by Coco Miller
He scrubs a hand over his face and nods. "Well, there's just one problem with all this and it makes me feel terrible."
My heart sinks. What am I going to do now? Well, I guess instead of celebrating a new job my first night in Vegas, I’m going to be applying to more jobs tonight instead.
“The blackjack training program is full as of this morning. Now, I know what I’m about to say isn’t what you want, but I think you’ll do well at it. You’re a pretty girl, smart, and have a nice smile. Would you be interested in a cocktail waitress position? Some nights, they make even more money than the dealers. And if you're still interested, when the next dealer program starts, you'll be the first on the list."
A smile takes over my entire face and I nod too enthusiastically. “Yes, please. I’ll do anything right now, honestly. And I definitely want to be considered for the next program."
"I'm already marking you down, but it is the season for gambling so cocktail waitresses are in high demand. Go to HR, and they will give you the uniform you'll be wearing. You'll be getting a packet on our rules and your first few shifts. I’ll see you on the floor, okay?”
"You mean to tell me you can leave the view long enough to come to check on us?" I say, light-heartedly.
“Absolutely. This office can get stuffy. I need to know how my employees are doing and what I need to change to make them happy. We care here. I know Mary, my assistant, doesn't necessarily fit the bill but... she’s the best damn assistant I’ve ever had.”
“That explains so much,” I mumble. “The two minutes of interaction I had with Mary made me second guess working here."
He tosses his head back and laughs, which makes him look a bit younger as he flashes his straight white teeth.
"No need to be nervous. You're great and you're hired. When can you start, though? So I know to put it on the packet you take to HR.”
“As soon as possible. Now, if you want.”
“Eager, I like that. You’re going to do well here, Ms. Banks. I know being a waitress isn’t the dream, but all of us need to start somewhere. I was the assistant to the assistant's assistant when I started back before the paper was made."
“Oh, you can’t be that old. You don’t look a day over forty!”
“Aren’t you sweet. If only. Those were the good years.”
He gets up and buttons his blazer, and I take it as a cue to get up as well. He holds out his hand for me to shake, and when I meet it, he places a hand on my shoulder as he steers me out of his office.
"It's nice to meet you. Follow this hallway all the way and make a right, HR will be right there. I’ll see you around, okay?”
I give him a smile that could brighten an entire room. “Sounds like a plan.”
When I start to walk away, it might be me overthinking things, but his hand seems to linger for a few seconds too long until I am too far out of reach for him to touch me. I glance over the curve of my shoulder and notice him watching me walk down the hall, giving me a friendly wave when he notices that he has been caught.
No, it’s all in my head. This is a new start, and my boss is a friendly old man.
But if that’s true, then why am I walking down the hallway faster?
5
Duncan
“Go ahead, say it,” Easton says as we step off his private jet toward the SUV.
“I’m not going to say it.”
“You know you want to.”
I shake my head and take my phone out of my pocket. Now that it's fully charged, I’m waiting for a text back from Naomi. She left a few voicemails, which I saved because the sound of her voice soothes me in a way nothing else has been able to, not even alcohol. She also sent a few texts a while back, and I finally answered her back, telling her I wasn't ignoring her but that I had lost myself for a bit.
I wonder if she’s read them. She hasn't messaged back and it's been hours. The last time she saw me can’t be the last time she sees me. I need her to see me again when I’m not on the verge of a mental break down.
“She’ll message you back,” Easton says as he climbs into the black SUV.
I stuff my phone in my pocket and shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I hate how Easton seems to know everything that's going on with me. Okay, I don't hate it. He's my best friend and it’s his job to know these things, but it’s unsettling sometimes how he always knows what I’m thinking.
“Surrre, you don’t. Naomi Banks, your high school best friend and the only woman you have ever been in love with? Not her, huh?”
