Page 8 of Royal Shark
“Thank you, sir!”
I don’t bother to reply, irritated with the change in staff. It’s been one month and already two people are leaving their posts—the bartender and my assistant. This is supposed to be a fun, rewarding place to work. Maybe I should organize some kind of morale booster like a poker tournament. Only that’s what I’d like to do for fun. What would my staff like? I have no idea. I employed local islanders for the most part, and I’m beginning to realize I’m out of touch with them.
I sit at my desk with the pile of paperwork awaiting me, power on my laptop, and pull my phone from my trousers pocket and set it on the desk. The damn phone vibrated so much with calls and notifications on my short drive here that I turned it off. Where to start? I dash off an email to my brother Lucas, who’s the CEO of all of Villroy’s business ventures, and ask him to find me a pit boss. He’s the one who has the staffing contacts.
Now what? Which task will make the most money? Marketing. That was supposed to be my brother Oscar’s role before he fell head over ass in love with a princess from another kingdom, Polly. Now they’re married and rule there as king and queen. Good for him, right? Except he’s the reason I run this gig solo and had to find other less helpful investors. He pulled out his part of the money, which was the majority, and donated it to Polly’s kingdom after a hurricane disaster. I’m happy for him. Really. No hard feelings. It’s just hard to understand how he could give up so much just to be with her—his legacy here at the casino, his home, his last asset from his football days.
If you look big picture, relationships are a bad bet. He got lucky. I only play when the odds are in my favor. No woman has ever held my interest for long, and I always thought it kinder to say goodbye before the woman got too attached.
Okay, marketing. I can make this about numbers. Return on investment is the top priority. We opened in August when there was a full roster of guests for the spa and got off to a strong start from the spillover visitors. It’s now mid-September and the spa guests are winding down, which means so are we. I need to find a way to draw people here for the casino itself. The spa sells cosmetics online to counter these lulls. We depend on in-person visits.
It’s been a year since the spa and cosmetics line launched, and our economy is slowly improving, but we’re not there yet. There’s a lot of pressure on me to make this casino successful to ensure a stable, solid future. It’s the first time I’ve ever had the opportunity to contribute to Villroy in a significant way, and I can’t let my kingdom down.
I turn to my laptop, looking over the guest counts expected at the spa for the next six months. There’s definitely going to be a lull. I dive in, considering various advertising revenues and possible returns on investment.
By the time I finish, I’m surprised to see it’s noon. Crap. I didn’t turn my phone on yet. I grab it and power it on, finding several voicemails and texts—work and personal.Prioritize.Which voicemail is most critical? I tap through them quickly and stop when I see my twin left me a message. Silvia always gets priority. We have a tight bond even though she lives in the US with her husband, Cade, now. I check the time. It’s six a.m. in New York City. That’s where she’s working now as an editor at a children’s publisher. She called just a few minutes ago. I press play on the voicemail.
“Hello, it’s your favorite sister calling. Give me a call when you get a minute. I got in touch with Sara Travers last night, we went out for drinks, and something she said has me worried. Poker related, so I thought you could help. Bye!”
Sara Travers.A chill runs down my spine. How odd. Neither of us have heard from Sara since her parents died when she was thirteen. She didn’t want to keep in touch when we were teens, and never returned our calls, emails, or texts. Silvia said it was because the two of us were reminders of Villroy, which was where Sara had happy summers with her parents, whom she’d never have again. It was rejection by association. The last time I saw Sara was at her parents’ funeral.
I’ve thought about her, though, hoping she was doing well. Truth? I tried to connect with her as an adult, too, tracking her down through social media, but she never reciprocated. I finally accepted that she didn’t want the connection. Still, some part of me never let her go.
Her birthday is August tenth—the day before the casino opened—and she turned twenty-five. That means we’re both twenty-five, the age we vowed to marry. We made a pact. One of those silly things children do. We also vowed to play poker all night, every night as a married couple, unable to imagine anything more exciting a married couple could do. Ha! We may have only been twelve, but it felt intense at the time. She was my first kiss and it wasperfect.
A pang of jealousy shoots through me. Sara got in touch with Silvia and not me? Sara adored me. She said I was her hero.
I press the button to return the call. “Hey, Sil, how’re you doing?”
“Great! How’s the casino business going?” She’s a chirpy early bird to my night owl, which used to make for some tense mornings when we were kids as she chirped away to my irritated grunts.
“Casino business is going. What’s this about Sara? How did you get in touch? Did she contact you, or the other way around?” I grimace, hoping I don’t sound jealous that Sara didn’t get in touch with me too.
“I did a little digging and found her in Brooklyn. I just got to remembering all those good times we had together as kids, and then she just went away. I thought she’d be willing to see me since I’m practically a native New Yorker like her now.”
I refrain from commenting. Silvia has only lived in New York for a few months, and her accent is still clearly from here. I’m told we speak a proper-sounding English with a slight French lilt. Villroy is just southwest of France, and many of the islanders are bilingual since Villroy was taken over by the British and then by the French before the rightful family, the Rourkes, took back control a couple of centuries ago.
I lean back in my seat. “So you called her and went out for drinks. What did she say that has you worried?”
“Actually, I just showed up on her doorstep. I wasn’t sure if she’d try to avoid me. Luckily, she was home, and I guess she’s in a better place now because she was happy to see me.”
I should see her too.“What has you worried?”
“She said she’s making good money now running a poker game in Brooklyn. She says it’s legal. She just makes a lot in tips. Then I started thinking if she’s making a lot in tips, then the pot must be really high. Who’s attracted to a poker game like that? Really wealthy people, powerful people. Do you think it’s Wall Street types or—”
“Organized crime.”
“Exactly. I just kept picturing this poker game with high stakes, and then there’s Sara running it alone, handling the money alone. Am I being paranoid?”
I consider this. Would Sara admit if there was any danger to what she was doing? I’m not sure. As kids, she loved a bet, loved a challenge, loved poker. This would be a natural fit for her. The only way to find out is to see the game in action and meet the players. No way am I sending Silvia into that situation. First, because it could be dangerous, and second, because she’s not much of a poker player.
Cards on the table? I can’t miss this chance to finally connect with Sara again. If she’s open to seeing Silvia, she’ll be open to seeing me. We’re equal reminders of Villroy. Maybe she’s moved past the grief tied to that reminder of her parents.
“Give me her address,” I say.
“Are you coming for a visit? Yay! Bonus for me.”
I find myself smiling. I just saw Silvia last month for the grand opening of the casino. “As if that wasn’t your plan all along.”
