All In: A Vegas Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  My album was complete. My album was complete.

  “Darling!” Michel said as I left. He handed me a CD in a plastic case. “Do not forget your copy.”

  “What is this, 1999?” I asked. “I don’t think I have anything that can play this.”

  “Do not blame me; blame the labels who still only accept CD copies.”

  The street outside Michel’s little studio was nearly deserted at this time of day. The city of Marigot, on the French half of Saint Martin, was rarely bustling. I’d learned that about Caribbean life: everyone was relaxed all the time. Nobody was in a hurry. Afternoons were for napping or relaxing on the beach, gathering your strength before going out at night.

  I paused to inhale the fresh ocean air, warm and salty as it blew south across the Anguilla Channel. I never got tired of that smell. Even when it brought with it the smell of fish from the market I didn’t mind. This was my kind of place.

  I’d never been to the Caribbean before coming here two months ago, but I could see myself living here. In between big-shot music tours, that is. Once I got famous.

  “Famous, Charles!” I said to the newspaper stand man outside Michel’s studio. I waved the CD case in his direction as I walked by. “I’m going to be famous!”

  The dark-skinned man spread his arms. “Mi amor! You are already famous to me!”

  I practically skipped down the street. I didn’t even care that my album was on a piece of technology almost as old as I was. Holding it in my hand, the physical manifestation of all my hard work, made it more real than a few FLAC files on a cloud drive.

  I took the long way home so I could walk by the cafes and sandwich shops along the Rue de Hollande. I heard the guitar long before I saw it, notes drifting across the warm air like butterflies. I found the source just inside the Marrakech, a restaurant which looked like a dilapidated shed on the outside but was full of lantern lights and expensive cushions and fine tables filled with silverware on the inside. I leaned in the doorway and smiled at the host who waved at me.

  “You float like a feather,” Xander was singing. He refused to wear the island garb of shorts and loose shirts, stubbornly wearing his jeans and long flannel shirts, but he’d ditched the cowboy hat. “In a beautiful world. And I wish I was special…”

  I grinned as I recognized the song. He’d been on a Radiohead kick lately, singing soft acoustic covers with just a hint of country twang. Some of them fell flat—the rendition of Paranoid Android he sang last week was absolutely terrible—but this version of Creep was the right combination of hauntingly beautiful.

  “…What the hell am I doin’ here?” He held the last syllable for six beats. “I don’t belong here…”

  I slipped away before he saw me. I loved listening to him try out new material, but he was surprisingly self conscious about it. It was cute in its own way. Xander didn’t mind a cafe full of tourists hearing him bomb, but he only wanted me to see his best stuff.

  The best part about living on Saint Martin was being able to walk everywhere. Aside from the logistical benefits it was nice to get some exercise, and the warm ocean breeze made my vocal chords feel stronger. When I first got here I assumed Michel was only using that as an excuse to spend his winters in the Caribbean, but now that I was here I was almost certain it was true.

  I bought oranges and fresh baked bread in the market on the way home. We’d rented a private villa, a crescent moon-shaped home of orange brick and tile, with a pool in the middle. After Bryce’s contact had cleaned our stolen money we were left with about $4 million each. Splitting the rent four ways, the villa was downright cheap compared to some of the places I’d seen in Las Vegas. Bryce had commented more than once about buying a villa like this, and I could tell he was more serious than joking.

  Maybe in the future, I thought as I walked by the garage. The cost of shipping my station wagon to the island was probably more than the car itself had cost, but after receiving it from Eddie I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave it in Vegas. Besides, it was nice to have a car on the island—even though we used it infrequently.

  “Hello?” I called as I came through the front door. I kicked off my shoes, savoring the cool tile on my bare feet. “Anyone home?”

  I peeked into the luxurious kitchen. Deserted. Same for Bryce’s office with his standing desk and three monitors.

  After checking those two places, it was easy to find him by process of elimination. Our villa had access to the beach facing Nettle Bay, one of the few areas on the north side of the island with fine sand instead of rock. I walked past our patio and pool to the beach where a blond man lay on a beach chair, arms behind his head and face tilted toward the sun. His ripped body bore a pleasant sheen.

  “I hope you wore sunscreen this time,” I said. On the table next to him was a tall glass full of ice and orange liquid, sweating in the heat.

  He turned toward me and smiled behind his sunglasses. “I learned my lesson.”

  “Did you? Because you said that the last time, yet still came back inside looking like a lobster.”

  He reached underneath him and waggled a bottle. “SPF 75.”

  “Don’t forget to reapply,” I said. “I didn’t expect to see you out here by lunch. Good morning, or bad?”

  Bryce always played poker in the morning because that’s when a lot of the Japanese and Chinese websites were busiest. But he usually played into the afternoon unless he did well… Or poorly.

  Fortunately, he grinned. “I was up $50,000 before The Price Is Right came on. This is a celebratory Mai Tai.”

  “Good, because I have some celebrating to do too.” I straddled the chair and plopped down on his lap. “Guess what this is.”

  He lifted his sunglasses to look at the CD case. “A mixed tape from songs you downloaded on Napster?”

