I didn’t finish school. I was given a much more tantalizing offer: to become a card-counting casino maven, tricking witless men into emptying their pockets onto the table, seemingly summoning piles of red and black chips like an enchantress. Just a snap of my perfectly manicured fingers, and the world spilled out into my lap.
Most of the time, I am not affected in the least by the whims and wants of men. I can see right through them, adding them up to divide and conquer just like I do with a deck of cards under fluorescent lights. The idea of ever meeting a man who could keep up with me, physically or mentally, is a bygone dream.
The more sharply I hone my illicit craft, the harder it becomes to imagine a man who resists the equation. So many of them are so easily reduced to numbers. Even the big, tough, brawny guys in their Range Rovers and limousines and glossy Teslas cannot match my stride. I move too quickly. I think too quickly. I am a chameleon, and if there’s one thing I have learned about men, it’s that they do not like a woman who’s hard to pin down.
But this guy, this devilishly handsome man in a sleek, black designer suit expertly tailored to emphasize every rounded muscle and sharp, lean line of his body, has me admittedly a little stumped. When I look at him, it’s a little tricky to find the numbers. He’s not easily fitted to an equation. He’s more complicated than that, I can tell. I knew that before he even opened his mouth to say something to me.
I have to confess, he makes me just a little bit nervous. That’s new. That’s unusual.
And yet, I know how to keep my cool. It takes more than just a pretty face and a low, growly voice to unsettle the likes of me. So I give him a tiny but potent gift in return: a smile.
“Can I sit here?” he asks, that voice so deep and rough as a gravel road.
I don’t want to seem overly eager, but I can’t reveal my nervousness either. It’s all about waiting for the right prey to drift into my net without sacrificing my place. So I give him a little shrug of my shoulder, biting my plush bottom lip as I gaze up at him through a veil of thick dark lashes. I nod slowly, never breaking eye contact with this absolute rugged mountain of a man.
“It’s a free country, handsome. You can sit wherever you like,” I purr, leaning back in such a way that my chest is emphasized and my long waves of hair cascade delicately over my left shoulder. “And with a face like that, I doubt you ever have to ask permission in the first place,” I added pointedly.
“Chivalry is next to godliness,” he replies coolly, taking the bar stool next to mine.
I raise a perfectly arched eyebrow. “I thought it was cleanliness,” I answer.
“Clean is a given,” he says. “Chivalry is an art.”
“And I bet you think you’re very, very good at it, don’t you?” I tease, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.
“Good enough to have convinced a girl like you to speak to me,” he counters deftly.
My heart skips a beat and the sensation is so unusual it almost makes me frown in surprise. But I manage to maintain my trademark aloofness. I won’t let the mask slip from my face so easily. This guy may be a slippery fish compared to my usual prey, but if there’s one thing I’m never afraid of, it’s a challenge.
Most of the time, even when a man works up the courage to approach me, I can feel him quaking in his shiny leather loafers. I have a sixth sense for a man’s weakness, the little crack in his armor where the light fights through. It just doesn’t usually take me so long to locate it. But I’ll be patient. I’ve already met my dollar quota tonight. The feeding frenzy is over. I have time for a little game of cat and mouse.
Although, judging by the hungry, almost wolfish look in his eyes as he watched me, I’m a little uncertain as to which one of us is playing which role.
“And what makes you think it’s hard work to get a conversation out of me?” I ask innocently, changing my tactic a little bit. Clearly, this man isn’t as vulnerable to the femme fatale effect. Maybe he’s more swayed by a poor little lost girl. A delicate flower. Sometimes a beast is better tamed by a lullaby than a whip.
He chuckles softly to himself, peering at me out of the corner of his eye as he turns to face the bar counter, preparing to order a drink. “Well, there’s nothing especially approachable about a woman with the face of an angel who’s wearing red stilettos. I have a feeling most men are a little intimidated by you, right?” he says sagely. And correctly. But I’m not ready to throw out my masquerade just yet. I’ve got a few cards up my sleeve, still.
