All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.
Thanks as always, to my beta the incredible xrxdanixrx. Check out her latest 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. XO
Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. In case you missed the author's notes on my other story, my computer and external hard drive backup had a major melt down, causing me to lose all of the chapters I had written for this story, along with chapters of BTN. Rewriting these chapters has been extremely difficult, and as Dani will tell you, I'm not one to just throw something together in order to keep to some arbitrarily imposed posting schedule. Thank you for your patience.
Let's check in with Edward.
Come, join me.
Las Vegas was and is a hard town that will make you pay for your inability to restrain your desires. If you have a weakness, Las Vegas will punish you. – Hal Rothman
Chapter 7
Edward
"Yes, I said bus stop, Sam." I run my fingers through my hair in frustration while I pace the darkened street.
"Mr. Cullen, I may have dosed off, but my cell phone was on and right beside me the whole time. I didn't hear it until now."
"It's okay. I didn't call until now," I bark back at him.
"I don't understand, sir. Why are you at a bus stop?" Sam asks after a pause.
That's a fucking good question. Clearly, he's stunned by the fact that I'm currently standing on a corner, on a dimly lit street, in the middle of fucking no where. It's after three-thirty in the goddamn morning, and I'm not even home yet. It's taken three buses to get to this point. How the fuck do people do this everyday?
"It's a long story. How long will it take for you to get to me?"
I hear the distinctive sound of the car accelerating through the phone. "Ten or fifteen minutes, sir. I'll be there as quickly as I can," he answers, his voice hurried.
I end the call, turning my BlackBerry repeatedly in my hand while I try to figure out what the hell I'm doing. I'm out here, in the middle of the night, after enduring the staleness that only the Las Vegas bus system can provide, all because of Bella Swan.
I slip my BlackBerry into the inner pocket of my jacket and wait. I can't stand to wait. It pisses me off to no end. I'm exhausted and I need a fucking shower, again, all because of her with her enticing legs and sharp attitude that would normally annoy the fuck out of me.
I never should have watched her through the cameras today. It's like I'm some sort of peeping tom, leering at the forbidden fruit. I'm fucking smarter than this. I take a deep breath, watching down the street for Sam, like that will somehow make him get here faster.
As I peer up the blackened road, I think over the conversation about jobs I had with Bella, and I wonder for a moment if Sam really is happy. Is this his chosen career path? Waiting at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day? It's not a question I ever would have asked myself before now… before her.
There's a lot of shit I've done tonight that I wouldn't have done before her. Lingering at the Twilight Room, hopping onto a bus, walking an employee home, asking her to lunch- the list seems endless. The most concerning part is I loved every minute of it… well, not this part-this waiting around God only knows where at the last stop on the bus line. But the rest of it? Yes. I could get used to spending time with Bella Swan.
WC
After a long and much needed shower, I'm sitting in a lounger on the balcony outside my bedroom, looking down on the pulsating neon snake of the strip, the dry desert air stagnate around me. The indulgences of the night are well underway in the city below, never waning, pausing only to refuel before diving head first into complete reckless abandon again.
Up here, above it all, it's quiet, peaceful even. There are no levers to be pulled, no shiny dice dancing over burgundy felt, no buzzing of excitement that radiates from the casino floor. It's the only place I can escape the incessant noise that surrounds me on a daily basis, and I relish in it, knowing that tomorrow, it will start all over again.
A warm breeze hits me, the sounds of the waterfall in one of the pools creating a soothing rhythmic backdrop. Acres of landscaped perfection and over five thousand square feet for me roam around in. It would be nice to share this someone.
I wander into my bedroom, slipping into the oversized bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep has never been an issue for me. Apparently, that's something else that has changed. I'm exhausted, but my mind is racing, keeping me from the one thing it needs the most.
The shadows cast on the wall are distracting. The green digital numbers from the clock on the nightstand taunt me. The subtle creaks in the house I didn't know existed before are annoying the fuck out of me.
It doesn't matter how many times I open and close my eyes, or how many times I toss and turn, trying to find the right position, sleep isn't happening. I groan, rolling over, staring out the massive window, watching silently as Las Vegas parties into the night.
