I pulled away with a brusque gesture. He didn’t move; his gaze was fixed on my lips, on the tic that comes out in my lower lip when I get nervous, and which had started acting up at that moment.
I did what I do best: play dumb and evade questions.
“I’m just spending chips. I don’t understand what you mean.”
My tone was relaxed and smooth. He looked down. He exhaled, sounding like a “ha,” and stepped away.
“I heard you calling the restaurant this morning. The Big Mediterranean?” he raised a brow. “I thought we agreed to be honest here.”
I bit my lip.
“There are things it’s better for you not to know.” And before he could question me again, I added, “My turn.”
There were several things I wanted to know. This was an opportunity to snoop into Bastian’s life that wouldn’t present itself again. I wanted to know who his date was, how many times he had been to Club Montari, and how he had met the girls he was with. I also came up with more personal questions, like what he really thought about me. If he had anything to do with my hiring at Saidi.
A shrill, insistent ringtone cut through my thoughts.
“Hang on a sec,” I muttered, grabbing my phone and swiping to answer.
It was Enzo.
Sometimes, when nerves hit, I can’t stop talking. I rambledon, apologising for missing his earlier calls, worried I’d either overshare or say too little.
“Enzo?”
There was a pause. Had he even listened to what I said? All I could make out on the other end was the faint sound of piano music playing softly in the background.
“Hello?” I repeated.
“It’s nothing,” he said. The words had cut off. It was the end of a sentence. “Are you there?”
There? Did he mean the lounge?
“No.” I hesitated. “And you?”
Silence.
I glanced at my phone and saw I barely had one bar. The reception was terrible. I needed to get out of the casino if I wanted to hear him clearly. Putting the phone back to my ear, I caught the tail end of a sentence from Enzo.
“At theSortijastall.” He interrupted himself again. “… There as soon as possible.”
And he hung up.
I cursed my luck. Had he said he was at Sortija? I had to go wherever that was. I needed to leave now. I wasted my last question and said:
“Do you know where Sortija is?”
Bastian’s eyebrows knit together, almost forming a frown. Fuck. Sortija was a Spanish word. It meant ring. Had I heard right? Could there be a room calledSortija?
“Pardon?”
“It’s just…” I murmured, biting my lip to stop my tic, “I need to leave.”
Bastian stuck out his chin, urging me to continue.
“It seemed urgent.”
That was all I planned to say. Bastian scanned the room, and I mirrored him. The other players had caught on to our distraction, diving into the next round without us. The dealer’s hands moved swiftly as he closed the bets, the game continuing without a pause.
