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And scrubbed.
I scrubbed so hard that when I looked in the mirror, I almost expected my freckles to be gone.
My confidence had already been scrubbed away to almost nothing last Christmas, so at least that wasn’t in danger.
I balled my hands into fists, the skin an angry shade of red as I pressed my knuckles into the golden sink. My knuckles stretched and turned white, but I kept pushing until the pain became keen enough to clear my head.
And then I found my feelings.
I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t sad.
I was enraged.
What twist of fate would have brought him back here now? Tonight?
The person who I thought had known me. Who’d seen me.
And discarded me.
I unclenched my fists and drew my gaze back up to the mirror, taking a deep breath. My reaction was a giant red flag for myself—to myself—that I actually wasn’t fine.
I wanted—needed—to go home. My first step would be to check Cody’s itinerary and see if he was reachable.
Then I’d call him and come clean about AJ.
That was as far as I could plan right now, but I felt better for having a strategy in place.
What I hadn’t counted on, but probably should have, was for the deck to be cut the exact moment I finally decided to play a card.
5
BREE
Ididn’t even make it out of the building before my brittle plans were broken.
I hadn’t even made it out of the bathroom.
My face was washed, my skin was irritated, and I was still dressed in what I mentally referred to as a uniform instead of calling it what it was—a costume. Even if it was a beautiful one.
The top was a low-cut, long-sleeved white silk blouse that tucked into a high-waisted and form-fitting shimmery-gold skirt, which I also had in deep red and black. By casino standards it was modest, especially if you overlooked the revealing décolletage that had made me wish for smaller breasts the first time I’d tried it on.
I had a more elaborate costume for special pre-planned casino events but hadn’t worn that one in several months. The one thing both versions had in common was the strappy, gladiator-inspired heels. The same ones that dangled from my fingers as I wrenched open the heavy bathroom door and came face-to-face with Terry Juno—otherwise known as Big Daddy.
Behind him and standing slightly to the side was his wayward son, Alexander Juno. My oldest friend—formerly.
The only reason I’d come up with for how blindsided I’d been by his actions was the years of childhood closeness we’d shared.
Closeness that transformed into quite an effective emotional blindfold.
Only minutes ago, I’d stood above the crowd on a red-velvet platform at the center of the circular casino floor beside Fortuna’s crown jewel—a giant gold-and-brass-plated spinning wheel that was reverently called “The Big Wheel.” My hand had been raised to make my final spin of the night, but before Lady Luck’s final outcome was determined, I’d felt it.
A familiar gaze. His gaze.
Which had been remarkable, really, considering I’d been blindfolded.
I’d made the final spin before ripping off the gold blindfold and confirming what I already knew.
Blond hair, brown brows, medium build.