WC
The water rolls off me as I stand in my colossal shower, trying to wake up. I've had maybe three hours of restless sleep at best and that doesn't bode well for my agenda today.
I'm booked solid, a fact which is not unusual. Lunch with an employee, however, is highly unusual; particularly this employee who I can't seem to get out of my head. I turn the tap, shutting off the shower and stepping onto the marble floor, reaching for a towel from the warming bar.
Running the towel through my hair, I stand in front of the mirror, silently asking what the fuck I'm doing. What do I hope to accomplish by meeting with her today? A date? A casual fuck? I shake my head at that thought. That would be the epitome of stupid on my part. Fucking an employee. As I try to tame my hair into submission, I stare back at my reflection, knowing damn well I want a lot more from Bella Swan than a casual fuck.
WC
"Who is she?" My father's voice rises through the speaker phone in the kitchen.
I stare blankly into the oversized stainless steel refrigerator, trying to figure out what to make for lunch."Why do you think there is a woman involved? What's wrong with taking a lunch to work?" I argue.
Mom bursts out laughing. "For you? Everything, dear. You're the CEO of the biggest casino in Las Vegas, and I'm kind of agreeing with your father on this one. You've met someone, haven't you?"
I roll my eyes, pulling out some roasted chicken from the deli container and sniffing it. It smells alright- at least, I think it does- so I set it on the granite counter top and hunt down some bread.
"Even if I have what's the big deal?"
"I knew it!" Dad says excitedly. "When are we meeting her? It is a her, right?"
"What? Yes, it's a her," I say, finding some crusty bread which is hard as a rock. I scowl, tossing it into the trash and abandoning the sandwich idea.
"Hey, don't get all defensive on me. We were just starting to wonder, son," he says.
"Oh, no we weren't. But either way, if you're happy, so are we," Mom chimes in.
"I'm not anything, Mom. It's just lunch," I mumble, opening the fridge again.
"Mhmm. If it's not anything, why are you calling me at seven-thirty in the morning?" she asks.
"Can I not call my parents? I haven't talked to you since you got back from your trip," I say defensively.
"Yes, dear. I know. You were… indisposed when we got back," Mom says. I can almost see her raised eyebrow.
I chuckle, thinking about the Gucci sales woman. "Mmm."
"What's happening with Jacob Black, Edward?" Dad asks, changing the subject. "I saw the announcement about their show, Dusk. That's a little too much of a coincidence, don't you think?"
I nod, pulling out some wilted lettuce from the bottom of the fridge. "Jasper thinks we have a mole," I admit, tossing the lettuce into the garbage with the bread. I really need Tanya to stock the fridge more often; although, I suppose I could do that. I pause for a moment, trying to remember the last time I was even in a grocery store. I can't even remember. That's a bit pathetic. Surely to God I can get my own groceries… not that I actually have time to do that.
My internal rambling is cut short as Dad's annoyed voice comes through the phone. "That fucker," he curses.
"Carlisle!" Mom complains, her voice elevated through the speaker. It's like she's standing right in the middle of the kitchen, she's so loud.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then," he mutters.
"No, it doesn't," I agree, finding some left over penne pasta and pulling it out of the fridge.
My rivalry with Jacob, with the Blacks in general, isn't new. Dad and Jacob's father, Billy, shared a similar distain for each other as they jockeyed for notoriety during the Vegas hay-days.
They took shots at each other, building names for themselves in this town, and like me, Dad always came out on top. Sure, Billy got a few cheap shots in every now and then, but in the end, he was no match for Dad.
They didn't have all the state of the art equipment we have today, but what they lacked in technology, they made up for in ruthless deals and priceless insider information. That's harder to come by these days, which is why the fact that we have a mole is so concerning.
"Edward, you need to get a handle on this situation and soon," Dad dictates, dropping into his authoritative tone, his voice booming.
I shake my head in frustration, chopping up the chicken harder than I really need to and adding it to the pasta. "I know what I'm doing, Dad. It's not like this is my first time around the block with that son of a-"
"Edward!" Mom interrupts.
"Sorry, Mom."
