Page 6 of The Side Deal
But I stay quiet and follow him out of the poker room.
Robert told me to explore. To go for it if I saw something interesting.
I have no idea what I’m doing. But as Tony’s hand brushes the small of my back, guiding me toward an elevator, I realize I don’t want to stop and figure it out.
Chapter 3
The elevator ascends in silence. Tony stands close enough that his expensive, masculine cologne fills the small space. His presence makes the air thick and tense.
My fingers twist around my purse strap. I could stop this, but words form in my head and vanish before reaching my lips.
The doors slide open to reveal a hallway unlike the casino floor. Artwork hangs in expensive frames, and plush carpet swallows our footsteps. The recessed lighting creates soft shadows.
Tony’s hand is still on my lower back. The heat of his palm seeps through my dress, sending a current up my spine.
We stop at a door with a brass nameplate that says “Antonio Ricci - Private.”
He unlocks it and steps aside. “After you.”
The office steals my breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Seattle skyline. A massive dark wood desk dominates the space. Italian leather furniture invites intimate conversation. A bar cart holds bottles I recognize from Robert’s collection—the kind that cost thousands.
The details tell a deeper story. A photograph on the credenza shows Tony shaking hands with a man who bears a striking resemblance to the state senator. A statue of Saint Michael, patron saint of protection and battle, stands on his desk. Whatever Tony manages, it’s more than just a casino floor.
“Have a seat.” Tony moves to the bar cart. “Drink?”
“Water’s fine.” My voice is steadier than expected.
I sit down and cross my legs while he pours two glasses from a crystal decanter. When he turns to face me, his eyes scan my body, taking in the slit in my dress that shows my thigh.
“So,” he says as he settles into the chair across from me instead of behind his desk. “We have a problem.”
My pulse quickens. “The fifteen hundred.”
He sips his water, watching me over the rim. “That’s a significant amount for most people.”
Three words would end this: I can pay. I don’t say them.
“It is.”
Tony studies me. “You walked in here looking wealthy. That dress, those shoes, the way you carry yourself.” His gaze travels up my body slowly. “But I’ve been in this business a long time. I know the difference between people who have money and those who just look like they do.”
The assumption lingers between us.
“You think I can’t pay.”
“Can you?”
A dark and dangerous thrill simmers in my veins. He thinks I’m someone else. Someone whose hair gets messy from life, not because I ran my fingers through it. Someone who takes risks because she has to, not because she’s bored.
I hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch. His eyes darken, and I realize he’s not just assessing my financial situation. He’s trying to figure out what I’m willing to do about it.
“What if I can’t?”
Tony’s mouth curves into that not-quite-smile. “Then we’d need to discuss alternative arrangements.” He sits back, but his eyes never leave mine. “I’m a reasonable man, Shannon. There are always...options.”
Heat pools low in my stomach. My black Amex card is heavy in my purse. One swipe would shatter his certainty.
Instead, I lean back in my chair and mirror his posture. “What kind of options?”
