Hustler Page 6

  Scott eyes me skeptically, trying to pick up on my vibe. Too bad for him, I give nothing away… not that there’s anything to give away. Penelope is just another girl on my list to check off, and she will be checked off, there is no doubt about that.

  “We’ll see,” Scott says, reaching for another piece of pizza. “Maybe this Penelope girl will finally call your bluff.”

  Doubtful.

  Chapter Six

  **NELL**

  That cocky motherfucker!

  After being humiliated in front of the owner of Hotel Paragon by the one and only, dickhead of a man, Gavin Saint, I retrieved my purse, shot a text to Page and told her to meet me at our spot and bring some pie.

  Whenever one of us has a bad day, and I mean a really bad day, we are to drop what we’re doing – unless at work – and meet each other in the fourth alcove in front of the Bellagio Fountains. We eat pie, sit on the wall, and stare at the fountains. Sometimes we talk, but most of the time we just shove sugary confection down our throats.

  Not only am I incredibly embarrassed, but I’m furious! If I wasn’t so desperate for this job, I would march my sweet ass right back into the high roller suite and introduce Gavin’s crotch to my knee. Show him the same action Ramos received the other day.

  Where did he come off acting like he could train me? And why did I fall for it? I should have known better. He’s the most highly regarded poker player in the world, why would he be spending his afternoon training a cocktail waitress?

  “Gah!” I yell in frustration just as a tourist walks by. He eyes me with a funny look and it takes all the energy in my body not to pluck my heel off my foot and shove it through his cranium.

  “You know I love you, right, Nell? But you look like shit right now,” Page says, sidling up next to me and taking a seat on the wall.

  From the canvas bag she has with her all the time, containing random ingredients and cooking supplies, she reveals a French silk pie, covered in whipped cream and ready to be consumed.

  “I’m going to ignore your last remark only because of what rests in your hand. How did you know I was needing French silk in my life?”

  She hands me a fork and I don’t even bother waiting for her invitation, I dig in. Tourists chatter, gazing at the fountains behind us, and occasionally eye the two girls sitting on the stone wall, sharing a full twelve inch pie with each other.

  “Well, I know you had training today with the one and only Gavin Saint, and after reading your text, I just assumed it didn’t go very well. Am I right?”

  With my mouth full of pie, I answer. “You’re spot on.”

  “What happened?” There is a calming tone to her voice, it’s almost motherly. I’ve come to count on Page and her immense amount of empathy. She’s the yin to my yang. I’m short-fused and hot tempered, she’s sweet and patient, a distinct contrast that works for both of us.

  “Would you guess that Gavin isn’t in charge of training the cocktail staff?”

  “Oh no, did he not show up?”

  Chocolate and cream flood my taste buds, cooling off the inner rage boiling in my body. “Oh no, he showed up and trained me.”

  Page cringes. “Uh oh, I don’t like where this is going.”

  “He was demanding, cynical, rude, and… powerful.” Not meaning to, I say the last word on a sigh.

  “Powerful?” Page’s brow rises in question.

  I wave my hand in front of my face and clear my thoughts. “You know what I mean.”

  “So a powerful jackass.”

  “Exactly!” I point my fork at Page. “He demanded perfection, whispered in my ear, and ran his hand up my thigh…”

  “Whoa.” Page stops me. “He ran his hand up your thigh?”

  I scoop some more pie into my mouth, muffling my speech. “That’s not important. What’s important is that he was mid finger to my panty line when Graham Larson walked in the room.”

  “Why is that name so familiar?” Whipped cream flies out of her mouth when she says “why”. We both glance down at her black pant leg and ignore it; we’ve spit out worse.

  “He’s only the fucking owner of Hotel Paragon.”

  “Nooooo.”

  “Yes!” I jab the pie and scoop up another bite. “Graham Larson walks in, chest puffed, wearing an ascot...”

  “An ascot? What a tool.”

  “Yeah, he reeks of money. Pretty sure he burns cash just for the hell of it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he uses it to wipe his ass, too.”

