by Nell Stark
Still, in the face of Vesper’s obvious excitement, what right did Nova have to second-guess her? “Someone important?” she asked, hoping her dismay wasn’t obvious.
But Vesper’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I made the right decision.”
“Did I say that?”
“You didn’t have to.” She pressed her lips tightly together in clear displeasure. “What should I have done, according to you? Press charges? Tie up my money and risk my job?”
Nova felt as though she had whiplash. Numbly, she drank from her coffee, hoping the caffeine would jolt her brain into some sort of epiphany. What on earth had just happened? Moments ago, she and Vesper had been talking like confidantes, and now she was persona non grata for something she hadn’t even said?
Like confidantes. The thought gave her pause. Despite last night, Vesper didn’t trust her at all. That’s what this was about. She didn’t trust Nova to keep her secrets, and she didn’t trust her to reserve judgment. At the slightest provocation, she had reacted defensively. After the night she’d had—after the life she’d had—Nova couldn’t really blame her.
“I never meant—”
“I didn’t say what I did last night so you could judge me.” Vesper stood abruptly. “You don’t get to do that. No one does.”
“I’m worried about you! Judging you is the la—”
“I don’t need you to worry about me.” Vesper steamrolled right over her. “And one more thing. If you don’t figure out how to control your face, you won’t last a single round at the main event. You can trust me on that.”
“AJ! There you are!”
Nova’s whiplash became shell shock. Numbly, she looked up just in time to register Emily’s broad smile before she swooped in to plant a kiss—as familiar as it was unwelcome—squarely on her lips. Precious seconds passed before Nova had the wherewithal to pull away.
“Em? What are you doing here?”
“We’ve been worried about you. You never write, you never call…” She cocked her head. “That, and I wanted to see this amazing suite of yours.”
Vesper chose that moment to clear her throat, and Nova’s stomach did a slow roll in response. What a spectacle she was making of herself. Fumbling for some measure of poise, she gestured between the two women.
“I’m so sorry. Vesper, this is Emily, one of my roommates back home. Em, this is Vesper—one of the hosts here. The one who is comping me the suite you mentioned.”
Emily gave Vesper a once-over and extended her hand. “AJ’s mentioned you a few times. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” The chill in Vesper’s tone could have frozen the desert.
“Did I interrupt something important?” Em asked. “I can wait in the lobby if you’d like.”
“No. We’re finished.” Vesper barely glanced at Nova. “Enjoy your stay at Valhalla.”
She turned and walked away without looking back, leaving Nova slack-jawed and reeling. Emily slid into the empty seat and reached for her hands. Nova watched as Em’s thumbs made soft circles below her knuckles, but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t seem to feel anything.
“How’s everyone back home?” she asked in an effort to seem normal.
“Liz and Sandra got a kitten. I think they’re getting serious.” When Em smiled, Nova forced herself to mirror the expression.
“Sounds like.”
“I’ve missed you.” When Em cupped her face and slid her thumb across Nova’s mouth, arousal scorched through her like a solar flare, sharp and unbidden. Relief followed close behind. She wasn’t numb, after all. “How about showing me that king-sized bed of yours, hmm?”
Nova turned her cheek into Emily’s palm in an effort to recapture the easy chemistry they had always shared. She had been lonely and stressed since her plane had left San Francisco, and Em was the perfect antidote. So why did the idea of going to bed with her feel like cheating? Vesper didn’t even want a one-night stand, not to mention a relationship. There was nothing—nothing—wrong with blowing off some steam with one of her roommates.
Nova stood and extended her hand, shoulders squared in determination. The heat of Emily’s palm soaked into hers, stoking the flames. “Follow me.”
Chapter Eleven
The anger was a hot coal in Vesper’s chest, fanned by every breath. It burned away her gratitude, her sentimentality, her self-consciousness. What the hell was Nova playing at? That…that woman came out of the woodwork and she turned into putty? She hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend, and she certainly hadn’t been acting like she was in a relationship. Had she been lying by omission this entire time, or was Emily an actual roommate with benefits? Either way, Nova was clearly even more of a player than Vesper had originally realized. Shaking her head, she silently congratulated herself on being smart enough to avoid acting on her attraction. She had dodged a bullet, there.
