Page 45 of All Bets Are Off

My smile turned rueful. “Join the club. I’m glad you’re getting out, though. As for the workers, you shouldn’t let them get to you. There was never a chance I was going to end up with one of them. If my father taught me anything—even if he doesn’t always practice what he preaches—it’s not to get involved with someone who works for you. That’s a power imbalance, and itcan get ugly fast. I don’t want to be the guy who gets the girl because my parents have money.”

She nodded. “I get it. That’s a pretty good philosophy to have.”

“Thank you.”

“I still think you’re kind of a putz.”

“Yes, well, we wouldn’t be us if we weren’t hurling insults.”

“At least some things stay the same.”

“Yes, most definitely.”

I WAS CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT OLIVIAwas doing, but just because I was her husband, that didn’t mean I got a say in her extracurricular activities. Dating was out, but if she wanted to plant herself at Tallulah’s daiquiri bar—which was what I suspected she was doing—that was her business.

I set about work, made all the calls on my list, and then went through the numbers as I was supposed to before heading down to check the floor. The numbers were my least favorite part about my job. I was never someone who found joy in numbers. In fact, they often gave me a headache. I was as diligent as I could manage, however, and I hummed to myself as I shot off several emails—seemed the bars were spending an inordinate amount of money on garnishes of late—and prepared to embark on my favorite part of the day.

I liked interacting with the employees, including standing with Rex on the casino floor and having a few laughs. I always needed an extra shot of caffeine to get me through the afternoons, so that was part of the deal as well. I saved my floor time for after I was done with the tedious stuff, though. Delayed gratification was important to my mental wellbeing. There was just one little problem.

The numbers didn’t add up. Every department seemed to have put forth their numbers on time—and I trusted the heads to do it correctly—but the final number didn’t match up to all the smaller numbers.

“What in the hell?” I muttered to myself. Confused, I went over it again. Then again. There was money missing.

Not missing,I corrected automatically. One of the reports was simply off. While annoying, those things happened. I fired off emails to each of the department heads, announced there was a discrepancy somewhere, and asked them to check their reports and send them again. Odds were, one of the bigger departments—it would have to be the casino itself or one of the bars—had accidentally forgotten to carry a one or something. We were in no danger of being audited today, or even this week, so we had time to find the error.

Once I was finished with the email, I closed my computer and headed downstairs. I would’ve been in a better mood if everything balanced, but without another numbers run, I couldn’t force the issue. That was tomorrow’s problem, I told myself. Today, I was just going to enjoy the good part of my job.

I hit up the coffee shop first, taking a moment to talk to the manager about something I’d been chewing on all morning. “How hard would it be to deliver a vanilla latte with almond milk to the penthouse every morning at eight o’clock?” I asked Marge Dolman. She had a pinched face, which made her look mean, but I happened to know she was a big softie.

“You can’t come down here and get your own vanilla latte?” Marge demanded. “And since when do you like almond milk?”

I hesitated, but not for long. “It’s for Olivia.”

“Oh, your wife.” Marge’s eyes twinkled. “I see.” She studied me so intently that I had to break eye contact and look away.

“If you can’t, it’s fine. She just likes a latte.”

“I don’t see why we can’t have one ready and send it up to your penthouse with one of the bellhops,” she said after a beat.

“Really?” I was relieved and … what was the other emotion I was feeling? I couldn’t quite decide. It might have been happiness. Over getting a latte for Olivia? That was weird. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You need to keep the little missus happy.”

“I just … she’s weird about her coffee. I thought it would be easier.”

“It’s fine,” she assured me.

I smiled in thanks and carried my coffee to the main floor. There I found Rex standing with one of our top casino hosts, Jackie Fields. They had their heads bent together and looked serious. “What’s going on?” I asked as I joined them, instantly alert. “Is something wrong?”

Jackie beamed at me in such a way I felt distinctly uncomfortable. “Hi, Zach.” She batted her eyelashes as she leaned in at a strategic angle. Her cleavage—which was impressive—was on display. That was normal for her. She flirted with me every chance she got. Normally, I would’ve smiled and found an easy way to brush her off. Olivia’s tidbit from earlier—how the women had a competition to see who could bag me—had me rethinking my approach, though.

“Hey, Jackie.” I kept my smile friendly but vacant. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, maybe.” Jackie twisted her hands in front of her. She had an expensive manicure—the sort of fingernails that were so long I had to wonder how she got anything done—and there were little rhinestones peeking out from her nails. “I was just talking to Rex.”

“I noticed,” I replied dryly, lifting my coffee to my lips.

“I have a few whales in town,” Jackie continued. It was obvious she’d noticed me being standoffish. She was likelyconcerned, but she’d deemed whatever problem she’d brought to Rex more important. I had to appreciate that. Jackie’s income was based on how much her clients bet. That meant she was serious about keeping the casino running smoothly.

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