“Is that all for me?” I let my voice drop just a little. Just enough to sound like a purr. My eyes flick from the damp bills to the sweat beading on his receding hairline. Grubby little fingers. My stomach gives a small, tight lurch of disgust—but I swallow it.
Do it for the dream home, Bunny.
“You already know it, gorgeous.” He grins, finally dragging his touch away like he’s doing me a favor. “Can’t you take a break? You’re always on the move. Those poor feet of yours must be killing you.”
I pluck the bills from his fingers slowly, lingering just long enough to make him hold his breath. Then I make a show of tucking them into my chest piece. His eyes follow the motion like a starving dog. Perfect. He doesn’t even notice me taking a step back.
I reach for his shoulder, give it a squeeze, and let out a giggle—light as champagne, fake as hell, and he drinks it up like he’s more special than any of these other horny dogs panting over us waitresses.
“Thank you for looking out, sugar.” I tilt my head and let my hair slip over one shoulder. “Sadly, these drinks won’t serve themselves. You'll let me know if you need anything else, though, won't you?”
A panted nod is what I expect, and it's exactly what I get.
I might be nearing my thirties, but I've still got it in the bag. Especially for men who are desperate for a little attention aimed their way.
Turning on my heel and throwing him a wink over my shoulder, I leave behind a chorus of groans in return.
Rue falls into step beside me. She flicks a glance over her shoulder, then back at me like I’ve got three heads.
“I don’t know how you do it,” she says, shivering. “Flirting with all those guys. I could barely keep my face straight as a spectator.”
I shrug, more focused on us heading toward our destination. “They’re suckers for a sultry smile and a nice rack.” I tap my chest with a wink. “And I’ve got both to give.”
It’s watching their eyes, timing my breath, knowing exactly when to lean in and when to pull away. Though, despite mastering the act, I’m not perfect.
I don’t complain to her about the one man I actually want to look my way—the one who books it in the opposite direction every time I catch his gaze and attempt to approach, as rare as it is.
While Rue murmurs her insults about her lack of a chest, she keeps walking, leading me toward the back of the casino.
Every step fills me with dread as we get closer to the back wall. There's the same opening gap I pass by a hundred times a shift. It belongs to the staff's changing room. Splitting in two directions, we head toward the women's section. The room's empty, and the silence makes it feel even emptier, and I'm grateful for it.
The room is full enough to provide every member with their own locker. For some of the older employees, we have our names written on them. Some are decked out with faded stickers and markers, while others are boring and bare.
I can't help the way I groan before we even need to stop at my locker.
"I came in, and it was already open. I closed it and found you right after, so I don't know who all saw it." Rue's the one who opens the locker, thankfully. Already dreading what I'll find this time, it's a single rose and a letter waiting for me on top of my sneakers.
Every note is different. Today's is a white sheet with different letters attached with some kind of glue. Looking creepy as hell, I'm not even sure if I want to pick it up, but I do anyway. I think I prefer the hard-to-read cursive I'd gotten last time.
Surely, whoever is leaving them must realize how murderous this looks. I think I prefer the unwanted flirtatious advances I get from those who give me tips.
"I think you should tell someone." She grimaces at the love letter that looks more like a ransom note. "This is the second one this week, isn't it?"
If Rue's caught on, then I can only imagine others have as well.Wonderful.
They started slowly, one every couple of weeks. Then weekly. Now, here we are. I thought ignoring them would make them stop, but I guess that isn't the case.
"Who can I tell? I've already spoken to Andy, and he's been monitoring the cameras for any suspicious activity. They can't plant any in here without causing an uproar for good reason."
She gives me a look, like the answer isn't obvious. If the casino's head of security can't help me, I need to go over his head. Management. The people who run this place are the same people who sit at our tables and blend in with the other gamblers.
Smoke and Ace. The bikers with the Steelwood MC patch against their back.
"I've heard horror stories with stalkers and stuff," Rue continues, carefully picking up the rose in my locker. It's more thorny than usual, and she almost pricks herself. "You think it's one of our regulars or..."
My sudden grimace says it all. It has to be a worker. Someone who doesn't draw any attention by slipping back here. Just knowing that makes me feel even more defenseless. It's someone I could pass by every day without ever knowing twice that they have bad intentions.
I can flirt all day with customers and make them feel special, but I don't think I've talked to any of my workers that way. Maybe I have in passing without meaning to. My personality at work is like a switch. The moment I'm clocked in, I'm this version of me. I don't turn it off until I'm out of the building.