As she waited for an elevator, her indignation picked up steam. Romantic status aside, how dare Nova judge her decisions? Had she passed judgment when Nova confessed to having dropped out of graduate school? No. It was a crazy thing to do, especially when Nova had been so very close to getting her doctorate, but Vesper had schooled her features and listened patiently. Whereas Nova had looked at her like she was an alien as she explained how she had bargained with Steve.
Tit for tat—that was how this system worked. At every level, hosting was all about quid pro quo. Did she want to see Biz again? Of course not. But would it be worthwhile to continue on as his host in exchange for being able to strike a deal with Priscilla Beauregard? That was a no-brainer.
Vesper glanced down at her watch. The Sphinx board meeting had adjourned for lunch half an hour ago. She had booked them a private alcove at Barri in case they wanted to continue discussing business over their meal, and it would be wise to check in with them to ensure everything was satisfactory. The only downside, of course, was Biz. If her presence forced him to apologize in front of the senior board members, would he resent her for it?
As she waited for the elevator, she caught sight of her reflection in the gleaming metal doors. An unexpected wave of guilt washed over her. Why was she worrying about Biz’s mental state? He was the aggressor and she the victim. If anything, he should be the anxious one. Then again, he had the money, and her entire raison d’être was to convince him to spend it at Valhalla—a fact of which he was no doubt aware. Despite the incident last night, the power was still firmly in his hands.
The doors opened and she stepped inside, mentally clinging to the smoldering ashes of her anger. When she walked through the doors of the restaurant, she needed to present a façade as impenetrable as diamond. These were corporate men, trained to sniff out weakness and capitalize on it. There could be no chinks in her armor, or she would lose their respect. And if she lost their respect, eventually, she would lose their patronage. Gamblers would never stop pushing her limits, always seeking out the fanciest suite, the newest show, the priciest meal. Her job was to give where she chose and take wherever she could.
As she approached the restaurant’s frosted glass doors, Vesper nodded to the maître d’ but didn’t slacken her pace. She paused only when she reached the dark blue curtain separating the smallest of the restaurant’s VIP areas from the main dining room, and then only long enough to sweep the fabric aside. The five men seated around the oval table were all dressed in black or charcoal suits. She recognized three: Theodore Senior, who wiped his mouth and stood as she entered the room; Biz, who got up a moment later; and Edward Mirallo, whom she had hosted twice in the past year and refused to play any game other than blackjack. The other two had either flown in for the day or were staying at other establishments.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, plastering a gracious smile onto her face. “Is the meal to your liking, I hope?”
“It’s very fine, Vesper, as always.” Hamilton’s tone was warm and courteous, but whether he was simply being polite or had truly put last night’s incident behind him, she coul
dn’t say.
“These snails are unparalleled,” Mirallo said, patting his belly. “I don’t suppose you can convince the chef to share his recipe, can you?”
“Now why would she do a thing like that,” asked one of the other men, “when she wants to entice you back as often as possible?”
Vesper laughed obligingly. “I’ll certainly ask our executive chef, but she tends to be quite protective of her masterpieces.” She emphasized the pronoun in the hopes that Mirallo might think twice about making gendered assumptions. “Is there anything I can do for you at the moment?” She met each man’s eyes in turn—even Biz’s. He was staring right through her in a way that made her skin crawl, but she refused to let that show. “Very well then, I’ll leave you to your meal. Please let me know if you think of anything.”
She turned, but not before seeing Hamilton nudge Biz discreetly with his elbow. As she let the curtain fall behind her, she caught the sound of him excusing himself. Sweat immediately lined her palms, and she silently cursed her own nervous system. She was in a restaurant full of people. There was nothing to fear.
