Текст книги "Vice"

Автор книги: Rosanna Leo

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He’s much more than a bad habit.

As a Vegas singer and volunteer counselor, Kate Callender has experienced life on both sides of Sin City’s bright lights. The thrill of performing, and gambling’s devastating effect on the addicts’ families.

Liam Doyle is just the kind of man she despises—a handsome, enigmatic businessman with a knack for seducing customers into his casino hotels. Determined to put a lid on his growing influence, she prepares to picket the opening of his newest casino, Vice.

When Liam spots the lone protestor hassling his customers, annoyance wars with instant attraction. And he quickly discovers the leggy redhead not only can’t be bought, she tempts him the way the sound of a roulette wheel lures a gambler.

They are natural enemies, but when a vile attack sparks Liam’s protective instincts, they begin a sexual odyssey that dances on the edge of addiction. Dangerously close to losing control...and losing themselves.

Warning: Contains a sexy, damaged hero who’d really rather just be having sex, and a no-nonsense redhead who makes him want to roll the dice on love just one more time.

Vice

Rosanna Leo

Dedication

For my mother, Louisa. This book was dedicated to her, even before I started writing it.

Chapter One

“Mr. Calvert. I need you to remove your hand from my ass.”

Despite the clear tone of her voice, her boss’s hand continued to rove over her behind with an intimacy that was as revolting as it was inappropriate. In truth, Howard Calvert wasn’t really her boss, but he was the Calvert behind Calvert’s Used Automobiles, and she was supposed to be recording his radio jingle in this small Las Vegas recording booth. For that reason and that reason alone, Kate Callender bit her tongue, determined not to overreact.

And she would have been successful had the man not leaned in for a closer grope. She hissed and pushed him away.

“No need to get snippy, darlin’. We’re both consenting adults here.”

“I consented to singing your jingle.” She peered through the glass into the producer’s booth. Where was Klein anyway? Probably getting another roast beef sandwich while she still reeled from the effects of her new gluten-free diet. Someone said she could fix her various health complaints by ditching gluten, but after a couple of sin-free weeks, she was willing to endure festering boils for the sake of some white pasta and garlic bread.

Mr. Calvert’s paw appeared once more on her hip, and did a finger drum roll on her ass. “Come now, Kate. I saw the way you looked at me. Don’t be shy.”

She stepped back. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, sir, but it’s not what you think.” Why the hands all of a sudden? She’d sung for Calvert numerous times, becoming the voice of his radio campaign. He’d always given off a curious vibe, appraising her from a distance, but this was the first time he’d let his fingers do the talking.

She’d worked hard to get the stupid gig, auditioning numerous times before Calvert signed on the dotted line. One would think it was tryouts for Les Miserables, not a commercial for a fricking used car dealership. But the gig paid well and regularly. Calvert seemed to think car commercials needed the voice of a sexed-up woman to be effective.

Mind you, she wasn’t all that sexed-up, and hadn’t been for some time, but she put on a good show.

The man tried again, maneuvering closer to her. She had to give him points for determination. “I, uh, sent Klein on an errand so we could get to know each other better. I felt it was time.”

Kate calmed her nerves and realized she was about to cause her immediate financial ruin. “We do know each other, sir, and I know Mrs. Calvert would be very upset at your behavior. Now, unless you keep your hands off me, I won’t record the jingle.”

“Darlin, please. We both know you will. You need this job.”

He was right, of course, but if she had to walk away with empty pockets and her integrity, she’d feel better about it in the morning. Probably.

“I don’t need it so much that I’ll put up with your sausage fingers.”

“Christ,” He muttered under his breath. “Do you always argue so much?” He reached for her breast.

“Back off. I swear to God, I’ll kick you in the nuts!” She vaulted out of the way, ran around a couple of chairs and music stands, and grabbed her purse.

“Come on, Kate. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Stop playin’. Don’t you think you owe me? I’ve sent a lot of royalties your way.”

“Last I checked, I wasn’t rendering that kind of service. This is Vegas. If you want a hooker, stand on the street corner and someone will hand you a card with a picture on it. Call her.” Without a look back, Kate put her hand on the recording booth door.

She should have seen it coming. Calvert was the kind of man who didn’t let people say no to him, let alone insult him. The man copped a feel of her breast before she could make her exit, grinning like it was all part of the game.

Kate turned, unthinking, and brought her knee into his family jewels.

