Play with Me

My lips thin; my spine stiffens. I have no idea what was in that text message, but he hasn’t banked his reaction to it as I’d thought. He’s harder now, colder. It’s as if a block of ice went up between us. He is the arrogant, demanding boss I expected him to be, but I will not cower. “Understood,” I say, clicking my pen. “I’m ready.”

He wastes no time wondering if I really am ready. He begins spilling out information, and I can’t write fast enough to get it all down.

We are just pulling in to the terminal when he says, “We need to exchange phone numbers.” Then, to my shock, he grabs my phone and takes the liberty of typing his number into it before handing it back to me.

I accept it, careful not to touch him, and I am almost certain that he is careful, as well. “What’s your number?” he asks.

“It’s still a Texas number,” I warn before reciting it.

He puts it into his address book and then glances at me. “When are you getting a Vegas number?”

“I … soon.”

“Get one tomorrow. Text me when you have it.”

He opens the car door and steps out, then slams it shut a little too hard. I jump at the harshness of the action and then frown. He’s moody, far too good-looking for my sanity, and impossible to figure out. He definitely is not a sure thing, and neither is this job, but I’m committed. I’m going to gamble on them both.

Part Three

Where I belong…

My return to the hotel lands me inside the main security operation for the casino, tucked away in a tiny waiting room that feels like a prison. Apparently I don’t formally have the job until I am cleared as employable by the company standards. For an hour, I sip coffee and try to watch the news on a flat-screen television, but it can’t hold my attention and I pace instead. Not that I have anything to worry about with my clearances; I just want this job solidified. I want to be officially employed, even if it’s technically as a temporary worker. It’s a foot in the door.

Finally, an hour into my captivity, Terrance Monroe, the blond, thirty-something head of security for all three of the Vantage properties, joins me. He lifts a folder in his hand and motions to several chairs against the wall. “All right, Kali,” he says as we claim two seats, having torn down the airs of last names in the first sixty seconds we’d met. “We have your security check, fingerprints, and credit scores. You’re clear for temp employment.”

“I can report to work tomorrow, then?” I ask hopefully.

“Human resources will need to see you at eight in the morning on the twentieth floor. Bring your identification and you’ll have a picture ID made.” He sets the folder on the chair separating us and taps it. “That has a map of all three casinos, a list of staff, and your access codes for parking and the executive floor after hours.”

I push to my feet, afraid someone will find another challenge for me to hurdle before this day is over. “Terrific,” I say, shoving hair out of my eyes, behind my ear, beyond caring how I look right now. I wonder if I’d feel the same if Mr. Ward were here. Somehow, I don’t think so. “Thank you.”

Terrance stands up, too. “Eager to get out of here?” he teases, and his friendliness is easily received, genuine, welcome after the day I’ve had.

I snort, and it’s not my most ladylike moment. “I’ve gone from new reporter at the local paper, to jobless, to assistant to the CEO of one of the biggest casino operations in Las Vegas in about twelve hours. It’s been the world’s longest roller-coaster ride of a day.”

“Well, then,” he says, reaching for the folder and handing it to me, “consider this a get-out-of-jail-free pass. Bring it in with you tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” I say, embarrassed that I’ve forgotten my paperwork. “Thank you. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know. You’re working at a high level. If you see a problem, speak up.”

“I will. Absolutely.” I’m encouraged by his friendliness, which matches Dana’s. Maybe everything corporate doesn’t have to leave me black-and-blue.

“Good.” He inclines his chin. “And good night.”

“Good night.” I start to leave and then remember the explosion on my new desk. Turning back, I ask, “Can I stop by my office?”

“I thought you were eager to get out of here.”

“I am, but there was a mess on the desk when I arrived, like someone maliciously destroyed paperwork. As tired as I am, it doesn’t seem good to leave it like that overnight, especially since I’ll be in HR first thing tomorrow.”

“That was cleaned up while you were gone.”

“Oh,” I say, and my curiosity gets the best of me. “What happened?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Thank goodness they have nine lives,” I joke. “I assume whoever left my job wasn’t very happy?”