“Intimidated? By me? I wouldn’t say that,” I reply coquettishly, tossing my thick red mane. The guy just smirks at me, his face nigh unreadable. It’s a little unnerving, the way he seems to evade my usual psych-out tactics. I keep firing at his heart, but it’s like he’s wearing a bulletproof vest.
“So this whole siren look is meant to be, what, modest?” he goads me gently.
I smile at him, but I give him a warning with my eyes. I am not to be toyed with. I don’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to mind or even notice. He gives the bartender a subtle nod to call him over, which is an impressive feat considering how crowded the bar area has become. There are big-spending men dressed to kill, modelesque women in haute couture, all of them clamoring for the bartender’s attention, even offering him little bribes of cash in exchange for some service. But my strange new companion hardly has to move a muscle to cut to the front of the queue.
The bartender, a burly guy whose name tag reads ANTONIO in shiny gold lettering, slides down to lean on the counter in front of us. “What’ll it be, folks?” he asks.
“Gin and tonic for me,” comes the smooth reply, “and a vodka cranberry for my new friend here.”
I open my mouth to protest, but realize there’s no point. He’s right on the money. That is precisely what I would have ordered if given the chance, although usually I prefer to sip tap water while on the job. It’s a strategic choice, not a cop-out. Tap water looks like any variety of clear liquor, it keeps me hydrated and looking dewy fresh, and it allows me to stay clear-headed even while my fellow casino-goers get progressively sloppy and loose with their money throughout the night. Now, though, I’m finished with that for the evening, and a vodka cranberry is the perfect sweet ending to my shift.
“You got it, sir,” Antonio the bartender says, and immediately gets to work. He expertly pours our drinks and slides them across the bar to us, then asks, “Would you like to start a tab?”
My companion nods. “Yes. I would,” he says.
Sipping my drink, I give him a wary look. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you to assume our conversation will last long enough for more than one drink,” I tell him, hoping my carefully-sharpened words will knock him off his game.
But he seems unperturbed. “Maybe. But you strike me as the kind of woman who would scoff at anything less,” he explains. “I’m not cheap.”
“Your ensemble tells me that,” I quip, looking him up and down.
He smiles and says, “By the way, my name is Dominick.”
There it is. I feel a tiny cheer of victory deep in my soul. I always prefer for my men to give themselves up first. “Enchanted to meet you. I’m Naomi,” I lie.
My name isn’t Naomi, but for tonight, it might as well be. I’ve learned that a name can be a precious jewel to guard. Not just anyone can have it. They have to earn it.
“Naomi,” he repeats, the syllables sounding musical on his tongue. “Not the name I would have guessed, but it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“So, Naomi, tell me what it is that brings you to a place like this,” Dominick asks, and I can tell he’s genuinely interested in the answer. That’s strange. Most men don’t care.
“What brings anyone to a casino?” I answer with a playful shrug. “It’s the adrenaline rush. The joy of the game.”
“I noticed. You’re either the luckiest girl in the world or the smartest,” he says wisely.
I smile, twirling a lock of hair around m
y finger. “Can’t I be both?” I tease.
He nods slowly. “Yes. In fact, I have a sense that you are many different things, Naomi. I’ll bet you’re just as comfortable at a casino bar here in Vegas as you would be sitting on a bench at the gardens of Versailles.”
Again, I feel my heart skip a beat. How annoying.
“The gardens are lovely,” I tell him, toying with the straw in my drink, “but it’s the palace that’ll blow your mind.”
“So, you’re into architecture,” Dominick notes.
“I’m into all things old and beautiful,” I reply. “There’s nothing like walking through the vaulted archways of Notre Dame, hearing some centuries-old hymn echoing in the rafters.”
“You’re well-traveled, then,” he points out. “I figured.”