“Aw, fuck!” Calvert grunted and dropped to his knees as Kate opened the door to leave. Despite his pain, Calvert had enough presence of mind to aim one last threat. “I’ll make sure you never get another job in this town. I bloody guarantee it.”

“Go to hell. I’ll take my chances.” How much pull could the Lord of Lemons have in the Vegas entertainment world anyway? As she hurried out of the recording studio, she experienced a measure of calm at being out of his grip. She stood still on the sidewalk and allowed the hot sun to beam down on her face.

Only then did she begin to grow nervous. What if Calvert did know people in the singing world? What if he spread the word she was uncooperative and mouthy and unprofessional? God knew it was hard enough getting a gig in this city that didn’t require her to drop her drawers, and she wasn’t built to play showgirl. Her ample sized knockers would never fit into those skimpy little bras they wore. Plus she couldn’t dance. The Calvert’s jingle had provided her with the steadiest singing job she’d ever had, and she’d likely never land anything like it again.

Maybe Celine Dion would ask her to join her next tour as a backup singer. Right. And maybe the pop icon would also ask to be her new BFF.

“Nuts.” She began walking toward the bus stop. Her royalties would at least keep her in gluten-free snacks for a while until she figured out what to do next. And she still had her volunteer job. It meant more to her than those dumb jingles anyway. There she made a difference. She was always saying she wished she had more time to devote to New Horizons. Now she had a chance. She could concentrate on helping the folks there, and Karma would provide.

She had to believe it. After all, Karma had stolen everything else from her.

“Hi. Um, my name is Audrey, and…well, my boyfriend Darren is a compulsive gambler.” The woman looked down at her lap and smoothed out a few wrinkles in her jeans. After a moment, she raised her head, looking to Kate. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Whatever you want to share, Audrey. This is a non-judgment zone. You can talk about your life with Darren, about his gambling, or about the weather. It’s your first time in group, so anything’s fair game. We’re not head-shrinkers here, just friends.”

Kate could see Darren had trampled on her trust. She wore the same expression every arrival to New Horizons did, one of pale disbelief. No matter how much good the program did, no matter how it was lauded by its supporters, no victim of gambling addiction ever thought it would work for them.

Audrey’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t see how this is going to help me. I mean…I’m not the gambler. I don’t waste my paycheck at the casino the moment it’s earned. I don’t lie and cheat. I’m just the poor schlep whose money he stole time and again. Darren should be here, not me.”

“Does Darren realize he has an illness?” Kate asked in a gentle tone.

“Are you kidding? He thinks I’m the one who’s crazy.”

“That’s why it’s important for you to be here,” Kate replied. “Look around the room, Audrey. This program is for the loved ones of compulsive gamblers. We’ve all known gamblers and we’ve all needed support. Of the sixteen of us here, not one has ever sat at a craps table or placed a bet.

Rod, a long-time participant chimed in. “Hell, I’ve never even bought a lottery ticket.”

“Exactly,” continued Kate. “And we all know what it’s like to love someone who is buried in denial.”

Rod took a bite of his gingersnap, quickly swallowing. “Yeah. I’d bet my special someone is busy at one of Liam Doyle’s slot machines right now.”

Kate bit the inside of her lip as a few whispers traveled through the group. Here we go again.

Liam Doyle, owner of a couple of top Las Vegas casinos, was the author of many a compulsive gambler’s destruction. An enigmatic entrepreneur, he’d become the most lauded businessman to hit the Strip since Steve Wynn.

Defying Vegas tradition, Doyle had created a number of casino hotels that resembled the finest of New York boutique properties. The young and hip lined up to get a peek inside his establishments. No gaudy neon signs for Doyle; rather he’d built sleek, modern properties that catered to every whim and created brand new ones. If you wanted gourmet foods, Liam Doyle had them delivered, plus a bag of chips. If you wanted fancy cocktails, Liam Doyle offered them in flavors and colors invented by the top mixologists.

Oh, and you didn’t just play the slots at Liam Doyle’s casinos. You played them in the most upscale gaming rooms in the city. Sure, folks lauded him as a visionary with the upcoming opening of his newest hotel, Vice, but she saw Doyle for what he really was … an enabler.

