All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. April, 2011.
Thanks as always, to my beta the incredible xrxdanixrx, who also made the awesome banner. Check out her new story, Washed Up. XO BB
A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. I couldn't do it without you.*Pull and Pray.* XO
Let's see what the rest of the day brings.
Come, join me.
If you wanna make money in a casino, own one. - Steve Wynn, Vegas casino owner
Edward
Chapter 3
The sound of the door shutting behind Harry causes Bella to jump slightly in her seat as I stare back at her, her brown eyes wide and panicked, but warm. Everything about her is warm; her smile, even her nervous personality that she's desperately trying to hide from me. She's not going to last five minutes with the group that's coming here tonight.
If I didn't know that after reading her employee file and watching the surveillance tapes this morning, I sure as fuck know it now. She's too timid, too genuine to be part of all of this. Some of these people are ruthless, they can smell inexperience and fear, and they'll chew her up and spit her out.
They expect confidence, they expect composure, they expect that the people who are in this room understand at least the basics. They expect quick responses and cool demeanors, not warmth and girl-next-door sweetness. I wonder what the hell Jasper was thinking when he offered her this job.
Having read her file, I know that on paper, she's technically qualified. She's been employed here for over a year, switching to full time a few months ago after her father suffered a stroke. She has a flawless attendance record and glowing reviews. Her team, as Emmett so quickly pointed out, does seem to love her, and she's even managed to impress the Denali sisters, which in and of itself is a miracle.
Those two are vipers. I didn't think they had a redeemable bone in either one of their plastic bodies, until I read the letter of thanks they wrote to her. Apparently, a few weeks ago, Bella went out of her way to help when their father passed away unexpectedly, and they were forced to cut their party weekend in Vegas short.
I'm also painfully aware that the surveillance tapes do not do her justice. Bella Swan is a beautiful woman. Understated beauty. It's difficult to find, especially in this town. She's real, her soul still miraculously in tact despite the sins of this city. It's easy to get lost in sin here, and yet somehow, she's managed not to.
The fact that she has gone unnoticed by me for over a year is unsettling and makes me wonder what else I'm missing in my own casino. Granted, I can't possibly know everyone who works for me, but being unaware of Bella Swan should be a crime.
In the last few minutes, she managed to annoy me, amuse me, and turn me on without even knowing she's doing any of it. Despite the dangerous attraction I have for her, I can sense there is much more to her than the obvious.
Her eyes flicker to the plaque on the table, bringing me back to reality. There it is. They all just want the money. Why should she be any different?
"You want this, don't you?" I ask coolly, nodding my head to plaque on the table.
"No. I mean, I know you were just trying to prove a point."
I cock an eyebrow to her. Maybe there's hope for her yet. "And what point would that be?"
Her eyes lock to mine, burning and determined. "That people are greedy and driven to want more. That the rush of me winning this amount of money is nothing compared to what the people who are coming here tonight are going to feel," she says firmly and with surprising confidence. Perhaps I was too quick to dismiss Miss Swan.
"And do you want more, Bella?"
She takes an audible breath in. Fuck, I'm an asshole. She's trying hard, she's clearly done at least some minimal research in an attempt to impress me, and I'm just taunting her, teasing her, and having way too much fun to stop with this gorgeous woman, who is clearly out of her element.
That's the pattern that seems to have taken over my pathetic life. Taunt, tease, fuck, walk away. It's easier that way.
She shifts in her chair, squaring her shoulders and trying to look authoritative. It's hot as fucking hell and distracting. I don't need distractions. Not in my life and certainly not tonight. "I think I need to know more about what's going to go on in here before I answer that question," she says.
I feel my smile widen. It's not often that people voice their opinion with such intensity. "What would you like to know?"
"What exactly do people expect of me, of Angela, of anyone who works in here?" she asks.
"They expect perfection. It's all about anticipating. Filling their glass before they even know it's close to being empty, knowing their names, catering to their whims."
She looks at me warily. "Their whims? As in…"
"If they want to sit and talk because they're lonely and everyone else in their life has abandoned them, that's what you do. If they want you to stand quietly beside them while they bet thousands of dollars on one hand, so be it."
"I thought I was managing the team in here," she says, looking confused.
"You are, but it's also your job to make sure that when people leave here, they want to come back. Always keep them coming back. And the team, the servers, they should be invisible. The last thing people want is hovering."
"No hovering," she mumbles. "So, I'm like a glorified waitress or something?"
"You're the most important person in this room, Bella. Angela could make players feel at ease, and when you're at ease, you play more, you bet more. It's a simple equation. Keep them happy, keep their drinks full, cycle the staff before they become tired or bored," I explain.
