So Damn Lucky (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 3)

by Deborah Coonts

  “How do you want it? Straight up? That means simple, no music or nothing. That’ll set you back a hundred bucks. Short and sweet, we’ll have you outta here and off to the honeymoon lickety-split. Know what I mean?” He leered at my mother. “If you want more, like music or Elvis or something, that’s extra. Normally I charge twenty bucks for the wife to witness.”

  “That won’t be necessary, we brought our own,” The Big Boss said, fighting a grin.

  “I see.” The man eyed me down his long nose. “You know these people well enough to swear they’re sober.”

  I wanted to say I knew them better than “the wife” did, but instead I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Sober, I could vouch for, but if he asked me to swear as to their soundness of mind, that was another thing altogether.

  The man returned his rheumy gaze to my father. “So what’s it going to be?”

  “Straight up will be sufficient.”

  “But I’d like a hamburger and some fries with that,” I added.

  My mother stifled a giggle as the man glared at me. “We get that a lot,” he said, then, extending his hand, he snapped his fingers at my father. “You got a license?”

  I’d be willing to bet there wasn’t a human alive who had snapped at my father.

  The man scanned the paper when my father handed it over. “Albert Rothstein. Do you know you got a name like that bigwig casino dude?” He eyed my father. “You sorta look like him, too.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” my father deadpanned.

  Mona had tears of silent laughter running down her face. I’d be willing to bet she was on the verge of peeing.

  “Could we get on with it?” my father asked, remaining amazingly calm.

  “Sure. Sure.” The man pulled out a dog-eared piece of paper and started reading.

  My father took my mother’s hand.

  And, with a song in my heart, I bore witness as Las Vegas royalty got hitched at the drive-through.

  ***

  After a very bored photographer took a few pictures, we headed for home.

  “That picture taker is going to have a cow when he realizes how much those snaps are going to fetch. I bet People will pay six figures,” I said, breaking the silence.

  Mona looked at me wide-eyed. “Really?”

  My father nodded. “Welcome to the fishbowl.”

  “How do you handle it?” Mona asked.

  Before my father could answer, I said, “Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want to see in full color on the front page of the R-J. That means no more excursions to Olympic Garden.”

  “I understand,” Mona said with sincerity.

  Yes, but understanding and complying are two very different things, I thought, but today was too much fun to get into the nitty-gritty of life in the spotlight. “So,” I clapped my hands. “How are we going to celebrate?”

  “How about a family party?” The Big Boss suggested.

  “Two hours, grand ballroom?”

  “Can you pull it off?”

  “Please,” I huffed. “You’re talking to the master. Besides, I have two assistants.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Mother asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  EVEN though Miss P, Brandy, and I were the best in the business, two hours pushed us to the max. As I walked through the ballroom, pride filling my chest, I thought we had pulled it off. Tables dotted the Grand Ballroom, each with purple tablecloths and vases of white flowers. Fully stocked bars were ready for business in each corner of the room. A DJ played dance music to appeal to those of all ages. The Big Boss and Mona formed a small receiving line at the door as employees started arriving.

  Out of breath but riding a true love high, my colleagues and I put our heads together.

  “Have you made sure that all the employees, including those working in the Bazaar shops, have been invited?” I asked.

  “Brandy hit the retail and dining establishments, I worked the grapevine and the closed-circuit,” Miss P confirmed. “The Pit Bosses are rotating staff, as are the restaurants and housekeeping. Everyone else will drop by when it fits.”

  “Thanks,” I said to my friends. “I owe you two a spa weekend on me. This was above and beyond.”

  “We’re family.” Miss P squeezed my arm. Then to Brandy, she said, “Come. Let’s congratulate the happy couple.”

  They wandered off, leaving me alone. Leaning against the wall, I watched my folks. My father shook each employee’s hand, from the lowliest to the Head of Operations, calling each one by name. Taking to her new role, my mother greeted everyone with a warm smile and a hug. Maybe she’d get the hang of life in the fishbowl, maybe not, but I knew one thing for certain, it would be an interesting ride.

