The Best Bet

by Hebby Roman

  THE BEST BET

  by Hebby Roman

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Rafael Escobedo leaned over the car’s engine and jabbed at his eyeglasses to keep them from sliding down his nose. “We’re not kids anymore, you know. What you want me to do is downright silly.”

  His twin brother, Damian Escobedo, had his head buried in the oily guts of a 1965 Mustang. “Can you hand me those needlenose pliers?” His brother’s hand emerged from under the hood, palm open.

  Rafael found the pliers and placed the tool in his brother’s hand. “Did you hear what I said, Damian? I’m too old to be impersonating you. It was okay when we were kids, and we wanted to fool our teachers. But—”

  “What is it? Afraid you can’t measure up?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t want to play this silly masquerade.” Rafael pushed away from the car hood and turned to leave.

  Damian stopped his retreat with, “Espérate, un momento. I’m almost finished. While you’re at it, hand me that socket wrench, will you?”

  Rafael found the pliers and gave them to his brother and shook his head.

  Damian was being unreasonable and overbearing, and Rafael was tired of arguing with only a voice. He didn’t know why Damian wanted him to wait. He just wanted to go home, put his feet up, and down a chilled Corona.

  He’d never understood his brother’s fascination with cars and engines. For Rafael, a car was a means of transportation. Sometimes he wondered if their mother had ever looked at the two of them and marveled at how she’d managed to birth mirror image kids with temperaments as different as summer and winter.

  “Not this one. It’s calibrated for metric. I need—” Damian’s head bobbed up, smacking the underside of the car’s hood. “Damn!” Damian emerged from beneath the hood and rubbed the top of his head with a grimy hand.

  Rafael cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the fender.

  “Sorry, but that hurt.” His brother met his gaze. “I guess you’re tired of waiting for me?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t come here to see you commune with your hot rod.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re right.” Damian swiped gingerly at the top of his head again and grimaced. “I’ll finish later. We need to talk.”

  Damian lifted his arm to sling it around Rafael’s shoulder but checked himself. “Oops, forgot I was covered in grease.” Grinning, he shrugged and grabbed a rag draped over the fender. Wiping off the worst of the grease, he asked, “How about a Coke?”

  “Is Mamá home?” Rafael had no desire to argue with both Damian and his mother.

  “No, she’s off shopping. And Papá is at one of the restaurants.”

  “Okay, I guess it’s safe.”

  Lately, he’d been avoiding his parents. He had his own apartment like Damian, but his brother kept the vintage Mustang at their parents’ home because they had a four-car garage.

  Damian opened the back door, and Rafael stepped inside his parents’ kitchen. The familiar smells of cumin and cilantro hung in the air, flooding him with half-forgotten childhood memories of shared meals and happier times.

  Rafael sighed. He didn’t like avoiding his parents. He missed them. But he was tired of their well-meaning advice and interference. Lately, when he’d turned up for the obligatory family gatherings like birthdays or anniversaries, he’d left early and sat in his car, gasping for air and feeling a panicky smothering sensation, almost as if he were anchored at the bottom of the ocean and couldn’t swim free.

  And now his twin wanted to interfere, too. Why hadn’t he left, as he’d wanted, after he’d heard Damian’s hare-brained scheme? He knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue with his brother. Damian had always gotten his way from the time they were old enough to fight over each other’s GI Joes.

  Seating himself at the Formica-topped kitchen table, he watched while his twin fetched two Cokes and glasses of ice. It was a warm day for the middle of March, but given San Antonio’s sub-tropical climate, he was accustomed to warm spring weather. Las Vegas was in the desert and it got hot there, too. At least if he got the job, he’d be used to the heat.

  His brother dropped into a chair and handed him an icy glass of Coke. They gulped the syrupy-sweet liquid in silence.

  Glancing up, Rafael saw that his brother was studying him. “You’ll need to lose those glasses,” Damian said. “You have contacts, don’t you?”