"I'm not saying you don't know what you're doing, son. Just don't underestimate Jacob. If he's anything like his father, he knows a hell of a lot more than you think he does," Dad says cryptically.
"I know. Jasper's on it. He'll find out who it is soon."
"Well, now that that's out of the way, Edward, we need for you to decide on a date for the heart and stroke fundraiser. I sent Shelly a few dates for you to have a think on, and I was wondering…"
Mom's voice becomes a static blur to me as my mind wanders to Jacob's latest stunt. One-upping me on this acrobatic troop is definitely a coup for him. I'm sure he's sitting back in his tacky, gold platted office, gloating to anyone who will listen.
As I finish with my chicken pasta salad creation and look for dessert, I think it's time I pay Mr. Black another visit.
WC
"Sam?" I break the silence from the back seat of the Mercedes as we wind our way towards the strip.
Sam's eyes drift to the rearview mirror as he watches me closely. "Sir?"
"Do you enjoy your job?"
His brow furrows. "I'm sorry, sir?"
"Do you enjoy this? Driving me around all day long?" I ask seriously.
"Have I done something to upset you, Mr. Cullen?"
"No. Of course not. I'm just wondering."
The tension releases slightly in his shoulders. "I'm very lucky to work for you," he says firmly.
"Why do you say that?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "You're one of the good ones, Mr. Cullen."
I shake my head, not quite understanding. "What does that mean?"
"A couple of my buddies have similar gigs, but their boss's are real jerks," he explains.
"Real jerks?"
"Yeah, you know… the pay is lousy, they treat them like lowlifes, that sort of thing."
I scowl, nodding. "But that doesn't answer the question about the job," I press.
"I enjoy it, sir, but I don't exactly love it," he admits.
"What would you love to do?" I ask.
He shifts in his seat, his eyes nervous in the mirror.
"It's okay. I'm not going to hold your answer against you or anything."
"Security. I'd like to get into security. It would be good to work some more normal hours with the baby coming soon," he answers quickly.
"Baby?"
"My wife is pregnant… very pregnant, sir."
I had no idea his wife was pregnant… I had no idea he had a wife, if I'm being honest. "What kind of security?"
"Well… surveillance," he says hesitantly. "I've taken some online courses through the college."
"We have positions in surveillance all the time here."
His grip on the steering wheel tightens. "I know, sir."
"Then why haven't you said something?"
"I didn't want to bother you, and you never asked."
I nod, looking out the window as we approach the neon lights already pulsing on the strip.
WC
"Is something on fire?" Jasper's amused voice comes through my BlackBerry as we start towards the Oasis.
I chuckle, shaking my head. "No, not really. I need you to create a program."
"A program? Isn't that Emmett's area of expertise?"
"Not a security program, an educational program, you know, for employees," I state.
Silence greets me for a moment before he answers. "We have a few of those already, remember? The internships your mom started? Wait, are you wanting an intern? Please don't make me clean up a Lewinsky-spot-on-a-blue-dress-mess."
I chuckle at Jasper's description. "No. I don't want an intern… well, not really. I was thinking more along the lines of an MBA program."
"An MBA program?"
I stare out the window as the fountains of the Oasis come into view. "Yes."
He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Are you going to give me more than that to go on, or am I supposed to read your mind?" he asks dryly.
"There are a few employees we have who are trying to earn their MBA, but having… difficulty financially in doing that."
"A few employees? Oh, wait. I get it. You mean one particular employee, don't you?"
"Jasper…"
"I didn't even ask how Bella did last night, but obviously, I don't need to if you're wanting to create a special program for her," he taunts.
"It's not like that—"
"You just keep telling yourself that," he cuts in.
"It's a legitimate idea. You know how hard it is to find valued employees, hard workers. I don't want to lose any of those people."
"Mhmm. And so, out of the blue, you want to start a MBA assistance program to keep them?"
"She doesn't belong in that room, Jasper," I say firmly.
"Did something happen to her in there last night?" he asks, his tone now serious.
"No –she handled the room, but she's better suited for something else. She's green and vulnerable in there."
"So was Angela when she started," he fires back at me.
"This isn't up for negotiation. I need the outline of a program by one o'clock."
