the-charmer

by Myra Scott

  “But…?” Mick asked.

  “But,” I continued with a sigh, “at the end of both meetings, he turned me down, even after agreeing with my points about the money it would bring in. I invited him to talk it over with dinner the first time, and he turned me down at the last minute. Then he reconsidered dinner, only to change his mind just before the check came.”

  “Why would Diego invite him to dinner just to refuse the deal again?” Mick wondered out loud, glancing to the other guys. “Maybe it’s just me, but I’d never do that unless I was planning to move ahead.”

  “Perhaps he’s interested in Zane,” Gage suggested, giving me a playful grin. I kept my face even and finished off my Moscow mule, but my silence gave me away.

  The guys exchanged smiles, and I rolled my eyes.

  “I think Zane might be interested back,” Bart said, chuckling.

  Mick had been peering at his phone for a few moments, and after Gage and Bart had gotten their laughs, he spoke up.

  “Well, if he is, he’s in the right ballpark with Diego,” he said before he looked up at me. “You might want to take a look at this article that was just published, Zane.”

  I furrowed my eyebrows and stepped forward to take his phone.

  “What do you…” I started, but my eyes widened as I read the headline.

  CHAPTER SIX - DIEGO

  I was sitting at my desk, lost in thought yet again.

  These days, it felt like I spent most of my waking hours in a daydream, walking around in a haze with my thoughts all in a jumbled mess. At night, I had been lying awake staring up at my ceiling. My white-noise machine was no longer enough to lull me to sleep, apparently. Not when my mind was a mass of commotion and emotion. Zane Anderson, as handsome and charming as he was, had somehow wormed his way into my fantasies.

  Last night, I had been up for hours just thinking about him, letting my mind run wild with images of his smiling face. Those sharp, high cheekbones. His boyish blond hair that I itched to run my fingers through. That smile that made me feel like I was standing in direct sunlight, warming me from my head down to my toes. The way he gestured with his hands whenever he spoke, and how he seemed to lean toward me in conversation, like we were conspiring about something. Those expressive blue eyes that seemed to betray what he was feeling even when his lips lied.

  And oh, those lips. Sensuous, full lips that just seemed to beckon to me, longing to be kissed. When I lay awake in my bed these past few nights, I had often closed my eyes and wondered what it would feel like to trace my thumb along the Cupid’s bow shape of his upper lip, push against the soft fullness of his bottom lip. Gently press my own mouth to his, swallowing back his every sigh and moan.

  I leaned back in my leather armchair and sighed. It was getting to be very frustrating. It felt like I had little control over my brain anymore. I would sit down at my desk with every intention of making calls, filling out important paperwork, running numbers, only to find myself staring off into space with Zane’s image floating in my mind. If I had known days ago that the owner of Sentry Casino would have wiggled his way into my every thought and fantasy so quickly, I might not have agreed to a meeting with him in the first place. And that dinner meeting I arranged with him had obviously done nothing to dissuade my brain from fantasizing about him. It was getting worse every day, and I worried that if I didn’t get over it soon, my little infatuation might start negatively affecting my work.

  Or worse, my already-tremulous relationship with Alvaro.

  I combed my dark hair back from my face with my fingers, pushing it back and securing loosely with an elastic band. When I needed to focus, I had a habit of tying my hair back. I considered it just another symptom of my type-A need to keep things straight and tidy. I just couldn’t focus with hair hanging in my face. Of course, no elastic band in the world could restrain my wild thoughts about Zane. But I would have to do my best. I set to work, ticking items off my long list as the hours ticked slowly by.

  Around noon, my assistant knocked on my door. “Come in, Jenn,” I called out.

  She opened the door slowly, with an almost strained expression on her face. My heart sank. That was the expression she made when she was worried about telling me something. I wondered what kind of bad news she was about to drop on me.

  “Oh no,” I muttered. “What’s wrong?”

  Jennifer closed the door behind herself and sat down in the chair across from me. She tapped something on her cell phone screen and looked back up at me. “I just sent you something. A link. Check your email,” she instructed.

  Still nervous, I opened my email and clicked the link. It redirected to an online news article titled: POSSIBLE COLLABORATION BETWEEN RIVAL CASINO HEADS BIG WIN FOR LAS VEGAS LGBTQ COMMUNITY.

  I glanced over at Jennifer, who shrugged and gave me a sheepish smile. “I found it this morning. One of my friends had forwarded it to me. Apparently this article was published this morning about your dinner meeting with Mr. Anderson from Sentry,” she explained.

  “Oh,” I said, frowning slightly. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  “I didn’t read it thoroughly or anything. Just scanned it and decided it was something you would probably like to see, just in case,” she remarked.

  “Okay. Thank you, Jennifer. I’ll read over it and make sure there’s nothing untoward, but judging from the title, it’s probably just some overzealous journalist scavenging for anything even remotely related to the local gay community. Probably no big deal,” I assured her.

