by Tamie Dearen
The wife rolled her eyes. “He’s color blind. He’d look ridiculous if I didn’t lay out his clothes for him.”
“I know what you mean,” Steph agreed. “I do the same thing for…”
She halted as she realized, with a pang, that aspect of her job would soon be ending. It was part of her almost daily routine she enjoyed more than she was willing to admit.
The elevator stopped and the couple exited. “Have a nice evening,” the husband said, in parting.
In her room, Stephanie opted to add a lightweight cape made entirely of delicate lace. It was surprisingly warm, despite the holes. But her strappy heels had already started to rub a blister where they went across her little toe. She chose a beautiful pair of sandals with a more modest heel of three inches. A few trial steps proved the soft straps didn’t rub like the other pair, though her heel slid from side to side when she walked. Her only other choice was a cheap pair of comfy flats she’d intended for wearing around the hotel room.
I’ll be fine, as long as I’m careful.
She opened her door just as Branson stepped out of Carina’s room, jaw-droppingly handsome in his tuxedo.
“Hi.” Her voice squeaked like a nervous schoolgirl.
“Stephanie? I thought you went down with the guys.” His hair was a bit messy on top, and Steph wanted to smooth it, as was her custom. She stopped herself just in time. Carina appeared, her upper lip twitching on one side when she spotted Stephanie.
“Bran-son.” Carina said his name in a stretched-out singsong, like a flirty come-hither. “Will you zip me up?”
Carina turned, revealing the back of her gold satin evening dress, gaping open to expose a red lace thong.
“Seriously, Carina?” Bran muttered, as he tucked his cane under his arm to use both hands for the task.
Stephanie’s empty stomach churned. Some naïve part of her had thought, since they had separate rooms at the house and the hotel, they weren’t sleeping together. Evidently that wasn’t the case. From the self-satisfied expression on Carina’s face, she was thrilled to rub Stephanie’s face in it.
Steph pivoted toward the elevator, to avoid watching the intimate moment. “I’m heading down. See you guys in the casino.”
With long strides, she was pleased to make more rapid progress, thanks to her slightly more practical and much more comfortable shoes. She punched the elevator button multiple times, praying the doors would open quickly and allow her to escape the awkwardness. But evidently her guardian angel was taking a restroom break, because Carina and Branson arrived at the same time as the elevator.
On the ride down, she ventured a glance at Branson, whose expression was unreadable, as usual. Carina caught her looking, her mouth stretched into a perfect imitation of the Wicked Witch of the West.
Why not kill ‘em with kindness?
“Carina, your dress is beautiful.” Compliments were easy. Carina always looked perfect.
“Thank you. I’ll get rid of it after tonight, of course. Never wear a dress more than once.”
“Really? Seems like an awful waste.”
Carina was such a sharp contrast to Branson, who never expressed a squandering attitude, despite his wealth.
“I always donate them to the resale shop, so it helps someone less fortunate.” Carina lifted her pointy chin, seeming more like the witch with every passing moment. “I’d offer it to you, but of course it would be way too small.”
In her stunned silence, Steph struggled to appear unaffected by the jibe. She swallowed the rock inside her throat and turned her head. Carina already had Branson. Why did she have to rub Steph’s face in all her inadequacies?
“Carina.” Branson’s tone was filled with pent-up rage, clearly expressed on his face. “I’ve had enough of your insults.”
“What?” Carina’s voice was full of innocence and her eyes rounded in exaggeration. “I didn’t say she was fat. I was insulting myself for being too thin.”
Bran didn’t answer immediately, but his expression said he wasn’t buying it. Did Carina think he was that stupid? Or did she even care?