"Whatever you say, boss," he says sarcastically, chuckling.
I ignore his blatant tone and end the call, smirking to myself as Sam pulls the car to the entrance of the casino.
WC
"If you're interested in pursuing a career in surveillance, I can talk to Emmett. We always need good people up there. People we can trust. It's not easy to find in this town," I say to Sam, opening the door.
"And you trust me?" he asks, turning in his seat to me.
"You wouldn't have been with me for the last four years if I didn't."
He smiles nervously. "Well, I would really appreciate that."
"I'll talk to him today. He's a better boss than I am, anyway."
Sam shakes his head. "I doubt that, sir."
"Trust me. It wouldn't have taken him four years to ask you if you enjoyed your job." I rise out of car, leaning back in to grab my laptop bag and my Nike gym bag. "And he would have known you were expecting a baby," I add, closing the door and taking the stairs, weaving past the crowds that have already started to stare in amazement at the overstated entrance to the casino.
The doors slide open as I step into the lobby, my head turning to the front desk before I can even think to stop it.
"Good morning, Mr. Cullen." A chorus of voices rings out to me from behind the opulent reception area, none of which are the one I want to hear.
I nod a response, turning my attention to Mrs. Cope, dutifully waiting by the elevator bank with mystery tea in hand. She's dressed immaculately as always, in a beige tailored pant suit, with the ever present leather journal containing my agenda at the ready.
She lifts a quizzical eyebrow from behind her glasses as she spots the gym bag in my hand.
"Good morning, Edward," she says, holding out the cup to me.
"Mrs. Cope." I nod, taking the cup in my free hand as she eyes me curiously. I blow lightly at the liquid, taking a tentative sip. "Mmm, mint this morning?"
She nods, and we make our way to the key pad at the door leading to the private elevator where she punches in the code.
"Mint is soothing. I thought you could use it after a night with the high rollers. How did Bella manage?" she asks as the doors open and we step through to the marble floor.
"She did alright," I say, trying to fight the smile I feel pulling at my lips.
"Just alright?" she presses as I fumble with the tea and the ridiculous gym bag which contains my lunch, in an effort to retrieve my BlackBerry with this hour's security code. "Need some help?" She smirks, holding out her free hand, lifting her eyebrows to the gym bag.
I stare at her for a second, before passing it to her and pulling my BlackBerry from my jacket breast pocket.
She looks at me questioningly. "Should I bother to ask what's in here? You have a full selection of work out clothes upstairs," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Wait, you didn't entertain a Nike sales woman last night, did you?"
I chuckle, finding Emmett's email with the code, pressing it into the key pad before slipping my BlackBerry back into my jacket. "No. No Nike sales woman," I say, taking the bag from her and trying to avoid eye contact while the doors open.
I hold the door while she steps into the elevator. I move beside her, and the doors close, whisking us up to the twentieth floor.
I glance down at her, eyeing the leather bound journal. "Today's agenda?" I ask.
"You already know your agenda, Edward. Are you going to tell me what's in the bag, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?" she asks, her smirk widening.
"I'm having lunch with Bella today, if you must know."
She furrows her brow, looking at me like I'm insane… maybe I am. "Okay, and the bag contains what?"
"My lunch," I say casually, staring up at the numbers on the elevator.
"You brought your lunch… in a gym bag, no less?"
I look down at her, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"
"No." She shakes her head, opening the agenda, unable to hide her amusement. "Not at all. It's totally normal. Do we need to see about new chefs, then?" she asks.
I look at her questioningly. "What?"
"I'm assuming if you're bringing your lunch you must not be a fan of any of the nine five star restaurants we have here," she says, trying to sound serious.
"Are you mocking me this early in the morning, Mrs. Cope?" I ask.
"Me? Never, Edward," she says, clearing her throat. "Now then, your agenda."
I chuckle and nod, tuning out her voice as she rattles off my insane schedule for the day.
WC
"Is everyone behaving?" I ask, moving beside Emmett as he sits at the helm of the observation room.
He nods, not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him. "For the most part. This guy, though…" He waves his hand at the screen. "Total amateur. It's actually pretty funny."