  “I know of the man,” Page says, in a far off tone. I’m too far gone in my own situation to even question her acquaintance with him. “What did Graham say?”

  “Funny you ask, because the whole time Graham was confused as to why his new cocktail waitress was being trained by a poker player who has no right to do such a thing.”

  “Oh no.” Her face falls for me.

  “Oh yeah,” I nod, taking another bite. “The arrogant prick lied to me, set me up for some unknown reason, and Graham caught him. I was excused from the room and sent home.”

  “Were you fired?” Panic sets in her features.

  “No. I wasn’t. But I didn’t make a good impression, that’s for damn sure. I mean, Gavin’s hand was up my skirt when Graham walked in. What is he supposed to think?”

  Page shrugs. “That you are like every other cocktail waitress on the Strip, being panted over by horny men. At least your horny man is Gavin Saint. Pretty sure women would sell their right nipple for a chance at serving him.”

  “I guess,” I sigh. “Still! Why the hell would he do something like that?”

  “Maybe he likes you.”

  I snort, shooting whipped cream out of my nose. Moving quickly I cover the milky snot from tourists passing by. “There is no way that man likes me. It’s just some sort of sick game to him.”

  “But what if he did?” Page, the ever-present romantic. “Wouldn’t you just want to know what one night with him would be like? You’ve seen how he casually flicks his poker chips to the center. I bet he could do wonders with those fingers.”

  Heat spirals up my back from the thought of Gavin’s fingers on my thigh. I might hate the man, but I can’t lie about the way his intense stare intrigues me, or the way his mysterious eyes make me want to know more about him.

  I shake the thoughts out of my head. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t stand the man. He’s just a big… jerk!” I can’t think of any better terms at the moment. Taking another scoop of pie, I ask, “Did you make this?”

  “Yeah. It was supposed to be for my clients tonight. But instead of pie, they’ll be getting fruit with yogurt now.”

  “Wow, sucks for them,” I reply, not feeling a single ounce of remorse. I need this pie more than them, anyway.

  ***

  Shit. I’m nervous. Why did I have to be so damned nervous at just the thought of seeing Gavin Saint again? I don’t even like the guy.

  No, that’s an understatement. I can’t stand his cocky, pretentious, spoiled-little-rich-boy ass! But if that were really true, then why are my hands sweating like crazy?

  The door to the suite opens just before a loud, “YAY!” echoes off the pristine marble floors. “You’re back! I was so worried they were going to fire you after… you know… the last time.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Davies,” I deadpan as I look over at my beautiful friend.

  She waves me off. “Whatever, doesn’t matter anyway since you’re here and all. I’m just glad I get to work the room with you tonight and not one of those other bitches.”

  “Yeah, well,” I begin, wringing my hands in front of me. “Let’s just hope everyone goes home with their nuts intact this time.”

  Davies giggles as a deep voice calls out, “Glad to see you back, killer.” I turn around and smile at Nick as he makes his way to me, giving me a sideways hug and planting a kiss on my temple. “There isn’t another waitress in this place I’d rather pour drinks for.”

  I chuckle lightly and r
each out to smack his well-defined shoulder. “Stop flirting with me, it’ll get you nowhere.”

  “She’s not lying,” Davies calls from the poker table where she’s stacking chips in preparation for the game. “Seriously barking up the wrong tree there, man. I’ve known the girl since she first moved here and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her go on a date.”

  Nick looks at me, his wide eyes gleaming like the gauntlet has just been thrown down and he is totally up for the challenge. “Well, we need to change that, then. Don’t we, gorgeous?”

  “Wouldn’t count on it, Nicky,” I tease back.

  Nick makes his way to the bar to check that it’s properly stocked for the night, and I use his absence to my benefit, rushing over and leaning in to whisper to Davies. “So, tell me something. What’s your opinion of Gavin Saint?”

  She gives me a sideways glance. “You mean other than he’s fuck hot and I’d give my left tit for a night in bed with him?”

