Regardless of the risks, Damon seems to full-heartedly believe that this plan is our only shot at getting Emery back. He went along with my plan, so it’s only fair I trust his. Plus, if I knew any other way to secure half a billion dollars without raising suspicion or risking law enforcement intervention, I’d go a different route. But that’s a lot of money, and no one with that much wealth is ever keen to part with it.
As we approach the casino, the neon lights reflect off the sleek surface of the black SUV. The Golden Lotus is a loud piece of architecture, closely resembling the glittering towers scattered up and down the strip in Las Vegas—shiny on the outside, shady on the inside.
The assistant leads us through the casino's grand entrance, past the ringing slot machines and bustling tables. We're ushered into a private lounge, the scent of cigars soothing my racing pulse. The moment we come into view, Han and Pei wave at us, grinning. Both brothers are sporting diamond encrusted suits, their expressions almost giddy, and for a moment, I have faith in Damon’s plan.
“Damon Cavanaugh, our dear friend,” Han extends his hand. Damon eyes it warily before shaking. Damon has told me bits and pieces of their history, and ‘friend’ wouldn’t be a word I’d choose to describe their relationship. Either Han is attempting to come across as connected, or he’s completely delusional. Han turns to me. “And Doctor Marquis, it’s an honor to have you at our casino.”
“Quinton is fine,” I say, shaking Han’s hand and then his brothers. “What a wonderful establishment you’ve built for yourselves. I take it business is good?”
Pei grins. “Business is always good.” He motions toward a table surrounded by four lounge chairs. “Please, let us have a drink.”
Damon stiffens. “Perhaps later—at the party. Quinton and I have had a rather long flight, and we should get cleaned up.” He checks his watch. “It starts at eight, correct?”
Han waves him off. “Nonsense, you both look fine. Let’s have a drink now. The party can wait. It is not every day we get to be in the presence of America’s top talent.”
With a sigh of resignation, Damon tosses me a confirming nod and we take our rightful places around the table. With a snap of Han’s fingers, a server arrives with a platter of single malt scotch and passes us each a glass.
Damon’s jaw locks. “Unfortunately, I no longer drink alcohol,” he says, pushing the glass aside. “But you go ahead.”
Han’s eyes widen in horror as if he’s just committed a cardinal sin. “I am so very sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh,” he sputters, snapping his head at the server. In his native tongue, he reams the poor woman out, nearly leaving her teary-eyed. He straightens his posture, clearing his throat as he looks back at Damon. “Apologies for my idiot staff, they never remember my strict instructions. She will bring you something more appropriate.”
I press my lips into a thin line to stop myself from laughing. At no point did Damon inform the Li’s of his sobriety, but it’s amusing to watch Han scramble. I doubt he does it often.
When Damon has his tonic water in hand, the four of us raise our glasses. “To a prosperous friendship among equals,” Han says, his toothy smile somewhat obnoxious. I swear I hear Damon snort at the wordequals.“Ganbei!”
“Cheers,” Damon and I say in unison, and then the real torture begins.
Pei and Han are overly zealous in their quest for corporate domination, and they want us to be very well aware of their ongoing success. They thank Damon countless times for allowing them to expand into the States, to which Damon replies with a polite yet expressionless nod.
As the conversation drones on, Damon and I exchange a look. These two men are quite arrogant and pompous, two qualities that seldom make a fine businessman. But they create the ultimate drunks. When the fourth round appears at the table, the doors to the lounge slowly open, and a soft feminine voice floats toward us.
“Honey?” the woman says. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your guests are waiting.”
Our heads turn toward the entrance, toward the sound of heels clicking against the polished marble floor.
Damon's reaction is immediate. The glass he’s holding slips from his grasp and shatters against the floor. I frown. The woman smiles at us politely as she strides toward the table, wearing a fitted red evening gown with a sweeping train.
As she approaches us, my heart plummets. Damon's gaze, like mine, traces the jewels draped around her neck, pinned into her ears, and wrapped around her wrists. The Parlaut diamonds gleam and shimmer under the overhead lights, and my gut clenches as if I’ve been sucker punched.
Fuck!
She’swearingthe diamonds?!
I shoot Damon a withering glare.
What now, you buffoon?!
Han Li rolls his eyes, a cringe of annoyance crossing his face as he introduces her. "Gentlemen, please meet my wife. This is Sherri Li." He scowls at her. “We will be out when you are ready. What did I tell you about interrupting me?”
Sherri looks down at her feet, clearly embarrassed. I’m more embarrassed for Han. His wife is stunning, far more beautiful than he deserves. Damon stiffens at Han’s tone, evidently in agreement with my assessment.
I glance over at Damon, and he’s staring at Sherri. Sizing her up. I’ve seen that look before countless times. And then he snaps his eyes toward me and smirks.
Oh, Christ.
He’s already got another plan.
My gaze drifts between Sherri and Damon, and in the split second her eyes flick up to look at Damon, her cheeks blush with a color a shade brighter than her makeup.