  Mrs. Olefson lingered in the receiving line awaiting a chance to talk to my father. I wondered how she had heard about the party.

  “She was having a glass of wine with me,” Jean-Charles said as if he’d read my mind. He joined me against the wall. “When your assistant informed us of the party for Mr. Rothstein and your mother, Mrs. Olefson insisted on being my date so that she could tell your boss what a wonderful asset you are to the hotel. She’s quite a fan of yours.”

  “Leave it to the little old ladies to snag the handsome men. I’m going to have to keep my eye on her.” Turning, I looked into his baby blues. “Have you seen the evening news?” I asked him.

  “No, I’ve been trying to locate satisfactory truffles. My supplier inexcusably ran out. Not to mention, his crabmeat was old—entirely unsatisfactory. How do you have old crabmeat this close to San Francisco?” He took a breath, letting it out slowly. “Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “The music should not be wasted. May I have this dance?” Jean-Charles extended his hand.

  When I put my hand in his, for some reason it took my breath and hit my heart. I let him lead me to the dance floor and fold me into his arms—we fit like two halves. Life was trying to tell me something, but I didn’t know what. It was bad enough I had hooked up with a guy who didn’t love me after all, now I was falling for a guy who already had lost his heart to another? Could I pick them or what? Or maybe that was the point. If I picked someone I couldn’t have, then what had I risked? For a smart woman, I could be really stupid. And now I had the hots for a co-worker… a new low.

  Too tired to fight it any longer, I put my head on his shoulder and followed his lead.

  Lost in the rhythm, the feel of him, the joy of being held in his arms, I let myself drift. The Frenchman was taken, but for this moment, as we moved as one in time to the melody and Michael Bublé sang about dreams that might come true, I could imagine…

  We danced until the DJ stopped to take a break. How long had it been? Half an hour? An hour? Time had stopped.

  “I must get back,” Jean-Charles said, with a hint of reluctance, his arm still encircling my waist, his hand holding mine next to his heart, his face close to mine. “The restaurant is busy tonight and the staff is still learning.”

  “Thank you for the dance…dances,” I said, but I didn’t pull away.

  “I would like to ask you a question.” Jean-Charles’s eyes turned serious. “Would you do me the honor of having lunch with me tomorrow? I work at night and it’s hard for me to get away, otherwise I would take you to dinner…if you would be so kind as to accept. We work together, you and I, so we must know each other better.”

  I was feeling pretty good until that last part—this would be business. Nonetheless, it would be an enjoyable meal in the presence of the handsome Frenchman. So, being true to my new motto to live well, I said, “I can think of nothing I would like more.”

  His face breaking into a grin, he looked delighted—if he was faking, his act was worthy of an Oscar. “I will come by your office at one; is that all right?”

  “Perfect.”

  As I watched him walk away I so hoped he wasn’t playing me—I just didn’t have it in me anymore.


  ***

  As the party wound down and I began dreading facing my empty apartment, I ran through the list of alternate sleeping arrangements. None of them ideal, and at a loss, I reluctantly bid my parents adieu and headed for home.

  Miss P caught up with me in the lobby. “Lucky. Wait. I have a few messages.”

  Shrugging into her coat, with Jeremy helping, she stopped in front of me. “Norm Clarke wants a few minutes of your time. People magazine is holding the presses so they can include you in a feature article about the new über-wealthy. One of the gaming mags wants to do a feature on you. There are others, but you get the drift.”

  “Tell Norm I’d be glad to talk to him. Go through the list and pick out the ones I owe favors to, then we’ll formulate a battle plan. As far as I can tell, my personal balance sheet hasn’t changed. Tell People to kiss off—politely, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “All of this can wait until the morning. You two run off and play.”

