Olivia lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “That’s not how you treat a high roller who’s already furious.”
“No,” I say. “That’s how you treat an unstable variable on an exposed floor.”
Caterina’s eyes flash. “He’s a customer.”
“He’s a problem.”
“He’s a problem attached to millions of dollars.”
“That doesn’t make him less of one.”
She stands now too, palms on the table, leaning toward me just enough to make the point. “This is my casino. We do not let someone like that sit downstairs and melt down in front of half the room.”
“We also do not use a valuable principal as customer service when there are other options.”
Olivia closes her eyes for one second like she’s already tired of both of us.
The host doesn’t breathe.
Caterina straightens. “He asked for executive management. He gets executive management.”
“Not alone.”
“I didn’t say alone.”
“Not on the floor.”
For one second, I think she might actually tell me to go to hell and do it anyway.
I think of the best way to stop her that might only bruise her ego a little bit.
Then Olivia cuts in.
“Enough.” Her voice isn’t loud, but both of us stop. “We do not have time for a philosophical debate about casino operations.”
She looks at Caterina first. “You’re right. We can’t ignore him.”
Then at me.
“And you’re right. Sending me down there is a bad idea.”
At least somebody in the room is interested in common sense.
Caterina presses her lips together. “I wasn’t sending you.”
“No,” Olivia says dryly. “You were just getting ready to martyr yourself instead.”
Caterina glares at her. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
I take the opening before Caterina can argue again.
“There’s a private salon off high-limit,” I say. “Better than bringing him all the way up here, less exposed than the main floor.”
The host finally seems to remember how to breathe. “The Bordeaux room,” she says quickly. “It’s empty right now.”
Caterina looks at me, irritation still hot in her face. “And you think he’ll just agree to be moved?”
