Page 18 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

ChapterEight

Alex stomped into his office, carefully set down the box with Rochelle Richardson’s cake topper, then flung himself into his chair. His chest felt tight, and his neck was still sweaty from the effort of holding in his anger as he fought Friday afternoon traffic on the drive from the Forzas’ shop to his hotel.

One by one, he cracked the knuckles on his left hand. Then he repeated it on his right hand. The practice usually soothed him, but today it gave him no relief. Holding in this much anger couldn’t be healthy. He was too young for a heart attack.

Though he canceled most of his appointments with his therapist, he remembered a helpful exercise she’d taught him. He blew out his frustrated breath, then drew in a long, cool one through his nose, visualizing it as a light blue gas that he held in his lungs for a count of four as it slowly turned from blue to pink. Then he exhaled it from his pursed lips, slowly, for another count of four.

By the time he’d repeated the exercise four times, his head felt cooler, and his pulse no longer hammered at his neck.

“Goddamn therapy,” he muttered as he glanced down at his desk and the neat stack of printed emails and letters Yasmin had prepared for him. He usually went through the mail right after lunch. He’d opened the package from Ray Richardson, holding his breath like it was a bomb. He’d thought the gaming board president might have sent a snarky representation of his chances of buying the Paradise, like a plastic bag full of water to represent his snowball’s chance in hell. But it contained only the cake topper and a terse note:Rochelle asked me to send you this.He’d rushed to Mary’s office like a giddy fool.

Why had he gone to her place of business and poked the bear? Showing Rafe those humiliating photos had filled him with the glee of retribution, especially when he remembered the last time he’d seen her brothers together, when Michael’s fist to his stomach knocked the breath out of him right before Rafe’s left hook smashed his nose. Twenty years later, he still remembered the sickening crunch.

He might have started the drama to put that meathead, Rafe, in his place, but he couldn’t deny that it was Mary who pushed him past the safety barrier. He’d been aroused at the sight of her bathed in the shop’s cheap track lighting, her brown eyes ablaze with righteous fury.

He was like one of the gamblers on the casino floor who’d lost every dollar in his pocket and begged for a few hundred in credit to get back on Lady Luck’s good side. He’d let dopamine and adrenaline, not reason, take the driver’s seat.

And now she’d not only kicked him out, she’d quit. He was well and truly fucked.

Doubly so, he realized as he scanned the first printed email. Yasmin had scrawled the wordImportant!across the top, which was saying something since she only printed the ones he couldn’t afford to let trickle to the bottom of his inbox under the weight of all the urgent ones. It was a brief note from one of the gaming board members Alex had spent time cultivating into a friendly, who often shared insights from the board’s discussions. The email noted that Richardson doubted Alex’s commitment to collaboration with the big players on the Strip, citing the feud he’d started when he’d pulled that Pied Piper stunt to attract customers to La Villa.

Collaboration might be fine for someone like Mary Forza, but Alex had never played well with others. He’d doubled down on self-reliance after his father destroyed the Villas’ reputation and Alex had to rebuild it from zero.

When he’d opened La Villa, he’d done what he must to draw gamblers from the flashy center of the Strip to the ass-end of it he’d been able to afford. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone but to survive. Once people had discovered La Villa, he’d cultivated it into a haven for gamblers and tourists looking for all the Vegas amenities on the more peaceful end of the Strip. La Villa was a sexy and elegant respite from the hawkers and showgirls and drunken revelry closer to the main action.

Not that there was anything wrong with the Strip. The Paradise presented the perfect opportunity for him to put his stamp on it. To bring the Villa elegance to it while embracing the glitter and glamor.

La Villa Prime would symbolize the end of his ten-year feud with the big players on the Strip. Once he’d secured the Paradise, he’d play nice.

Alex scanned the email again and caught something he’d missed the first time.Mr. Richardson also noted your antagonism with Michael and Rafe Forza, upstanding members of the Las Vegas tourism community.

God dammit! It was like Richardson had a spy camera into Alex’s brain. His hotheadedness had put not only Richardson’s daughter’s wedding in danger but also his bid to buy the Paradise and the redemption he’d worked so hard for eighteen years to earn.

He had to convince the board that their interests were aligned. An email wasn’t enough. He’d have to prove it to them. And what better way than to make Rochelle Richardson’s wedding the event of the season? No, he’d make it the event of theyear.He’d show her father what he was capable of. Then Ray Richardson would finally believe Alex’s purchase of the Paradise was good for Vegas.

He slid the email aside, revealing a large, cream-colored envelope. Yasmin had already slit it open but left the contents undisturbed. He pulled out a heavy card, a traditional wedding invitation.

Cierra Louise Dallencourt &

Sawyer Charles Leverton

invite you to share in their joy at their wedding

Saturday, August 9

at 3:30 in the afternoon

Semi-formal attire

So Cierra was getting married. Did women usually invite their exes to their weddings? It was a first for him.

He flipped through the inserts and paused at the reception card. It was deep red with a white swoosh across it that highlighted the black script.

Reception begins at 6:30, Desert Flower Country Club

Come at 5:30 to be entertained by an aerialist

Aerialists? Only in Vegas.

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