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I stare at one of the slot machines, a scowl on my face. The old man who reminds me of my father calls, "Hey, I know you. You're the lucky coin girl, right? Got any lucky coins to spare?"
My hand goes to my purse, where I keep a small stash of my custom-made, carefully programmed "lucky" coins zipped away in a hidden pocket. My temptation mounts—I may have beefed up security for hackers here, but even with all the new security measures put in place, they wouldn't be able to track my little inventions.
As a matter of fact, I'm really proud of my "lucky" coins. Most of them are one-offs, pre-programmed similarly to my old hacking device, and able to temporarily screw with slot machines to get a sizeable win without raising eyebrows every time. I know which coins will be big wins and which will be smaller, and after they're used, they're useless—they'll look just like every other coin in the pile. It's a technology that I'm still tinkering with.
I haven't told a soul about what my lucky coins really do because, for me, they're oddly very personal. They'remylucky coins.
If I put that technology out today through the black market or some shit, it would wreak havoc. People would try to copy what I've made, security measures would have to advance to catch up, and everything would be blown wide open. Plus, it might come back to bite me on the ass, which I'd rather not have happen after the long line of shameful hacking and scamming in my past.
"You good?"
I realize the older gentleman is still speaking to me and put on a tight smile quickly. "Sorry. Just…distracted. No coins to spare, but I hope you get a win sometime soon."
"You and me both," he grunts, taking a long sip of his drink.
I open my mouth to tell him he should get out of this place before his addiction worsens, but Domenic's voice speaks directly behind me before I can. It makes me jump despite his quiet tone as he leans toward my ear.
"Is this man a security threat? Did something tip you off about him?"
It makes sense he'd ask that. I'm standing here chatting it up with a customer instead of in the security room, where I should be by now. I realize how out of place I am and shake my head quickly, not meeting Domenic's eye as I veer around him and march away.
"Loren?"
He catches up with ease and eyes me as he walks at my side through the casino. Now and then, affluent people will look over and greet him by name, and he nods politely or says a crisp word or two, but I can feel those dark eyes on me as I try to ignore him.
I leave the casino and enter the security hall, but his firm hand on my arm stops me before I get too far. I face him with a harsh huff. I'd love to remind myself that just because this day is the special anniversary of everything I hate doesn't mean I should let my temper take over, but it's too late because something on my face makes Domenic's eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches.
"Something has upset you. Tell me what happened."
"Nothing happened. I'm fine."
"You're angry. Why?"
"I just told youI'm fine."
My bratty tone doesn't deter Domenic. He just examines me as if looking for signs of harm, his deep chocolate eyes resting on the two small stitches that I have under a band-aid by my hairline. "Were you threatened again?"
I roll my eyes and put on a sickly sweet smile. "Listen, I appreciated you sewing up my face, and I'm sure you don't mean to be a pushy ass. But I have work to do, so please go back to draining the general public of their hard-earned money and haunting your casino like a bad, cold, domineering rash."
Shit. I'm not mad at him—Iknowthat, yet the words just snapped out of me because this day is the fucking worst every year, and it always puts me in a sour mood. What happened between us in the past doesn't matter at all. I should not be talking to my boss this way, and definitely not when he's a dangerous mafioso with such a chilling reputation.
Domenic's jaw tics. He adjusts one of his suit sleeves without breaking eye contact. "I'm surprised you're judging me for running a casino, considering your past actions."
I flinch at that, and his face immediately softens. Before he can offer an apology—and I'm almost sure he wasn't going to—I turn away to stride toward the security room.
"Fuck off, Domenic," I mutter under my breath, still angry at everything in my path today.
He moves quickly to stop me again. This time his hand on my waist pulls my back against his front so he can murmur in my ear. "You don't need to enjoy my profession. Simply agree to have dinner with me tonight. Whatever has put you in this mood, I know I can put you inanothermood. One we'll both enjoy."
A flutter breaks through the irritation plaguing my heart, but I quickly push it away and look up at him.
"It was just a celebration, what happened between us a few days ago," I insist. "Not the gateway to anything else. Just a one-night thing."
"Two nights, considering the past."
I snort and try to step away, but his arm snakes around me, and goosebumps skitter all over my body. Someone could walk out of the security room or into this hallway at any time, and here he is, pressed against my back with his face in the crook of my neck.
"We're not doing this," I say, trying to make my voice stern instead of breathy. "Isn't there a rule or something about workplace relations? You're my fucking boss."
