by Myra Scott
That was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I was ecstatic since it meant Gage was into guys. On the other hand, I was disappointed since it meant Gage was definitely too distracted by his feelings for Zane to be interested in me. That didn’t stop me from trying though. I quickly befriended him, and we established a sort of friends-with-benefits situation, off and on. We hadn’t actually slept together, but we had kissed and fooled around several times over the years. I knew he didn’t see me as a real dating option, but I was an idiot. I was willing to accept whatever level of attention he was willing to give me.
God, this was just like Ricky Perez all over again, wasn’t it?
Tonight, I was standing at my blackjack table toward the end of my shift, clearing the cards and cleaning up the mess left by my particularly sloppy guests. I broke down the setup and folded up the table, already looking forward to getting home and off my feet. That was possibly the worst aspect of being a blackjack dealer: having to stand on my feet all day. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that it took me a moment to notice Gage and Zane walking through the room. They were both red in the face, making fists, their jaws tightening up. I could tell they were angry with each other, but I didn’t have any idea why. This wasn’t totally unusual—the guys who ran this place argued with each other frequently, butting heads over ideas and plans for the casino. But this looked… personal, somehow. I was intrigued, watching out of the corner of my eye from my table. The two men gave each other one last hard glance, and then Zane stormed off, raking his fingers back through his blonde hair. Gage looked around the room, as though checking to see if any of his customers were noticing. They weren’t, and he looked relieved. I managed to catch his eye and give him a questioning look.
He sighed and came strolling over, which immediately made my heart race. It didn’t take much these days to get me going when it came to Gage. I had fallen pretty damn hard for the guy.
When he got close I asked, “Hey, how’s it going? Everything okay?”
He shrugged angrily. “Yes,” he lied at first. Then he groaned and said, “No. It’s not. I just told Zane we need to call off relations between Sentry and La Torre.”
I raised an eyebrow, confused. “What? But I thought business was doing well because of the merger. El Puente is busy all the time.”
“Pfft. Who cares? It’s too much to deal with. We’re already short-staffed without adding the extra stress of La Torre’s customer base. This merger happened too quickly. Zane just got caught up in his feelings for Mr. Castillo and let that take precedence over the business. We can’t have that. It’s not fair to the rest of us,” Gage explained tersely.
I could see exactly what was going on here. Gage was still fuming over Zane’s relationship with the owner of La Torre, Diego Castillo. A few months ago, Sentry and La Torre had teamed up and built an elaborate, high-class club between them in a sky bridge called El Puente. It had definitely added extra tension, but at the same time, revenue was pouring in like crazy. As much as I understood why Gage was upset, I had to admit that he was being a little selfish. The merger was a good idea, or so it seemed to me. Of course, I wasn’t about to tell him that to his face. So, I offered something else instead.
“You know what you need?” I asked, leaning against my table. Gage looked at me, waiting for my answer. “You need a distraction. A break. You’re stressed the hell out, Gage. Why don’t you grab a drink with me? My shift just ended.”
He looked contemplative, clearly considering my suggestion for a moment. Then he sighed and clapped me on the shoulder. He shook his head. “Wish I could do that, Devin. But I’ve just got so much work to catch up on. Can I take a raincheck?”
I smiled, even though I was deeply disappointed. “Of course. Anytime, man.”
“Thanks, Dev,” he replied, walking off. I stood there, swept up in a maelstrom of emotion. Yup. This was Ricky Perez all over again.
CHAPTER FOUR - GAGE
When the time came for a follow-up meeting, I wasn’t sure if I was feeling regret, anticipation, or anger as the elevator lifted me up to the floor where our private meeting lounge was.
Since the last meeting, I had hardly said a word to Zane. Part of me was glad for that. I wasn’t sure if there was anything else that could be said between us that didn’t involve him asking me directly why I wanted to break up him and Diego. That was not a conversation I was ready to have with him.
But when I slid my security card through the lock and the door clicked open, I walked in to see Zane already in the room, pouring himself a drink at the bar. Those blue eyes of his locked onto me immediately.
“Gage,” he said curtly.
I stepped in without a word, honestly not sure what to say. Instead of floundering, I just locked eyes right back with Zane and gave him a curt nod.
“Since you’re here early,” he said, pouring a second glass for me, “I thought I’d ask you up front what this is really about.”
I froze, staring at him. Was he onto me? Had Devin said something to him? Feelings of dread and exposure filled my chest, and paranoia swam through my head. Nonetheless, I held my ground and my tongue. Zane stepped forward slowly, crossing the room and handing me the drink he’d poured. It was a Vodka Collins by the smell of it.
“Honestly,” he said in a lower tone, looking at me evenly now that we were so close. I could smell his cologne, and it made my skin feel like it was on fire. “You were behind the partnership at first. I haven’t heard a word out of you until now, and suddenly what, all this? Turning the others against me? This isn’t you, Gage.”
I swallowed hard. Was this real? Was I having some kind of dream where my worst nightmares were becoming reality? Somehow, I managed to will my nerves back to me, and after a moment, I looked every bit as cool and confident as he was.