  At her too-loud question, I glance around the room nervously, checking all the corners for cameras. “Relax,” she laughs, “They aren’t wired for audio.”

  Releasing a sigh of relief, I look back at her. “Yeah, besides that. What do you think of the guy?”

  “Honestly,” she starts at the same time executing a complicated, one-handed shuffle with the deck of cards. “I don’t really think anything. The man’s a vault. I think he’s probably said about five words in all the times I’ve dealt a game he’s playing. It’s impossible to get a read on him, so I just gave up trying.”

  My eyes dart over my shoulder to the door, making sure no one has entered. “You don’t think he’s, like, a dick or anything like that?”

  “Always seemed nice enough to me,” Davies shrugs. “You know, for practically being a mute.” At that, she stops shuffling, turns to me and props a hand on her curvy hip. “Why are you asking all these questions, anyway?” she asks in a skeptical tone.

  “Pfft,” I wave my hand in the air in front of me. “No reason. Just curious, I guess.”

  She stares at me in total silence before her eyes go wide. “Oh my God,” she gasps, suddenly looking giddy. “You like him!”

  “Do not!” I protest instantly.

  “You do! You totally like him!”

  “No I don’t!” I whisper-yell, darting a look over my shoulder to make sure Nick can’t hear us from the other side of the suite. “And would you shut up about it? God, I do not like the guy.”

  Davies studies my face closely before finally humming, “Mmm hmm, if you say so.”

  Before either of us can say anything else, the double doors to the high roller suite open and a group of men—along with their scantily clad bleached robots—walk in. I do my best to ignore the hitch in my chest at the sight of Gavin entering the room, both his arms surprisingly empty. I don’t know why, but I expected he’d have at least one woman with him on the nights he played in the high stakes game.

  I found myself frozen in place as those dark, penetrating eyes hit me. It’s as though he’s seeing right through me in this very moment, and the disconcerting feeling leaves me somewhat breathless and shaky.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” I offer my standard introductory speech. “I’m Nell and I’ll be your server tonight.” As the men take their chairs, I make my way around the table, taking drink orders. A sense of relief washes over me when I notice Ramos is missing from the game. For some reason I refuse to analyze, my gaze continues to shoot to Gavin the closer I get, and I can’t help but feel slightly bereft that, other than the cursory glance upon his entry into the suite, he hasn’t given me another look.

  “Hello, Mr. Saint,” I speak quietly once I get to him.

  The jackass doesn’t even deem me worthy of a nod, the only acknowledgment I get that he’s even aware of my existence is his grunted, “Whiskey, two fingers.” I don’t understand why, but his casual disregard is like a slap in the face. I’m just about to step away when he continues. “Think you can remember that?”

  I spin around, wide-eyed at his sarcastic insult of my waitressing skills, ready to lay into him as my instincts beg of me, only to find one corner of his mouth hooked up in a smirk. The motherfucker is testing me.

  And the night has only just begun!

  Refusing to be baited, I give him a small nod and a professional, “Yes, sir,” before heading off toward the bar.

  Davies has dealt the first game and everyone’s anted up as I stand and wait for Nick to finish loading my tray, making sure to keep my back to the other side of the room.

  “Is this one Mr. Saint’s?” I point at the tumbler filled with amber colored liquid. When Nick nods, a smile creeps across my face as I lean forward just slightly, hovering over the tumbler, and spit in it.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Nick hisses frantically, shooting wide-eyes at the oblivious men sitting at the table.

  “You didn’t see anything,” I mumble a warning, swirling the contents of the glass to mix everything together. “Just do your job and act like the past thirty seconds never happened.”

  As I turn to walk away from the bar, drink tray firmly resting on my shoulder, I can swear I see Nick smiling at me with something akin to hero worship. Mindful to place the glasses down on the men’s left, I work as quickly and quietly as possible, so as not to draw attention to myself.

  Just like Gavin had “trained” me.

  “Ah, very good,” the arrogant ass uttered under his breath as I set his drink down. “So she can follow direction. All hope isn’t lost after all.”