I lean against the desk, watching for a few minutes, not seeing anything other than a really cheap suit at one of the Blackjack tables. I shake my head, becoming impatient. "I don't—"
"Wait for it, bro," Emmett interrupts. "There! Did you see that?"
"See what?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at the screen.
He shakes his head at me, reversing the video and slowing it down as I watch closely. "There." He stops the video and zooms in. "He's mucking. He's actually got pretty quick hands," he says.
With the evolution of security cameras, we rarely see attempts at cheating like hand mucking anymore. Essentially, a player removes a card from the table without the dealer or other players seeing it, keeping it concealed for later use in the game.
I lean closer and stare at the frame by frame video, which clearly shows the player reaching into the cuff of his cheap and poorly tailored jacket, pulling out a card, and switching it out with another.
"Unbelievable," I mutter. "And the dealer isn't seeing that?"
"He saw it, and the pit boss called up a few minutes ago, too," Emmett says, shaking his head. "The guy's got balls. I'll give him that. It's been a while since we've seen that here."
I nod, watching for a few more minutes. The player does have fast hands, and his surgically enhanced fuck for the day, sitting beside him, is certainly trying her best to create a distraction for every other man at the table.
"Eric," Emmett says, finally tearing his eyes from the screen.
"I'm on it," Eric answers, immediately talking into his headset, relaying instructions to the security team on the floor, who move into the position at the table almost instantaneously.
"So, an interesting night for you last night," Emmett says, leaning back in his chair and smirking at me, turning away from the screen while the security team removes the player and his partner in crime from the table.
"Interesting?"
He nods. "I think that's a first for you."
"A first?"
"The bus?" he presses, grinning.
"You saw that?"
He lifts his eyebrows. "Do you really have to ask me that? He waves his hand around the surveillance room proudly. "I see everything."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "Yeah. I guess you could say it was… interesting."
"Mhmm. You like her," he says matter-of-factly.
I level him a stare. "Don't be ridiculous."
He shrugs his shoulders. "I'm just saying. The cameras don't lie," he says, clearly amused.
"If you're done analyzing my every move, I have something important to talk to you about."
"Changing the subject?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "Okay, shoot."
"You know Sam?"
"Your driver, Sam? Yeah, he's a good guy. His wife is ready to pop any second," he says excitedly.
Of course Emmett knows about Sam's wife. "He's interested in pursuing surveillance. I told him I'd talk to you to see if you need anyone."
He nods, getting up from his chair and moving to another computer, typing on the keyboard. "He's a really good guy," he says, looking at me. "Are you sure you want to move him? I know how picky you are." He grins before turning back to the screen.
"I can find another driver. It would be good for him – you know? Better hours for when the baby comes," I state, repeating Sam's words from earlier this morning.
He studies the screen as he scrolls through it. "His employment record is clean. Glowing reviews from his snobby boss." He chuckles, glancing at me. "And he plays a mean game of football."
"You've played football with Sam?"
"On Sundays, when you actually let him have some time to himself, yeah."
I furrow my brow. "How come I don't know this?" I ask seriously.
Emmett laughs, standing up and slapping me on the back. "There's a lot you don't know."
WC
"This is really good, Jasper," I say through the speaker phone while I scan through his MBA proposal on my laptop.
"You sound surprised. I do know what I'm doing, Edward. I'm not just another pretty face," he jokes.
I chuckle, skimming over the outline. "And you've already spoken with the Dean at University of Nevada?"
"Dean Molina and I go way back," he explains. "And besides, when he heard how much press the school would be getting, how could he say no?"
"Thank you. I know I just kind of sprung this on you this morning."
"That's why I get paid the big bucks, my friend."
I laugh, sending the proposal to the printer beside my computer. "How's the investigation going on our potential problem?" I ask.
"Slowly," he says, his tone serious.
"I don't like the sounds of that."
"Neither do I. Whoever Jacob has in here is staying pretty far under the radar."
I nod. "Alright, well, keep me posted. I don't think I have to tell you that this needs to be taken care of and fast," I state firmly.
"I know."