  “Hey!”

  “Oh! I’ve got it!” he said. “A copy of Fight Club. Or Pulp Fiction. Or some other movie that came out on CD in 1995.”

  “Fight Club came out in 1999,” I said.

  “The joke still stands. I give up. What’s on that CD?”

  “My album!”

  His eyes widened. “You said it wouldn’t be completed until Saturday.”

  “We finished early. Come on! I want to play it for you.”

  He let his hands slide up my legs, settling on my waist. He pushed me down against his crotch where I could feel his hardness underneath his bathing suit.

  “Or we could stay here and have some fun.”

  I leaned in close like I was going to kiss him, then paused with my lips an inch from his. “We can have fun after.”

  He met me the rest of the way, kissing me with his soft lips. I could taste the orange liqueur from his Mai Tai on his tongue. “Do we even have something that can play a CD?”

  I ground my ass into his crotch. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

  His fingers slid underneath my sun dress and pulled it up over my hips. “We should come up with something right here.”

  I looked to the left, then the right. The closest people on the beach were hundreds of yards away. I felt a tingle of naughtiness at his proposition. Anyone could see us if they walked out of the neighboring villas.

  Before I could change my mind, I reached between us and untied the laces of his bathing suit. “Really?” he said.

  “Were you only bluffing?” I found his cock hard and ready.

  “Well, I mean…”

  I pulled it out and guided it up into the fabric of my panties, pressing against my already wet pussy. “Too scared?” I said in my best sultry voice. “Or do you want to have some fun?”

  He gave me a hungry look as he pulled my panties aside.

  I lowered myself on Bryce, impaling myself on his shaft. “Guess you called my bluff.”

  I moved my hips in a circle. “I’ve been working on my poker face too.”

  “You have a good face regardless.”

  We kissed and made love softly on the beach, slow so any
one whose gaze might drift toward us wouldn’t know anything was happening other than some innocent snuggling, and when Bryce came I kissed him even harder to drown out his cries.

  *

  When I got out of the bathroom the sound of music drifted from the office.

  Music I had made.

  Bryce sat at his computer where the speakers were pulsing with the first song on my album. A fast-paced pop song which focused on my vocals and set the tone for the rest of the album.

  “This is really good!”

  “Hey, don’t sound so surprised,” I said.

  “No, seriously,” he said. “I knew you were good, but this is really good. Professional.”

  I smiled. “Michel works wonders.”

  Bryce took me in his arms. “This isn’t Michel. This is all you.”

  I let him hold me, swaying in time to the music while we listened.

  The front door opened and closed when we were on the third song. I heard the heavy boots that Eddie wore with his uniform, and a few seconds later he appeared in the doorway of the office. Even with a new identity it had been difficult for him to get a job as a police officer on the French half of the island, but he’d managed to grease the right palms to expedite his work visa.

  “This is pretty good,” he said, listening to a few notes. “Great acoustic guitar.”

  “It’s okay, I guess,” I said, deadpan. “How was your day?”

  “Same old, same old,” he said. “Nabbed a pick pocket in the market. Caught him with four wallets—all Americans. I swear tourists are idiots around here. Other than that it was calm. Seriously, this is good. Doing research for your album?”

  I smiled to myself and waited for the vocals of the song to kick in. Eddie’s mouth hung open.

  “This is you!”

  “Heck yeah it is.”

  He pointed at the speakers. “This is really you! Are you guys done?”

  “Finished it this morning!”

  He laughed and pulled me away from Bryce, spinning me around before hugging me tight against his brown uniform. “I love it!”

  The boys had gotten pretty good at sharing me. Nobody was too possessive, though occasionally I could tell Eddie got jealous. But it was always a minor thing, and generally we all got along great.

  Which was good, because I still couldn’t choose between them. I didn’t think I would ever be able to.

  “Pause the music,” Eddie said. “I want to listen to the whole thing later, from the start. But I have something to show you.”

  We followed him into the kitchen and he opened his laptop on the counter. An internet browser was already open to a news article from the Las Vegas Sun.

  “Wow,” Bryce said softly. “So the whole thing is shutting down.”

  “Not surprising considering all the illegal activity,” Eddie said. “The casino wasn’t really all that profitable without the influx of dirty money. Plus after the raid and Yegorovich being handed over to Interpol…”

  I knew what he meant: customers didn’t want to visit the Volga after the scheme was revealed. There were too many other great casinos on the strip to spend your money at one owned by an international criminal.

  “I hope they bulldoze the place,” Bryce said.

  “Screw that,” I said. “Leave it up. A permanent reminder of their corruption.”

  I read a little farther down the article. My old roommate Angela was referenced several times. She’d been promoted after the raid and now served as the FBI liaison to Interpol. I’d gotten a cryptic text message from her a week after that crazy night:

  Angela: I never told anyone we found you on S3. Some secrets don’t need to be investigated. Hope you’re well.

  Sometimes when I lay in bed at night I wondered if she knew what we had been up to. Did Angela know about our little heist and getaway? Was she the reason nobody tracked us down after the helicopter was found? Or did she think I was just an innocent cocktail waitress who had found herself in a poker tournament and then in Yegorovich’s private company, a victim to shitty circumstances?