  Holding her elbow protectively, Jeremy steered Miss P toward the garage elevators. Pulling on my own sweater, I caught Dane heading in my direction.

  “If you’re thinking about going out the front, I’d reconsider,” he said as he arrived in front of me, looking all hurried and disheveled…in a sexy sort of way. “There’s a pack of newshounds out there as hungry as bears after a long winter. And about as mean, I suspect. The news of your parents’ nuptials, on top of your paternity, has them worked up into a feeding frenzy. So far, Security is keeping them back, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they call Metro for reinforcements.”

  “What would you suggest?” I asked, simply because I wanted to see his eyes go dark and his brows crease in concentration as he worked through the problem.

  “As I see it, you have two choices: Make a run for it out the back or hole up here.”

  “The hotel is full and I doubt my parents would appreciate a bunkmate, so we’re left with making a break. You up for it?”

  As expected, he segued into his “male protection” mode. Men are so simple—hardwired to prehistoric, a damsel in apparent distress was all it took to flip the switch.

  “You wait by the door on the fourth level of the parking garage. I’ll get the car. When you see me…”

  “I’ll run for it.”

  He left me lurking by the door to the garage as he bolted into the darkness. From my vantage point my range of vision was limited, but so far, it looked like smooth sailing.

  True to his word, Dane eased his borrowed Aston Martin near the door. I jumped through the passenger door he had thrown open for me. So far, we remained undetected.

  I didn’t bother to hide my face when we eased through a throng assembled at the exit to the garage—it wasn’t like they didn’t know where I lived. This wasn’t Hollywood and no one published a map, but somehow word got around.

  Dane paused on the street before turning up the drive to the Presidio. A small group assembled by the front door.

  “Willing to brave it?” he asked. “If not, you’re always welcome to bunk at my place.”

  I started to speak, but he cut me off. “I have a guest room.”

  “That’s a nice offer, but I can’t.”

  “I promise I’ll leave you in peace. You can trust me.”

  “I know, ” I said as I covered his hand with mine. “It’s me I’m not so sure about. I want to apologize for throwing myself at you this afternoon—that was very bad form. I’m licking a few open wounds right now, and my behavior seems to be a bit erratic—my confidence has taken a hit.”

  “Teddie is one dumb SOB.”

  “You’re kind to say so, and I appreciate your assessment, but I have to look inside myself to find my footing. I’ve linked my self-worth, at least where love is concerned, to other people’s perceptions for far too long.”

  “Gotcha.” Dane put the car back into gear. “Are we still on for a night of UFO viewing tomorrow?”

  “It’ll be the highlight of my day.”

  Well, that and lunch.

  ***

  After a brief verbal tussle, Dane conceded defeat and let me out at the curb to handle the gossip hounds by myself. Forrest lurked just inside the door, so if I needed him, he wasn’t far away. The group circled me like a pack of coyotes—I wondered which one would rip out my Achilles tendon so the others could feed.

  “Ms. O’Toole. Or should I say, Rothstein?” A young blond barracuda I’d done battle with before stuck her mike in my face. “How does it feel to be the bastard child of one of the last hardliners?”

  Her bite missed the mark, and I whirled on her. “First rule of interviewing, try to get your subject on your side. I’ve been a child born out of wedlock my whole life, so why should it feel any different? Second, before you make insinuations in this town, I’d be darn sure you know what you’re talking about. Lastly, my parents got married today—it was a wonderful day—but it changes nothing in my life…not my name, not my job, not my future.”

  “Technically, that may be true,” a young man in the crowd said. “However, are you aware that you are listed as the owner of the Athena? And that an application for a gaming license in your name has been filed with the commission?”

  “There is some mistake. I already have a gaming license.”

  The young man thrust some papers at me. My heart raced as I scanned them.

  Dated three months ago. Title to the Athena registered in my name. An application for modification of my gaming license…with a signature that purported to be mine. It looked like mine… but I didn’t remember signing it.