  Pasting a smile on my face, I move to the side and watch with a grin as he lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes a hearty gulp.

  Serves you right, dick-face.

  ***

  I can’t help but stare in wonder as Gavin wins yet another hand. Over the past several hours, the stacks of chips in front of him have grown into towers. It’s truly an impressive thing to watch. His facial expression remains completely stoic, no flinching, no twitching, as he studies his cards and lowers them, face down on the table.

  Hell, the man’s spent more of the night watching the other people at the table than he has his own cards. I’ve never in my life seen someone so focused on a task they basically turn into a robot. It’s amazing, really.

  “Jesus Christ,” Nick murmurs from behind me. “The lucky bastard won again.”

  Spinning around on my heels, I place my palms on the bar top and face Nick. “How much do you think he’s won so far?”

  He looks up and scratches his chin in thought. “If I had to guess, I’d say close to four hundred G’s.”

  “Holy fuck!” I gasp. “I can’t imagine having that kind of money in one lifetime, let alone a night!”

  Nick’s shoulder comes up in a shrug. “Yeah, well, when you have unlimited funds, it’s easy to throw them around.”

  I’m still in awe as I look back at Gavin, sitting as still as a statue. “Yeah, but it’s not just that. He’s really good. I mean, I’ve watched him on TV before, but I guess seeing it in person is totally different, huh?”

  “You’ll get used to it, gorgeous,” Nick grins.

  As I scan the glasses on the poker table, checking to see if anyone’s in need of a refill, Nick’s fingers trail across the back of my hand, still resting on the top of the bar, jerking my attention back to him.

  “What are you doing after this?” he asks in a low, sultry voice.

  I shoot him a look that screams, you’re so not getting up in all this. “Sleeping,” I answer dryly. “It’ll be like, two in the morning.”

  He rests his forearms on the bar and smiles unabashedly. “Then what about tomorrow?”

  “Nick,” I say on a sigh, knowing exactly where this is going. “You’re a really nice guy, but—”

  “Just think about it, Nell,” he interrupts, standing to his full height, palms out. “I’m not asking for anything serious, and I promise I won’t try and sleep with you.” He laughs at the sight of one of my eyebro
ws cocking up in doubt. “At least not on the first few dates,” he winks. “But in all seriousness, you’re a cool chick. I think we could really have fun together. Don’t you?”

  God, he’s giving me the puppy dog eyes! Why does he have to be so damn adorable? “I’m not making any promises,” I tell him. There, that’s nice, right? Not a full-blown rejection, but not a promise to anything either. “But I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for—oh shit,” he trails off, focusing over my shoulder. “Think you’re being summoned.”

  Dread creeps over me, the skin on the back of my neck prickling as I slowly turn to face the poker table. Sure enough, Gavin’s glare is pointed at me like a goddamned laser beam. And he does not look happy.

  On slow, unsteady legs, I make my way to the table, noticing his glass still has whiskey in it, so I can’t understand the disgruntlement rolling off of him in waves.

  “Do you need anything, sir?” I ask in a very quiet voice.

  “Yeah,” he grunts angrily. “I’d like for you to do your fucking job. Think you can manage that, Miss Prescott?”

  I jerk back at his vicious tone, only getting my senses together enough to catch the whiskey tumbler as he shoves it at me. “And get me a refill while you’re at it.”

  Unable to formulate rational thought, let alone an actual sentence, I walk back to Nick in a daze and refill Gavin’s drink order. All the while, trying to convince myself I don’t feel his hateful words like a punch in stomach.

  I can’t understand why I’m having such a strong reaction, or why I seem to care so much, but as I stand silently, ignoring Nick’s concerned gaze as he refills Gavin’s glass, I give myself an internal pep-talk. Gavin can just go and fuck right off for all I care. I don’t need to put up with his shit.

  Well, technically I do. But only for the next few hours, until this stupid poker game ends. Then he can go and fuck right off.

  With a resigned nod to myself, I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and prepare to battle with the world’s biggest asshat. And I am going to come out the winner, damn it! So help me God!