I stare out the window, taking in all the significant buildings, flashing lights, and the number of people walking on the sidewalk. Street performers draw clusters of people in along with the Bellagio’s water show. Blues, purples, and green lights strobe as the water dances from the digital manipulation. It’s a beautiful sight.
Easton is right. I’m glad to be out of the house and back to the land of the living. I feel better than I did two weeks ago and that's progress. I’ve had a hundred people say it just takes time to heal, but it isn’t just about healing. It’s about learning to live my life differently without my mother’s presence. It’s about adapting and adapting takes time.
Healing after someone you love dies…it doesn’t just happen. There’s always that major piece of your life missing.
Time—what a joke.
“You okay?”
“You're right," I say, flicking the lent off my pant leg. "I needed this."
He's right about Naomi too, but I can't inflate his ego too much or I'll never live it down.
“I need a break from reality.”
“I’m glad to give it to you, Duncan.”
“How’s Zola doing? You said a while back that the pregnancy was hard on her."
He turned the blinker on as he made a lefthand turn at the red light.
“Things are better. She isn’t alone. She has one of her friends staying with her while she is on bed rest this last month, but I wouldn't have come if the doctor hadn’t assured me that everything was okay. Plus I think Zola wanted me to leave. She said I was smothering her. How could she say that? If I’m smothering her, it’s because I care. Hell, she’s carrying my baby.”
“She needs breathing room too, Easton,” I smile.
It feels good to talk about something other than me.
“I’m sure she gets tired of you telling her what she needs to do, eat, walk, and move,” I chuckle a little remembering the last time I went over to their house. Zola threw an entire chocolate cake at him after he said she couldn't eat it because it would cause her blood sugar to rise, which could induce early labor if she wasn’t careful.
“I swear I’m still washing cake out of my hair,” he grumbles.
She’s a firecracker that Zola.
“It’s funny how things work out, huh? I never thought you and Zola would make an actual go of it.”
“She’s easy to fall in love with,” he says with so much adoration that it’s impossible not to tell he is head over heels for her.
Yeah, that’s how I’ve felt about Naomi. Even after five years of not keeping in touch, she’s the only woman I ever thought about every day. When I saw her at the funeral, more beautiful than ever, I thought, “That’s her. That’s the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” And I’ve known that since I was fourteen and dealing with the hardships puberty brought. Why have I never done anything about it?
We pull into Caesar's Palace, and the valet guy, who can’t be more than eighteen years old, runs in front of the SUV and opens Easton’s door. Easton gives him the keys to the rented Range Rover and tips him two−hundred bucks.
“Thank you, sir. Do you need help with your luggage?”
"No, thanks. We got it.”
Easton pops the trunk and we reach in to grab our suitcases. The entrance to the hotel is extravagant. It has intricate carvings that mimic classic roman design. A large red velvet carpet laid on the ground, plush with
a lot of cushions, and my shoes sink into as we stroll through the automatic doors. A gush of a/c makes my face cold, but the singing of slot machines quickly heats my blood by pumping my heart full of excitement. I worked hard to make my money but staring at the slot machines, blackjack, and craps tables; I can't wait to blow it. Or if I get lucky, I’ll win. This trip isn’t about winning. It’s just about adapting again.
“So who is meeting us here?” I ask, almost slamming into a waitress who is carrying an entire tray of drinks. "Sorry," I shout after her, but she pays no mind, slithering through the crowd of money-hungry people.
“My friend Rowan is meeting us. I met him traveling for work. He’s…different from what you’d expect.”
“Different how?”
“You’ll see,” Easton says.
I decide not to think a second more about it. If Easton trusts him, then I trust him. We finally get to the front desk, marble with gold trim.
"Hi, welcome to Caesar's Palace. My name is Isles. How can I help you today?"
“Hi, Isles,” Easton greets, setting his suitcase on the ground. “I have a reservation under Easton Steele.”