“Vesper!”
She turned immediately, wanting to seem attentive. “Hello, Biz.” Hearing her own voice, strong and steady, added to her resolve. “Something I can do for you?”
“I need to apologize for my behavior last night.” The words lacked any inflection. Either Hamilton had spoon-fed him the line, or he had rehearsed it. Or both.
Vesper forced herself to smile brightly. “We’ve all done something we regret after having a few more than we should.”
The set of Biz’s shoulders eased. “Oh? What have you done?” That oily smile broke out on his face and he stepped closer. “Your secrets are safe with me. I promise.”
Despite being in the center of a room full of people, Vesper felt cornered all over again. She should have coolly accepted his apology and then left. Instead, she had left the door open for his chauvinist comments.
“Oh, that was only a platitude.” Hoping she had somewhat redeemed herself, Vesper turned and walked away. “Enjoy your afternoon,” she said over her shoulder.
Vesper’s heart didn’t stop pounding until she was outside the restaurant and could be sure he hadn’t followed. As she walked back to her cubicle, the adrenaline began to ebb, laying bare her exhaustion. She wanted nothing more than to go home and burrow under her covers, but between arranging Priscilla’s credit line with the financial department and serving as the point person for the Sphinx board members staying at Valhalla, she wouldn’t see her pillow until late in the evening.
“Vesper!” Isabella’s voice scattered the bullet points in her mental to-do list. “I’ve been looking for you all day! What did you do—lose your phone?”
Vesper found herself wrapped in a bone-crushing embrace before she could reply. Chagrined at having ignored Isabella’s increasingly frantic text messages, she hid her face against Isabella’s shoulder as she formulated a reply.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said as she pulled back. “Today has been hectic. I had to meet with Steve.”
“You did? About…” She glanced around the hallway. “About what happened?”
Vesper decided to feign ignorance, mostly because she wanted to know what the rumor mill had come up with. “Wait, what did you hear?”
Isabella grabbed her hand and pulled her into a nearby alcove for vending and ice machines. The electric hum drowned out the sounds from the corridor. “I heard you got attacked,” Isabella whispered, searching her eyes. “By one of your clients!”
Vesper rapidly tried to weigh how much she should confess. “I wasn’t attacked, per se,” she said slowly.
“Per se? What the hell does that mean?” With each successive syllable, her voice rose in pitch.
“Shh. Careful.” Vesper kept one eye on the passersby as she spoke. “He’d had too much to drink. He said some inappropriate things and then tried to kiss me. That’s all.”
“Oh, really?” Sarcasm flooded her voice. “Because I heard he also had his hands all over you and ended up pinning you to the wall!”
Vesper blinked. The rumor mill was apparently quite accurate. Too accurate. She wanted everyone else to forget those details almost as much as she wanted them purged from her own memory. “He did have a bit of a case of wandering hands.”
“And the wall?”
Her attempt to tone this down was backfiring horribly. “He crowded me a little. I overreacted and—”
“Kneed him in the balls.” Isabella rested her hands on her hips, glaring. “Which was brave, and not in any way an overreaction to sexual assault. Sexual assault, Vesper! Why are you downplaying this?”
“That’s a strong term. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It’s the right term and a huge deal! If this had happened to me, would you be telling me to stick my head in the sand the way you’re doing? Because if so, you’re not the person I thought you were.”
Vesper felt her hands go cold. Was Isabella saying their friendship was on the line? Over this? She was reacting ten times as fiercely as Nova had. What gave her the right? Why was this any of her business?
“If it had happened to you,” she said fiercely, “I sure as hell wouldn’t be yelling at you. Why are you judging me? It’s over and done with. I just want to move on.”
Isabella opened her mouth, apparently thought better of herself, and closed it again. For several moments, she worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’m just worried about you.”
The echo of Nova’s sentiment gave Vesper pause. Doubt seeped into the corners of her mind. At every step, she had acted to protect herself—first from Biz, and then in terms of her career. She had to trust her own decisions. They had gotten her this far.