The whole town was full of enablers, but she bore a special hatred for Doyle. His sexy hotels brought in a whole new clientele, gave it a unique veneer of respectability. She knew several people who’d never entered a casino before or played a game of poker drawn to Doyle’s properties like it emitted a Siren’s song. And he grew richer every year off their losses. It was hard enough living in Sin City without Doyle making sin so tempting.

Dammit, she’d already had a shitty day with Calvert. Hearing about the casino impresario again just set her even more on edge.

“I understand the grand opening for Vice is coming up,” said Patti, another participant. “It’s supposed to be his most elaborate venture yet.”

“How much more posh could it get?” asked Rod. “His other properties have already brought in more winnings than the Venetian and Caesar’s Palace combined. I can’t pry my boyfriend away from Doyle’s clubs. He says it’s not about the money, it’s about the character and ambience. Right. Personally, I think he’s hoping for an eyeful of the big man himself.”

No doubt Liam Doyle would end up richer than Croesus as he indulged everyone from disgraced heads of state to Hollywood starlets once it opened. She wondered if he’d built a special little chamber where he spun straw into gold as well, or paid the Devil his cut.

“The Chronicle says he is ‘single-handedly revitalizing the Las Vegas entertainment scene,’” said Audrey. “They printed his picture. I had no idea the dude was so fine. He almost makes me want to take up gambling myself.”

“Fine doesn’t even begin to describe him,” Patti chimed in. “He makes Adam Levine look like one of the unwashed masses.”

Kate put up a hand. She hadn’t seen the photo, and didn’t care to. It seemed so many of their meetings began this way. Instead of diving into the issues they needed to address, they spent the first few minutes talking about people like Doyle and the celebrities who frequented their casinos. Sometimes it felt as if the loved ones of compulsive gamblers were just as obsessed with the industry.

“Okay, everyone. Our conversation is derailing. I’m sure Liam Doyle has a very pretty face but that’s not why we’re here.” She let out a breath. “Audrey, are you comfortable sharing more of your story?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you could tell me yours first?”

All eyes turned toward Kate. Of course, any of the regulars could recite her ridiculous history. She braced herself for the familiar ache that never quite went away, the one that haunted the deepest part of her gut. Even though her life had taken a tragic turn ten years ago, that hurt had never disappeared, it had only numbed.

She sat up straight and took a deep breath. “Of course. I am the daughter of a compulsive, unrepentant gambler. I don’t have a single memory of my dad where he wasn’t holding a pack of cards or dice.” She let out a little laugh. “It’s funny, for most kids, the sound of dice clacking together conjures up images of board games and fun. For me, it meant he was betting on something, anything. He’d bet on whether or not you took a next breath. His addiction led him down some dark paths, and I kept expecting him to just not come home one night. Deep down, I always believed it would be the death of him.”

“Is he still alive?” Audrey asked, her voice a whisper.

“To be honest, I’m never sure. Once I left home, I couldn’t allow myself to obsess over him anymore. I had to put him behind me. We don’t really keep in touch. Most of the time, I can’t be certain he’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. But then every so often, he pops up again. Usually to ask for money. And on the worst nights, when I’m not my better self, I prefer thinking he’s in a ditch.” When she spotted Audrey’s frown, she twitched her lips into something she hoped resembled a grin. Got to keep the spirits up.

“That’s the problem with our gamblers,” Rod joked. “They refuse to die.”

Audrey shuffled in her folding chair. She clearly didn’t share his black humor, a defense mechanism.

“Anyway,” Kate continued, “Despite my dad’s issues, my mom never divorced him, no matter how I pleaded with her. I’d hoped, maybe if he knew he’d lose her he might…”

The door to the program room swung open and Lisa joined the group, her face pale. Her oldest friend from New Horizons, Lisa had warned her she might not make their session that evening. It was ultimatum night for her husband and she’d planned to offer him a choice: his family or gambling. From the haunted look on her face, he’d made the wrong choice.

“Group, take ten,” said Kate, standing. She rushed over to Lisa. “Well?”

“I did it. The kids are at my mom’s. We’re staying with her for a while.”

Kate drew her in for a hug. “Oh, sweetie, I’m proud of you. I know it’s hard.”

Lisa stood still for a moment, her spine as straight as a ballerina’s. But then she sucked in a breath and collapsed into her, weeping into her shoulder. “Donny acted like he didn’t care. He just raided my purse and walked out. He didn’t even look back.”

“It’s better this way, I swear.”