WC
It's the conference call that will never end. I loathe these types of calls, typically because I have little patience for people who wish to waste my time with mundane descriptions of the latest slot machine they desperately want me to buy.
Today, however, what is annoying me more than anything is that this call, which is with a company my father started doing business with over fifteen years ago, is delaying my lunch plans. If Mr. Jenks wasn't a personal friend of Dad's, I would have hung up on him twenty minutes ago.
Actually, I shouldn't really complain, it has given me time to engage in what appears to be my latest indulgence—scanning the casino lobby for Bella. As Jenks drones on about the latest advancements in digital video displays, I've been searching for her.
It's amazing what you'll find when you start looking. In the past half an hour, I've seen employees shamelessly flirting in the break room, one of our VIP guests blowing up at a bell hop because his all too expensive luggage was left too long at the entrance, and a middle aged couple, clearly on a break from their dull lives, groping each other like teenagers in one of the elevators.
I can feel the smile spread slowly across my face when I finally find her. She's turning a pen through her fingers, dropping it repeatedly as she studies the computer screen in front of her at the reception desk.
"Edward? Are you still there?" Jenks' voice comes through the speaker phone, bringing me back to reality.
"You've given me a lot to think about," I lie. "If you can send over the specs and your proposal, I'll have the team take a look."
I stifle a chuckle as I see Bella look up to the massive ornate clock on the wall above the elevators, furrowing her brow and then shaking her head before turning her attention back to the computer in front of her. She hates waiting as much as I do.
"Thank you, Edward. We'll send it over this afternoon. Tell your father I'll see him at the jockey club tomorrow night," Jenks answers.
"I certainly will." I hang up from Jenks and turn off the surveillance software.
I need to stop this shit. She's an employee and nothing more. I look over at the pasta salad and the bowl of strawberries currently sitting on my circular working table, overlooking one of the pools below.
I run my hands through my already crazed hair and get up from my chair, moving to gaze down at the sun worshippers below. I envy them in a way; lounging without a care in the world but when their next drink is coming.
I need a fucking vacation. I wonder if Emmett and Jasper would be interested in going somewhere. I shake my head at that thought. They're not going anywhere without Rose and Alice, and the last thing I need is to be a fifth wheel on a vacation.
The familiar soft knock on the door from Mrs. Cope ends any vacation plans abruptly. "Edward?"
I turn from the floor to ceiling windows, smiling at her.
"Shall I get Bella for you, now? You're running a bit behind schedule, and we wouldn't want your home made lunch to go to waste," she says, smirking slightly.
I chuckle and nod. "We can't have that, can we?"
"I'll go down to the lobby now."
I nod, moving behind the bar as she makes her way to the door. I should probably have drinks ready. I scan the shelves, scowling. Wine… completely inappropriate no matter how good it is. Whiskey… again, unsuitable for afternoon lunch with an employee. I open the fridge, shaking my head at the beer. "Do I not have bottled water in here?" I ask, closing the fridge and staring at Mrs. Cope.
"I can have some sent up," she says, clearly amused.
I nod. "Oh, I also need you to find out where Jacob Black is this afternoon. I need to see him."
She stops at the door, quirking an eyebrow. "I can't exactly call over there and get you an appointment, Edward," she protests.
"Yes, I know, but you're resourceful. I just need to know where he is. I have a few words I need to say to him."
She shakes her head. "You're worse than your father."
"Hey! I resent that, and Dad and Billy were at each other's throats all the time."
She nods. "Yes, but they also knew when to let sleeping dogs lie," she states.
"If you think I'm letting him get away with this latest stunt without saying a word to him, you're crazy."
"Tracking him down and deliberately provoking him may not be the best idea," she counters. I nod, furrowing my brow. "There's something to be said about subtlety."
"There's also something to be said about making a statement."
She tilts her head to the side. "Then make a statement where it hurts him most, his pocket book. You know at the end of the day, our show will bring in more revenue than his," she states.
"That man pisses me off," I admit, crossing the office back to the table.
"Well, you better get over it… you have a date," she says sarcastically, pulling open the door.
"It's not a date!" I yell after her as the door shuts, leaving me alone to wait.
Chapter end notes
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