Her eyes round with surprise, and her cheeks turn a shade of red. "Mr. Steele. I'm so sorry; I should have known it was you.” Her hands fly over the keyboard as she types, “Of course, here is your key. You have the penthouse suite with two extra rooms. I have here you are staying for a week. You will have complimentary champagne delivered every night. Thank you for being a gold-plated member for five years.”
“It’s okay, Isles. Not a problem at all. Thank you so much. Can you have someone deliver our bags? We are ready to hit the casino floor if you don't mind."
"Of course, Mr. Steele. I will take them up personally," Isles says, hurrying around the counter. She's cute in an 'I'm a complete mess' kind of way. I can tell she is trying to make up for not knowing who Easton was, but we know being rich doesn't make us famous, we just wished other people knew that.
“Isles, take a breath, okay?” I reach into my pocket and pull out a hundred. “You’re doing great.”
The whites of her eyes show again. “Thank you, Mr–?”
“Gold.”
“Dunk−in−Gold?” she stutters, licking her dry lips.
“If I say no, would that make you relax?”
“No, because you’d be lying.”
I slide the money into her palm and smile. “Have a good night, Isles.”
I quicken my steps to catch up to Easton and feel better than I have in a while. Come to think of it; I've been weighed down by knowing my mom is going to die for so long that I can't remember the last time I had fun.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Easton says before we step down to the smoke-filled room. I don’t smoke but I wouldn’t mind having a cigar.
“Nothing, just thinking about how good I feel right now. Where’s your friend?”
“He said his flight got delayed two hours. He is flying from Ireland, so I’m not too surprised.”
“Ireland? To come to Vegas? We should have gone there.”
“It was Rowan’s idea. I think he wanted to get away too.”
Huh, interesting.
“What do you want to do?”
I take a good look around, looking over the crowd. A few people are celebrating by the penny slots, an older couple. Each of them is wearing a visor and a fanny pack. To the right of them, a man holds out his palm to the woman next to him. She’s wearing a tight black dress that pushes her breasts up to her chin. Her lips are painted red, and she smiles when she realizes what he wants.
She bends over and blows on the set of dice, bringing luck. He rolls them, and he shouts with celebration when he gets what he wants. He wraps his arm around the woman, kissing her cheek. I guess she brings him luck after all. It's all overwhelming but in a good way.
“Blackjack?” I feel a bit devilish. I shouldn’t play cards, but playing by the rules is something I don’t want to do right now.
Easton’s lips twitch in a knowing smirk when he remembers my secret.
A secret he only knows.
6
Naomi
My feet are killing me, my cheeks are killing me from smiling so much, and this uniform keeps riding up my ass. It’s supposed to but damn it’s uncomfortable. I’m wearing a black bodysuit corset paired with red stockings and black stiletto heels. The corset sucks my stomach in and pushes my boobs up, the bottom half of the bodysuit settles right between my butt cheeks.
The uniform is a downside but the tips? Holy shit, the tips are amazing. I’ve already made two-thousand dollars because Mr. Salvatore, my boss, put me in the VIP section. The uniform is kind of slutty and the work isn’t glamorous, but it feels so good to have money.
“Naomi! Table sixteen, new people. Go,” the head waitress orders as she struts by me with empty glasses on her tray.
I get up and wince when my feet tingle and ache from being pushed in the tight confinements of these shoes.
“I’m going,” I groan and grab my notepad to take their orders. A few people shout out me from other tables, but they aren’t in my section, so I push on, turning my body left and right to miss the incoming bodies.
Everyone looks so wealthy. All the men are in fancy suits, and the women have on long gowns that are tailor made to their curves. Their necks, ears, wrists, and fingers are dripping in diamonds.
And here I am, nearly losing my mind over my tips. It goes to show how different social classes are. The game has started when I get to table sixteen and I start from the right, taking orders until I get to the last two men.
“Naomi?”
Oh, no.
This is not happening.
