The Billionaire's Bluff

by Nella Tyler

  "Have you observed him counting cards?"

  "No," I replied honestly. "He wins a lot, but he also loses. He seems to enjoy the game, but no, I have no proof, and I've never been convinced that he was."

  "But you had suspicions?"

  My heart plummeted into the pit of my stomach. "I wonder that when anyone wins regularly," I said, and in that I was truthful. "But I have no strong indication or visual clues that he has been cheating or counting cards. And again, I have no proof."

  This was everything that I had dreaded about coming upstairs in the first place. Everything I said could have a very detrimental impact on my future here. I didn't want to say too much, but I couldn't act like I was hiding anything, either. The problem was, I had never been very good at hiding my feelings. I wore my emotions on my sleeve. There was no way Zanderini could miss my trembling hands or my wide eyes. In fact, I'd be surprised if he didn't notice the pulse throbbing in my neck.

  I decided to say my piece. "I just felt that coming up here and explaining the situation was the right thing to do. I know that Ben sometimes played at other tables, but when he was at mine, I did not get the sense that he was counting cards-"

  Again, Zanderini held up his hand. I clamped my mouse shut. He continued to stare at me, unblinking, until I shifted nervously under his glance. I cast a quick look toward Carson, but he was staring down at his feet, as if something on his shoes interested him. This was the moment of truth. Everything I said in this office might have an impact not only on Ben's future, but mine, as well. Maybe even Savannah’s.

  "Are you telling me you never even got suspicious that he might be counting cards or in any way cheating?"

  I shook my head. "No, sir."

  He sat up again, his arms on his desk, but lying flat, his palms pressed into the table. Then, he stood and his eyes were on the level with mine. Oh my God. I resisted the urge to take a step back while my heart thundered nervously in my chest. I tried to keep my expression as blank as possible, even though I was sure that my alarm showed in my eyes.

  "I'll tell you something else, Maggie – and this is what bothers me most of all. It's the fact that I have to even listen to this kind of issue." He rushed on, a frown darkening his brow. "Do you think I have time for this?" he demanded. "I'm a busy man, Maggie, and this is not how I want to be spending my time."

  He hadn't raised his voice. Nevertheless, I could sense an anger growing inside him. "I'm sorry, sir, I just-"

  "You know what I want from my dealers, my servers, even my cleaning staff?"

  I didn't get the sense that he really wanted to know what I thought anymore. He didn't.

  "I want my employees to come to work, clock in, and do their job. That’s it. I expect the utmost in professionalism and courtesy. I want our guests to feel welcome. I want them to know that they're dealing with the utmost discretion, professionalism, and decorum when it comes to the dealers. My dealers must be beyond reproach. Do you understand that?"

  I did. I had been doing my best since the moment I was hired here. He reached for a paper beside him. Quickly glanced at it. Then looked back up at me.

  "You've been at the casino for a couple of years now. You have a good record. Good attendance, which is good. This is what I expect of my dealers. This is what I pay them for. If you can't do the job, then you don't get hired. After the training and probationary period, I get a report. You either stay or you go. You've performed well in the past couple of years. You know what I like best?"

  Again I said nothing, but offered a slight shake of my head.

  "I like it when I don't know the names of my dealers. I don't know the names of troublemakers, cheaters, or anyone trying to scam me. When I know someone's name, it bothers me because it means I have to keep a closer eye on them. I don't want to do that. I don't have time to do that."

  He stared at me. I gathered I was expected to say something. "I understand, sir," I mumbled.

  "I'm not going to see you up here again."

  I shook my head. I didn’t think I would ever venture upstairs beyond the casino floor again if I had anything to say about it.

  "You know why I'm not going to see you up here again?"

  I wanted to tell him that I did understand, that I was not to broach this topic again, and believe me, I wouldn't. I said nothing and waited for him to speak.

  "I’m not going to see you again because, Maggie, you're fired."

