Page 8 of Gamble
Just a few blocks from her and Meena’s apartment, she made the last-minute decision to pull into the grocery store, heading to the mammoth salad bar. She was a good-girl, filling the to-go container with healthy fruits and vegetables.
Instead of leaving, she went all the way to the back, winding through the aisles.
She shouldn’t. Her scale would hate her tomorrow.
Reaching into the sub-zero cooler, she came out with a quart-sized carton of rocky-road ice cream. Just as the glass door slammed closed, she saw the “Buy One, Get One Free” sign and reached in to grab a second.
Most women turn to retail therapy after a bad day. Reagan turned to ice cream.
She tried to look on the bright side.
They had great ice cream in Vegas, too.
CHAPTER FOUR
ELIJAH
“Hey boss, there’s some guy at security flashing your card and saying he’s your guest.”
Elijah was in his office halfway through tallying the long liquor order when his assistant, Tyler, stuck his head in and broke his concentration. He’d fallen behind on paperwork after taking a couple nights off, courtesy of his bum hip. He was finally feeling good enough to come in.
“Yeah? This guy have a name?” Elijah asked, running through the short list of recent invitations he’d handed out.
It was an important part of his job—discreetly recruiting new members. Most were polite enough to give him a heads up before they came barging in at the entrance.
“Won’t give his name. Just says to tell you you’re a chicken shit.”
His chuckle escaped, confusing his second in command further.
He pushed to his feet, trying his best to ignore the shooting pain up his left leg to his hip. Trying to hide his limp was hard enough on a good day, but there was no way he could let his guest for the night catch a glimpse of his condition or he’d never hear the end.
It was only a few dozen feet from his office to the main entrance of Black Light. As soon as he pushed through the door, he came face to face with one of his oldest friends.
“Kent Crawford, you asshole. What the hell are you doing here?”
The two men shook hands as Michael, the security dude who worked the entrance watched with great interest to see how his boss would handle getting called a chicken shit.
Kent leaned in for a short half-bro hug, slapping Elijah on the back as he answered. “I’m in town for a few weeks. I couldn’t let this chance to harass you pass me by.”
“Sounds about right,” he retorted. “Come in. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Damn straight you will,” his friend agreed.
They were just about out the door when he heard Michael call him. “Doesn’t he have to fill out the NDA, boss?”
Fuck.
“Hand me your cell phone,” he said to Kent, stopping them in their tracks.
“Say what?”
“I said… hand me your cell phone. You can’t bring it in.”
“No shit,” Kent retorted, handing over his mobile.
He’d bet his last dollar that Crawford would take anything confidential he might see between the walls of Black Light to his grave, but rules were rules. He was a hard-ass on anyone else, so he’d have to play along.
Elijah got close enough to Michael to throw the electronic device at his employee.