  “I have contacts, but I don’t like to wear them. And the glasses don’t matter, because I will not pretend to be you.”

  “Por qué, no? I can think of worse people to pretend to be.”

  “You don’t need to preen for me, mi hermano. I know how wonderful you are.”

  Damian had always been the flamboyant twin, the popular one. While Rafael had his nose stuck in a book, his twin had chased girls, lettered in football, and rebuilt car engines. When they grew older, things didn’t change that much. Damian was a hugely successful software salesman with a dozen girlfriends. Rafael was a staid sociology professor. And as for his personal life . . . He didn’t want to think about his personal life.

  “I just want you to experience Vegas in style. You’ve never been, and I’ve lost count how many times I’ve been. Why not use my trip? I don’t have time to go, and they’ll treat you like royalty. You’ll love it.”

  Rafael rolled his eyes. He knew all the arguments; they’d already been over them. Damian’s firm gave him complimentary---comp---trips to Las Vegas for exceeding his sales quota. And since Damian almost always exceeded his sales quota, he’d been to Vegas numerous times. Rafael had a job interview at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas, and even though the university was putting him up for the night, his twin wanted him to extend his stay and use the comped trip.

  There was only one small catch. He would have to impersonate his brother and act the part of a high roller. The thought made Rafael want to laugh.

  “I would feel like a fraud, Damian.”

  “But you need a vacation. You said so yourself. The university is picking up the tab for just one night. Why not combine business with pleasure and take a few days off. You’re on spring break.”

  “I’ll admit I need a vacation, but—”

  “Then what’s the problem?” His brother punched him in the shoulder. “A little vacation might change your perspective on a lot of things. Like leaving town for good.”

  Here was the bottom line, the real reason his twin was so adamant about the trip. Like his parents, his brother didn’t want him to take the job in Vegas and move away. All of their family lived in San Antonio, forming a tight-knit group.

  Rafael had never lived anywhere else. He’d even attended graduate and undergraduate school here, which was probably why he needed a change of scene. For the past couple of years, he’d grown increasingly restless for someplace new, someplace where his family wouldn’t be on top of him and smothering him to death with their kindly concern.

  Rafael clenched his fist. His heartbeat accelerated, and he knew his neck was turning red. “I won’t be manipulated,” he said. “It’s embarrassing. And I’m tired of the family dissecting my personal misfortune.”

  His twin rocked back in his chair and his mouth dropped open. He looked as if Rafael had just struck him. But then Damian had always been a good actor.

  Giving Rafael the silent treatment, Damian got to his feet and cleared the table, tossing the Coke cans into the recycle bin and placing the dirty glasses in the sink. He stood with his back to Rafael, gazing out the kitchen window.

  He turned from the sink. “I don’t want to manipulate you and the family doesn’t want to embarrass you.” He shook his head. “We’re just tired of you being mise
rable. Moving away won’t solve anything. You can’t run from yourself.”

  Now Rafael felt as if he was the one who’d been struck. His family felt sorry for him. That was tough to swallow. His earlier embarrassment turned to full scale humiliation. And his anger melted away to be replaced by a feeling of exhaustion.

  He rose to his feet. “I didn’t realize I was acting miserable. Por Dios, I’ve tried to put it behind me.” He met his brother’s gaze. “More reason for me to move away. Then nobody will be subjected to my misery.”

  “Don’t talk like that. You know that’s not what—”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Damn it, Rafael, you know it matters to me.” His brother took a step toward him. “Do this for me. Take the trip. Have a good time. Try to forget.”

  Maybe if he took the trip that would satisfy his family. Maybe they would quit reminding him of how miserable he was. And just maybe they would get off his back. Right now, all he wanted to do was go home and forget this discussion had ever happened. A numbing lassitude swept over him. He was tired of fighting over this, tired of trying to appease his family.