  She looked relieved. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, then.” She got up and walked out, leaving me to read over the article. I put on my black, square-frame reading glasses and looked it over. The author of the article seemed, as expected, much more excited about a possible business deal between Mr. Anderson and I than she probably needed to be. There were a few snapshots, evidently taken from outside the restaurant. Photographs snapped from the other side of the window, zoomed in just enough to show clearly who was in the picture: Zane and me.

  “At least it’s a fairly flattering picture,” I mumbled to myself wryly. “Could be worse.”

  The article went on to gush about how the rumor of a collaboration between the Sentry and La Torre could not have come at a better time, what with the gay pride parade slotted for next month. The journalist seemed convinced that Zane and I were working together solely as representatives of the LGBTQ community, as though we had somehow tracked down a fellow gay businessman here in Las Vegas specifically because we were both gay. I had to chuckle to myself. It was a little naive of the writer to think that we were only working together because of what it might mean to the gay community, especially since that thought had not crossed my mind for a second. As far as I was concerned, it was just happenstance that we were both interested in men. We just happened to be rival competitors in the same game, and just happened to both be into the same sex. It was a little flattering to think that this writer thought of us as diplomats or role models in the community, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be known exclusively as a “gay casino owner” either. I wanted to be known for my talent, for my success in business. I wanted to be recognized for my hard work and dedication, rather than simply for my sexuality. Sure, it was a big part of who I was, but so was every other part of my personality and livelihood.

  And I did not much appreciate the fact that the writer seemed to hint that there could possibly be more than just a potential business partnership between Zane and me. After all, I was committed already, even though Alvaro was far away in Spain. I took my role as his boyfriend very seriously, and it bothered me that this writer had recklessly put my relationship at risk by printing an article that could be misconstrued as portraying a meeting between two lovers.

  I sighed and closed the tab, pinching the bridge of my nose in annoyance. That was one of the major pitfalls of being such a successful public figure, es
pecially with my sexuality all out in the open. Alvaro and I were already struggling, what with our relationship being long-distance and with Alvaro’s increasing coldness toward me. I knew we were hanging on by a mere thread. The last thing we needed was the rumor that I was cheating on him with a handsome blond American man.

  Just then, almost as though my thoughts had summoned him, my phone lit up with a phone call from Alvaro. My heart skipped a beat.

  Oh no, I thought, what if he has already seen this stupid article? What if he thinks what I fear he thinks?

  I quickly picked up the phone and answered the call, wincing as I said, “Hola, Alvaro, mi amor. ¿Que pasa?”

  There was a pause, and then Alvaro replied in crisp, accented English, “Hello, Diego. I am sitting in front of my computer reading a very interesting article about you.”

  My stomach twisted into knots. “Oh. You are?” I asked quietly.

  “Si. I am reading about how mi novio had a very lively dinner with a rival casino owner at a restaurant,” he continued, his tone cool and flat as always.

  “It’s just some stupid puff piece published by a woman who read much too into the meeting and cast assumptions about something she does not know or understand,” I explained hastily. “I promise she has it all wrong.”

  “Does she? The article writer seems to think that there might be a collaboration between La Torre and the Sentry casinos,” he said.

  I frowned, wondering what he was playing at. “Well, yes. There is that.”

  “Is that part true?” Alvaro inquired pointedly.

  “Maybe. Yes. No,” I changed my mind exasperatedly. “The owner of the Sentry—”

  “Zane Anderson,” said my boyfriend. I almost shuddered at how strange it was to hear him say Zane’s name. It felt wrong, somehow. Perverse.

  “Yes. Mr. Anderson. He wants to build a sky bridge between our casinos and start some half-baked nightclub that would connect the two and bring in revenue for us both,” I described, sighing. “It’s ridiculous, I know. I told him I would not do it.”

  “¿Por qué no?” he asked. “It sounds like a fair business deal to me.”

  “Wh-what? Really?” I spluttered, totally caught off guard.

  “The Sentry is your main competitor, ¿si? Why compete when you can benefit from his profits as well as your own?” Alvaro reasoned. It made sense, but I could not understand how that was the part he took away from that absurd article.

  “That’s what my assistant said, too,” I murmured, shaking my head. “It seems like everyone but me thinks it’s a good idea.”

  “Well, then perhaps you should listen to everyone else instead of yourself,” Alvaro quipped, a little cruelly. I swallowed back my pride and indignation. I should have been used to it by now; Alvaro was constantly putting me down, questioning my authority and logic in regard to the business. He used to tease me, but somehow over the course of our years-long relationship the teasing had turned from playful to flat-out mean most of the time.

  “You said that the dinner was strictly business, then?” he added, with an edge of suspicion to his tone. I gulped.

  “Si, Alvaro. Just business, cómo no. Why else would I meet with another man? You know I am not like that,” I assured him. But I got the sense that I was really assuring myself.

  “Bueno. I thought as much. Well, you must seal the deal,” he instructed me.

  “What? Are you sure? Alvaro, this is a big change. Surely, we need more time to think it over before making a decision,” I told him. “I’m not certain that I want to work with Mr. Anderson. He seems very impulsive. If this doesn’t work out, it could be detrimental to the brand we have worked so hard to promote.”