“I feel the way I feel, Zane,” I said. The words felt so bitter on my tongue, because I’d rehearsed them in my head to say in response to some confession of my crush on him. They hadn’t even left my mouth before I was kicking myself over them. “I’m sorry if that’s a problem for you.”
“It’s not a problem if we’re just talking business,” Zane said, keeping his voice even and soothing. I hated that I knew what he was doing. Zane knew that I was just an emotional bomb ready to go off under my cool, even candor. He was using that to his advantage.
I wasn’t going to give him an inch.
“Do you have any reason to think I’m not just talking business?” I shot back at him. His jaw set, and there was silence between us for a few moments before the door opened behind us.
I took my drink and walked away from Zane to peer out the windows while the taste of the alcohol washed over my tongue. I didn’t even look back to see who it was—I recognized the sound of Mick’s gait, and Bart’s came not long after him.
“We interrupt something?” Bart asked gruffly.
“No,” Zane said curtly, crossing over to the couches. “Let’s get on with this. Mick, I assume you’ve run your numbers?”
Mick took a seat at the couches across from Zane while Bart made his way to the bar and started pouring himself a drink. I could feel Bart’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look away from the window. The dull glow of the taxis in the streets below were soothing, in their own way, especially with the filter of the pink neon lights making them look like distant dots below me.
Sure, I could be a little dramatic when I was upset. It was better than throwing a fit.
“I have,” Mick said reluctantly, opening a few folders and spreading them out in front of him. “And I’ll just rip the Band-Aid off and say that I have to agree with Gage and Bart on this one.”
I heard Zane let out a groan, and he stood up to head toward the bar where Bart automatically started pouring him a drink of his own.
“Let me explain, Zane, I think this really is something you need to be aware of. Our expenses from prope
rty damage, theft, and employee turnover have doubled since the partnership with La Torre began, and they’re still rising the more people we get. At this rate, it’ll only be another year before we start losing money again, and I can’t imagine La Torre is having a better time of things.”
“Meaning they’ll start thinking about backing out in a few months too, once they catch on,” Bart said as he handed Zane his drink.
“Diego would never—!” Zane started to snap, but Bart quirked an eyebrow at him, and Zane sighed.
“I know there’s a lot of personal baggage at stake here,” Mick said cautiously. “Believe me, I get it. But this is something you need to at least bring up to Diego. If we don’t do something about it now, then we might have something worse on our hands later. You need to think of this through a business perspective.”
Zane took a long drink, then looked around at all of us as I turned around, my stance wide and my posture tall.
“I can’t believe this,” he said, and his voice was low and serious enough we could all feel the angry energy in the room like a dark storm cloud. “You all agree to this, then? What exactly do you want to happen here?”
“I need a new security system,” Bart said firmly, putting his fist on the bar firmly. “Period. I’m talking a complete overhaul of the cameras to account for all the new angles we have to deal with, new alarms, and time to organize my guards and drill them on the routines we need to keep all the guests safe.”
“And we do have the money for that,” Mick was quick to clarify, “but it’s going to take time.”
“And speaking of time,” I said, stepping forward, “Mick and I need time to handle the hiring process like we used to before the partnership. That means you need to cut things off with La Torre so we don’t keep getting these waves of guests that we’re not equipped to handle.”
“This is insane,” Zane said, this time showing a little more fire as he strode across the room to gesture at all of us. “Everyone, this partnership is what’s padding all of our paychecks, and you know it. Any threat to that is a threat to our future. Yes, things are tight right now, but to just want to cut things off before they’ve even really gotten started?”
Zane shook his head in disbelief at all of us, caught halfway between a laugh and a furious glare. “Unbelievable.”
“I want to agree with you, Zane, I really do,” Mick said, trying to pacify Zane. “But running a business this way isn’t sustainable. I’m as reluctant as you, but my job is to listen to the numbers, and that’s what I’m doing here.”
Zane ran a hand through his hair, and he never looked hotter, even in his anger. The way his brow furrowed and he leaned on the bar, it was the very picture of raw, barely restrained masculinity that drove me wild.
I clenched my fist, hating myself for doing this to him.
“This is for the best, Zane,” I said.
“Fine,” he snapped, slamming his drink down on the bar, only half-finished. “You all want this so bad, fine. I’ll talk to Diego and…” For once, Zane seemed almost at a loss for words. “I’ll talk to him. If you all want me to throw the best damn thing that’s ever happened to this casino back in that Spaniard’s face, then that’s on your heads, not mine.”
With that, Zane stormed across the room without a second glance at anyone and slammed the door behind him, leaving us all in silence.
That silence lasted for a long while before Bart let out a long sigh. “Well, that went about as good as I thought it would.”
“Zane doesn’t like bad news,” Mick said, standing up and closing his folders. “We’ve known that about him since day one.”
“This is for the best, though,” I said, my guilt weighing my heart down like a ton of lead.