  Chapter 2

  At first, his words didn't sink in. Fired? Did he say fired? I frowned in confusion. What was he talking about? Why would he be firing me? I opened my mouth, but nothing came out except a squeak. A cold sensation rushed through me and my knees actually fell wobbly. I couldn't be fired. I couldn't! "But…but why?" I gasped. "I need this job!"

  Zanderini looked bored. I glanced at Carson, but he refused to look at me. That was it? I came up here to broach a concern and before I knew it, I was being fired?

  "You want to know why?" Zanderini queried.

  An odd smile turned up the corners of his lips. Unfortunately, that smile, a smirk really, was less than comforting. It didn't reach his eyes. They had grown steely hard, as if I was nothing but a nuisance, a bug to be squashed underfoot.

  I lifted my chin and nodded. "Yes, Mister Zanderini, I would like to know on what grounds I'm being fired. I just came up to do what I felt was right, too-"

  "Let me spell it out for you, Maggie," he said. "Not only have you been fraternizing with a gambler, which is against the rules, and you know that-"

  "But-"

  He held up a hand to stop me. "I did tell you that I reviewed camera footage over the past few weeks, didn’t I? I saw that you have been more than just polite and friendly to the gentleman in question. I don't like that kind of fraternizing in my place of business."

  "But-" Again, he didn't let me finish. In fact, he slammed his hand down on his desk and rose to a half standing position, leaning forward, his eyebrows drawn down over his eyes. I felt a sensation of alarm rush through me. What the hell was going on?

  "I also saw footage of you two in the parking lot," he said. "So don't waste my time, or yours, by lying to me and telling me that you were just being polite and courteous to the gentleman. I have it on good authority that you and the gentleman have seen each other outside of the casino-"

  "Savannah," I sighed. I said it quietly, under my breath. I felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. Why would Savannah do this to me? Why had she done this?

  "Yes, I got the information from Savannah, but you can believe that I checked up on it. And, that's another thing that I don't have time for. If there is one thing, in addition to cheating gamblers or floor personnel who are caught cheating or stealing, that I cannot and will not tolerate, it's in-fighting and bickering. I do not want to be drawn into the petty little disagreements and jealousies of my employees."

  I felt confused. I wasn't being fired because I was being accused of aiding and abetting a potential cheating situation with Ben, but because Zanderini had first had to listen to Savannah's charges and then I had come up here as well and stirred the pot.

  "And I'll tell you something else, Maggie," he continued. “You should thank your lucky stars that I don't blacklist you, which would pretty much end any career if you’re considering in any of the casinos here in Atlantic City."

  I couldn't help but respond. I tried to keep my voice firm, but it came out sounding more like a whine. "But, Mister Zanderini, I just came up here to clear this up, if possible. Savannah lied about Ben-”

  This time, Zanderini rose to a full standing position, still leaning his hands on the desk. He leaned toward me, his gaze unwavering, angry, and frustrated.

  "She wasn't lying," he ground out. "You want to know how I know that? Because we've suspected him of cheating even before she came to us. We were watching you, as well. Now, honestly, I didn't get any indication that you were doing anything to help him cheat, but if you even suspected it like we did, and I'm sure you did
because you're not stupid, you should've said something to a pit boss. You didn't."

  "But I didn't have any proof-"

  He waved his hand as though it didn't matter. "At any rate, I don't have time for this backstabbing bickering among my employees. I'm not going to tolerate it. You understand me? I'm not going to tolerate it!"

  He was on a roll and I couldn't say a word. My heart started and my mouth felt dry. I began to shake. I didn't want to be fired. What was I going to do? My rent was due in a couple of weeks and I only had half of it. "Mister Zanderini-"

  "Not only are you being fired, but so is Savannah. You are both terminated for causing trouble, to the point where you have to bring it up here to me. I can do without that kind of crap.”

  “But-”

  “What did you think…that just because you've worked here for a couple of years, you have job security?" He gave a gruff laugh. "There is no such thing. You dealers and servers are a dime a dozen, you know that? You can be replaced in an instant." He emphasized his last words by snapping his finger.

