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Deliberately rolling my eyes, I tell him, “Much as I’d like to be impressed by your cock of the walk routine, I’m not. So back off the girl. Now.”
He raises an incredulous brow at me even as his whole hand disappears beneath her skirt. I wait for her to fight back, to shove him off, to do something besides sit there looking terrified, but all she manages is a little squeak. Damn it. She seriously needs to grow a backbone.
The fact that he doesn’t even see her anymore, that this has become nothing but a pissing match between the two of us with her as the unfortunate bystander, grates on me. If he was messing with me, I could take it. But she obviously can’t, and by trying to help I’ve only made it worse.
It’s my only excuse for what happens next. After all, I’d had every intention of keeping this peaceful when I came over here. But when he leans over, his eyes locked on mine, and licks a long, wet stripe up the girl’s cheek, the temper I work so hard to keep control over explodes.
And I rack him with my drink tray.
Chapter Two
Sebastian
What the fuck am I doing here?
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself at least five times a day, every day, since I got here and it’s a question I anticipate asking myself—at least at this point—five times a day every day for the rest of my life.
It’s a depressing thought, one that has me raking a hand through my hair and fighting the urge to walk out of this office, out of this casino, out of this whole damn town. But that’s not an option. Not for me. Not right now. No matter how out of place I feel. I reach for control, remind myself that it was my decision to come back. My decision to be here right now, working to improve the casino’s bottom line and save the jobs of everyone who works here.
The intercom on my father’s desk—my desk—buzzes and his secretary—my secretary—says, “Sebastian, Todd Waters needs five minutes.”
I wrack my brain, trying to remember who the fuck Todd Waters is. I’ve been back here five days after being gone for ten years and nothing is like I remember it. Not the employees, not the casino, not even my father, who has become a sick, wasted shell of the man he used to be.
I’m not sure what it says about me—or him—that I like this version better.
“Send him in,” I tell Linda, turning away from the window and moving back toward the desk I never thought I’d ever have to sit behind. The desk I’ve never wanted to sit behind.
The moment Todd walks in the room, his face clicks into place. Daytime Manager, Casino Floor, High Roller Relations. I’m shitty with names but I never forget a face. He’s one of hundreds of people I’ve been introduced to in the last few days, but I remember liking him. Thinking he seemed not only competent but also like a pretty decent guy.
“I know you’re still settling in,” he begins before he even reaches my desk, “and I wanted to give you a few more days before I started beating down your door, but we’ve got a situation that I think needs either you or your father to smooth it over.”
My dad is in no shape to smooth anything over and we both know it. A victim of a series of mini-strokes in recent months, neither his speech nor his mental faculties are up to the job right now. Especially after his latest incident.
Which is, of course, the main reason I’m here, trying to run a casino I have no interest in running, when I’d much rather be back in Boston acting as CFO of one of the largest children’s charities in the world.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I tell Todd, gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs on the other side of my desk. He does, and not for the first time since getting here, I’m struck by how much shorter they are than my father’s own chair. A ridiculous piece of psychological warfare, meant to make his visitors ill at ease and make him feel like a king.
I’ve got no time—or interest—in power plays like that, though, and I make a mental note to have the chairs switched out before the end of the day. It probably shouldn’t be a top priority for me—not after looking over the books and seeing how badly my father has managed to screw over the Atlantis in the last few years—but fuck it. I can have more than one priority.
“What’s going on?” I ask after Todd’s settled and so am I.
“There was a situation last night with one of the whales. He and one of the cocktail waitresses got into it and she ended up hitting him in the balls with her drinks tray.”
Well, I have to admit, that’s a new one. Or at least, one I haven’t heard before. I stare at him, nonplussed for a moment as I wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I finally ask, “So, did she at least tell you why she did it? Was he hassling her?”
“I haven’t spoken to her—this happened on night shift before I got here. But probably. She’s a real looker, so she gets messed with more than most of the waitresses. But she’s always been pretty even-tempered before last night.”
“So what set her off, then?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. David fired her after the incident—told her to come back today to collect her last paycheck—and that should have been the end of it. I hadn’t even heard about the incident until the whale called me, screaming his head off. I just got out of a meeting with him. He’s pretty pissed off and he’s threatening to sue if he isn’t compensated for his physical and mental distress.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “His physical and mental distress?”
Todd presses his lips together and I get the impression he’s trying not to snicker. “Yeah.”
“Aren’t we already compensating him? Comped high roller suite, comped everything else?”
“We are.”
