Nice Day For A White Wedding

by Le Carre, Georgia

  I count my paces. I know if Cindy’s any good at her job, she’ll snap out of her goldfish moment and catch me within ten paces. She exceeds my expectations and catches me after just six paces.

  I slow my pace, but I don’t stop walking. “So have you figured out how I was cheating yet?”

  I have to clench my jaw to keep from laughing at the look of shock on her face. She covers it quickly, her professional mask slipping back into place. Cindy stays at my side as I head towards the bar.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says coldly.

  I let myself laugh then and she frowns.

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “I know you were up in your office, watching me, and trying to work out what I was up to. So you can drop the act now.”

  To her credit, she doesn’t try to deny what I’m saying is true, although she doesn’t rush to agree with me either.

  “I think we can both agree you’ve had a very profitable night,” she says. “So how about you call it a night?”

  I laugh.

  Her jaw tightens. “What’s so funny?”

  “You are. Thinking you can tell me what to do. Let me tell you something, Miss Forrester. No one tells me when to call it a night.”

  She opens her mouth, but I don’t let her get a word in.

  “I’m not intoxicated. I’m not causing any trouble. And you and I both know you have no proof what happened back there was anything except a lucky streak. So tell me … do you make it a habit of trying to throw people out for winning here?”

  “I’d hardly call what I was doing trying to throw you out.”

  I glance sideways at her. “What would you call it?”

  “Discreetly suggesting you might want to think about moving on. Particularly when you’ve as good as admitted to cheating.”

  “I haven’t admitted to anything.”

  We’re almost at the bar when I stop and turn to Cindy. She stops too and I see her quickly assessing me, trying to work out if she’s in danger. I am a very big guy, after all. She must have decided she’s not because she’s not calling for back up. Instead she faces me directly.

  “Only twenty percent of communication is verbal. Everything else is body language.”

  I smile slowly. “Is that what my body has been telling you, Cindy?”

  Under her creamy skin blood rushes up her throat and cheeks and I stare at her curiously. She looks exactly how I imagined she would look when my cock is inside her. I decide to change the subject. Obsessing about fucking her doesn’t advance my agenda in anyway.

  “I have to say that this is quite a clever set up they have here,” I say.

  I can see her wrestling with herself, not wanting to be drawn into conversation with me, but wanting desperately to know what I mean. Her curiosity wins out and she frowns.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sending the blonde bombshell to deal with the situation instead of a bunch of goons.”

  Her cheeks flame brighter, and I watch her swallow hard. I decide to throw her a bone. I smile pleasantly, the smile I give when I want the other party to relax, to stop seeing me as the enemy. “It doesn’t exactly make the place seem welcoming if it has teams of security dragging customers across the floor, does it?”

  For the first time, the cool professional smile slips and I see the real smile beneath it. The one that reaches her eyes and makes them sparkle for a second. “I suppose not.”

  “And I guess there’s a lot less bravado this way. Men who would fight another man to prove they’re someone to be reckoned with are much less likely to react that way with … a beautiful woman.”

  She blinks. “Well, it seems like you have our system all worked out. So, let me ask you a little question. Are you going to be trouble?”

  “Oh, I’m always trouble,” I admit cheerfully. “But if you’re asking if I’m going to start throwing punches at your underpaid, overworked security staff, I can assure you I’m not.”

  “And yet you are still here even after I’ve asked you nicely to leave,” she points out.

  “Ah, but you didn’t ask me to leave. You told me to call it a night and I don’t like being told what to do.”

  “Then perhaps I should reword it. I’m politely asking you to leave the premises and carry on with your night somewhere else,” she says, flashing me her own version of my winning smile, this smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  Her lines don’t feel rehearsed although I’m sure she has had this conversation countless times.

  “But the company here is so good. Why would I want to switch that out for somewhere less … welcoming?” I counter with a smile that reaches all the way to my dick.

  “Because I’m asking you nicely.” She smiles, this one can freeze a whole elephant in a second.

  I laugh. I can’t help it. She has a way about her, a way that I imagine works on the average customer, but I am anything but the average customer.

  “Will you answer me a question first?” I ask.

  She nods, watching me warily like she’s waiting for something to happen. The air between us feels charged, and I find myself waiting for what might happen.

  “When you use this tactic to get rid of undesirables from the casino, have you ever come across someone your charms don’t work on?”

  She laughs, a carefree, confident laugh that makes me want to reach out and pull her into my arms. She is more intoxicating than I had anticipated.

  “No sir, I haven’t,” she says softly. “I always get what I want.”

  Jesus! Where did that come from? She’s flirting with me. She is off book now for sure and bravo to her, she’s completely thrown me off my game. Cindy Forrester is far, far more potent than I expected her to be. There is so much more to her than meets the eye … which actually makes her perfect for what I have in mind.

  Cindy

  Usually when I catch someone cheating in the casino I feel real anger, as if they have reached into my purse and stolen my own hard-earned money. It’s not so much about the money, though. More about the fact that some jumped-up punk thinks he can get one over on me. That I won’t see through his pathetic little scam and know exactly what he’s up to.

