Page 53 of All Bets Are Off

I considered it. “Well, it sort of makes sense,” I hedged after a bit, internally cringing when he swiveled his annoyed eyes to me. “They have limited career opportunities,” I said. “Like … they age out. They need to be able to set up a soft landing for themselves as they transition into another job.”

“Are you their PR person or something?” he challenged.

“Not last time I checked.”

“Why are you even here?”

“Because our whales go to your club,” I replied, opting for honesty. “If they have no clubs to go to, they’re angry. Angry whales don’t spend money. If we don’t have whales, you don’t have a business. It’s kind of circular.”

Kellen blinked. “I’m not giving those whores 401Ks.” He drank half of his cocktail in a single gulp. “It’s not happening. It’s not as if they’re skilled workers.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” I argued. If Kellen was going to dig his heels in, a lot of the other club owners would probably do the same. That would make for a protracted stalemate, nota solution. “It’s not as if you can pluck random women off the street and throw them on a pole.”

Kellen snorted. “Some of my girls can’t even keep a beat. I only keep them around because they have big knockers and the clientele likes to knock things.” When he smiled, he showed he had a gold tooth. It made me want to punch him.

“Well, that’s?—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish what I was going to say because the dancers picked that moment to arrive. There were five of them, and they weren’t alone. They had somebody else with them.

Olivia stood at the center of things with Halley. She was dressed in a business suit—why did she have to look good in everything she wore?—and she had a pencil behind her ear. She’d even found glasses somewhere—did she wear reading glasses?—and she looked like a really sexy librarian.

“Is everybody here?” she asked, glancing around. Her gaze landed on me, lingered, and then she smiled at the other assembled individuals, most of whom were men.

Brian Keats, the chief operating officer of one of the bigger casinos on the strip, regarded Olivia—my freaking wife—with an interested look. “And you are?”

“Olivia Carter,” she replied. “I’m something of a liaison for the group.”

“I see.” Brian was a no-nonsense guy. “And what is it you hope to accomplish here?”

“Well, for starters…” Olivia opened her notebook.

“Hold up.” Brian raised his hand. “Don’t you think you guys need a lawyer? I mean … if we’re negotiating here, it always helps to have somebody who knows what they’re doing at the table.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, and my stomach constricted. Things were about to get ugly.

To my surprise, Halley raised her hand. “I’ll be serving in that capacity,” she replied.

Brian opened his mouth, then shut it. He seemed to be struggling with exactly what to say. “A real lawyer,” he said finally. “You guys need one.”

Halley smirked. “I was third in my class at William S. Boyd School of Law,” she replied. “I’m licensed. I’ve passed the Bar. I have every intention of practicing law in about ten years or so. I’m just doing this first.”

Surprise registered on Brian’s face. “You’re a lawyer?”

I cringed at his tone. If “dubious” was a person, it was Brian at present. “He didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” I said automatically. “It’s great that you’re an attorney.”

Halley’s lips swished.

“Yes, who wouldn’t want a stripper standing next to them in front of a judge?” Kellen replied dryly. “That will strike fear in the prosecution. Will you wear a thong to help sway the jurors?”

I wanted to smack him. Hard. I managed to refrain, though. Olivia was another story.

“Could you be any more condescending?” she challenged.

“Yes. I can be way more condescending,” he confirmed.

She glared at him. “And who are you?”

“He’s the owner of Tit for Tat,” Halley replied. “He’s a mouth breather extraordinaire.”

---