“I know. I just… I didn’t expect it to hurt so much.” She raised her head and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I’ve spent the last few years wishing he’d fall off the face of the earth, and it pisses me off to be so upset.” She let out a bitter laugh. “After I dropped off the kids, I had a hunch and decided to look for him. He was exactly where I expected him to be—one of Liam Doyle’s poker tables, joking with the dealer as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He didn’t even notice me.”

It seemed she heard the words ‘Liam Doyle’ in every New Horizons meeting lately. Frankly, she was getting sick of it. If she ever met the bastard…

“Kate, what am I going to do? There’s so much to think about. Bank accounts, the mortgage. And the kids keep asking for their dad.” She ran a hand over her pale, wet face. “I can’t do this alone.”

She held Lisa by the shoulders and looked into her friend’s eyes. “You’re not alone. I will be with you every step of the way. And you’ll get through this, I promise.” She sighed, but rather than lightening, her heart felt heavier for it. “Come have a coffee. It won’t fix anything, but it’ll make you feel more human.”

Her friend offered a watery smile. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it if it hadn’t been for your example, Kate. Every time I wanted to cave, I remembered how you cut your father off. How you told him no and stopped giving him money. I kept thinking, ‘I need to be strong like Kate.’ He needs to hit rock bottom.”

She stared at Lisa as an insidious sick feeling wormed its way through her.

Strong like Kate. What a laugh.

Lisa hugged her and wandered to the coffee table where the rest of the group flocked around her, eager to help.

It took Kate a second to realize her hands were shaking, and by that time she knew she was good and angry. It felt better than feeling guilty, and she’d stopped being sad a long time ago. Sadness didn’t help, but anger felt good. Anger helped her focus and forced her to see clearly.

What she saw in her memory was a seven-year-old girl crying as her parents argued outside her bedroom. She heard her mother’s voice, begging her father not to go to his usual haunts.

But her father always went out, and some nights he didn’t even come back. Instead, he’d stumble home the next morning, or days later, usually with his wallet empty. Granted, he’d never frequented luxurious casinos like Liam Doyle’s. Her dad had been more the type to lose himself in a dingy back room card parlor. Not that it mattered. Different location, same vice. Kate had seen it again and again, and now she had to watch her friend experience the same misery.

The most ridiculous part was Lisa regarding her as a fucking role model.

Most days, she vacillated between blaming herself and blaming Vegas. It was so much easier to blame those who made gambling possible. Then she didn’t have to examine her own actions. Her own choices.

As her fury once again took root, she sought an outlet, any outlet that turned the spotlight away from her past. As a newly-unemployed jingle singer, she didn’t have the resources to launch a full-scale war on Vegas. God knew the casinos would be there until the end of time.

But she knew how to cause a stink. She’d always had a bit of rebel in her.

As she searched her brain for a target, she found only one. Suddenly, her anger had a face. A pretty one with devil’s horns, much like how she imagined Liam Doyle’s.

Liam stood alone in his office suite at the newly-built Vice, his crowning achievement. In five minutes he would head outside, cut a big ribbon, smile and welcome Las Vegas into what he knew would become its hottest property.

So why wasn’t he pumped? When he opened Sin, he’d been delirious. When he opened Luxe, he’d been happy. But now?

Maybe the novelty had worn off.

Yet for some reason his pulse felt erratic. He took a long look at himself in the full-length mirror in the office bathroom and breathed deep, hoping to steady his off-kilter heartbeat. Dr. Chan said he worked too hard, and it was taking its toll.

No, it was just a strange case of nerves. Preparing for a grand opening forced his body into a state of hyper-awareness, like a runner before a track meet. Hell, he hadn’t had a good sleep in weeks. Between dealing with designers and kitchen staff and suppliers, he was bound to be on edge.

He just couldn’t afford to show it.

He looked himself up and down. The well-dressed, serious man who stared back from the mirror showed no outward signs of nervousness. His suit, ordered from Cad and the Dandy, his favorite Savile Row tailor in London, was pressed to perfection. His shoes gleamed and his silver cufflinks shone under the office lights with what his stylist Xavier called “understated elegance.” Damned if he knew what that meant, but apparently he was supposed to be the embodiment of it.

He adjusted his signature navy silk tie, chosen from his armada of navy silk ties. Xavier was always trying to get him to expand his color range, but Liam liked navy. If he had to wear a suit, it had to include a navy tie. Sure, he would have been more comfortable in jeans and cowboy boots, but Xavier demanded he look the part of a shark today. As the stylist had stated, “You can go back to being scruffy tomorrow.”