  This time, I feel angry with myself.

  Dark and stormy has as good as admitted he cheated, and yet not only am I no closer to working out how he did it than I was in my office when I was watching him on the monitor, but he also seems to have the upper-hand in our power struggle. And I am in no doubt it is that.

  I want to ask him, actually demand he tells me what he did, but I know it will do no good.

  A) he won’t tell me, and …

  B) I have a feeling letting a man like this know I want something from him would be a big mistake.

  Another thing that unsettles me is the strong impression that he knows something I don’t. That’s something that has invisibly tipped the power between us so he is holding all the cards.

  I don’t buy his smooth exterior for a second. I’ve been around men long enough to sense when danger is bubbling beneath the surface. His is coming off him in waves, literally waiting to be unleashed. He has the air of someone from the criminal underworld, but I don’t feel afraid of him. I probably should be, but I’m not.

  He’s undeniably flirting with me, but what the heck am I doing flirting back? Something even a fool can tell is a terrible idea. It’s acceptable, expected even, to lightly flirt with customers. It oils the wheels and takes the sting out of the word no. But not in these circumstances. When the customer is clearly no ordinary con artist, and I feel as if I am the one standing on shaky ground.

  The trouble is, I don’t know what to make of him, or how to deal with him. He’s told me he isn’t about to let things get ugly, and I believe him, but he’s also making no move to leave. I don’t know how to make him go. Especially, as I get the impression he’s used to getting his own way, and worse, he has some kind of ace card up his sleeve.

  I’ve dealt with all kinds of m
en throughout my career. The billionaire who is used to bending people, particularly women, to his will. The gorgeous ones who think tipping me a wink will turn me into a giggling idiot. And the idiots who think pinching my ass as I pass by them is an irresistible compliment.

  What I haven’t dealt with is a guy like Dark and Stormy, who is confident to the point of arrogance, and yet doesn’t make me want to barf on his handmade shoes. Who doesn’t seem in the least bit perturbed to realize I am not about to become putty in his hands because he flashed me a sexy smile. And who is having such an effect on me I find myself flirting with him instead of dealing with the situation at hand.

  He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. I can usually read people pretty quickly, and knowing who they are behind their masks is the fastest way to knowing how far I can go with them. I have no idea who Dark and Stormy is or what he hopes to achieve here. One thing for sure he has an agenda.

  I wait for his answer to my answer and he surprises me again now. Instead of a cocky comeback, he just nods, then he turns and walks away from me. Dammit. He really is good, because now, yet again, I am the one who has to go chasing after him.

  From the first moment he looked up and saw me, he has managed to turn a situation that should have been a piece of cake for me to handle to one where he is holding all of the power. I am not used to not being in control, and I don’t like the way he has so easily thrown me off my game.

  By the time I catch up with him, he’s sitting on a barstool and the bartender is fixing him a whisky on the rocks. I debate telling the bartender not to serve him, but something stops me. Although I did—well do, kind of—want him to leave, I have to admit that I am now intrigued by him. He’s dangerously attractive and I can’t help but feel drawn to him.

  What can I say? There’s a part of me that wants him to stay. I condone my crazy behavior by telling myself he’s not gambling anymore so it’s not like he can cheat the casino out of any more money. At least while he’s spending at the bar, we’re getting some of it back. It’s flimsy reasoning at best, but I can’t help myself.

  Unfortunately, the more I tell myself I’m playing a dangerous game, the more I seem to want to keep playing. The problem with playing with someone like Dark and Stormy is I don’t think it will be a game I will win.

  “Have a drink with me,” Dark and Stormy says. It’s not a request, it’s an order.

  Immediately, I feel myself bristling beneath his gaze. I hate being told what to do. I bite back my anger, reminding myself to keep my composure. If he sees he’s rattled me, then all bets are off.

  “I’m working. It’s against the casino’s rules to drink on duty,” I tell him.

  He ignores me and turns to Jerry, the bartender who has placed his drink in front of him.

  “Thank you.” He smiles. “And a gin and tonic.”

  I frown. How does he know that’s my drink? I shake my head. It’s a common enough drink. It means nothing.

  “With a slice of orange rather than lemon,” he adds.

  That makes my jaw drop open. That’s no coincidence. No one would guess that. I don’t know anyone else who has orange rather than lemon in their gin and tonic. Who the hell is he? And how and why does he know so much about me?

  He purposely avoids looking at me, keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead of himself. Despite that, I feel as though he’s watching me, as if he’s waiting for my reaction. He’s playing with me and I don’t like it one bit, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he’s touched a raw nerve.

  Expressionlessly, Jerry puts my drink down in front of me, and Dark and Stormy pays for the drinks, leaving another hefty tip. Jerry’s eyes widen. I don’t know if the excessive tipping is meant to impress me, but if it is, he’s wasting his time. Money is nothing when you have it, and watching a rich guy throwing it around means nothing to me.

  My adversary swings his dark head back in my direction, and looks amused when he catches me watching him. I kick myself at being caught.

  “Does the orange give the drink a certain sweetness that lemon just can’t?” he asks mildly.