  What was The Big Boss up to?

  ***

  After the cacophony of questions downstairs, at least the apartment was quiet…and empty. But not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The cleaning crew had been in and fumigated—the aroma of Pine-Sol was a dead giveaway.

  After rooting for my phone, I tossed my Birkin on the kitchen counter. One glance told me all I needed to know: no calls. As my last act of defiance for the evening, I powered the damn thing off then slid it back toward my purse. Tomorrow was always the best day for dealing with bad stuff. Yes, I am a model procrastinator, and darn proud of it.

  Newton greeted me with a “How the fuckin’ hell are you?” This was new.

  “Bad bird.” I stuffed a crescent of browned apple through the bars of his cage.

  “Asshole!” he announced, then grabbed the morsel and a chunk of my finger.

  “Damn!” I stuffed the offending digit in my mouth to curb the blood as I eyed my feathered friend and wondered if he would fly away if I opened his cage on the balcony. I’d lost a lover in a similar manner—although I’d thrown open his cage at the airport—but I bet it’d work on a bird.

  Deciding I’d lost enough friends for one day, I covered his cage and retreated to lick my wounds. My bedroom looked the same, felt the same, yet everything was different. Teddie wouldn’t be home. He wouldn’t call. We wouldn’t make love.…

  And somehow, that was okay. If he didn’t want to be here, why would I want him?

  The memories, the yearning, the hollowness in my chest, all had faded to a gray shade of hurt, whisper-thin, and I wondered if I had ever really loved him at all.

  Then I noticed Teddie’s sax still leaning in the corner.

  My heart tripped.

  His favorite instrument, well, his favorite musical instrument—he never would have forgotten it.

  So why did he leave it behind?

  ***

  My hot bath did nothing but make me hot. Struggling with too many questions and emotions, I flipped the brain switch to neutral and willed it to quiet as I snuggled into goose down and Egyptian cotton. Yet, the wheels still whirred. I tried mediation…forty-five seconds later (yes, I watched the clock) I abandoned that idea as futile—staring at nothing, doing nothing, thinking nothing was so not me. I’d tried yoga once and giggled myself silly until the leader threw me out. I failed yoga. What did that mean?
>
  “Christ!” I threw off the covers, climbed into a pair of sweats and a tee shirt, and retreated to the couch and the History Channel. After two programs on Sherman’s March to the Sea, my eyes grew heavy. I could handle my life and the curves in the road. I could even handle the kooks and the crazies, but I had a real bad feeling about The Big Boss—he was maneuvering me.

  ***

  A noise startled me out of a dream about angels and devils and eternal damnation. Listening, I didn’t move. Someone was in my apartment… again. This was getting tiresome.

  I watched as a figure, clad in black, moved through the great room toward my bedroom, apparently expecting me to be asleep in my bed. This was clearly no friend—my friends knew my nocturnal quirks better that.

  With my gun in my nightstand, I resorted to a knife from the kitchen instead. Less than ideal, but it was all I had.

  My pulse pounded—anger overriding good sense. The smart thing to do would be to leave… but I was never one to run from a fight. And I wanted answers.

  One step, then a pause to listen, then another step, I maneuvered myself within striking distance behind the figure lingering in the doorway to my bedroom. I crouched, knife at the ready. “Stop right there.”

  The figure whirled and I stepped in, throwing my elbow at his head.

  Bone connected with bone.

  The figure dropped like a stone.

  With the knife in one hand, I turned the inert body over.

  Molly Rain.

  No weapons.

  After trading the knife for my Glock, I flicked on a light, then rested one cheek on the arm of the couch and waited for her to come to.

  A few minutes, no more, and she started to stir. Groaning, she writhed on the floor. Then her eyes snapped open. “Lucky?”

  “Why are you here?” I demanded. “And why the hell all the subterfuge?”

  “You can put the gun down,” Molly said, her voice shaking. “I’m not here to hurt you.”