“A wine then,” he wheedled, not giving up. “You look like the type of woman who’d enjoy a glass of wine.”
That was the final straw. After the day she’d had, she did not need some dimwit trying to pick her up after he’d trodden on her foot. She whirled around, her eyes flashing. “No means no. And how do you know what ‘type’ of woman I am? Why do people have to typecast one another? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“What?”
She spun away again and stomped off down the street, ignoring his shout of anger behind her. “Hey, leave my mother out of this!”
She didn’t stop walking for several blocks, only slowing down after turning around to make sure he wasn’t following her. She rubbed her red heel and eased the back of her shoe down a little so that it no longer rubbed against the painful part. She didn't recognize this part of town and she couldn't remember ever seeing this street. However, the building in front of her caught her attention with its attractive stone architecture, flashing but not flashy signage, and its overall aura of fun and good times. What was this place? She stopped outside and tipped her head back to read the swirling gold words above the door.
Dumonde Casino, A Place Where Your Fortune Can Change For The Better In An Instant.
She was ready for her fortune to change for the better. It certainly couldn’t get any worse and if it could change for the better she had nothing to quibble about. She didn't hesitate, not even for a minute. She shoved the strap of her handbag further up her arm, tossed back her hair with grim determination, and stepped inside. Fake it until you make it, Arial.
Chapter Four
Carson
Carson, for probably for the first time since he could remember, now knew how it felt to have the uncomfortable burn of unquenchable anger boiling in his belly. Certainly, for the first time in his entire life he could understand why his father grabbed hold of anything he could get his hands on and threw it far away himself in an attempt to relieve his painful and all-encompassing fury. In fact, if he wasn’t sitting on this chair now it would have probably gone the same way as the book Terence had thrown earlier.
He'd tried pleading with his father, he'd tried raging at his father and he’d almost resorted to sobbing at his father's feet but nothing had worked. Terence had refused to budge from his resolution: Carson must find a virginal bride and marry her before the new month began or he would forfeit his rights to the family wealth forever.
Terence was now flipping through the Rolodex on his desk, apparently bored with the conversation now, while Carson seethed in impotent rage in his chair. Terence finally looked up, blinking in surprise as if he hadn’t expected to see Carson still here. “And?”
“And what?”
“And hadn’t you better get out of here to start your search for my daughter-in-law? Time is ticking.” He tapped the gold clock on the side of his desk, the one the Mayor had presented to him for his services to the community. The Mayor clearly had no idea that a ticking time bomb instead of a ticking clock would have made a better gift for Terence DuMonde.
Naturally, Carson phoned his mother Martha as soon as he left his father's study. Martha had always nurtured the fondest of soft spots for her only son and of course she would see Terence's alarming statement for what it was - the mutterings of a madman. Marrying any woman, let alone a virgin, did not hold a place in Carson’s immediate life plan. He liked being a playboy and he was good at it. Dammit, he was a playboy superstar! He was a gold-medal-champion playboy! Wasn’t that what all the tabloids called him? Why should he give that title up because of his father's disgruntled and ill-thought-out pledge to disinherit him and replace him with the useless Matthew? A virgin? Bah! How hard would it be to find one of those? Terence clearly hadn’t thought this through, unless he was relying on Carson turning up at the altar at the end of the month with a sixteen-year-old on his arm – and wasn’t that illegal?
Unfortunately, Martha was sympathetic to her son’s plight but she remained firmly on the side of her husband. As she patiently attempted to explain to Carson from the other end of the phone line, in between making soothing murmuring sounds and asking him to hold off on his ranting and cursing while she was trying to speak, it probably was time for him to grow up and find a wife. Carson was no longer a free-spirited teenager, the DuMonde estate needed another generation of sons to carry on the family name, and a virginal young woman who could be molded and shaped into the role of lady of the house would be the perfect addition to the family.
"Do you know how old-fashioned that sounds? We're well into the 21st-century now, in case you hadn't noticed."
