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“How may I help you?” She repeated the question she’d asked on the phone, but still he said nothing for a very long time.
“I wish to be distracted,” he said finally, his smile ghostly.
“Of course.” She nodded with a whoosh of relief. Finally, they were returning to far more familiar ground. “You’re in the right place, sir. This is, after all, a playground city.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and loaded the app she used to track current events and activities. It updated every five minutes, and included which bars were closed, which were full, and which were at their peak. “Now, what would you like to do? There’s a high-stakes poker game at The Bellagio and I can get you a seat. Or perhaps a dinner reservation, despite the hour?”
She felt a frisson of discomfort creep along her spine as she broached the next subject. “There are some very exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in the area. Private and … well-regarded.”
He arched a single brow. It was just one tiny facial movement but it had the power to make her feel as though she’d said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.
“None of these things are of interest to me. I wish to be distracted, not bored by other people’s stupidity and lax morality.”
She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to get offended by his snappish words.
“Do you have an activity in mind then, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. If you tell me what it is, I will facilitate it.”
“As is your job,” he said unnecessarily.
She nodded, her eyes narrowing at his snappish mood.
“I would like to drink tea, and talk.”
“Tea?” She couldn’t help but repeat. “And talk?”
“There is a golden canister in the kitchen. It carries the royal tea of Dashan. Make a pot and join me.”
It was, of course, not an invitation she could refuse. It was an order. And their talk would be led by him.
This was not a tête-à-tête so much as a function of her job.
It was, however, the first time she’d been called from her bed to make drinks and chat.
She boiled the water and measured leaves into a glass pot that was beside the golden canister.
After hunting around for a few minutes, she found a tray beneath the stove. She lifted it out and laid two cups in the centre, then placed the teapot on it and moved back into the living area of the enormous suite. “I couldn’t see milk or sugar.”
“I take neither.”
He’d moved to a lounge near the large windows. Olivia spun the pot three times, unconsciously reminding herself of her mother Meredith, and then poured a measure into one of the fine bone china cups. When she handed it to him, she noticed how incongruous the tiny cup looked in his big, broad hands.
“Be seated.”
She lifted a teacup and took the seat opposite him. The view of Vegas sparkled beneath them, like something out of a modern fairy story. How many dreams were being made in the patchwork of light beneath them? How many were being broken?
Olivia didn’t speak. After all, Zamir was in charge. This was not the time to begin babbling.
“You are not from America,” he said after a long stretch of silence.
“No.”
“England?”
“Australia,” she corrected. “A small wine-growing district in the West.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You have been here long?”