  I stared at him in horrified dismay. I fought back the tears brimming in my eyes. I wasn't going to resort to begging because I knew that begging would have no impact on the man standing in front of me. He glanced at Carter and waved his hand is if shooing me out of the office. Carter turned to open the door and gestured for me to precede him.

  Wordlessly, feeling devastated and totally taken off-guard, I left the office with as much dignity as I could muster. In the elevator with Carter, going down to the main floor, neither one of us said anything. He acted like he was more interested in his manicure than me, anyway. I kept my back straight; my jaw clenched tightly, my face as expressionless as possible. The second the elevator doors opened, I mumbled a 'thanks' to Carter and exited onto the main floor of the casino.

  The noise of the slot machines, the laughter, the bustle of activity – it all surged through me in a cacophony of sound and blurred visual images. I strode purposefully toward the front sliding glass doors of the casino, blinking furiously, and refusing to shed a tear. It was hard to believe this would be the last time I ventured into this casino. I felt sick to my stomach and was glad I hadn't had anything to eat for breakfast. I was so shocked I felt numb. This was the last thing I had expected when I ventured into the casino less than half an hour ago.

  Fired.

  By the time I got to my car, I found it difficult to hold in my emotions. My shoulders began to shake. As I pulled my car keys out of my purse, I dropped them onto the asphalt. I squatted down to pick them up and the tears came. I couldn't stop them. Rising, I fumbled with the lock, got my door open, and climbed in. I shoved the ignition key in the slot, but didn't turn it on. I grabbed the steering wheel with both hands hanging on for dear life as heaving sobs erupted within me.

  Fired!

  What was I going to do? If I couldn't come up with my rent, I doubted if the landlord would allow me to stay more than another few weeks, if that. It'd been hard enough finding a job in the first place in one of the casinos in the first place. There were too many people looking for work, and here in Atlantic City, the casinos were the first place everyone went. Even though the hours had been long and hard, I got paid a bit over minimum wage and had always been able to pay my bills. What was I looking at now? Fast food restaurants? Two jobs a day just to make ends meet? How was I going to survive?

  I was scared. Deep to the bone scared. I had never felt so helpless in my life. Even when I divorced my husband I’d had enough money from our separation settlement to at least pay the first and last month and security deposit on an apartment. I had the old car that I'd had forever. But now? Now I have no security net, no money in the bank. I'd been living paycheck to paycheck for the last couple of years. There was no such thing as a slush fund, an emergency fund, or an operating fund in my vocabulary.

  It wasn't as if I hadn't wanted to save, but there just wasn't any money left over after rent and bills to tuck away. Oh sure, five dollars a week would've garnered me a whopping two hundred sixty dollars in a year. Big whoop. Even if I had been able to do that on a weekly basis for the past two years, I still wouldn't even have enough to cover a month's rent. The thought was depressing.

  After the first round of sobs had left me dry, I continued to stare out the window, stunned. I was in a full-blown panic. I know I needed to calm down and think. Plan. My emotions were erratic right now and I didn't want to be irrational or impulsive. I decided that I would just go home, deal with the immediate fallout of the firing, and then, maybe later this evening when I felt a little calmer, I could devise some sort of plan of action, some steps I could take to find a new job. After all, this was Atlantic City. Surely there had to be some jobs that paid more than minimum wage beside the casinos.

  I tried not to be too angry with anyone because that was just a waste of my emotions. What happened had happened. There was no going back. Water under the bridge. All the clichés I could think of. Still, I couldn't figure out why Savannah had gone up to the boss in the first place with her accusations. Was she really so petty and jealous? Was she getting back at me for some perceived slight? Was it because I hadn't given her any of the furniture or accessories or gifts that been had purchased for me? Was it because she got the impression that I thought I was better than her or that I didn't want to be perceived as a gold digger? Or was it because she was jealous of my relationship with Ben, rocky as it was?

