Page 52 of All Bets Are Off

“Maybe I’m going to start my new career,” she said darkly. “I mean … apparently, you have to be a dancer to care about other dancers.”

It took me a moment to realize what she was suggesting. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to help. According to you, I have no business helping because I don’t have a dog in the fight. Perhaps it’s time to change that.”

“Oh, well, sure. Do you need help getting into your pasties? I have twenty minutes before I have to head downstairs.” I had more time than that, but I figured twenty minutes was all the sparring I could take.

She glared at me. “You don’t think I could be a dancer,” she said out of the blue. “I could be, though. Just because I’m not … you know.” She moved her hands in front of her breasts, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what she was suggesting.

“Your breasts are fine,” I countered, speaking before I could think better of it. “I don’t even like really big breasts. Yours are actually pretty solid. Actually, they’re nice. They kept me up all last night they were so nice.”

I didn’t realize what I’d said until her mouth fell open.

“What did you just say?” she sputtered.

I had to run the words back through my head. I blamed her for my lack of filter. I was one of those guys who needed a solid eight hours or he was practically useless. She was the reason I didn’t sleep. This was all on her.

“I should probably be going,” I said as I darted a longing look toward the door. “You know … early bird gets the worm and all that.”

She didn’t respond. She just stared.

I grabbed a juice out of the refrigerator and started toward the door. “I’ll be in meetings all day. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her not to wait for me for dinner. Instead, I did the opposite. “I’ll try to get back at a decent time so we can eat together.”

Where had that come from? I hadn’t even realized I was going to say it until the words were already out of my mouth.

She seemed as surprised as me. “Okay.” Her voice was so soft I almost didn’t hear the response. “Um … okay.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” I couldn’t look at her, so I slipped through the door, not allowing myself to breathe until it fell shut and she was safely locked away on the other side.

Just what in the hell was wrong with me?

MY DAY GOT OFF TO A ROUGH STARTwhen I checked my emails and found out that two of my pre-lunch meetings had been shifted to my father to clear my schedule for another meeting. Apparently the stripper—er, the dancer—situation had gotten bad enough that owners from almost all of the big casinos were sending representatives to meet with the group representing the dancers. My father didn’t want to be bothered—no surprise there—and he was insisting that I be the one to meet with them.

Well, that was just … not good.

I pouted through the morning. I was an absolute bear. Technically, I knew it wasn’t anybody’s fault—I really did believe the dancers deserved fair pay—but I was cursing Olivia’s name under my breath when I left the casino and headed toward the tunnel beneath the Eiffel Towel. The meeting was going to be held in a bar there.

Only in Vegas were bars considered acceptable negotiation locations. It wasn’t surprising that they’d picked a location they could rope off. The tunnel was actually one of my favorite places in the city—the little shops that looked like a Parisian street, the painted ceiling, the twinkle lights all made for an inviting ambiance—but I was sour about having to negotiate something I had no power to change.

I grabbed another coffee on the way. I wasn’t much of a napper, but my lack of sleep the previous evening was starting to wear on me. The first person I saw when I approached the bar was Kellen Carpenter. He’d inherited one of the clubs just off the strip from his father a few years back.

He didn’t look happy.

“Hey,” I said for lack of anything better to say.

“Hey.” Kellen already had a cocktail clutched in his hand. The lack of windows pretty much everywhere allowed people to pretend it was later in the day than it usually was.

“Drinking already? That doesn’t bode well for you, does it?” I was going for levity, but the glare he sent me suggested it had fallen flat. “Sorry,” I said automatically. “I just … wasn’t expecting to be sent to this.”

“Join the club.” He took a healthy swig of his drink. It smelled like whiskey. “This is just the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. I mean … they’re strippers. It’s not a corporate gig.”

I didn’t like his tone. In truth, there was very little about Kellen I liked. I’d been in his club—Tit for Tat—a few times,but it wasn’t a place I frequented on the regular. Seedy was a word that got thrown around a little too often in Vegas. It wasn’t always accurate.

It was the exact right word to describe Tit for Tat, though. It was the sort of place where your shoes stuck to the floor and you wanted to delouse yourself after five minutes in the smoky environment.

Rather than argue with him—it wasn’t good to show my hand—I opted to be careful. “Any idea what it is exactly that they want?” I sipped my coffee and tried to keep my expression neutral.

“I’m pretty sure they want to be crowned or something,” Kellen replied. “It’s absolute nonsense. They actually want benefits. Like 401Ks and stuff.”

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