Page 94 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

Two

KINGSTON

It took an hour for my heart to calm after storming from the dressing room. That woman had always gotten under my skin in ways no one else ever had. Normally, I could brush it off, turn a blind eye or tell myself it was someone else’s problem.

But not with this.

Mr. Leonetti’s new mandate was the ammunition I needed to put a lock on the girls’ reckless behavior. While they were sure to see it as a cramp in their lifestyle and a loss to their pocketbooks, I saw it as the means to assert the control I’d been dying for from the minute I took over operations at The Starlight Club.

“This isn’t what we ordered.” I shoved the clipboard and pen into the hands of the delivery guy, then kicked the box at my feet before turning to walk away. “Send it back. All of it.”

“But ninety percent of the order is accurate,” Johnny, our bartender, complained. “Can’t we keep what’s right and?—”

I spun, brandishing the scowl that was becoming a permanent fixture on my face. “And what? Let them get away with this bullshit again? We’ve got twenty cases of the wrong beer and a distributor that seems to believe they can pull one over on us by giving us their shit product when we ordered their top-of-the-line goods. We already took a bad order last month, remember?”

Johnny had the decency to look ashamed of himself for that mistake.

“So send the entire thing back and get the correct order here by noon tomorrow. Or else.”

“Or else, what?” The delivery guy had his clipboard tucked under one arm and his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his cargo shorts, an unaffected air about him. That air shifted as I stalked closer, until he was brandishing his clipboard like a shield.

Pressing my finger into the cheap pressboard backing, I pushed it into his chest. I jabbed it in punctuation of every other word I said. “Or else I’ll find a new distributor and a new delivery guy, and I’ll make sure your bosses understand it was your shoddy workmanship that lost them our business. Do you understand?”

He nodded frantically, dodging my gaze like it alone could ruin his life. I spun on my heel, yelling over my shoulder as I went. “Get it fixed, Johnny, or I’ll find a new bartender too.”

Back on the casino floor, I scanned the room for any disturbances. There was a cheering crowd around one of the roulette tables and a quiet one around a small group playing blackjack. I made a mental note to check both of them out.

We had a few high rollers who required my attention tonight. Mr. Leonetti had called with very specific instructions that they be treated with our finest. I cringed when he said it, and I cringed again as I dragged my gaze to their private table across the room.

Our finest was a direct contradiction to the directive I’d just laid down in the girls’ dressing room.

Evie and Ruby were already there. Ruby had her fingers sliding through Franco Tedesco’s shaggy black hair while Evie was perched upon Carmelo Santoro’s knee. My blood boiled when I saw Santoro’s possessive grip on her hip, the way his fingers splayed across her bronze skin.

No matter how bad it was, I tried to ignore the relief I felt at Carina’s absence…

Only for my chest to shrink as I registered her absence.

My attention was drawn to the staff-only door that led to the hallway and the dressing room beyond. Carina wasn’t one to miss the high rollers. They were the money. The more they lost, the higher the pay of whomever worked their table, be it dealer, waiter, or one of the girls. Depending on their night, the girls stood a chance to earn thousands.

More, if they went against my orders.

With my jaw clenched, I crossed the plush, blood-red carpet on a winding path. The other tables needed my attention, despite having high rollers in the club. Sometimes, they needed it more. Specifically, the crowded blackjack table where some clearly disgruntled patrons were hunched over their cards while a lone, cocky-as-fuck player sat gloating.

I caught Lucy’s attention as I passed, motioning with the jut of my chin for her to help me. The girls had been trained for this, and she caught on with nothing more than direct eye contact and that subtle movement. She was sidling up to the players at the table in minutes.

There was one problem taken care of.

Instead of meeting her, I stopped at the head of the roulette table, scanning the bets and players. Sienna was there in the middle of the throng, hand on one of the patron’s biceps as she leaned in close to whisper near his ear. It was the flick of her eyes my way, that split second of eye contact before she tilted her head back in a laugh, that told me what I needed to know.

She suspected the man of cheating.

I lifted my gaze to the ceiling, to the camera hidden in the intricate wooden paneling. My lips curled into a scowl. Our new security system was courtesy of Carina’s ex.

A disembodied voice spoke in my ear, through the tiny earpiece created specifically for The Starlight Club by Mr. Leonetti’s son—Carina’s other ex. “On it.”

Grateful as I was for the high-end tech, the last thing I needed was that reminder. I shot a glance toward the still-closed staff door, conscious of the fact Carina still hadn’t come out. As much as I wanted to find out why, I had bigger fish to fry.

I grasped the dealer's shoulder before leaving without a word. The two high rollers needed my attention, and there was nothing I could do about the potential cheater.

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