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“A Coke, if you have it,” Dario responded.
“Certainly.”
I turned from them, moving down the steps and to the main floor, bee-lining for the bar, and shaking my head when Britni shot me a quizzical look. I grabbed a tumbler and fixed Lance’s usual, then grabbed a glass and filled it with ice, opening one of the small bottles of Coke and pouring it in.
I glanced up at the entrance balcony where I’d left the men. Dario Capece rested his forearms on the railing. They looked friendly, and I wondered what they were discussing. His gaze connected with mine and I turned away, stacking the items on the tray and adding the dark purple House napkins. I stalled for a moment, taking a steadying breath before I hoisted the tray on my shoulder and headed for the stairs. Delivering drinks wasn’t exactly ground-breaking stuff, something I could do blindfolded and one-handed. I had no reason to be nervous.
But something about him, something about that short exchange and the way his face had pulled into a smile… I felt unsure and exhilarated, all at the same time—a dangerous combination around a man like him.
Four
I knew what to do. I’d served princes and presidents, celebrities and mobsters. I was to deliver drinks and disappear. I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t speak unless spoken to. If flirted with, I politely evaded. If yelled at, I retreated and let security deal with it. The rules weren’t taught to me, but learned from two years in this building, two years of mistakes and lessons, hundred-dollar tips and occasional scorn.
I’d been proposed to and propositioned. Groped and flipped off. Cursed out and courted. Everyone who had the means to walk in these doors was entitled, and that made for a volatile cocktail, one contained by distractions. Women. Alcohol. Risks. Possibilities.
I walked toward Lance and Dario Capece and wondered what Capece’s distractions were. Certainly not alcohol, not with the Coca-Cola he’d ordered. Not cards, since he hadn’t stepped toward a table or glanced at a chip stack. Maybe risk. Maybe women. I slowed as I approached, and his gaze slid from Lance to me, his eyes starting at the bottom, at my vomit-stained heels, and moved up my bare legs, lingering across the sequined shorts and the black halter top. The action was so obvious that Lance turned, his eyes darkening as he saw me, the apologetic look in them almost laughable. I reassured him with a smile and took the final steps toward them.
I served Lance first, then tucked the tray under my arm, passing the glass of soda to Mr. Capece. I didn’t meet his eyes and stepped back to allow them privacy. Escaping down the back stairs, I let out a long breath.
He had checked me out. Held my gaze longer than necessary. Two things that happened a dozen times a night. That was half of our purpose here, being eye candy. Britni and I got more attractive the more they drank, the more they won. It wasn’t the first time that evening a man had blatantly swept his gaze over me.
I shouldn’t have been trembling, not just from a brief moment of interaction. And I definitely shouldn’t be smiling. I fought to swallow the expression and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.
I entered the control room and shut the door. Rick glanced over and held up a hand for silence.
“--and that’s how we plan to keep it,” Lance finished.
I watched the monitor, saw Dario’s mouth move, the sound of his voice a bit delayed. “What do you do when you get hit hard? Too hard?”
“We have cash reserves to cover up to twenty mill.”
Dario’s quiet chuckle came over the speaker. “Twenty mill? Come on. That’s one winning streak for these players.”
“It hasn’t been a problem yet. You know what it’s like. No one walks away on top.”
“Still...”
There was a break in conversation as someone walked by, words of greeting exchanged, a restless moment where Rick stretched his legs and I watched the monitors. I needed to get back to my tables, yet I couldn’t move from this spot.
Quiet fell.
Dario spoke first. “I’d like to invest in your operation if you aren’t interested in an outright purchase.”
Rick leaned forward, his fingertips pressing together as if in prayer. “We aren’t interested in selling. Besides, the reason we work is because we are a neutral location, with neutral ownership. You don’t want to be seen at Bellagio, and they don’t want to be seen at your place.”
I watched the monitors as Lance spread his arms, encompassing the place.
“Here, you can all gamble in private and without padding any of your competitors’ pockets.”
“A good point.” Dario nodded. “But I could be a silent owner or investor.”
Lance shook his head. “We aren’t looking for either. Still, I appreciate the offer.”
