his breath puffing against her ear, and every muscle in her body turned to steel. If he touched her now, she wouldn’t be able to hold back a scream.

  “What’s the kid’s name again?”

  “TJ.” She forced out the letters between clenched teeth, fighting instincts that clamored for her to bring all her weight down on the instep of his closest foot.

  When the door opened, she bolted inside, a racehorse out of the starting gate. “Ms. Blake?” the butler asked in alarm.

  “Sorry, Tom,” she managed to say, hoping he attributed her breathlessness to the sudden movement. “I misstepped.” Pulling herself together, she glanced back toward the door. Jeremy was looking between her and Biz and frowning. “Is Mr. Hamilton still in the dining room?”

>   “I believe he’s now in the sitting room.”

  “Thank you. This way, gentlemen.” As she led them deeper into the suite, the music and voices grew louder, and her pulse began to slow. Surely, Biz would be on his best behavior in the Hamiltons’ presence. She was safe, now.

  She turned the corner, gaining line of sight into the sitting room. Theodore Senior was opening a new bottle of sake. Amelia, Ethan, and several more of TJ’s male friends were seated at the table…and at its head, Nova was shuffling a deck of cards.

  Nova. Just when Vesper had managed to forget all about her, there she was. Her dark purple shirt was open down to the second button, revealing a tan expanse of skin, and Vesper’s heart lurched into another gallop. As though she could hear it, Nova looked up. The cards fluttered between her fingers as their eyes met. For once, her smile was open and relaxed, without any hint of predatory interest.

  “Hey, look who’s back,” she said to TJ.

  “V!” Even that syllable sounded more intoxicated than it had an hour ago. Maybe she should start watering down his sake. Then again, if his father was pouring, who was she to interfere? “Nova’s the designated dealer. She’s gonna show us all her tricks!”

  “Great. But will you remember them tomorrow?”

  “Oooh, burn,” said Ethan over Amelia’s laughter.

  “’Course I will!” TJ protested. “And, hey, Jeremy! What’s up, man?”

  Belatedly, Vesper remembered why she was there—to introduce Biz. Once Jeremy had finished conveying his birthday wishes, she gestured toward him. “And this is Mr. Deloreo, who works with your father.”

  “Indeed he does.” Theodore Senior came around the table with his hand extended. “Glad you could make it. How are you, Biz?”

  “Very well, sir, very well,” Biz said heartily. “Thank you for inviting me to celebrate your son’s birthday. Congrats, TJ.”

  Vesper couldn’t believe it. Biz was apparently one of those drunks who could—up to a point, anyway—turn on a fair impression of sobriety whenever he wished. As long as he also pretended not to be a letch, the rest of the night would go smoothly. Smothering a sigh of relief, she moved away from him toward the sidebar. One glass of sake would help steady her nerves.

  “I’ve got it,” said Jeremy, ever the gentleman. He took the opportunity to lean in close. “You okay?” he asked under his breath.

  “Yes. Thanks. That was…unpleasant.”

  “That’s one word for it.” He shot the unsuspecting Biz a dirty look. “I’m going to grab some food. Want anything?”

  “I’m fine.” Vesper nodded toward the game. “I want to watch some of this.”

  She had to pass behind Nova to take a seat and found herself momentarily captivated by the different shades of blond in her hair. Some were so dark as to be almost brown, while others were nearly white. Most dominant were the strands that glittered like spun gold under the lights, and Vesper suddenly wanted to know what they would feel like, sliding through her fingers. When she realized where her mind had drifted, she hurried toward the first open chair and took a long drink.

  “Vesper,” said Nova, drawing out the middle consonants in a sultry hiss. “Glad you’ve joined us. Shall I deal you in next hand?”

  “No, thanks. I’m just here to watch.”

  “C’mon, V!” TJ slurred. “Play a few rounds at least.”

  Nova arched an eyebrow. “It is his birthday.”

  “Yeah! It is! Please?”

  She glanced across the room to where Biz was conversing with Theodore Senior. When they began to move toward the doorway, she relaxed a little more. The party was going well. Her clients were taken care of. Surely, she could allow herself to join in the game for a little while.

  “All right. Just a few hands.”

  A few hands came and went, and turned into more. The chips were already paid for, which made them free money, but old habits died hard, and Vesper had always favored a conservative style of play. She won occasionally, lost sporadically, and folded often. It was fun to play in a no-stakes environment, but even more enjoyable was the banter around the table. TJ and his friends kept up a running commentary of trash talk that made her feel oddly jealous. In her adolescence, she had dreamed of getting a scholarship to UT-Austin—or, if necessary, taking classes at one of the Houston community colleges and transferring in as a junior. Before that dream, and all others, had shattered, the university experience had seemed so romantic. A part of her still pined for it, apparently. It was impossible not to ask, “What if?” Would she have found a strong circle of friends, as TJ had? What career path would she have followed? Would she look back on those years of her life with nostalgia instead of hiding from the memories?