“You’ve changed, Carina,” Branson growled. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”
Carina’s hands went up to her slim hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The elevator doors opened on the tournament floor, and Steph hurried out, escaping while she could, their raised voices following behind her. She felt a sense of dread, recognizing how much Carina detested her. Flashing her badge at the doorway attendant, she slipped inside the casino, which was already filling up with players. Even in her designer gown Steph felt out of place, like a child dressing up in a costume. These people all had money to burn or they wouldn’t be in a charity tournament. Each had probably paid more for one entry ticket than she made in a year. Somehow, Branson had always made her feel his equal, even though he was her boss. But here, she felt everyone could see through her façade and was sneering at her, like Carina. She kept her head ducked downward as she wove through the aisles, looking for Finn and the guys, but could feel curious gazes following her. Her pulse was pounding a rapid beat in her ears.
I wish I was in jeans. I can’t even wipe the sweat off my palms.
She jumped at a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, Stephanie,” said Jarrett. “Over here. Finn and Cole are playing blackjack.”
He offered his elbow, and she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. Her heart rate slowed, which only made her angry at herself. I don’t need a guy to make me feel confident.
“You’re turning a lot of heads, tonight,” Jarrett bent to murmur in her ear as he guided her toward the back of the casino.
“I felt them staring at me. They know I’m a fake.”
“Are you crazy? They’re staring because you look absolutely beautiful. Too bad Branson can’t see you.”
“Thanks,” she said, though she knew he was being polite. But his words reminded her why she was here. To help Branson, and no other reason. Why was she worried about something superficial, like her appearance or being accepted by these affluent people who meant nothing to her? She had to focus.
“Branson and Carina rode the elevator down with me. I need to find him, in case the crowd noise is bothering him.”
She tapped her ear, to indicate Bran’s receiver, and Jarrett nodded, making a sharp left turn. “He’ll go straight to the craps tables.”
He wound his way through the milling crowds, and pointed as they rounded another bend. “There they are.”
On the opposite side of a table where people were yelling and clapping and throwing dice stood Branson and Carina. Bran’s fingers were gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles, his face strained. Though Carina hung on his elbow, she was talking to the man beside her. She threw her head back, laughing at something the man said.
Jarrett led them around the table, edging in on Bran’s right side, where the tiny receiver was barely visible, especially with sunglasses camouflaging the receiver wire. “Hey, buddy. Glad you made it down. Want a drink?”
Bran shook his head. “No, thanks.”
Something exciting happened on the table, and the crowd cheered. Stephanie had never seen craps played, so she had no idea what was happening. One person rolled the dice and everyone else seemed very excited each time he threw them.
“No drink?” Jarrett raised his voice to be heard over the commotion. “Remember… what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. You always have a drink or two while you’re here.”
“Not this time.”
“Why not? You need to relax a little.”
“You know I don’t believe in using alcohol to relax. That’s for alcoholics.”
“Give me a break.” Jarrett flung an annoyed hand, though Bran couldn’t see it. “You can’t become an alcoholic by having a drink once every two years.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Bran’s probably upset because Carina’s flirting. Or maybe the noise in here is making him
tense. Steph slid her hand into her purse and turned on the transmitter.
“Hey Bran,” she talked quietly, her chin dipped toward the microphone. “Do you want this on or not?”
He gave a sharp nod. Out loud, he asked, “Hey, Jarrett? Where’s Stephanie?”
“I’m here,” she spoke up. “I’m on the other side of Jarrett. Wish one of you guys would explain what’s going on with this game.”
Jarrett and Bran both talked at once, using words like “come-out roll” and “pass line” and “field,” along with a bunch of random dice combination numbers that seemed to be significant.
“Got it?” asked Jarrett.
“Sure.” Steph huffed a chuckle. “Why don’t you guys play, and I’ll learn by watching?”
Both men traded thousand dollar chips for smaller denominations and placed bets on the table as a new person started rolling the dice—a woman who looked to be in her fifties, dripping in diamonds that sparkled almost as much as her eyes. The dice tumbled and stopped with a pair of twos showing, and the onlookers cheered.
“Four, the hard way!” called a man with a long crooked stick, as he raked the dice back to the roller.
