I Like Being Alone
Jared
My footsteps break the silence as I pad into the kitchen to make some breakfast. This place is too big for just me, but I love it.
The spacious ranch-style layout sports an open floorplan, cathedral ceilings accented with crown molding, and heated Spanish-tile-floors throughout. There are five bedrooms and four baths, a restaurant-sized kitchen, and a home office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall.
Out back is a forty-foot lap pool, a gas fire pit, an outdoor kitchen with a high-end gas grill and meat smoker, and a small casita with its own bed and bath for guests who want more privacy…not that I ever have any.
I pull open the fridge and scan the contents. Grabbing a carton of eggs and a pitcher of juice, I turn to set them down on the island. A soft meow hits my ears before a black fur ball lands gracefully on the counter in front of me.
“Hey, Deuces,” I say, running a hand over his back. “You hungry, boy?”
Walking over to the pantry, I grab a single-serve package of the fancy wet food I stock for him and a small bowl. Grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer, I rip open the package and pour the contents into the bowl, mashing it up with the fork the way Deuces likes it before setting it on the counter in front of him.
He eats gracefully while I crack a few eggs into a clean bowl and whisk them rapidly. Turning on one of the gas burners on the stovetop, I set a frying pan on the flames before pouring in the eggs. I think about last night as the eggs cook, and I sigh.
My little confrontation with Sophie Jameson made the rounds of gossip so quickly, Sam already knew about it before I even reached the pit. We left the casino and hit a bar a little further down the strip so I could buy him the beer I promised. I bought myself one, too, but didn’t drink more than a few sips of it.
I’ve never been much of a drinker. Not since I was twenty-two, and my life changed forever. I’m too laser-focused on making sure the casino runs smoothly and is a success to muddle my brain with booze.
Sam thought the whole thing was hilarious. That the woman must have some serious grit to confront me in my own casino. Of course, she had no clue who I was when she approached me. That much was obvious from her statement about me not owning the place, therefore not having any authority over her actions.
Plating up my eggs and pouring some juice into a glass, I carry my breakfast to the table and slide into one of the padded chairs. Taking a bite, I absentmindedly rub the spot on my chest where she poked me.
She has her fair share of spunk. I’ll give her that.
I shake my head and focus on my breakfast. There’s no use wasting my time or energy on a woman I’ll probably never see again. I can’t imagine she’s feeling very good about the little show she put on last night, and I’d be surprised if she ever sets foot in The Black Hart again.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out to see my assistant’s name flashing on the screen. Inhaling deeply, I let the air out on a sigh and accept the call.
“Scotty.”
“I have some interviews scheduled for this afternoon. Be here by one so we can get started weeding through the prospects,” he says without preamble.
“Scotty, it’s Sunday.”
“So?”
“So can’t we schedule them during regular working hours?” I ask.
“All hours are regular working hours in a casino,” he deadpans. “I’m leaving Friday, Jared. If you want your new assistant to be properly trained, I need to get started first thing in the morning. You’ve put this off long enough. We can’t wait any longer.”
I huff out a breath. Scotty has been my assistant for ten years. He showed up for an interview after I’d fired my seventh assistant in two years, told me I was going to hire him, and made my life immensely less complicated and stressful within his first week.
I don’t want to start over with a new one.
But I don’t have a choice. His long-term partner accepted a job in New York, and Scotty is moving to the east coast to be with him. I’m going to need a new assistant, and Scotty has pledged to find his perfect replacement. If such a person even exists.
“Fine, but I’m not coming in today. You can handle the interviews.”
“Jared,” he says, his voice filled with exasperation, “you should have a hand in choosing your own assistant. I need your input.”
“You’ve known me for over a decade. I trust you to make the right choice, Scotty. Just hire someone and send me their info. It’s not that hard.”
“Ha!” he exclaims without humor. “How many assistants did you go through before I walked into your life?”
“Just get it done. Goodbye.”