I rest my chin on my fist as I look at him, letting my guard slip for a moment. I love talking about the places I’ve traveled to, especially with someone who doesn’t begrudge me the luxury or think I’m some uppity snob for it. I don’t travel so that I can boast about it later. I travel because I love to challenge myself, to learn new things, to be a stranger in a crowd for once.
As Dominick and I talk about the places we’ve been and the sights we’ve seen, I find myself leaning in a little closer to him, until, two more vodka cranberries later, there are only a few inches left between us. I have never been so magnetically drawn to a man in my life. It’s not that he has the upper hand, either. I feel like the two of us are standing on equal ground. I don’t have to make myself smaller or taller to fit him. He knows how to mold to my shape, just on instinct.
And I have to admit, I find it completely intriguing.
So when he murmurs, “Should we consider taking our conversation somewhere with a little more privacy?” it isn’t apprehension or annoyance I feel. It’s excitement.
“I have a room upstairs,” I reply in a hushed voice.
Dominick smiles. “Let’s go.”
I even let him take my hand as he pays the bar tab with a handsome tip and the two of us slip away through the drunken crowds. I wonder if he can hear how hard my heart is beating. I wonder if he can smell the adrenaline pumping through my veins. It takes quite a lot to excite me these days, and generally the only thing that makes my heart thump is the feeling of cold hard cash in my hand. But Dominick has me longing for something different. Something a little less impersonal. Something intimate.
We make it halfway to the elevator that will take us upstairs when my cell phone starts to vibrate in my handbag. Frowning slightly, I stop in place and take it out, my eyes going wide when I see the name on the screen.
“I apologize,” I tell Dominick quickly. “I have to take this.”
“No worries,” he says, stepping away a few yards to give me some space.
I slide the screen open to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. “Vanessa,” I say.
“Hadley,” she gasps, her voice sounding frantic and out of breath. “Are you there? Can you hear me? Please god, say you’re there.”
My heart sinks. This doesn’t sound good at all. “I’m here, Vanessa, I’m here. What’s wrong? Calm down,” I murmur, keeping my voice low.
I hear Vanessa heave a few deep, ragged breaths, and I can positively feel the tears streaming down her pretty face, leaving streaks of black mascara. “I-I’m scared. He hurt me. I don’t know what to do. Please—please help me.”
Dominick
I’ve been standing by the hotel room window, staring out at the alluring white and neon lights of Vegas glowing up at me, pretending to be distracted. I can’t help but overhear what the girl is saying, though, partly because I’m in the room, and partly because it’s my job to listen.
I didn’t believe her name to be Naomi for a second, but I’ll go with that for now. Honest guests don’t show up at my floor and clean out a table full of professionals for a quick million, and they certainly don’t take secret calls in their hotel rooms. I’ve long since abandoned the theory that she’s just an escort of some kind.
She’s more than that, and that makes her both more dangerous and more intriguing.
Vanessa. I make a mental note of the name, but all I have to go on is what “Naomi” is saying. It sounds like she’s friends with this person, or at least close to her in some way. She dropped the name, too, which doesn’t seem appropriate for someone as obviously experienced as she is.
I have a few advantages here. First, she doesn’t seem to know I’m either security or working for the mob that runs this place. My boss is Jerry Laskin, one of the most dangerous and feared names in Vegas right now. That carries weight, and I can guarantee that if she had a scrap of a hint that I answer to him, she’d be treating me very differently, probably not even engaging with me out of fear I’d catch on to... whatever she’s doing. Second, whatever’s going on with Vanessa sounds urgent enough that she’s dropping her guard, at least a little bit.
Far be it from me to take advantage of a vulnerable woman, but I could get some valuable intel out of this, if I play my cards right.
Or, she could be stringing me along for something even more elaborate. “Naomi” is full of different possibilities, all of them interesting. Regardless, if she doesn’t know who I am, I need to keep it that way.