“That person with the dice is called the shooter,” Jarrett explained. “And that woman is the stickman.”
“Who’s that other woman?” Steph asked. “The one who’s frowning, at the end of the table.”
“That’s the boxman. She’s in charge of the whole table. Has to watch everything like a hawk.”
Chips were added and taken away and moved around, and the sparkling shooter threw the dice again.
The crowd clapped when the dice stopped with a six and a four.
Bran mumbled something about “don’t pass” and handed a stack of chips to Jarrett, who placed them on the table and added some chips of his own. The shooter tossed the dice against the far side of the table again, and they stopped with a three and a four showing.
Everyone shouted, and someone gave both Bran and Jarrett a bunch of chips. Stephanie was more confused than ever.
“New shooter!” announced the man with the stick.
“Why aren’t any of these people upset?” Steph asked. “Some of them lost a bunch of chips.”
“Because it’s only a game,” Branson explained. “Everyone paid to play and no one is taking any money home tonight, not even the grand-prize winner.”
“Cole and Finn found a less crowded table,” said Jarrett, looking at a text on his phone. “Let’s go find them.”
“Finn usually plays blackjack the first three or four hours.” Bran’s brows furrowed, his voice full of suspicion. Steph hoped Finn wasn’t planning to make another move on her. She couldn’t watch out for Bran and fend off Finn’s advances at the same time.
Jarrett led the way, with Carina and Branson following and Steph trailing behind. She took the opportunity to enjoy Bran’s form from the rear. So handsome in the well-cut tuxedo, his broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. She knew exactly how his muscles rippled as he walked, having observed his workouts a multitude of times. She never tired of watching him.
Carina walked beside him, moving with easy grace on her stilettos. Something else for me to be jealous of. Steph had to admit the two made a striking couple. Carina appeared to belong with this crowd, while Stephanie would never blend in.
Reality sunk in and churned in her belly. She didn’t care for Carina, but had to find some kind of common ground with her. She couldn’t count on Finn breaking up the relationship, especially since she had no intention of helping him with his scheme. And she had to remember MawMaw’s advice and find out Carina’s sad secret. Maybe she could help her get past it. Maybe Carina needed a real friend.
Somewhere nearby, one of the slot machines got really excited, bells clanging long and loud like a railroad crossing. Passing another craps table, the circling crowd cheered and yelled encouragement. The noise bothered Stephanie, so she knew Branson must hate it. “We’re almost there,” she murmured in his earpiece. “Finn found a table in the far back corner, so maybe it will be a little quieter.”
With Carina clutching one arm and his cane in the other, Branson couldn’t wave to indicate he’d heard her remark, but Steph saw his head nodding, and decided now would be a good time give a running monologue, as she customarily did during their workday lunches. She’d discovered, quite by accident, if she kept him distracted by telling stories, he’d linger at the table and eat more slowly. MawMaw had always insisted it was bad for you to wolf your food down. Though Branson had ridiculed her advice, Steph was convinced she’d made him healthier.
“It’s been a beautiful day, so far.” She lowered her chin toward the microphone in her scarf. “I want you to know I really appreciate this trip. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s so special. I loved it all.” That’s not quite true. I hated seeing you and Carina fight. And I didn’t enjoy her calling me fat, even by implication. But, the rest was wonderful. “Everything. The private jet. The fancy room. The show. The clothes. The food. And I appreciate whatever ridiculous fee was paid for my tournament entry. The fountain was the best part. Wish I could come back and show it to Ellie. She’d love it. One more thing to put on her bucket list. I hope Ellie gets to see it someday…”
Chapter 10
As Branson tuned into Steph’s monologue, the noise of the casino seemed to recede. Not only did the sound of Steph’s voice soothe Bran’s nerves, but her words of gratitude reminded him of his own good fortune. It was hard to be selfish with someone like Stephanie around.
Then she said something that shook him to the core. “One more thing to put on her bucket list. I hope Ellie gets to see it someday.”