  I wanted to talk to Savannah, but I couldn't. Not now. It was doubtful she would talk to me, especially after she got her termination notice. It didn’t matter anyway. So much for friendship. Savannah had probably thought she was getting in good with management by charging Ben with cheating. Turns out she could have saved herself the trouble. It was obvious to me now that the casino had been more than aware of Ben. Maybe he had a history somewhere else. I didn't think that he cheated often, but I knew it wasn’t right. If there were one aspect about Ben that I wished I could have a positive influence over, it would be that.

  What had Savannah hoped to gain by literally tattling on Ben? A reward? A promotion? To what? She had no proof of what he was doing, either. I'd even begun to question her claim that she had done it to help me get rid of Ben so that he wouldn't bother me anymore. The more I thought about that, the more ridiculous it sounded. Savannah had never gotten involved in my personal relationships, not to that degree. She knew I didn't need any help encouraging or discouraging Ben. So why?

  I sighed, wiped my eyes, and then started my car. As I drove home, refusing to cry anymore – while I was driving at least – I realized the only reason that I could come up with was that Savannah was jealous. Not necessarily of me per se, but maybe because Ben had chosen me and not her. Savannah was a beautiful woman, but we were different. We had different looks, different personalities, different everything.

  It wasn't my fault that Ben had singled me out. Whether I wanted to stay with Ben or not, or regardless of the ups and downs we'd had in our relationship, it wasn't up to Savannah to referee for me. The only reason I had opened up to her in the first place was because I thought she was my friend. Whether she gave me advice or merely shrugged, the fact that she listened was all I had wanted from her. She didn't have to agree with me or offer me any tips on how to deal with Ben – or any situation, for that matter.

  Friends were supposed to just listen, support each other. Advice could be given, but that didn't mean it had to be followed. I had been on the listening end with Savannah many times, as well. Sometimes she took my advice and sometimes not. I didn't think anything of it. Savannah's life was her own. If she made mistakes, it was on her. The same applied to me.

  Now when it came to Ben, I felt a little more confused. My attraction to him vied with my disapproval of the whole cheating scenario. I didn’t care whether he was doing it so that he could make money or because, as he said, it was just a lark to see if he could get away with it. To me, that was just plain stupid. The next time I saw him, I was going
to tell him that. In fact, all of this had happened because of Ben. I began second-guessing myself.

  Should I have said something of my suspicions about Ben earlier? I hadn't had any proof. It was just a gut feeling. And until he had come right out and said something about it, my gut feeling could have been way off base. I didn't mess with people's lives like that, especially in the casino industry.

  Being blackballed or banned from a casino could have serious ramifications on anyone. Word and warnings traveled fast. I wouldn't be surprised if all the casinos in Atlantic City had now been alerted about Ben. More than likely, still shots of his face from the cameras in the ceiling were probably well known to security personnel in every casino throughout the city. While that didn't make me feel good, it wasn't my fault. Ben had made his decisions for his own reasons.

  While no one, as of yet, had officially come out and caught him cheating, just the idea of it caused casino owners to raise their hackles and get rid of potential trouble before it insinuated itself in their places of business. In the old days, the mob had a violent way of taking care of cheaters, but this was the twenty-first century. Things weren't done that way anymore, or at least they weren't as far as I knew.

  A horn honked and I jerked myself back to attention. I had stopped at a red light and now it was green. I slowly pulled through the intersection and made my way back to my apartment. My apartment for now, anyway. I parked in my spot, my heart once again thudding with dread. How in the hell was I going to move if I couldn't come up with my rent money? How long would it take me to find another job? It was near the end of the pay period, so I knew I would have a paycheck coming next week, but if and when I started a new job, there would be a two-week delay before I received that first check, maybe even longer.

  I parked in my parking spot, turned off the engine, and just sat. While my apartment was certainly not luxurious, it wasn't too bad, and I was comfortable here. I felt safe here. This had been my home since I got divorced. Moving here had made me feel as uncertain and insecure as I had when I moved out of the house that I had shared with my husband. I didn't take to change well. In fact, I hated change.