There’s a very good reason I’m not dressed like the rest of security and don’t like the guests seeing me act like security. She doesn’t need to know that reason. Nobody does. Not until my job is done.
“Vanessa, calm—I need you to calm down, take slow, deep breaths like we practiced,” she says as I stare out the window. “Where are you?” A pause. “Okay, stay there, I’m on my way. Keep the door locked, don’t answer until you see my text and can see me standing outside the door. Okay? Okay, good. See you soon. Breathe.”
She clenches her jaw as she ends the call, staring at the phone with a worried look on her face. It’s the most she’s let her guard down since we first saw each other. A moment later, she looks up at me, and I feel an arrow through my heart.
At first, she looks like she forgot I was there entirely, like I just intruded on a very private, intimate conversation. There’s defiance mixed with surprise in those eyes that reflect part of the Vegas skyline through the window. Even so, they’re so deep and expressive that I feel my heart thud harder against my chest as our gazes meet. There’s something so profound about the way her eyes can lock into mine that for just a second, it makes me doubt whether I’m really in control of this situation.
“Sounds serious,” I say mildly.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” she says, brushing a stray lock of red hair out of her face. “I don’t know how much of that you actually heard, but a friend of mine needs me to come see her. I hate to be that kind of person, but…” She pauses, looking me up and down. “Can we pick this up another time?”
“We could,” I say, taking a few slow steps toward her. She doesn’t flinch, nor so much as move a muscle, even with the dim lights behind me casting an ominous shadow over my figure. I know how intimidating my body can be to most, but “Naomi” is definitely made of something stronger than that. “But if you would like a hand, I know a little muscle can make some problems go away.”
“I don’t recall saying this was a problem that muscle could solve,” she says, cool as ice.
“You didn’t,” I admit. “But the kinds of problems women like you have in a casino like this tend to be the kind where a little muscle doesn’t hurt.”
“And what does ‘women like me’ mean?” she asks.
“The kind who catch my eye,” I answer.
Her jaw clenches again, and I can tell she’s looking for an excuse to tell me no, so I finally give a soft smile and start to walk toward the door.
“If you’re holding out for me to say ‘wait’, you’re going to be disappointed,” she says as I walk past her and rest my hand on the door handle.
“How about I just block the door until you make up your mind, then?”
Sh
e hesitates, and that tells me I’ve already won.
“Fine,” she says, trying to play it off as if she’s the one doing me a favor by letting me tag along. “I... Vanessa can get a little ahead of herself this time, so honestly, I don’t know what kind of problem I’m walking in on. She’s staying here at this hotel. If you’re not doing anything, I could probably use your help.”
“I’m not doing anything any more than you are,” I say without missing a beat, pushing the door open and winking at her as she steps through. She rolls her eyes, but I could swear I see a smirk on her face from the side as she walks by with her head held high.
She’s proud, confident, and quick. I had my suspicions I was dealing with a professional of some kind, and now, I’m sure of it.
We make our way down the hallway and to the elevators, then down a few floors. I follow “Naomi” all the way to one of the rooms near the end of the hall, where she quickly sends a text before knocking on the door and standing in view of the peephole. I make a point to stand back from there, peering at her thoughtfully.
Soon, I hear the sound of a door unbolting, and the room opens. A willowy wisp of a woman with long, dark, glossy hair appears in the crack of the door, looking nervously at “Naomi” for a moment before opening the door the rest of the way.
“Hadley, thank god,” she breathes, and then she sees me and freezes.
“It’s okay, Vanessa,” Hadley says quickly while I hold back a smile at learning her real name. “He’s fine, I brought him along in case you were in trouble. Is anyone here with you?”
Vanessa shakes her head, still peering at me uneasily, but she finally steps aside to let both of us in.
“Vanessa, this is Dominick,” Hadley says gently as we step inside. “Dominick, this is Vanessa, a friend of mine.”
Betting on Love Page 2