My breath hitches when I hear the familiar deep voice that has starred in too many of my late-night dreams. My pen falls from my hand and I try to hide my cleavage with my tiny notebook.
“Duncan?” I say with horror. He has never seen so much of my body before.
“Well, it’s funny to see you here, Naomi,” Easton says, turning in his seat, tapping his finger on the green felt to signal the dealer to hit.
“Um, yeah. Wow. What are the chances?”
“Chances are pretty great,” Easton singsongs.
What is he so smug about?
“Naomi, what are you wearing?” Duncan asks.
My cheeks are on fire being caught by Duncan. I don't feel like I'm doing anything wrong, but being near him, it makes me second guess if I should be doing this. I bend over to grab my pen, and Duncan’s shoes push it closer to my fingers. When I stand, he is so close I can smell his cologne and it nearly makes me dizzy. I want to fall into him and bury my nose in his chest forever.
“Answer me,” he says.
I clear my throat and click my pen, removing my notepad from my breasts. “I’m here to take your drink orders. Easton, what can I get you?”
Easton scrubs his hand over his mouth but doesn't bother to hide his grin. "A scotch on the rocks, top−shelf.”
"You got it." I spin around and my hair fans out, hitting Duncan in the chest. "And what can I get you?"
“A reason why you are wearing that?” He unbuttons his blazer and shrugs it off.
“What are you doing? No, Duncan.” It's no use. He covers my shoulders with it and the jacket hangs down to my knees, effectively covering my ass. "Duncan—"
“You can’t wear this, Naomi. I’m not saying you can’t, but I’m saying you shouldn’t.”
“What are you my daddy?” His eyes darken. Wait, what I said didn’t come out the way I meant it to. “Listen, it isn’t up to you, Duncan. I need to work. This job makes money. I need money. Now, stop making this more awkward than it is and tell me what I can get you from the bar.”
Duncan growls, actually growls. The rumble in his chest is sexy and heart throbbing, making the thin bodysuit I'm wearing wet, leaving me hot and bothered. “I’ll order if you leave my jacket on.”
I lift my chin, take the jacket off and throw it in hi
s face. “Then I guess you’ll die of thirst! I’ll be back with your drink, Easton.” I huff, adding an extra sway to my hips as I walk away.
I blow out a breath and try to relax. I never expected him to be here, ever. I never expected to see him again, to be honest, but here he is, mad about what I’m wearing. I’m confused. Is he disgusted? Does he like what he sees? What’s the big deal?
I place Easton’s order in and make a trip around the room to gather empty glasses and more drink orders but I’m being watched. I feel Duncan’s gaze on me, igniting a fire within my belly. I want to make him happy. I want to wear his blazer and feel the warmth of it from him wearing it all day, but I want to wear it because he is jealous, not because he is an overprotective friend.
Sighing, I pick up another glass, and someone bumps into me. The pint glass falls out of my hand and then the man who bumped into me wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his body. I try to wiggle free, but I can’t.
"Sir, let me go," I say, pushing against his chest. Vodka and smoke are rancid on his tongue as he breathes in my face. He bites his lip as he checks me out.
“Look at you,” he slurs. “So fucking pretty. Fuck, what I’d do to you.” His hand slips down my back and grabs my ass and I whimper. No one is helping because this is the life everyone is used to living in the casino. I don't feel safe. I feel violated. Tears burn my eyes and I push harder against his chest.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
A tear breaks free when I hear Duncan’s voice. Nothing’s changed since high school. He always saves me.
“Back off. She and I are busy.”
“I said,” Duncan’s hand lands on the man’s shoulder and turns him around, breaking his hold on me. “Let. Her. Go.”
“Fuck. You.” The drunk man stabs his finger on Duncan’s chest.
And Duncan lets out a sarcastic chuckle, stretches his fingers by curling them into his palm and straightening them.
“No one touches her,” his voice deepens, and the boy I once knew disappears, and the man I love replaces him.
