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“Maybe? Maybe?” His mother had bristled. “Don’t be silly. She is and you know it. Why not talk with her and see if she wants the position?”
Keir had given Mary Elizabeth a brisk salute. “Your wish is my command, your ladyship.”
“Keir.” His mother had reached for his hand and clasped it in hers. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do.”
“Of course you do, Ma,” he’d said with a gentle smile. “But you’re right. The girl’s perfect for the job. I’ll talk to her this afternoon.”
Dawn had leaped at the opportunity though, just for a minute, when he’d said she’d be in a highly visible position, something had clouded her eyes.
“Is that a problem?” he’d asked carefully.
“No,” she’d said quickly, “not at all.” Then she’d smiled a little too brightly for comfort. “It’s just that I’m not used to being, well, visible. Nobody really notices me now. They’re all too busy watching the cards.”
“Are you concerned about clothes? I should have mentioned that the hotel provides a clothing allowance to Special Services employees.”
“Oh, that’s lovely.” Still, she’d hesitated. “I’ll only deal with VIPs. I mean, that’s the policy, right?”
“Right,” he’d replied, while his brain clicked away at what he’d seen in her eyes again at that last question. She was afraid. He wasn’t a betting man—damn near growing up in a casino had taken care of any interest in gambling—but he’d have been willing to bet a bundle on that. She was afraid, but of what? Or was it, of whom?
Keir looked over at the elegant alcove where VIPs could use a special phone to ring for assistance. Dawn was standing at the French Provincial desk tucked into the alcove, her smile bright, her strawberry-blond hair swept back neatly from her face. She was talking to a man in flowing robes. Keir recognized him as Prince Ahmat’s personal secretary, meaning that the prince himself would be coming through the doors any minute accompanied by a small army of wives and servants. He made a mental note to check back in a couple of hours and see how things were going, but he got caught up in the usual problems that went with running a place the size of the Song and it was a little after noon before he made the circuit through the lobby again. The Special Services alcove was empty so he strolled into the behind-scenes office. Jean was at the desk, just hanging up the phone. She looked up, saw Keir and smiled.
“Hi, boss.”
“Jeannie. How’re things going?”
“Oh,” she said, sighing dramatically, “the usual.”
Keir grinned. “That bad, huh?”
“No, seriously, no problems so far.”
“Great. Dawn made it through the morning okay?”
“She did just fine. A little nervous, but fine. She checked the prince in, got all his wives settled, and I figured she ought to take her lunch break a little early, give herself a breather.”
“Good idea.”
“I told her to have lunch someplace other than the Song. Sort of escape the pressure cooker for a bit, you know?”
“Makes sense.” Keir rapped his knuckles lightly on the desk. “Okay, kid. If you need me, I’ll be in my office. Tell Dawn I’m glad her morning went well.”
Jean shot a look at her watch. “You can tell her yourself, if you want to come back in fifteen minutes or so.”
“I have a meeting. Besides, I just thought I’d see how she was doing. If you say she’s doing fine, that’s cool.”
Jean gave him a thumbs-up. “Cool is the word, boss. Definitely cool.”
* * *
Hot was the word. Definitely hot.
One oh six already, according to the disgustingly cheerful DJ who’d announced the temperature just before Dawn’s car and radio died without warning. She’d been in the right hand lane on Las Vegas Boulevard, waiting at a red light. When it turned green, she put her foot on the gas, the engine coughed convulsively, and that was that.
“No,” she’d said softly, “no, no, no…”
Yes, yes, yes. For the past five minutes, she’d tried every trick she knew to make the engine turn over but nothing worked. She was stuck with cars piling up behind her, horns blaring, drivers giving her the finger as they swerved around her.
Idiots!