“I appreciate that. I really do. But I’ve handled it. Water under the bridge, okay?”
“Is he still staying here?”
The hard edge to Isabella’s tone made Vesper realize she couldn’t admit to continuing on as Biz’s host. “Yes. It will be fine. He was drunk yesterday and not acting like himself.” The white lie came too easily. Biz had been almost as much of a creep ten minutes ago as he had been last night.
“I don’t like it. Promise me you’ll be on your guard? Ask security to keep a special eye on him?”
That was a decent idea, and one that would make her feel better without endangering her job. “I’ll do that. And I promise.” She grasped Isabella’s shoulders and pulled her in for another hug. “Thanks for watching out for me. I’d better get back to the office.”
She nodded. “Drinks later?”
“Let’s do tomorrow. I’m completely exhausted.”
“Sure. Get some rest.” Isabella turned, paused, and then looked back over her shoulder. “And keep your phone handy, okay? I’m going to check in with you. A lot. Deal with it.”
She hurried out into the corridor and disappeared in the direction of the elevators. Vesper stared unseeing at the flashing buttons of the vending machine, trying to refocus herself. She had too much on her plate to be able to afford any more distractions.
But as she resumed the journey to her office, her thoughts refused to obey. She had turned on Nova because of a facial expression, but she’d let Isabella say her piece. Did she owe Nova an apology, now? Or was it all for the best that she had strained the unlikely bond developing between them? Nova might be good at playing the confidante, but that didn’t mean she could be trusted. Her attraction was clear, but that obviously didn’t mean anything.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the memory resurfaced of Emily swooping in so confidently to plant a kiss on Nova’s lips. In her weakest moments, Vesper had fantasized about doing exactly that. Now, she felt betrayed, though she had no right to the emotion.
But as she sat behind her desk and powered up her computer, Vesper glimpsed a hint of silver lining. She hadn’t let down her guard enough to give in to her desire, and that was a
positive thing. This entire episode with Nova was a hard lesson that only reinforced what she already knew: don’t let anyone get too close. She had let Nova in too far. The only person she could trust was herself, no matter how much she might sometimes wish it otherwise.
The only solution was to keep her distance. No apologies, no contact. Cold turkey.
*
Nova raked in the pot, cutting out a blue chip for the dealer in the process. “That’s it for me,” she said. “Have a good one, folks.”
“Same here,” said Mac, seated to her left. He had joined the table an hour after her and had been playing conservatively all afternoon.
As she racked up her chips, Nova mentally added up her winnings. Just over a thousand dollars—one of her better afternoons—but still not enough. If she kept winning at this rate, she would be able to enter five or six events, not counting the hold ’em tournament. Five or six didn’t give her good enough odds of winning a bracelet. She needed more money, and she needed it fast, but the only way to get it, short of robbing a bank, was to return to the cash game and risk everything all over again. If the game had been online, she would have been confident enough to join it, but the thought of walking back into Davenport’s Celestial Palace made her quail inside. The fear was unfamiliar and disconcerting. Nerves were a part of the game—they helped keep her sharp. But fear was crippling, and if she didn’t find a way to master it, it would follow her into the World Series.
Mac joined her en route to the cashier. “Missed you at this week’s big game,” he said, as though he’d heard her thoughts.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet. No easy money this time?”
“Oh, there was.” His grin was wolfish.
“Why play with the peons, then? And tightly, too.”
“Practice for the main event. The first few rounds are full of rich tourists.” He gestured for her to cash out ahead of him. “If I only play with professionals, I forget how to handle the crazy amateurs.”
“Makes sense.” Nova stepped aside and waited for him to finish. She enjoyed running into him on the Strip—usually at Caesars, which seemed to be his preferred poker hall. He was always friendly, unlike some of the others. Damon barely acknowledged her presence whenever they encountered each other. “Must be so frustrating to get knocked out early.”
