“What?”
“I look different when I’m not in work clothes.” She flicks her hair. “At the casino, I’m all polished and proper. Out here, I’m more . . .” She gestures to herself. “This.”
I snort.
“So, you think he genuinely doesn’t know it was you?”
“He either doesn’t know or he’s pretending not to know, which is frankly rude after the performance I gave.”
I clap a hand over my mouth, half laughing, half choking. “Holly!”
“What? It’s true.”
I shake my head, still laughing. “You are insane.”
“And tonight,” she says, sitting up straighter, “I want to bump into him.”
I squint at her. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Probably,” she agrees cheerfully, “but I’m fairly sure that’s where he’ll be later, and I want to see if he clocks who I am.”
I groan and sink back in my chair.
“As adorable as your deranged little love story is, I do not want to end a good night by walking into one of Ray’s judging stares.”
“Ray’s always busy,” Holly says with a dismissive wave. “When he’s there, he’s working the room, scowling at people, acting all important. And he’ll probably be upstairs with Anika by this time.”
That does make me hesitate.
Still . . .
The thought of running into him after those texts makes my stomach twist.
“Fine,” I say at last, pointing a warning finger at her. “But the second I see him, I’m calling it a night.”
Holly grins like she’s just won the lottery. “Deal.”
Holly clings to my arm like an overexcited lunatic. “Please stay,” she begs. “Just for one.”
The second we walked into the casino, I spotted Ray.
He’s impossible to miss—tall, sharp suit, grumpy presence, and that permanent scowl and there is absolutely no way I plan to face him after earlier.
None.
But Holly drags me towards the bar, ignoring my protests as though they’re background music.
Ray and Dale are on the far side of the room with another man, deep in conversation, so I reluctantly agree to one more drink.
Joel appears at the bar with an easy smile. “Ladies. What can I get you?”
“Whatever you recommend,” Holly says, slapping Ray’s black card onto the bar like she owns the place.
Joel grins. “Champagne it is.”
He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle.
“Oh, I don’t think we need a whole bottle—” I begin, but Holly claps her hands in delight just as he pops the cork, and a second later she’s taking the bottle while I’m left grabbing the glasses before they topple.
