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Alessandra was shocked. And pissed. And disappointed. Yes, she wanted Beau to gamble at The Benson—and to lose. This new information just confirmed he was like most other professional gamblers—not trustworthy and always taking whatever they wanted, regardless of the consequences. Just like he had done last night with her, and she had fallen for it—increasing the max bet. She knew that was her mistake, and it was a stupid one. But he had exploited her by even asking.
She turned to Sailor. “That’s it. I don’t give a shit about his money. We’ve already lost to him, and now we find out he’s a possible cheater. Getting me to fuck him again was probably part of his bigger plan. Who knows what he’ll ask for next? He’s only using me to get what he wants. I’m done with him; he can take his business somewhere else.”
“What are you going to do? Ban him from here?”
“Nothing formal like that. I don’t need the publicity. We can quietly refuse service to anyone. And now, that’s him.”
Beau was in the sportsbook when Alessandra walked in, her eyes a fire that told him something was wrong.
“Want something to drink?” he asked.
“No. I want to talk to you about last night.”
He knew from her anger that it wasn’t about the sex—which he remembered well. He feigned ignorance at her angry tone. “That shower? Whoever thought to make it big enough for two people, brilliant. Give that person a raise. Because that was the best fucking shower I’ve ever taken. Emphasis on thefucking, by the way. And at least this time you stayed longer,” he said, referring to their conversation afterward. She had stayed with him after they dried off, falling asleep against him for a few hours before leaving.
He could tell his comment hadn’t helped the situation. She was getting more pissed by the moment. “That was a mistake. A big one, apparently. You used me—used what I thought was our friendship.”
“Used you?” he asked. “How do you figure that? I thought we both wanted to be with each other. And I wanted you to stay, to spend the night. I planned to see you today. How is that using you?”
“I’m not talking about that,” she retorted. “I’m talking about before. When you asked me to raise the limits.”
Anger added to Beau’s confusion. “What are you talking about? I asked you to raise them. You agreed. Not like I had to twist your arm or anything.”
“You’re a professional gambler.” She rolled her eyes. “You know I shouldn’t have agreed. You know it’s standard to keep you at the same betting limit you lost at. But you asked anyway.”
Now it was Beau’s turn to be mad. His tone matched hers. If it weren’t in Las Vegas where lovers’ spats were so common, they might have drawn more attention. “Listen. It’s not my job to doyourjob. I could have just as easily lost at those higher limits. It’s only luck that I won. You think I was using you? How about the fact that the only reason you’re pissed off is because I won? This whole week you’ve been using me to increase your profits, so you were more than happy to raise those limits. And I’m sure you were also more than happy to come to my room to seal the deal and make sure I kept gambling, right? I’ve seen how you treat your customers; you can turn on the charm when you want them to gamble. And, based on today, I can see you can turn it off just as quickly.”
Alessandra’s face was red, her body stiff with indignation. Beau knew he’d gone too far, but in his mind, she deserved it. How could she think he was using her? After the two nights they spent together? It was he who should feel used, not her.
“I want you to leave The Benson. Today. I don’t need your business. Apparently, Magnum Atlantic City already figured out how you could manipulate things before I did. I only wish I’d heard sooner about whatever your little game was with that Vanessa person.”
Magnum?What had they told her about him? And Vanessa? “What are you talking about? Is that what they told you? That Vanessa and I were doing something shady? Jesus Christ, Alessandra. If only you knew the real story, you’d feel terrible for even saying that. But if you want me to go, I will. Just know that I didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t wrong to ask you to increase the limits, and I most certainly did nothing wrong at Magnum.”
Beau saw Alessandra’s face register curiosity. Her wrath hadn’t fully dissipated yet, but at least now she was listening. “They didn’t tell me that, at least not directly. Sailor’s friend said it was a rumor—that you and Vanessa had some sort of scam going on.”
Beau realized that getting kicked out of The Benson had the potential to hurt his reputation more than the incident at the Magnum had. He had to convince Alessandra to let him stay. He always suspected Magnum had created a secret narrative about him, and hearing his suspicions confirmed made him want revenge. But in order to do so, he had to convince Alessandra to let him stay.
“That’s a complete lie. And if you ever want to know the truth, just ask. Not as the CEO of The Benson, but as my friend, or my lover, or whatever it is we’ve been doing these past few days. I had hoped for something even more than that. But you seem way more focused on me losing than on hearing about why I’m not at all the person Magnum seems to be saying I am,” Beau said, his voice lower now.
Alessandra’s shoulders loosened and she rubbed her forehead. She looked down and then back up at Beau. Her voice was still cold, but at least it was calmer. “You know, I can’t say I really care what story they’re telling. I shouldn’t have allowed you to double the limits last night. I know that now. I’m mad at you for asking, but I’m madder at myself. And I don’t want you to lose, but there is more going on than just you.”
Beau saw the worry on her face. “What’s going on?”
Alessandra wasn’t going to tell him everything. “It’s just end of the year stress. We have a target Wyatt wants us to hit. He’s putting some pressure on me, that’s all.”
“Wyatt Holter? The owner of Holter Holdings, the private equity firm who took it over?”
“Yes, him. He’s pretty easy to work for, but he isn’t from the business, so our growing pains stress out both him and his shareholders. We wanted to get a bunch of high-rollers to our casino, which, as you know, is impossible because of Magnum’s tournament this week. Our other choice was to get a high-roller—yes, like you—to lose a lot of money. And that’s not working out so well for us, is it?” Alessandra smiled ruefully.
Beau thought for a moment. He knew that as the owner of a private equity firm, Wyatt was probably more conservative than most resort owners who had grown up in the business. All of a sudden, he thought of way to help her out, while getting a bit of revenge on Magnum at the same time. “I have an idea. If I were able to get forty gamblers in here to play in a high-stakes private poker tournament, would you be able to get it organized by tomorrow night and supply the dealers?”
“Of course we could. But we make our money on the side games, not the poker itself. How can we be sure that they gamble here after the tournament, rather than go back to Magnum?”
“I’ll help spread the word about you having better odds than Magnum. If you slightly improve a few of the odds on the tables, maybe loosen up your high-limit slots a tiny bit, then I can get the players here for the tournament. Then they’ll stay for the better play. And the amount they bet will more than make up for the improved odds. These will be your premium bettors.”
“But right now, they’re at Magnum for its tournament. How will we get them here?” she asked.
“That part’s easy,” Beau said. “There’s already a group out of the tournament, and they’re always looking for more action. My friend Aden, the one who your dad helped out, is there right now. Magnum assumes they’ll stay. But with a few well-placed hints and rumors about your better odds here, they won’t keep gambling at Magnum. The lure of a high-stakes private poker game will get them here, and the better odds on high-stakes craps and blackjack will keep them here. What do you think?”
Alessandra nodded. “I think it might work. Besides, I don’t have anything to lose. Do you really think you can get them here?”
“They’ll come,” Beau said confidently. “But let’s make a bet. If I hit the target, then you have to have dinner with me again—a real date this time, not for business. Just for fun.”
“And what do I get if you lose the bet?”
“That’s easy. Same thing if I win. You get to have dinner with me again.” Beau laughed.