  Glad you’re doing well, Angela, I thought as I finished the article on the Volga’s shutdown.

  Eddie changed and got started on dinner—he’d taken to cooking since we moved down here, and the rest of us were happy to be his taste testers. Tonight was redfish in cream sauce with chard salad and asparagus. We ate fish a lot since it was one of the few things that didn’t need to be imported to the island. That was the only thing I disliked about living down here. A can of Coke cost $5 at the market!

  “Howdy howdy,” Xander called as he came through the front door.

  “There he is!” I said. “Heard you playing Radiohead at the cafe this afternoon.”

  Normally that would have sent him hemming and hawing about how he didn’t like us listening to his raw music, that he performed far away from us so he wouldn’t be self conscious. But as he came into the kitchen he wore a funny look on his face.

  “We’ve got a guest.”

  He stepped out of the way to reveal a small man with a shock of white hair. It had only been a few hours since I’d seen him but he had already changed into a new outfit. “Michel!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  He revealed what he was hiding behind his back: a bottle of champagne. “Darling, I have come to celebrate.”

  “Not that I’m the kind of girl to turn down champagne, but finishing the album is only the first step,” I said. “We still need to get a record label to bite.”

  Michel already had the foil peeled away and was twisting off the protective cap. “Darling, we do not celebrate simply finishing an album.”

  “Then what…”

  The cork exploded from the bottle, bouncing off the ceiling and then rolling across the floor. Michel held the bottle high with a smile on his normally serious face. “A contract will be arriving within the hour!”

  “Let’s not jinx it,” Xander said. “Every label I’ve worked with moves at a glacial pace. It’ll be weeks before you hear back from any.”

  “You misunderstand,” Michel said while opening and closing cabinets. “I sent samples of your album to three of my close personal contacts. Two responded within an hour.”

  I waited for him to elaborate. “Well? Tell me!”

  He found the champagne flutes and pulled down five, then looked at me with confusion. “Is it not obvious from the context? They want to sign you right away. I am trying to get them into a bidding war, but I cannot promise anything.”

  I let out a squeal that could be heard across the entire island and tackled Michel with a hug.

  “No way!” Xander said. “A contract the same day is unheard of. I don’t believe it.”

  Michel pointed the bottle of champagne, not caring that some spilled out the end. “Believe it, cowboy! Our dear Sage is a desirable young woman.”

  “Oh, we know,” Bryce said, hugging me from behind. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

  I got goosebumps thinking about it. I’d been expecting to spend the next few months relaxing on the beach while waiting to hear back from record labels. Now I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.

  “So which label are we going to sign with tonight?” I asked.

  Michel poured champagne into the glasses. “Darling, we are not signing with anyone tonight.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “We are not going to sign with anyone for at least a month!”

  I stared. “But…”

  Michel passed out glasses. “I am going to take the offers we get tonight and shop them around to every record label in the world. Once everyone hears that someone is trying to snatch up a young new singer within hours of hearing her demo, you’ll be like the prom queen. Everyone will want to get in your pants!”

  I accepted a glass of champagne numbly. It was all so much to take in. It was all happening so fast.

  “Do you approve of this strategy, darling?” Michel asked before we toasted. “If you wish, we can
sign whatever low-ball contract arrives tonight and be done with it. But I have big plans for you, and you must be in with all your heart.”

  “I’m in,” I said without hesitation. “I’m all in.”

  “Me too,” Xander said, and I could tell he wasn’t talking about the record contract. “Whatever comes next, count me in.”

  “And me,” Eddie said. “All that attention means you’re going to need private security.” He gave me a sly grin. “I might know a guy.”

  “I’m out,” Bryce said.

  I whirled on him. “What?”

  “Just kidding. Of course I’m in. Oof!” he grunted as I poked him in the ribs.

  “You’re not funny.”

  “I’m a little funny.”

  “Not even a little.”

  Michel cleared his throat. He didn’t like it when someone else was the center of attention. “To our dear Sage, the world’s next big star. May we all aid in her success!”

  Three sets of eyes looked at me with pride. Bryce’s crystal blue gaze, a hint of excited laughter in them. Eddie’s serious green eyes, trying his best to stay reserved even though he wanted to jump for joy. And Xander’s dark eyes which watched me from across the kitchen island, full of music and love.

  “To Sage,” they all said, toasting the air and their shared lover.

  I felt goosebumps as I sipped my champagne, excited for what the future might bring.

  Epilogue

  Sage

  Eight Years After the Heist

  I held my final note as long as my lungs would allow, striking a pose with my microphone held high as the crowd roared their approval. AT&T Stadium, the massive indoor arena where the Dallas Cowboys played, was filled to capacity for my show. 100,000 people all here to see me, Sage Parker.

  When my lungs were totally spent I cut off my song, raising my hands in the air to wave to the crowd. Their roar of pleasure changed to a roar of disappointment that the show was over, but I had given them three encore songs already, and I was exhausted. More so than usual.