  He shrugged. “Why not? I’ll take your trip and have a good time.” He raised his hand and adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “But it won’t change my mind about moving away.”

  #

  “Mr. Escobedo,” she said, extending her hand, “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Adriana de Los Santos, with guest relations, and I would like to welcome you to the Xanadu. I hope you have a pleasant stay. And please, let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your visit perfect.”

  He shook her hand and glanced around the reception area at the marble tables and rich leather armchairs and sofas. A deep frown creased his forehead. “What about check-in? A limousine and driver were waiting for me at the airport. I didn’t even have time to get my luggage.”

  “The driver merely followed my instructions, Mr. Escobedo. We want everything to be perfect for you.”

  What on earth could be bothering him? High rollers were accustomed to limos and drivers. And they didn’t check themselves in; the staff did that while they had cocktails or hit the tables.

  Her gaze roamed over him. His open-necked shirt and pants were both Polo—adequate, but not excessively expensive, and a touch conservative for a high roller. But OMG, beneath his buttoned-down exterior, he was hot! She’d pulled up his file before meeting him and noticed how handsome he’d looked in his mug shot but that picture barely did him justice in the flesh.

  He was tall and muscular but not muscle bound. He had dark brown hair and warm cocoa-colored eyes. His jaw line was strong with the faintest shading of a dark beard and his smile was devastating.

  Just looking at him made her heart gallop and her skin flush hot. He was too cute and looked to be about thirty something. Most high rollers were older and not so good looking.

  She mentally shook herself. Back to business. He was a guest of the Xanadu, and it was her job to facilitate his visit, not drool over him. Maybe she should be rethinking her nun-like existence, giving all her time to school and her job. Surely that was why she was so drawn to him; she’d been too long without a boyfriend. Heck, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been on a real date.

  But that was the way she wanted it. She needed to stay focused on getting her degree and finding the right job. With her career under control there should be plenty of time for socializing later.

  “Would you care for a seat, Mr. Escobedo? Perhaps a cocktail? Or would you like to get at the tables right away?” She pointed to a frosted door at the back of the reception area. “There are private tables where discretion is assured. Or if you prefer the excitement of the casino, I can get chips for you.”

  Sinking into one of the leather armchairs, he ran his long slender fingers through his wavy brown hair. “So everything is taken care of—checking in, and my luggage?”

  “Everything,” she confirmed. “We take care of the details so you can enjoy your stay.”

  He was the strangest high roller she’d ever met. Most were arrogant, and expected the world served to them on a platter. But this man appeared to take nothing for granted. Could this be his first comped trip?

  Maybe she should explain her role and that of his host, the Xanadu Resort? But if she explained and this wasn’t his first time, she ran the risk of embarrassing him. And if it was his first time, he might not want her to know he was a rookie.

  She should have checked his file more thoroughly. She’d spent too much time, setting up a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon for the group of whales from Taiwan. She’d barely finished when Mr. Escobedo’s driver had radioed her that they were on their way to the resort, and then she’d only had a few minutes to take a cursory glance at his digital file. Mostly, she’d zeroed in on his likes and dislikes. No surprises there. Based on his preferences, he appeared to be the ex-jock, party-hardy type. She’d assumed he’d be easy to please—just point him in the direction of the nearest tables and bars. But after meeting him, she wasn’t so sure.

  She should have been better prepped, not waiting until he was almost here. The next time she would work late, if necessary, to make certain she memorized her special guests’ files before their arrival.

  Adriana studied him from beneath her eyelashes. Damian Escobedo was certainly handsome enough to be arrogant and self-centered. Not only was he more attractive than his digitized picture, but he was different, too, somehow, in the way he held his mouth and the expression in his eyes. In the picture, he’d appeared to be the consummate rogue, self-assured with a touch of dangerous male. In the flesh, he seemed more subdued, not dangerous at all. If she had to put a label to him, she would use that awful word . . . nice.