Today, as he opened Vice, even he conceded scruffy wasn’t appropriate. Vice would be his greatest achievement yet in the town where he was born. His other casinos did very well, but his marketing team had ensured the hype for this new property would launch him into the stratosphere. Already people demanded to get in, and after today, everyone would know Liam Doyle.

The build had gone off without a hitch. His designers had delivered on their promises of excellence. Everything was ready. The dealers, poised on the floor, waited for the first customers to flood in. The catering heads stood at the ready, with the finest of Vegas fare on their menus.

They just needed to open the door.

He almost allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, but then he heard her voice in his head.

I don’t want you. I never wanted you. The sooner you get used to the idea, the better.

Fuck. How was it she always managed to cut through his pride and savage his serenity?

Now her face appeared in his mind’s eye, smiling but cold. As in all his visions of her, she shut the car door that final time, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. Her perfume lingering like a fragrant insult.

Liam clenched his fists, forcing the memory away. Why are you thinking about her now? She’s nothing to you.

He wiped at the perspiration on his brow and took a few cleansing breaths. He could do this. He’d done it before, and he’d do it again, creating avant-garde casino-hotels the world would remember long after he was gone. His properties would be his legacy, and a hard-won vindication to the one who deserted him all those years ago.

If only he didn’t feel her name was secretly inscribed on the cornerstone of each of his hotels. If only he didn’t feel they were secretly hers, that he owed her his success.

No, he owed no one. No more dwelling in the past. He had a casino to open.

Finally granting himself that one little smile, he turned away from the mirror and headed for his office elevator.

The elevator opened before he could summon it. Wade Kennedy, his head of security, normally took care of problems before they ever got to his door. A capable and intimidating man, Wade didn’t come to him like this unless he felt an incident warranted his special attention.

“Uh, Liam. We seem to have a situation outside.” Wade nodded toward the office window, the one with the best view of the front entryway.

From his fourth-floor kingdom, Liam could survey all who would enter Vice. He liked it that way, and had all his casino offices designed in similar fashion. He liked the energy, liked seeing the crowds as they lined up to get into his hotels, especially at night when the city lit up. He got up from his desk and walked to the window, with Wade following.

He might have expected to see any number of interesting sights: impatient crowds, brawling drunks, cabbies fighting over the best spot. Hell, he might even have expected to see Shania Twain riding up on a horse. The last thing he expected was a picket line.

Or rather, one picketer, standing off to the side, motioning at the waiting customers.

He spared a glance for the hand-painted message on the picket sign: Gambling destroys families. Shame on you, Liam Doyle!

He turned to Wade. “Seriously? This is our situation? Just get rid of him.”

“Her. It’s a her.”

“Okay. Get rid of her then.” He stepped around Wade’s bulky body and headed for the elevator.

“Liam, I tried everything short of throwing that little hell raiser over my shoulder. She won’t budge.” The man threw up his hands. Liam had never seen him so frustrated before. Wade had broken up numerous fights between enormous, inebriated men in his casinos. Why should he be flummoxed by a lone, female picketer?

“Call the police and get her off my property. It’s that simple.”

“I threatened to do that, but she’s not actually on your property. She’s on the sidewalk.”

In an attempt to preserve the boutique hotel experience, the architect had suggested a design in which the entrance remained close to the sidewalk. “It’s all about clean lines, Liam,” the architect had said. “It has a fresh, New York feel.” He’d compared the design to the one he created for Liam’s pal Alex Markov, a club owner whose bars were the talk of the Big Apple.

He hadn’t considered whether the design would make things nice and cozy for a sidewalk protest. Damn. Is this what he had to look forward to? His clean lines made it easy for the whack jobs to access the entrance.

Wade continued. “She has a copy of the city by-laws with her and keeps quoting government shit at me. When I told her I was calling the cops, she laughed and said, ‘Go ahead, big boy. This is a peaceful protest. I know my rights.’ And she’s right. She’s not obstructing pathways. She’s not forcing leaflets on the customers. She’s just…there.”

Wade frowned like a cartoon bear who’d had his honey snatched away. “She’s been lecturing me, telling me I should be ashamed of working for you. Told me I should get a job that doesn’t steal food out of babies’ mouths. Go work for Cirque du Soleil. She…she hurt my feelings, man.”