She nods her head. "And their wives, their fucks for the night, their good luck charms as you said, they need to be just as happy. Probably more so than the players. I don't want Riley Biers preoccupied because his whore for the night is restless," I say flatly, gauging her reaction.
She twists her fingers nervously in her lap. "Can I be honest with you, Mr. Cullen?"
I laugh darkly. "That would be a first."
"A first?" she asks.
"Honesty and this business… they don't normally go together."
She furrows her brow. "I don't think I'm the best person for this job."
I stare back at her, completely floored. I can't remember the last time anyone turned down a job from me. I can't remember the last time anyone was this open and honest about how they feel, and so I give her my brutally honest answer back. "No. You probably aren't, but lucky for you, the best person for this job is lying in a hospital bed and will be there for foreseeable future."
She cocks her head. "And you think that's lucky?"
"Luck is all a matter of perspective."
"I'm pretty sure Angela doesn't think she's lucky," she mumbles, her eyes flickering back to the table before they meet mine again.
I smile at her boldness. Most people would have bolted out the door at this point, but I am starting to realize that she is not most people. "I'm not going to lie to you. This isn't an easy job, and the lines between reality and fantasy are blurred. Somewhere between the blinking slot machines and the rattle of poker chips, people can lose perspective." She wets her bottom lip, and I can feel the anticipation, the want building. "You can't be one of those people. Managing this room is all about keeping things in perspective."
Her eyes dart to the bar. "How many people work in here?" she asks.
"Ten. Not including security and the dealers."
"Ten people for sixteen players and their guests? Is that enough?" she questions incredulously.
"They're the best. And it wouldn't look good if we had more staff than guests, would it?"
"No. I guess not," she mutters her answer.
"Do you know how much money will exchange hands here tonight?"
"A lot," she breathes.
I smirk at her naivety. "You could say that. It isn't all about the money, though. People come here to get away from the plush blue carpet sinking beneath their feet, from the hissing roulette wheels, and the buzz of the crowds. They get tired of foolhardy bets and gambling with amateurs. They want more. More than the dice that dance over the cheap green felt at another casino can offer them." She straightens in her chair, leaning forward.
"People want to say they came here, to this room. And whether they win or lose, it makes them feel important, like they've taken a step up, like maybe if they come back, they can be legendary, and someone will remember them."
"When can I meet the team?" she asks. Ever the dutiful manager.
"They start at eight. The room opens at ten."
"Ten?" she asks, her eyes wide.
"Did you have a date or something better to do?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she fires back. Feisty. I like feisty.
I stare at her impassively. "I can find out."
Her face falls, and she leans back in her chair. "I don't doubt that."
"Good. I'll send Mrs. Cope to collect you when Harry is back around five. He can walk you through some of the finer points of blackjack and poker."
"I need to know the finer points?" she asks, clearly concerned.
"You need to know more than you do, right now." I sweep my eyes down the standard black uniform that regretfully hides her body. "I'm assuming you have something more appropriate with you to wear?"
She furrows her brow, looking down at the blazer. "This isn't the uniform for the room?"
I lift an eyebrow. "Do you really think the people who are coming here tonight want to be greeted by the same average uniform that everyone else has?"
She shakes her head. "Probably not. I didn't bring anything else with me. Jasper didn't mention a dress code," she says nervously.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I'm going to have to talk to Jasper about this whole thing and what the fuck he was thinking. I stand up from the table, flattening my tie down my chest, watching in amusement as she scrambles to her feet. "I'll have Mrs. Cope call down to the concourse. You can get yourself whatever you think you'll need. I'd suggest Gucci or Prada. Something tasteful and elegant."
Her mouth drops open. "What? I can't afford Gucci or Prada, or any of those stores down there," she says, a hint of panic in her voice.
I push the chair in, retrieving the plaque from the table, and move to stand in front of her. "I'll take care of it, Bella."
She stares up at me, shaking her head. "No. That's just… no, I couldn't… you can't do that," she stammers.
I smirk at her, thoroughly enjoying the fact that I seem to annoy and frustrate her. I step down from the table, moving to the door, hearing her shoes echo through the room as she trails along behind me. I stop at the door and turn to her, my eyes drinking her in. "I can, and I will." My eyes fall to her cheap high heels, which are anything but Italian leather. "And get some new shoes, as well. Those will kill your feet if you're standing in them all night."
I see a flash of anger in her eyes as she narrows them at me. I ignore her and open the door. "After you."