"We're an old-fashioned family," Martha replied serenely, unruffled by his outburst. "You've had a free rein for a long time and anyway, you should look upon the idea of a wife as an increase to your status in society rather than being anything detrimental. The right woman will buoy you up, expand your outlook on life, and support you through thick and thin just as I've done for your father."
"But you're different." He pulled his Porsche into the curb and switched off the engine, attempting to regain control of himself. He had not expected his day to end like this when he woke up this morning, but then again he had the luscious Gabriella in his bed this morning and his mind was on other things. "Dad was lucky to find you. You're one in a million."
"Don't be ridiculous." She was using her scolding tone now, the one she'd used when he was a small boy and she caught him stealing candy from the pantry in their mansion in the hills. He cut himself off from the sound of her voice through force of habit and allowed his gaze to wander, taking in his surroundings for the first time in several blocks. He'd driven to the DuMonde Casino in the city without thinking about where he was steering the vehicle, allowing his steed to lead the way. It seemed the building's magnetic pull was stronger than he realized.
"Carson!" Astute Martha had noticed that she no longer held her son’s attention. "Are you listening to me? Your father means what he says.”
“He said that if I don’t find a wife to marry by the end of the month he will disinherit me and put Matthew in my place.” He felt his lip curl as he said his cousin’s name. He realized with a start that the threat of Matthew stepping into his shoes irked him more than the problem of finding a suitable girl to marry.
“And Matthew would do very well in the role. He’s sensible, patient, and committed to good values.”
“Which is why he should have become a priest. Can you imagine him managing the Casino?”
“Yes.”
He frowned down at the phone on the console. The profile picture of his mother, the one taken at last month’s Gala Ball, stared sweetly back at him. She wore her red hair short and she liked to boast that the fiery red had not faded since she was a teenager. Folklore would have it that her temper should match her hair color, but it was her husband who was the family firecracker. Martha was genteel, calm, and prone to giving out good advice to those who needed it, as well as those who didn’t.
“But why would he choose Matthew?”
“Who else is there?” Martha paused and her voice quietened and softened. “I did try to bring a second son into the family, Carson. You know that.”
“I know.” Carson was six when Martha fell pregnant again after years of trying. He wasn’t too young to remember the agony on her face when she slipped and tumbled from the third step on the stairs and subsequently lost the baby. A boy, they said. The second heir to the DuMonde fortune and a baby who was sadly never to be. The accident and miscarriage meant the end to Martha’s childbearing days and Carson knew it was one of the biggest regrets of her life.
The pitch of Martha’s voice had hardened again. “You can either face facts or you can chose to ignore them, but you will lose your rights to the estate unless you can find an appropriate bride by the end of the month." The undercut of steel in her tone was undeniable now.
"Sorry, Mom. Gotta go." He switched off the phone, cutting her words short, and unbuckled his seat bel
t. A few hours at the Casino, sitting back and drinking whiskey as he flirted with the beautiful women who frequented the venue was just what he needed to restore his equilibrium while he decided what to do next.
Chapter Five
Arial
She shouldn't have come in here. This was not her sort of place and she’d known it from the second the white-gloved doorman held the glass doors open for her to walk through into the plush lobby with its grand marble statues, lush potted ferns, and sparkling fountain. There was even an expensive boutique with its window stuffed full of elegant cocktail dresses and brand name handbags.
Arial sipped at her cocktail now, a drink she'd been handed for free just for walking in the door. Or at least that's how it seemed even though she still wasn’t sure if she should believe what the man had told her. She'd scarcely stepped one foot into the darkened hush of the DuMonde Casino on the other side of the lobby when a charming drinks waiter swept up to greet her. He was darkly handsome and well groomed, dressed in a black and white uniform with a smart red bowtie snug against his neck. He'd escorted her to the bar, asking politely if this was her first time inside the salubrious surrounds of a DuMonde Casino and when she mumbled yes, his grin had widened. He'd told her that beautiful women always received their first drink on the house at any property owned by the family DuMonde.