  And nice was not a word that characterized high rollers.

  Alarm bells sounded in her head. She suppressed the urge to ask for his ID, remembering the picture in the file. If she asked and was wrong, she would embarrass herself and her employer. She might even be fired. But he would bear watching and further research.

  He rose from the chair and asked, “May I go to my room if everything’s in order? You say my luggage will be sent there?”

  “Of course, Mr. Escobedo. Whatever you wish.” She handed him a plastic key card in a cardboard holder. “I’ll have the luggage sent right up.”

  “Please, not Mr. Escobedo, call me Ra—er, Damian.” He ran his hand through his hair again, tousling it.

  She had the oddest urge to reach out and smooth the stray tendrils. It was a frightening yet titillating feeling, giving her a case of the shivers—almost as if, her Mamá would have said, someone had walked across her grave. Shaking off her reaction, she extended her hand again.

  He took her hand between his in a strangely intimate gesture. The touch of his hands radiated warmth and a graceful tensile strength. With her hand wrapped in his, she flushed and shivered, as if tiny mice feet were running up and down her spine.

  Pulling her hand free, she said, “I almost forgot. This is my business card with my cell number. If you should want anything—show tickets, reservations for restaurants, tours—or if I can help you in any other way, please call me.”

  Taking the card, he glanced at it. “What if you’re off duty?”

  “Call that second number.” She pointed. “It will connect you to our office and one of my co-workers will be more than willing to assist you. Day or night, someone is on duty 24/7.”

  He grinned then, a lop-sided grin with a touch of rogue. And there was a gleam in his eyes, an unspoken message, which she knew only too well. Now this was the man she recognized from the picture. It was a good thing she hadn’t leapt to the wrong conclusion and asked for his ID.

  “Thank you, you’ve been most gracious,” he said, inclining his head toward the front of the reception area. “This way to my room?”

  “Yes, of course.” She moved in front of him, feeling uncommonly flustered, her professional demeanor undermined by the w
ay he affected her. She went into the hallway and directed him, “Turn left outside and go to the first bank of elevators on your right. Your room is on the twenty-first floor.”

  “Thank you again.” He nodded and smiled that devastating smile of his, white teeth contrasting against the golden brown of his skin.

  Her gaze tracked after him, watching him saunter down the corridor, she couldn’t help but notice the way his taut butt moved beneath his tailored khakis. Heat scalded her face, and she dropped her eyes.

  #

  Rafael’s room on the twenty-first floor wasn’t just a room. It was a suite with two bedrooms, a living room, and two bathrooms. The Jacuzzi tubs in the bathrooms were big enough to take scuba lessons in, and the suite was a high-tech marvel: equipped with several phones, a computer, scanner, fax machine, and copier. So much for all play and no work. But there were plenty of play toys as well: plasma TV’s in every corner, a control panel for surround sound, choice of PS3 or Xbox 360, a Wii player, and Blu-ray players.

  He’d never seen such luxury before except maybe in a movie. His brother had been right—this was definitely the royal treatment. High tech items aside, the suite bloomed with enough bouquets of fresh flowers to put a florist shop to shame, along with bowls of fruit and boxes of Godiva chocolates. And there was a bar stocked with enough liquor to make any party a merry one.

  He snorted. Hell, he could hold his own sequel to the Hangover here.

  Actually, it was a bit overwhelming, if not a bit wasteful for just one person—especially when that person was a fraud and had done nothing to deserve such opulence.

  He moved to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and pulled aside three layers of drapes to gaze outside. The Strip of Las Vegas lay before him: a glut of glittering palaces of pleasure, some executed in whimsical designs such as a castle or pyramid or the skyline of New York. He’d seen lots of movies filmed in Vegas, but they couldn’t compare with being here.

  Suspended twenty-one stories in the sky, he could still sense the raw vibrancy of the place, the pulsing heartbeat that never stopped, day or night, 24/7.