She holds my gaze and steps into the hallway. "Oh shit! Hang on!" she yells. I watch in amusement as she runs across the hardwood floor, my eyes fixated on her ass in that skirt. She is entirely too enticing for her own good. She steps up to the blackjack table and retrieves her binder from the chair, holding it close to her chest as she walks back slowly to me.
"Yes. We couldn't forget that, could we?" I murmur. She flushes, but keeps her head held high as I punch the code into the elevator. Her eyes flicker to the plaque in my hands. "Consider this your bonus, if you make it through the night."
"Mr. Cullen, I don't expect to…"
The elevator dings and opens as I place the plaque into the inner pocket of my jacket. "I know you don't." I hold the door open for her while she stares up at me questioningly. "I'll see you this evening."
"You're not coming with me?" she asks.
"Shopping? No. I did enough shopping last night." The memory of the Gucci seamstress flashes for a moment, her face replaced quickly with Bella's, her mouth dropped open, my name falling form her lips as I fuck her against the wall in my foyer.
I shake my head as she steps onto the elevator. "I guess I'll see you tonight, then," she says nervously.
I nod and lean into the elevator, my arm grazing hers as I press the button for the shopping concourse. First contact. It's comforting, and I want more. I let go of the door and watch as she disappears behind it.
I stand for a moment, staring at the door, letting out a long breath, my hands raking through my hair, feeling completely unsettled; something that rarely happens to me.
Peter's voice clearing behind me brings me back to reality. I turn and see a hint of a smile. "Miss Swan seems like an interesting woman," he notes, maintaining his usual overbearing and intimidating stance in front of the door.
"Yes. Yes, she does." I move past him down the hallway, trying to put thoughts of Bella Swan out of my head.
WC
"What the fuck are you thinking?" Jasper's eyes widen as I unleash on him in my office. "She's not ready to manage that room and you know it."
"Good afternoon to you, too," he says casually, sauntering to one of the visitor's chairs in front of my desk. I shake my head at him as he smirks at me, sinking into the chair. "It'll be fine. You're way too anal about that room, man."
"I'm way too anal? What the fuck, Jasper? Do you know how much money will go through that room tonight? I have every right to be anal about it."
"She's a solid worker. Her team has nothing but good things to say about her. Hell, even some of the VIPs know her, and lets face it, it's not exactly rocket science." I huff in frustration. "Do you have another option that I don't know about?" he asks sarcastically.
"No." I get up from my chair and move to the window, looking down over the gardens and pools below. Typical sun worshippers, wandering in and out of the casino, craving both the air conditioning and the blistering heat at the same time. They're like little, insignificant specks from up here. "And if she's so fucking fantastic, why haven't you talked about her before?"
"Do I really have to answer that? Edward, you're way too busy to worry about every single person in this place. That's why you have me."
I turn from the window, leveling him a stare. "If she screws up, it's your ass I'm coming for."
He laughs. "Are you switching teams, now?"
"Fuck off." I smirk at him.
"And Esme would never let you do that. She loves me."
"It's a good thing someone does." My mom and dad do love Jasper. His family is extremely wealthy, his father making his fortune raising and racing horses. Our families run in the same social circle, and as a result, Emmett and I have known Jasper for a very long time.
We've shared university fraternities and legendary weekends of drinking and indulgence until I took over The Oasis, effectively bringing all of that to a screeching halt.
Despite his father's pushing, it became clear quickly that Jasper didn't want anything to do with running the family business. He actually loves horses, but only to ride them himself. So, when his father retired, they sold the business, keeping Jasper's favourite horse, and are now multi millionaires. Jasper doesn't technically even have to work. He just does this because he loves it, and I'm happy to have him. He's one of the few people I trust implicitly, and he does an amazing job with the employees. Happy employees mean happy customers, another simple equation.
"Have I ever steered you wrong before?" he asks.
"There was that time in Phoenix…" I start as we both laugh at the memory.
"How long are you going to hold that over my head? She said she was single."
"They all say they're single when they can smell money. Have I not taught you anything?"
He chuckles, leaning back in the chair. "We haven't done anything like that in a long time."
"Yes, well, your days of playing the field are clearly over. How is Alice?"
He shifts uneasily, and I raise an eyebrow. "She's good. Actually, there's something I need to talk to you about."
I move back to my desk and sit down in my chair. "Okay."
"Alice and Bella… they're kind of friends," he says cautiously.