Blushing and embarrassed, especially when the waiter's comment drew the interested attention and several carefully directed comments from the two men in business suits sitting further along the bar, she'd hastily told him to choose the drink for her and she'd be happy to take whatever was offered. The waiter had quirked his eyebrow then, just enough to be suggestive rather than rude and murmured that he knew exactly the right drink for a woman like her.
So, here she was. Inside the palatial surrounds of the DuMonde Casino, wandering past the blackjack tables and the enticingly flashing lights of the poker machines with a ludicrous drink dubiously named Suck, Bang, and Blow clasped tightly in her hand while she tried not to draw too much attention to herself. She suddenly wished she was sitting back at her desk at Carmody & Proctor, dutifully getting on with her paperwork in an office filled with hard-working colleagues when she remembered she no longer had a job there. She was unemployed, nearly homeless, and she had no firm idea of her future. The thought was frightening and she quickly lifted her glass to her lips, anxious to prevent her fear from overtaking her. She could do this! She'd managed to skirt past looming hopelessness before and she would manage to do it again.
People were watching her. Or rather, men were watching her. She could feel their predatory eyes upon her as she walked past the gambling tables and swerved around the machines. She needed to find somewhere to sit, somewhere quiet and away from the punters where she wouldn't be noticed, so she could take off the shoe that was rubbing irritatingly against her sore heel. She would put a few coins in a poker machine and cross her fingers while she spun the wheel, and then she would finish her drink and go. If she hopped off her bus one stop early, she could call into the Safeway grocery store near her house and ask the counter clerk for some spare cardboard boxes. The evening loomed dully ahead of her as she pictured herself packing her belongings up and getting ready to move to some place new. Some place that she hadn't yet found - and more than likely, it wouldn’t be new. She could not afford to rent something new in her current dire circumstances and if things didn’t improve she might never be able to afford new again.
She chose a poker machine halfway down a row, near the back of the Casino and far away from the bustle. She hitched herself up onto the high stool, set her handbag and drink down on the shelf beside the machine, kicked off her shoes, and stared blankly at the flashing screen in front of her. She had no idea of where to start, of what button or lever to push, or what to do next.
An elderly woman with curly lavender hair and wearing her eyeglasses on a chain around her neck walked up behind her and peered myopically at the screen. “Bert won on this machine last week. He got three sevens and all the lights went off at once.”
“Oh. How lovely. Perhaps I’ll share in some of his luck.”
“Well, are you gonna put some money in or not?”
“Uh…” She didn’t have any coins on her. Idiot. She couldn’t pretend she knew what she was doing if she didn’t have any coins.
“There’s an ATM and a dollar change machine on the wall behind ya. Good luck.” The woman dropped a gnarled hand on Arial’s shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before ambling off.
Arial left her shoes where they lay and walked over to the ATM. The carpet was thick and spongy beneath her bare feet and it felt nice to walk on. She drew out twenty dollars of her last fifty, which was against her better judgement but the drink had loosened her last traces of willpower. She picked up a plastic cup and sat it under the funnel of the dollar change machine after feeding the twenty-dollar bill into the slot. A disturbingly short rain of coins fell into the cup and she picked it up. Twenty dollars didn’t amount to much at a Casino.
She went back to the stool and sat down again. She sat the cup in the tray beneath the machine and took another bracing sip of her cocktail. So far, so good. She now had coins, she could easily see where she was supposed to put them and no bothersome, uninvited man had come across to join her.
“Drop the coin into the slot and choose a bet. You can’t go wrong from there. I usually start small and make my way up.” Arial’s elderly friend was back and she was now gripping a tiny white cup of the free coffee that Arial had seen on offer on a table by the bar.
“Oh, thanks.”