Liam stared at the man who’d been his best employee for years, brought low by a single woman. As Wade’s face turned seven shades of red, Liam decided he needed to take another look at this hellion on the sidewalk. He approached the window again, planted his hands on the ledge, narrowed his eyes at her and glared.

At first he’d only observed the picket sign and its inflammatory message. Now as he looked at the woman carrying it, surprise made him want to draw closer. He’d expected to see some aging hippie in Birkenstocks. What he saw instead made him want to dust off his old, trusty pick-up lines.

He couldn’t make out every detail, but he saw the important things: a severe, red ponytail and the kind of curves that would make Rubens reach for his paintbrush. He stared at her face as she chanted to anyone passing by. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a face made deep pink with ire. Hell, even from four floors up, he could see the tops of her ears flush. She looked like a sexy elf, the kind they drew in Japanese cartoon porn.

And the elf woman was pissed. At him.

He looked away from the harridan and turned to Wade. “Who the hell is she?”

“She won’t tell me her name. She says she’ll only speak to you.”

Liam let out a scornful laugh and paced back to his desk, throwing himself into his chair. He bit his fingernail, an old habit that tended to manifest when he was nervous. Although why this elf woman should make him nervous was beyond him.

“Tell her I don’t negotiate with terrorists, then get rid of her. On any other day, I wouldn’t care. But on my grand opening? This doesn’t look good.”

“But…”

“No buts, Wade. For Christ’s sake, she’s just an itty bitty girl. You’ve handled the rowdy sons of mob bosses.”

“I know, but there’s something about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but she…sorta makes me wanna hug her.” Staring at the floor, still red in the face, Wade summoned the elevator, got in and left.

Hug her? What the fuck? Liam spent the next few moments staring at the elevator and rubbing his chest, mystified. It was like he’d hired a professional hitman only to find out he had a soft spot for puppies.

Liam went back to the window and stared at the elf again. A strange pitching sensation assaulted him, one that had nothing to do with his grand opening. He couldn’t put his finger on it either.

But, unlike Wade, it didn’t put him in a hugging mood.

Kate spied the security goon as he came back outside again. He’d spoken to Doyle. About her.

Good. He knew she was here. He might even be watching her right now. Well, she’d put on a good show for him.

Clenching her fingers around her placard, she called to the security guard. “Back for more, big boy?”

He grunted. “You need to leave, lady. Now.”

“Why? Because your boss says so?” She raised her voice so tourists by the black marble entryway could hear her. “Is the great and powerful Liam Doyle afraid to come tell me off himself? I’m not going anywhere until I talk to that crook.”

“My boss isn’t a crook. Ask anyone who works for him.”

“Yeah, and my tail is purple.” She turned away from the man and called out to a woman approaching the front door. “Excuse me, ma’am. Did you know that compulsive gambling causes emotional distress to countless people and tears families apart? Children are sitting at home, right now, crying for their addict parents to come home.”

The woman turned to her husband, her voice a nervous quaver. “Derek, maybe we should go to the Bellagio instead. They have a fountain in front, not a crazy lady. She might do something when we come out.” They turned on their heels and headed back to the Strip.

Kate sucked in a breath, too excited to be offended. Okay, she hadn’t turned them off gambling, she wasn’t expecting to, but she’d turned them away from Doyle’s establishment. Score one for the crazy lady. Maybe she had a new career unfolding on the pavement outside Vice: professional rabble-rouser.

The security guard turned pale. “Oh, lady. You need to stop.”

She lowered her placard for a moment and came up to the monster of a man, though careful to remain on the sidewalk. She eyed his name tag and smiled. “Wade. You seem like a nice person. Do you gamble?”

“Nah. I like my money in my pocket.”

“Then you understand. My friend’s husband has lost thousands of dollars in Doyle’s casinos. Money that should have gone to supporting their children. She had to leave him because it was getting so bad.” She patted down the lapel of his suit. “So please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not until I talk to Liam Doyle.” She batted her eyelashes at him, not above using whatever feminine charms she might possess. “Now, are you going to arrange a little meet-and-greet, or am I going to keep embarrassing him on opening day?”

“Uh…”

“As I expected.” She marched back to her spot on the walkway, raised her sign and called out to passers-by. “Gambling destroys families! Vegas doesn’t need another casino! Shame on you, Liam Doyle!”