  I nod, not trusting myself to form an answer with actual words. It’s clear from his mocking expression that he knows I don’t trust myself to speak right now. I stare down into the glass just so I have something to focus on other than him. What I wouldn’t give right now to just be able to say screw the rules and neck that drink. I could do it. I’m the manager. No one is going to object. I don’t though. He is having enough of an effect on me as it is without me bringing alcohol into the equation.

  “You have to lift the glass and bring it to your lips,” he taunts.

  I feel anger start to swirl inside me. Who the hell does he think he is? I’ve already refused the drink, which he went ahead and bought anyway, and now he thinks he can sit there and order me around.

  If I was in a bar and not at work, I would tell him exactly what I think of his chauvinist, piggish attitude, but here, I have to remain professional. I can’t let him see he’s getting under my skin.

  “I’ve already told you it is against the casino’s rules for me to drink while on duty,” I say tightly.

  I purposely avoid saying the phrase ‘I’m not allowed to drink on duty’ because I won’t let him think I’m being pushed around by anyone.

  “Rules are only fun when you break them.” He smiles, that crazy-sexy smile. “Live a little.”

  “You have to break rules to have fun?”

  “Ah,” he lets the sound linger between us. “You don’t dare.”

  “Oh, I dare. I just don’t need to break perfectly legitimate rules to have fun.”

  “Said like a true follower of rules. I dare you, Cindy Forrester,” he challenges with a mocking grin.

  Dammit. Now he’s done it. It seems he got the measure of me long before I’ve got the measure of him. He knows exactly which buttons to press on me. I never turn down a dare, especially not when it comes from someone who I want to like me. Fuck. I don’t want him to like me. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just want him gone.

  “If I drink it, will you leave?” I say.

  He shrugs and watches me with a wry amusement. “Either you want to prove you’re not a sheep blindly following orders or you don’t.”

  So that’s a no. I don’t want him to think he’s manipulated me into doing something I don’t want to do, but the drink is starting to look mighty inviting now. Now I’ve asked him to leave, I can’t just walk away from him until he has so maybe I should just see it through. With a sigh I reach out and pick the glass up.

  “One drink and then you leave,” I say foolishly.

  He ignores my statement and clinks his glass against mine. “Nostrovia.”

  He knocks his drink back, but his eyes never leave mine. Despite my instincts screaming at me that this isn’t a good idea I bring my own glass to my mouth.

  “Nostrovia,” I echo and take a long drink. Heck, G&T never tasted so good. I put my glass back down on the bar.

  “You speak Russian?” he says, an eyebrow raised.

  I debate lying but it would be the world’s shortest lived lie if I pretend to speak a language I don’t. And why would I, anyway? It’s not like it matters one bit what he thinks.

  I shake my head. “No. That’s literally the one word I know. It means cheers, right?”

  “It means ‘to your health’ and is typically used as a toast.”

  I remind myself I’m supposed to be angry with him, not chit-chatting about toasts. I straighten my back and keep my face impassive as I down the rest of my drink. Then I slam the glass back down on the bar.

  “There! I kept my end of the deal, now it’s your turn.”

  “That was your deal, Cindy. I didn’t agree to it.”

  He turns back to the bar before I can reply, and asks the bartender for two more.

  “Look, I really don’t want another one. I’m working and I’ve still got a long night ahead of me. I do
n’t intend to get sloppy.”

  “Something tells me sloppy isn’t your style.” There is a curiously intriguing look in his eyes. It feels as though he’s looking deep inside of me, reading things about me in my eyes.

  He pays for the drinks and pushes mine towards me again. I don’t even glance at the drink. I give him a look that usually gets the message across that I am not playing around anymore. He looks back at me, his own gaze as steely and determined as mine is. I feel a shiver go through me at the sudden change in him. It is like looking at one of those transformer things. One moment it is a harmless toy car that you can play with, next minute is a red-eyed, machine of destruction. I can’t help it. My eyes slide away.

  He laughs softly and my eyes fly back to his face. He’s laughing at me, teasing me, and I don’t like it one little bit.

  “Relax, Cindy. Drink as much as you like. While I admire your work ethic, I just gave you the rest of the night off,” he says.

  My eyes widen incredulously. Then I burst out laughing at the sheer audacity of him. He might be used to getting his own way, but it’s a bit of a stretch for him to believe he has any control over my job, when I work or don’t.

  My laugh dies in my throat as he just sits there, cool as a cucumber, watching me patiently, as if he’s waiting for me to catch up with the conversation. His expression tells me one thing. The reality of the situation hits me. What the fuck am I doing sitting here drinking with this guy? This guy who seems to know too much about me and is now behaving as if he has the right to tell me to take the night off.

  I narrow my eyes, my suspicions well and truly up. He’s still watching me, a predator waiting for his prey to slip up. What does he want with me? How has he managed to insert himself into my life like this? And why does he want to?

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask, my voice a shocked whisper.

  He looks down at his glass and then takes a slow sip of his drink. For a second I think he didn’t hear my question, but he turns back to me and smiles oddly and I know he heard. He’s playing with me again, keeping me on tenterhooks, making me wait until he’s ready to talk.