Page 92 of Double Down
There it is—the real motive under the gossip. Pressure.
“Good,” I say. “Thank you for your honesty. Now on to the part you knew I’d ask about.” I turn the laptop around to face her and tap a key.
The first clip plays easily. An empty hallway. Maryanna steps out of a guest room, a guest following behind her and lingering in the doorway. He scratches his bare chest, then palms her a wad of cash. She smiles, stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
It segues into a second clip, which is a little worse. The casino boat’s loading dock, late at night. The interaction here is quick, dirty, emotionless. She rises from her knees from the black shadows of the boat, wiping a fingertip neatly at the corners of her mouth. A man steps out after her, zipping his pants. When she holds a hand out he bypasses her palm and slips his hand into her shirt, pressing cash, I presume, into her bra. She tips her chin up in a laugh and adjusts her uniform.
Maryanna rolls her lips inward and glances down at her lap, then back up. “I broke policy,” she says. “A guest asked for some…help—off the books. He tipped me. It was a bad decision.”
“It also appears to be a pattern,” I say.
“I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise,” she replies. “I’m behind on bills. My mother’s on a waitlist. I took shortcuts I shouldn’t have but I didn’t have a choice.”
We sit in the quiet a beat. The easy thing is to make her a headline in an email. The right thing is to make the mess smaller, not bigger. Maryanna is not an employee I actually have any desire to fire.
“All right. Here’s how this is going to go,” I say. “Effective immediately, you’re suspended pending HR review for policy violations for two weeks. I can’t have solicitation on the premises, so you’re going to meet with HR and the lawyers and whatever your story is will determine how things move forward. You’ll be paid out for your accrued hours, and I am making sure that you are getting a cost of living raise after your suspension. The hotel will also foot the bill for your mother’s care, when the time comes...”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m not fired?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t want to fire you. If you sign the suspension agreement and keep this clean, it’ll be over in a few weeks. I’m not going to make any promises, but I’m not torching you unless you make me.”
She blinks fast—relief and shame mixed together. “This is so much more than fair.”
“One more thing,” I add. “It would be hugely helpful in the interim if you happened to hear of any staff floating ‘side work’ again—tips that aren’t tips, introductions that shouldn’t happen. Call this number.” I slide a card across. “I will make it worth your while.”
She nods, stands, and pauses. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Carrow…people talk a lot of trash about all of you. But most of us just want to do the job and go home. If somebody’s stirring this, it isn’t the usual suspects.”
“Duly noted.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her with a softsnick. I flip my knife in my hand, the habit settling me, as I think back over the meeting. It had gone as expected, but I wish she’d had more of the information that I actually needed. Still the bit about the various departments was intriguing.
I text Con.
Storm
On my way.
Storm
I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I get to eat that pretty pussy first.
No response. But I didn’t honestly expect one.
I stop at the door of Con’s office, press my forehead to the wood, and breathe. So much stress, so much anger simmering just under my skin. Every part of me feels cracked.
My Angel won’t shy away from it. She sees me for what I am, and she accepts it. Embraces it, even. She recognizes the darkest part of herself in me. Con doesn’t. He thinks it’s a kink, and maybe it’s that, too.
I need to give Phoenix enough so she knows she isn’t alone in her darkness, but not so much that Con decides she isn’t safe with me. The Titans would never kick me out, but they would take her away if they thought it was in her best interest.
Con can’t ever think that. So today, I leash the monster. Promise it that soon, it can come out to play with our fallen angel.
I enter the office without knocking. Con looks up as I lock the door. He gives me a single nod, and I go straight to Phoenix.
She’s on the couch where I left her, scrolling a spreadsheet on a laptop barefoot in one of Atticus’s shirts.
I don’t speak. I step behind her, wrap my fingers around her throat, and savor the way every muscle in her body freezes, then obeys. She rises when I pull, turns when I set a hand on her shoulder.
“Storm…wha?—”