“I agree,” Mick said reluctantly, “just don’t expect Zane to go into this with his heart behind it. I don’t exactly think it would be good to cut ties entirely, but whether that’s avoidable is up to Zane now.”
Mick gave the two of us a nod and turned to go. “I’ll see you all around; I’ve got to go meet Eric for dinner.”
“Later,” Bart said, giving Mick a curt wave, and when the door closed behind him, Bart rounded on me with a knowing look.
“What?” I asked.
“Mick’s numbers are the only thing that could have gotten Zane to do something like this,” he said, “and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t appreciate it…”
“But…?” I asked, taking a few steps toward Bart and crossing my arms.
“Oh, don’t ‘but’ me,” he said with a chuckle, the big bear crossing his own arms and squaring up with me. “You’re good, Gage, but there’s no way you could have predicted that easing things off with La Torre would be so good for business that Mick’s numbers would back it up.”
“We both need the time for new hires,” I pointed out. “Between interviews and training and vetting, you and I need this more than anyone else.”
“Yeah, and that’s why I’m not saying anything,” Bart said, his tone friendly as ever, because both of us knew what he was getting at. “But the thing is, Gage, you always go along with what Zane wants, usually. This?” He jerked a thumb back to the center of the room. “This was like open rebellion against him. If I weren’t looking you in the eye, I’d swear you were a different man.”
I eyed Bart for a long time. He looked so peaceful past that gruff exterior that I couldn’t be mad at him, but I wasn’t ready to admit to anything yet.
“And? What are you getting at?” I challenged him.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “So, you’re gonna be like that, huh? That’s fine,” he said, walking past me to the bar for another drink. “Do what you need to do, Gage, but listen up.” He leaned on the bar and wagged a finger at me. “What we’ve all got here together is a good thing. A damn good thing. We’re all human. We can’t keep our emotions out of every little thing, but you think long and hard about whether you’ll let your emotions put this big four-way partnership of ours at risk, alright?”
I felt anger and guilt all at the same time, and I knew Bart saw it written all over my face. I didn’t dignify it with a response. I just set my drink down and walked out of the room.
“Take it easy and go get laid!” Bart called after me, but I barely heard him.
I didn’t know which of these men was going to be the death of me before the others.
CHAPTER FIVE - DEVIN
The casino was full to bursting tonight, the slot machines ringing and flashing amid the cheers and groans of winners and losers. The bar across the room was so packed with customers that I could hardly see the bartenders behind the counter. There was a line forming at the end of the bar, and there were multiple groups of what seemed to be frat guys moving around in the room. I could almost smell the cheap beer and drugstore cologne from all the way over here. The entire floor vibrated with the pulsing bass beat of the music playing through the speakers, giving the casino an almost club-like atmosphere. It was Saturday night, the neon lights had been dimmed just enough to lend a jazzy, sultry vibe to the place, and business was booming. All evening, I had been rushing to keep up with the hordes of excitable gamblers lining up at my table. Of course, none of them could possibly tell how anxious and stressed out I was. If there was one thing I had learned to perfect during my time as a blackjack dealer, it was a stone-cold poker face. I could keep all my secrets, all my internal monologues, annoyances, and amusements hidden behind a brick facade. No one was going to read my mind.
Not for lack of trying, though. I was constantly putting up with gamblers who would talk incessantly at me, trying to strike up the kind of conversation that might steer me to break my concentration and side with them. That isn’t to say that I didn’t talk at all. Some of the other dealers would stand silently and stoically, never saying a single word during their whole shifts. But I was open to conversation—light, casual conversati
on, as long as my gamblers kept playing. In fact, I had grown accustomed to using my own personal charms as a means of keeping them at my table instead of moseying over to someone else’s. I knew I was a good conversationalist, the kind of person others just feel comfortable around.
That was part of what had pushed me to try to get my psychiatry degree back in college: the fact that I was so good at talking to people and getting them to open up. My customers would share their secrets with me, whispering about their troubles, their financial issues, their professional problems. I could coax the most closed-off middle-aged good ol’ boy to open up about the failings of his marriage, his strained relationship with his daughter. I could convince a wealthy, flashy young woman to tell me all about her eating disorder, about how she’s been jealous of her younger sister her entire life. That was just part of the game: playing therapist to the people who tossed their chips on my table and let luck take control for the night. I had to stay totally impartial, of course, and it was of the utmost importance that I refrain from sharing too much about myself with my customers, even as they poured their hearts out to me over the table.
Occasionally, I had even outright lied about my background, anything to keep the conversation going without revealing too much about myself. And perhaps that sounded a little cruel or unfeeling, to lie to people as they revealed their true colors, bare and vulnerable. But it was a necessary part of my job here. I had to maintain a certain degree of detachment, of separation from the lonely souls who walked up to my table. I could not share any of my weaknesses with them, not my real weaknesses anyway. And besides, I was as truthful as I felt safe being with them, only fibbing whenever a customer tried to delve just a little too deeply into my psyche and history. Besides, it wasn’t like any of them were truly, genuinely interested in knowing all my secrets. It was the illusion of camaraderie that mattered most to them.
