DEMYEN
TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER
"Don't forget, you have a 10 A.M. tomorrow with Stevenson."
I don't bother tearing my gaze from the window. "Postpone it."
I was bored the moment I stepped into the town car, and I'm not going to pretend I'm interested in anything now. Certainly not meeting with Edwin fucking Stevenson, the most boring man in Las Vegas.
Bambi arches an elegant brow but doesn't look up from her tablet. It's her quietly respectful way of questioning my judgment.
"This will be the third time we've rescheduled, Demyen."
"Fine." I lean back in the leather seat with a sigh and a matching grimace. "Order a spread for brunch. I don't care as long as I can kick him out once my hangover outweighs my patience."
Her other brow joins the first. "Anticipating an exciting night? Or a rough one?"
Maybe it's more accurate to say that I'm not bored as much as I'm drained. Thoroughly and irrevocably drained. What I need is a drink, so I can scrub the day's events from memory.
Today was my older brother Tolya's scheduled appearance at the Court of Appeals to plead new developments in his case. New witnesses are willing to come forward and testify, and we're getting closer to tracking down the location of the false witness whose testimony condemned him to a life sentence. I hired the best legal defense team in the state of Nevada, a squad of fucking sharks with J.D.s, and we marched into that courtroom with a bulletproof case for appeal.
It was denied.
It seems the opinion of Judge Andrew Cartwell is that, without the retraction of the key eyewitness's testimony, my brother will spend the rest of his life behind bars for a murder he didn't commit.
Too bad the key eyewitness is nowhere to be found.
The hard part wasn't facing down the judge, or forcing myself to remain calm when the idiot banged the gavel against the blatantly obvious, or keeping my hands in my pockets so I didn't strangle every last one of those preening motherfuckers.
The hard part was watching Tolya get dragged away, yet again, bound in cuffs and reassuring me over his shoulder that it's okay. It's all going to be okay.
I was a helpless teenager all over again. Unable to protect my own brother. Unable to stand up for him.
I waited until I returned to my penthouse and stepped into the private gym, before I let the rage and despair loose. I didn't even bother changing out of the suit and into workout gear. I needed to punch things, to throw things. Feeling priceless seams rip only added to the rush.
Bambi offered to send in some "extra relief," but I turned her down. I don't believe in dipping one's pen inside the company's ink. And with the way I'm feeling, it's better for women to stay out of my way and out of my bed.
Now, I'm drained, and yet the night's just begun. I tried sleeping through the afternoon to get some of my energy back, but I just need something to jumpstart my willpower.
Nothing a few shots of bourbon and a successful night of burying myself in work can't fix.
The town car pulls to a stop in front of the casino. Even through the tinted windows, The Meridian's lights sparkle over my arm in a twinkling promise of guaranteed good fortune to come.
Well... good fortune for me, at least. Seeing as how I own the place.
"What's the headcount for tonight?"
She taps the screen of her tablet and puckers her lips as she runs through a few calculations. "Twenty-one escorts working the Main Floor, seven men and fourteen women. Although we do have a few from the new pool of recruits waiting in the wings.
Would you like me to-"
"Just one. Add them to the Main Floor and make sure we incorporate more tomorrow. For tonight, I like the numbers as they are."
I tell the press I'm not a superstitious person, but that's a boldfaced lie.
I don't fuck with Lady Luck.
The giveaway is the elegant statue of the goddess herself carved over the archway of The Meridian, welcoming gamblers to my establishment. I prefer the high rollers. Nothing like a rich fool with money to lose. But I do take a certain sort of secret delight at seeing the average Joe rejoice in a win now and then.
Bambi's roster of escorts isn't simply an additional service we offer. It's also our way of keeping tabs. When you know what your big spenders like, it becomes very easy to tempt them into doing it on camera. And when they know that you know... well, safe to say their business will remain ours for as long as they live.
It's almost shocking how many powerful men have very particular tastes they'd never breathe to their closest friends or, heaven forbid, their innocent wives.
And not just corrupt politicians-athletes, too, and tech whizzes, and bad men with businesses almost as depraved as mine.
Also-federal judges.
Now, that was an unexpected surprise.
"Add a few more security personnel to the High Roller Lounge." I tap a finger on my chin as I think. "Make sure they're wired. And let's extend VIP hospitality to Mr. Cartwell. Keep him happy and keep him rolling. Just make sure every word he breathes is recorded and transcribed."
I open the door and step out onto the plush crimson carpet of The Meridian's main entrance. It's a bit of an old Hollywood touch I wasn't sure about at first, but after seeing people stop and take selfies and follow it inside to try their luck at the slots, I decided to keep it. I did make sure the material wouldn't catch on any stiletto heels-the last thing I need is a personal injury lawsuit splashed all over the headlines.
Good thing, too, because I don't see the woman standing next to the car. The door nearly slams into her, but she manages to stumble backward without falling.
I ignore her. No harm, no foul, and not my fault or my problem.
But I do catch a glimpse of her in the corner of my eye. As I do, some faint spark of recognition ignites in the back of my mind.
"Is she one of ours?" I murmur to Bambi as I help her out of the car.
Bambi steals a quick glance and shakes her head. "Not on our roster." "Hm."
"Want me to look into it?" She loops her arm through mine and leans in close so it looks like we're sharing an intimate secret.
"Don't bother. Just thought I recognized her."
Bambi looks like she wants to press further, but she lets it go. Instead, she smiles cordially at the attendants as they open the glass doors for us and smooths a hand over her silk jumpsuit with a sigh. "Ready?"
I don't answer. I simply lead us into the Main Floor and let the cacophony of the casino envelop us.
Time to get to work.
