“Wow, please tell me you’re still following the conversation.”
She takes a breath before diving straight in because this is Ariel’s forte. Advice. Nurturing. Straight-talking when required. She’sa girl’s girl, who won’t stand back and watch her friends being treated like shit by anyone. But especially not by a man.
“Get out on that casino floor and flirt your little ass off.” She must cover her cell with her hand; I hear her muffled voice talking to someone else, and then she’s back. “I guarantee he’ll notice that.”
“But… we’re not allowed to interact with the guests. I’ll lose my job over it.”
“The same job you’re willing to quit because you fucked the boss?”
I laugh. “Technically, he fucked me.”
“Technically, you’re a grown woman who would be a fucking catch but has no idea of her worth. So, go flirt with the bartender, or the pitbull?—”
“Pit boss. And no.”
“The concierge then.”
“Too far away from the casino.”
“The head of security?” she suggests.
“Bash’s stepdad.”
“Wow, Remy, you know more about this guy’s fam than I know about Tristan.” Tristan is her on-off boyfriend; they’ve been seeing each other for the past three years. “You’re practically married.”
“Slight exaggeration, but I hear you.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Go to work and flirt with… someone.”
“Louder for those at the back.” Ariel is persistent if nothing else.
“I’m going to go to work and flirt.”
A guy in a dark suit and reflective shades looks at me, and I flash him a smile. It feels wrong, but I get a buzz when he salutes me, even if he does keep right on walking.
Putting it into practice, however, is a different matter.
The pit boss is in his late 40s, with graying hair and angry eyes. I get that running the casino floor is probably stressful; it’s fast-paced, high-staked, and the clientele is the kind that would know how to sue,and win, if you stare at them for longer than three seconds. But the lines around his mouth suggest that he forgot how to smile long before he took on this role.
He’s a definite no-no.
The security team is out of bounds. They carry guns, and Terry probably already knows about me and his stepson. I want to get noticed, not escorted off the premises for messing around with Bash’s feelings.
Okay, so I’m a fawn when it comes to most things in life. A people-pleaser. I’m still putting Bash first even though he has avoided me for the last three weeks. Maybe Ariel is right. Maybe it’s time to man up.
I notice Bash during my shift on the poker table. He’s watching me. My heart twitches and flutters like it got stung by a wasp, and I lose concentration for a second. It’s enough for the pit bossto intervene and replace me with Fran, who mouths ‘sorry’ as she takes over.
“Break. Now,” the boss growls in my ear before scanning the floor for anyone else who isn’t bringing their A-game tonight.
The bartender I collided with the night that turned my world upside down, smiles as I pass the bar. He’s cute. Jet black curls, brown eyes that would melt even Ariel’s hardened heart, broad shoulders. He also wears a gold band on the ring finger of his left hand.
Like, he looks about my age and is already married. How does that happen to people? I can barely make my own bed in the mornings, and I know how to cook pasta, but toss a raw steak my way, and I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Not that I can afford to eat steak. Or even enjoy it when someone else is paying, but the thought of walking down the aisle in a stiff white dress and saying, “I do,” freaks the crap out of me.
“Everything alright?”
For one heart-stopping moment, I think that Bash followed me to the staffroom. But it’s Tom, the bartender.
