“Nope. Her name is obviously fake, but other than that, I have nothing.” He starts listing things off on his fingers. “She’s fidgety. She carries a gun…”
“A gun?”
“You know that little purse of hers?”
“What about it?” He’s not making any sense.
“It’s just big enough for a small gun.”
“But how does she get through security?” I pour myself another glass and start pouring Dom’s.
“It’s a 3D-printed one.” He moves his index finger from side to side, so I place the bottle on the table. “I checked her purse when she left it on the poker table. Then I checked the entrance footage. I’m not sure what she does with the bullets, but the beep of the metal detector is low enough to allow her to flirt her way inside, and the purse is small enough not to raise suspicion.”
“She’s a woman. She needs to protect herself.” He quirks a skeptical eyebrow. “It doesn’t mean she’s an enemy.” Still, carrying a hidden gun into a casino crawling with security is certainly damning.
“Of course, but you must admit things aren’t adding up. I’m just saying you need to be careful.”
I wave him off, acting like his words don’t shake me. “You were talking about Williams?”
“Yes. He let me know that the investigations into the warehouse fires are closed.”
“Good.” I need to appreciate the small things. Williams is making sure we have the police on our side, but it’s always a relief finding out that they’ve stopped digging. “Is that all?”
“It is.” He waits for me to say more, but when I don’t, he continues, “I’ll get back to work.”
I acknowledge him with a bow of my head, and he exits my office. My phone clicks as I unlock it and order some food to be brought to my desk. My appetite is barely existent, but I can’t survive on rakia alone.
Just a couple of minutes later, a server brings in a tray filled with food. My gaze is stuck to the screen, still watching if she’ll enter the building, while I poke the food around the plate. I force myself to eat half of a steak and some potatoes, which taste like cardboard. I wash it down with more rakia, Dom’s words replaying in my mind.
There’s a reason he’s my right-hand man. His gut feeling saved me more than once and he has a bad feeling about her. But it doesn’t help the spot of disappointment from not seeing her grow into a giant ball inside of me.
It’s been five days. Five days of wasted time in my front office, checking the security feeds in search of a streak of red hair or silky skin.
There’s still no new information on Luka. The business is slow since we’re moving extra carefully, not wanting to risk losing any more merch to the Russians. A pile of paperwork sits in front of me, ready to be tackled. Typically, I don’t mind it. There’s a quiet joy in watching the pile slowly lower as the business gets done, one paper at a time. It’s like watching an hourglass. You can see the flow of time by the number of papers removed. It’s tangible, measurable. All the best things in life are. Money, success.
But today, the pile in front of me fills me with dread. I’d rather take a paper-cut to my balls that tackle it right now.
A knock sounds at the door. Like a dog whose owner just got home, I’m overjoyed with the idea of a visitor. Anything to save me from this bureaucratic hell.
Johnny pokes his graying black head inside. “Just checking to see if you got those papers done, boss. I want to put the orders on the new blackjack tables.”
Oh, great. It’s about paperwork. “Not yet, Johnny. I’m working on it.” I point to the massive pile in front of me, and he winces.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
I’m guessing he exits and closes the door behind him, but I can’t be sure since my full focus is now on the screen of my computer. The blue eyes I’ve been dreaming about are actually here, in my casino, the perfect, round ass sitting down at one of the poker tables. With a parting glance at the paperwork, I get up from the desk, and head to the casino floor. Dom walks toward me in the hallway.
“Did you manage…? he starts, but I cut him off.
“Nope. Not now. I’m taking a break.” I don’t bother stopping to see the roll of his eyes.
In less than a minute, I’m carrying two glasses, and sitting down on the stool next to her.
She greets me with a demure smile, one that sends electricity through my body, but acts like she doesn’t know me.I can work with that.
I focus on the dealer in front of me, trying to ignore her scent seeping into my nose. Sneaking a peek at her, I can’t suppress licking my lips. She’s gorgeous. Tonight, she’s in a black pencil skirt and a tan blouse, looking like a sexy secretary out of my wildest fantasies. Her full lips are adorned with red lipstick. My cock stirs in my pants, unaware that I’m a 35-year-old man, and not a teenager anymore.
I’d love to get her alone, but there are five people at this table. I’ll have to go through them to get to her. She’s a shark, winning their chips as if it’s child’s play. She has them wrapped around herfinger, so much so that they don’t even notice they’re losing money left and right. But that’s not the most fascinating part. Them being star-struck is no wonder, just a natural consequence of having fully functioning eyes. But the way she reads their hands, never falling into their traps while executing hers perfectly, is a work of art. I know at least two of the players at the table are regulars, meaning they know what they are doing, but she runs circles around them.