Though he was certain Steph hadn’t intended it to happen, Bran thought of how short Ellie’s life was likely to be, especially if she couldn’t get the very best medicine available to battle her cystic fibrosis.
“This is better,” Steph’s voice broke into his reverie. “We’re in the very back, and there aren’t any slot machines around.”
Her assessment was correct. As Bran expected, Finn found an area with less noise. He’d always been sensitive to Bran’s needs. Even as a teenager at camp, Finn would arrange their group so Bran always had a friend on either side. He was thoughtful like that. Though he claimed he was having a bad run at blackjack, he probably switched to craps so he could take care of Bran. Finn would make a good husband, but he had to agree to date someone first. Bran’s chest went tight. But not Stephanie.
“Hey, Bran?” Steph’s voice came back in his ear as his hands touched the edge of the table. He couldn’t tell where she was standing—she was too far away to hear her voice in the other ear. “Couldn’t I give you my money and let you gamble that, too? I really don’t understand this game, but I like watching you play.”
Bran shook his head, wishing they could talk alone.
Carina’s long nails bit into his arm, and he stiffened, turning toward her. Had she spoken to him? He’d been paying attention to Steph. “I’m sorry, Carina. Did you say something? The noise in here is distracting.”
“I think it’s too quiet back here. Hardly anyone around.” Her whiny toned made it clear she preferred being the center of attention. “And you’re ignoring me.”
“I’m listening, now. What did you say?”
“I asked what you told Stephanie about us. Does she know about… everything?”
“I didn’t tell her about the stock deal, if that’s what you’re asking. I guess she thinks we’re in love.”
“You know, Bran, there used to be more between us… a lot more than stocks.” Her voice went sultry as she wedged her body against his arm. “There could be, again. Why not let me move into your suite? You’re not going to make me stay in the east wing after we’re married, are you?”
His body refused to respond to her efforts. He bent toward her until her hair brushed his chin and muttered, “We’re not going to sleep together, Carina. Not now. And not after we’re mar
ried. How could I ever be with you again, when you made it clear you’re repulsed by me?”
“Not by you.” A hand slid inside his coat, caressing his chest through his shirt. “You have an amazing body. I told you, I’m only creeped out by those fake eyes, imagining they could pop out at any time. As long as I keep my eyes closed, I’m fine.”
He seized her roaming hand and pushed it away, straining to keep his voice low. “I’m perfectly happy with our nonphysical relationship.”
“Even after we’re married? Three years is a long time to abstain. What if I never mention the fake-eye thing again?”
“No.” His gut roiled at the thought of sleeping with her, knowing how she felt. Maybe it would be different if he weren’t blind. He’d read somewhere men were most turned on by sight, and supposedly Carina was stunning.
“I bet you’ll change your mind.” She cleared her throat and announced in a loud voice, “I’m off to hit the slots for a while.”
Yes. Perfect.
Carina continued, “Stephanie? Want to come with me?”
Not perfect. His hands gripped the side of the table.
Steph’s voice quavered. “Well… I thought Bran might need—”
“Bran’s fine. He’s with his friends,” Carina insisted. “Let’s go.”
Bran wanted to scream, to beg her not to go, but Finn clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy. Ready to play?”
In his ear, he heard Steph speak to Carina, presumably as they walked away. “How can you walk so smoothly in five-inch heels? I tried some earlier, but I had to go upstairs and swap them out for these. Three inches, and I’m barely stable.”
Bran heard the thin notes of Carina’s response, but couldn’t distinguish any words.
“Bran? You okay?” Finn’s hand squeezed his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
Steph spoke again. “Don’t worry. I’m well-aware this isn’t my world.”
He should’ve stopped them from leaving. No doubt Carina would say something to hurt Stephanie. He strained, trying to hear Carina’s reply.
“Me and Finn?” Steph answered with a question in her voice. “No, I’m not expecting that relationship will go anywhere. Not that I don’t think he’s handsome.”