"For fuck sake, Jasper! Are you that fucking whipped that you're letting your girlfriend dictate your employment choices? Honest to God, if you weren't my best friend-"
He narrows his eyes at me, clearly on the defensive. "You're out of line, man. And Alice didn't make this choice. I did. Bella is the best option we have right now, short of me hiring someone away from Eclipse, which I didn't exactly have time to do." I can feel the stress rolling off me. I don't have fucking time to deal with this shit. "Oh, and I know you probably don't want to hear this, right now, but I think we may have a mole."
I feel my body coil. "What?"
"Eclipse just happened to announce the opening of their new show this afternoon, right before our press release went out. Guess what it is?"
I feel the anger spike as I stare back at him. "Please don't tell me it's a show like Dawn is." Dawn is a multi-million dollar acrobatic and musical show, employing over two hundred performers. It's been negotiated under a curtain of secrecy and set to open next month.
He nods his head. "Billed as, and I quote, "a jaw dropping extravaganza." Apparently, more daring and more electrifying than anything you've seen before. It opens two weeks before ours. Oh ,and guess what he called it?" I feel my jaw set. I'm going to snap. I can feel it. "Dusk."
"Fucking Jacob Black," I seethe, sending whatever file is on my desk hurling across the room. That man is the fucking bane of my existence.
Jacob owns Eclipse, a marginal casino by our standards. Our gentlemen's rivalry started out harmlessly; he snatched up a few employees of mine ,and I returned the favour. It's progressed since then as he tries his best to one-up me at every turn.
We ordered new poker tables, bringing our total to fifty in the private room. Two weeks later, the tables weren't as nice, but he had sixty of them. There's something to be said about his tenacity; however, his boorish reputation and lack of attention to detail will always keep him coming up short. That doesn't mean its not annoying as hell. "Who the fuck does he have planted in here?"
"If I knew that, it wouldn't have happened," Jasper answers.
I hit the button on my phone that connects with Mrs. Cope and wait. "Good afternoon, Edward," she says, her voice calm, cool, and collected.
"Get Emmett in here, now!" I bark at her.
"Right away," she says, disconnecting from me.
"How the fuck did he find this out? They've been booked for months, now. This is supposed to be confidential!"
"I don't know, Edward. You know how tightly everyone is bound around here."
I push back forcefully from the desk, pacing the floor in my office, before stopping at the oval glass bar in the corner and moving behind it. "I need a fucking drink."
WC
"That's right, take it all," I murmur as I sink my hands into the dyed blonde hair of the woman who is currently on her knees, sucking my dick. Everything about this is wrong. I went down to the exclusive New Moon lounge on the fourth floor specifically to find someone to fuck. I've done it countless times before, so why should now be any different? But it is.
After trying to deal with the shit storm that hit this afternoon, I did something I've never done before. I actively searched out an employee using our surveillance system. Yes, of course I've logged into the system and scanned the casino, usually when security wants to make me aware of an unusually high win or a questionable player, but this… this is new territory for me.
The fact that I'm intrigued by this woman is, in and of itself monumental. Women don't intrigue me—ever. They amuse me. They satisfy a need. But when I finally found Bella, in the office behind reception, studying that ridiculous binder as if she were cramming for some exam or something, I found myself unable to tear away.
I watched as she pushed her hair behind her ear countless times, twirling a pen between her fingers and dropping it frequently in frustration. I watched her furrow her brow, looking at the binder and then shutting her eyes as if she was trying to memorize its contents.
I watched for much longer than I know I should have. I'm not any better than your average peeping Tom, and with that sobering thought, I knew I needed some fucking release before navigating the intensity of the Twilight Room.
But now, as I rock my hips against the blonde and fuck her mouth, it all feels wrong. Sure, she's a willing participant and obviously knows what she's doing, but all I feel is empty, emotionless, and disgusted with myself.
She hums around my cock and swallows everything, looking up at me all proud of her accomplishment. She slips back onto the bed and starts to shimmy her virtually non-existent skirt over her hips.
I pull my pants back up and without another word, move to the bathroom.
"Hey!" she complains.
"You can see yourself out." I shut the door to the bathroom, leaning against it.
"That's it? You're just leaving me here like this?"
"Maybe another time," I call through the door, knowing there will never be another time. I'll never see this blonde again.
"Fucking bullshit." I hear her grumble, followed by silence, and then the sound of the door to the bedroom suite slamming. I wait longer than I know I need to before moving to the sink and taking in my pathetic reflection. I lean against the marble vanity, gripping the edge and feeling like I'm going to vomit.
I am on top of the world. A millionaire multiple times over, with this city in the palm of my hand. So why do I feel so alone?
Chapter end notes:
Oh, Edward. He really has no idea.
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