  “Escúchame, Diego,” he said grimly, “you may be the face of the company over there in America, but I am the one who makes the decisions. I want you to call Mr. Anderson and tell him we will take the deal. ¿Está claro?”

  I put my hand over the receiver for a moment as I sighed, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling. This was insane. I could not understand why the whole world seemed dead set on pushing me toward Zane. I was already struggling to keep him out of my thoughts, out of my fantasies. How much worse would it get once we were working side by side? This was sure to be a total catastrophe.

  “Diego. Contéstame. Tell me you will do what I’m asking of you. I have a lot of work to do today, I don’t have time to wait on you,” Alvaro barked. I could hear his impatient tone through my hand over the phone.

  “Si, si. Perdóname, Alvaro. I’m distracted. I-I will let Mr. Anderson know that we are accepting his plan right away,” I promised him. “I’ll talk to you later, ¿vale?”

  “I’m very busy today,” he said shortly. “Adiós.”

  And with that, he hung up, leaving me staring open-mouthed at the cell phone in my hand, wondering what the hell I had just gotten myself into.

  CHAPTER SEVEN - ZANE

  “Last chance to back out,” I told Diego as I straightened my tie in my seat, smiling smugly at the Spaniard as he took a quick drink of his wine.

  “And make the biggest scene the Strip has seen in decades? Don’t tempt me,” Diego replied with a wink that made me chuckle.

  We were sitting at the table of honor in La Torre’s event hall, and the place was decked out as if we were hosting a gala for charity. Crowds of current and former VIP guests made up the other large, round tables that dotted the hall with champagne and food being served liberally all night. The sounds of both our wealthy clienteles mingling and chatting made up the sweetest background noise I’d heard all month.

  It was the sound of a promising future.

  I knew it was the article that some lucky journalist had published that I had to thank for Diego’s sudden change of heart—or perhaps that was just the right nudge he needed to make a decision he already knew he wanted. Whatever the case, the sound of his voice over the phone call he gave me that evening was delicious.

  It had been almost as delicious as the joint announcement he proposed next.

  The business we dealt in had high stakes, so it was only fitting that we hold a big event to make the announcement. Moreover, since it would affect both our companies, Diego proposed that we make the announcement together, on the condition that La Torre host the event.

  I would have preferred it be hosted at a third-party venue, of course, but the thought of seeing Bart’s face when I told him they wouldn’t have to stretch security thinner for such an event was worth it.

  If I was honest with myself, I would have admitted that Diego could have swayed me to do a lot with the promise of the two of us appearing on camera together.

  I wasn’t feeling especially honest tonight, though.

  “...So, without further ado,” said the young woman Diego had introducing us up on stage, “it is my great pleasure to give the floor to Mr. Diego Castillo and Mr. Zane Anderson for our special announcement this evening!”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you in action,” I told Diego as the two of us stood up to make our way to the stage. I gave a wink to Gage, Mick, and Bart at our table before I turned. The three of them were keeping to themselves for the most part, and every now and then I caught them glancing between me and Diego meaningfully.

  “What, are you the type to enjoy someone else taking the lead?” he rumbled back to me, sending a shiver up my spine. The look in his eye told me he got every bit as much of a thrill out of the spotlight as I did.

  Cameras were already flashing around us by the time we were halfway to the stage, so I made a point to keep my eyes off Diego’s ass. It took every bit of willpower in me to do that, too. When we mounted the stage, I gave polite smiles and waves to the crowd, treating them like I was born to please the masses.

  Diego took his place at the microphone, and I could have sworn he looked like a Greek statue standing there, those full lips and dark skin ta
unting me as he basked in the attention of everyone before us.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, that smug smirk on his face making him look like he was about to announce the takeover of the whole damn city. “I am humbled to be here before you. Not long ago, you welcomed me to your fine city, and you have been so very good to me ever since.”

  You have no idea how good I could be to you, I thought, gazing at him as he spoke.

  “As long as I have been the proud owner of La Torre, I have known the Sentry and the excellent Mr. Anderson as my gracious neighbor,” he said, turning to shoot a smile at me that shook my heart to its core. I returned a cool, confident one of my own, inclining my head. “Some might call us rivals, and in some ways, this is true—a little rivalry stirs the blood in a way nothing else can.”

  My god, if he keeps talking like that, I might not survive the evening, I thought, feeling warm in my suit.

  “But a rivalry need never be bitter, and what I am proud to announce tonight is proof of that.” He picked up a remote from the podium and turned to click a button, making a screen behind us light up. On it was the graphic of the street our buildings loomed over, and with another press of the button, the bridge between the two began to materialize on screen, to the interested oohing of the audience.

  “I am excited to present you all with a collaboration between La Torre and the Sentry Hotel and Casino—each establishment’s first-ever jointly shared nightclub, spanning both of our proud establishments and connected by a lounge that will overlook the Strip and provide our clients with the view of a lifetime.”

  As he finished along with the graphic animation, the audience burst into applause that made me swell with pride, and I smiled beside Diego.

  “This would not have been possible without my good friend, Mr. Anderson,” he said, “and I look forward to a continued and exciting new partnership between us. Thank you.”