The woman continued on her way and Arial picked a coin out of the plastic cup. She dropped it into the slot and it promptly fell out into the tray below with a metallic clunk. Was this a bad sign? Frowning, she picked it up out of the tray to try again.
"Good afternoon. Welcome to DuMonde Casino. You're looking a little nervous and unsure there. Can I help? I promise it won't hurt a bit. The trick with these machines is that you have to show them who’s the boss."
Her heart sunk. Here was that bothersome, uninvited man she’d just been thanking her lucky stars that she hadn’t met. She turned on the velvet-covered stool and looked up into the smiling face of the most devilishly handsome man she'd ever seen in her life. Even worse, he looked far too sure of himself and of his own attractiveness as he pulled up a stool beside her.
Chapter Six
Carson
The angels were on his side today after all. He'd just stumbled across an extraordinarily beautiful and solitary woman and even better, she was partway through one of Darius the barman's most potent cocktails. He'd spend some time chatting and lightly flirting before inviting her up to his private suite in the penthouse at the top of the building. That's when the games would really begin. What better way to while away the rest of the afternoon after his father's disturbing thunderbolt of a news flash?
"The trick with these machines is that you have to show them who’s the boss." He tried out his best Carson DuMonde smile, the one that seldom let him down, but she was looking around nervously rather than appreciating it for what it was worth. Hadn’t she recognized him? This was unusual but it only added to the enjoyment of the game. He’d drop a few hints, tell a few tales, and then the light of recognition would flare in her eyes. He loved seeing that light. It was almost always followed by an eager acceptance of his invitation to take a bottle of champagne and retire upstairs, which was when private fun became the name of the afternoon and evening.
"I’ve never been in here before but today hasn't been the best of days." Her voice was as sweet as her face. Those eyes were a dream, deep blue and huge with lush, dark lashes. He'd always been a sucker for a pair of big blue eyes. Her hair was amazing too, a soft and glossy dark brown that looked too good to be natural but too real to be fake. He could already imagine the feel of it in his hands.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said smoothly, intent on stopping her before she started blathe
ring on about a broken heel on her shoe or her fight with her hairdresser. He knew what these women were like, shallow and vain creatures with an eye on the prize and a hand searching for his wallet as soon as they had the chance. Not that he minded, just as long as he got his fair share of the deal. Woah, she was a beauty. He was picturing what her body looked like beneath those surprisingly drab and dull clothes and he liked what he saw. He looked around, searching for a more brightly clothed group of squawking, cackling friends. Those friends probably dragged her in here before she had time to go home and change after finishing work for the day. "Where are your friends?"
"My friends?" She puckered her brow at him and batted her eyelashes. Oh, she was good. She played the innocent as if she was born to the role.
He curved his mouth into a teasing smile, more than willing to play his own role. "You're not here alone, are you? Why would such a lovely young lady be at a DuMonde Casino on her own?"
She quickly inhaled and his eyes were immediately drawn to the enticing heave of her breasts beneath that unflattering grey top. She picked up her drink and took a hearty sip before replying. "I lost my job," she said bleakly and he was almost sure he saw the swell of tears in those baby blues, which was puzzling. Beautiful women didn’t usually come to a DuMonde Casino to cry. Sure they might cry afterward, when he gently told them they had to go after a few hot and mutually pleasurable hours in the suite, but they didn’t cry before he’d had a chance to invite them up there.
"After Mr. Robins told me I was fired, I left the office and I started walking until I ended up here."
"Alone?" He’d only listened to a small part of what she’d said. She didn't look like the kind of woman who ever needed to be anywhere on her own. Perhaps she’d broken up with her boyfriend? Yeah, that could explain it. She’d met her boyfriend for lunch, he’d dumped her, and she’d high-tailed it in here as soon as she finished work for a pick-me-up cocktail to drown her sorrows. He could handle that. He’d comforted numerous freshly dumped women in the past and they were always satisfyingly grateful for his attention.
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