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“Princess,” he growled.
I was acutely aware there were cameras on me that recorded both audio and visual.
“I’m in the elevator heading to the floor now.”
“Got it,” he muttered.
“There are a few small details that need to be addressed but nothing too concerning.”
“Call me when you can and stay alert.”
“Will do.”
I disconnected the call and waited for the doors to open.
The familiar sounds of the casino floor did nothing to calm my racing nerves. I looked around the flashing slot machines that at one time had given me a thrill of excitement and wondered if I was fighting and pushing to move up at the casino because I loved my job or if it was to prove something to my father.
I watched the roulette dealer wave his hand over the board, halting bets. I used to find it fascinating to watch people gamble. Exhilarating when I heard hoots and hollers of a big win. Now I was numb to it. I did love working in hospitality, but it was the Vegas part I was no longer sure of. There were hotels all over the country I could work for. But that would mean my father would win.
Gah.
There was my answer.
Sadly, I was, at thirty-nine, still dealing with my daddy issues.
Maybe it was time I stopped caring what a man who didn’t have the time of day for me thought, and took my advice to Diana and just quit.
FOURTEEN
“There’s going to be a murder in the near future if you don’t stop clicking that pen,” Jack groused.
I clicked the pen closed and tossed in on the seat cushion next to me.
“Sorry, I was thinking.”
“I know you’ve got a head full of a certain pretty, brown-eyed woman.”
Christ.
We were back to this.
“I’m not the man for Atlee Levine,” I told Jack and went back to the report I’d been pretending to read.
Because, of course, Jack was right and I had been thinking about Atlee, not reading the intel Rhode had sent on Louis Evans.
“You’re not the man or you won’t let yourself be?” he pushed.
“Same thing.”
“No, boss, nowhere near the same thing.”
I lifted my gaze from the screen in front of me to find Jack staring at me.
A look passed over Jack’s face. An expression I’d seen before many times—softening of the eyes, facial muscles going slack, mouth tight.
Pity.
Fuck.