  “Hmm. This one’s tricky.”

  Nova’s voice was a welcome interruption, jolting her back to the present. When Vesper looked down the table, she couldn’t help but stare. Nova was twisting her hair into a bun as she squinted down at the five community cards. At the end of each round, she had taken to trying to predict each remaining player’s hand before they showed their cards. About two-thirds of the time, she was right. The kids loved it, and even Vesper had to admit that her ability was impressive.

  “Come on, let’s hear it,” said Ethan.

  But Nova wouldn’t be rushed. She brought her right hand to her mouth and closed her teeth around one of the thin black hair bands encircling her wrist before sliding it off and threading it through her hair. The practiced motion was strangely alluring, and Vesper reached for her sake glass only to find it almost empty. She wanted another, but grabbed the carafe of water instead.

  “Okay. Ethan, you have a high-middle pair. Maybe nines, maybe jacks. TJ…” She looked between the table and the birthday boy. “I’d guess you were dealt pocket rockets or pocket kings. The problem is, I’m pretty sure Amelia has a straight.”

  “I hit it on the river,” Amelia said proudly, revealing her two pocket cards.

  “With an inside draw? You got lucky.” Ethan sounded disgusted as he turned over the jack of spades and the three of diamonds. “Can’t believe you hung in there with all of Ham’s re-raises.”

  “I was bluf-fing!” TJ hiccupped on the last syllable and turned over the ace of hearts and the two of clubs.

  “That’s why I kept calling,” Amelia said dryly.

  “Damn.” Ethan shook his head. “Should’ve known.”

  “He fooled me, too.” Nova gathered up the cards. “Another hand?”

  “Of c-hic-course,” said TJ.

  Ethan blocked his arm as he reached for the sake bottle. “Water from now on, bro.”

  Clearly intending to argue, TJ took a deep breath only to hiccup even more loudly. Amelia touched his shoulder. “He’s right, Ham. You don’t want to boot, do you?”

  TJ looked between them before conceding with a noisy sigh. “Fine.” To Vesper’s relief, he took the brimming glass she offered and gulped it down noisily.

  Nova was just beginning to distribute the cards when Biz’s voice filled the room. “Dealer! I want in on this round.”

  Vesper’s stomach twisted. She looked up as he moved deeper into the room, silently praying that he would choose a seat on the far side of the table. But then his eyes met hers and that sloppy, suggestive smile returned to his face as he headed directly for her. Behind him, Theodore Senior stood in the doorway.

  “My wife and I are turning in,” he announced. “Enjoy the rest of the night. Thanks for being here. Happy birthday, son.”

  “’Night, Dad.”

  Don’t go, Vesper wanted to call after him like a frightened little girl. But she was a casino host, not a child, and he was not her father. She had never had a male protector, and she didn’t need one now.

  “Is your evening going well, Mr. Deloreo?” she asked as he took the chair next to hers. Perhaps, if she continued to treat him with professionalism, he would get the hint and back off.

  “It’s much better now, hon.”

  “My name is
Vesper,” she reminded him, making her voice as cool as she knew how.

  “And what a sexy name it is.”

  Ignoring him, she glanced toward the head of the table as she picked up her cards. Nova was frowning at Biz, and for a moment, it looked as though she might say something. Vesper caught her eye and shook her head once before focusing on her cards. Biz was a dog. He would quit his bad behavior if no one paid attention.

  At first, it seemed her instincts were correct. Over the course of the next few hands, Biz alternated between drinking and regaling the kids with stories from his Dartmouth days. A few of TJ’s friends seemed especially interested to hear what the Greek system had been like in his time. But just as Vesper began to relax, Biz yawned, stretched, and rested one arm along the back of her chair. Nova immediately bristled. Amelia looked uncomfortable. TJ just seemed confused. Vesper turned her head and stared at him until he looked up.

  “Something you need, hon?”

  “Yes. The back of my seat.”

  “Oh!” He moved his arm away, but not before giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Sorry about that. Hand has a mind of its own.”

  She sat back but couldn’t manage to relax. Tension gripped her neck and shoulder muscles as she remained alert to Biz’s every movement. A few minutes later, her vigilance was justified when he put a hand on her knee below the table and began to slide it up along her inner thigh. Clamping her teeth around a startled cry, she trapped his hand with her own and pulled it away. The anger that had been simmering since his first unwanted advances in the lobby boiled over. Enough. That was beyond enough. She refused to sit here and be groped by her own client. Only her sense of professional decorum stopped her from publicly reprimanding him.

  “Excuse me, all,” she said, pushing back her chair. “I should check in with the caterer.”