Play with Me (Novella) (13 page)

“It provides jobs and profit for the center, and Dehlia has strict rules about what can be served on non-movie nights.” He motions me to the left. “Let me show you around. There’s a homeless shelter on the east side that usually has forty people; those residents are transient. The west side houses long-term residents—mostly teens who have no home. We find them foster homes or keep them here until they start an adult life. Right now there are thirty living here. Unfortunately, we only have room for fifty, and we take applications from outside the city when someone special is brought to us.”

“We?”

“I’m one of five people on the board.”

And I wonder how much of this he funds himself. I’m feeling fairly confident that at a minimum he’s responsible for how the money flows through the doors.

We continue walking the property, and for the next hour I am in shock and awe. All but a few theaters have been converted to a dormlike setting, and there’s a sports complex and gym on the roof.

Our final stop is a movie theater that’s been converted into an amazing cafeteria, with trays installed on the seats. There are a group of kids studying, eating, and playing video games in the corner. I turn to Damion and press my hand to his chest. “This is all because of you, isn’t it?”

“No. This is all because of Dehlia.”

I don’t miss the tenderness in his voice. “I’d like to meet her.”

He motions me to a door across the room. “Like your mother was, she’s always in the kitchen.”

We enter an industrial-sized kitchen with multiple stoves and a large table, where a short, sixty-something, dark-haired Hispanic woman stands, shouting at an employee. “No. No. No. Not enough flour!”

But the employee is not an employee at all. It’s Maggie, with her red hair piled on top of her head, and the flour that is not in the bowl is on her face. “Dehlia,” Maggie complains. “You’re killing me. Last time you told me I put too much flour. This time, not enough.”

“Two years you’ve been helping,” Dehlia says, holding up two fingers. “
Dos!
You still cannot read a recipe.” Dehlia seems to realize something in the air has shifted, and her gaze cuts to us. “Damion. Son.” She grimaces. “Maggie is having issues again. Are you sure she reads well at the casino?”

Maggie tosses flour in the air and Dehlia rambles in Spanish.

Damion and I laugh, and he warns, “She doesn’t take any junk. Be warned.”

“That’s right,” Dehlia agrees, dusting off her hands and walking toward us, as Maggie gives me a waggle of her fingers. “I don’t.” She stops in front of us, all five feet zero plump inches of her, and she gives Damion a hug before inspecting me, hands on her hips. “You must be Kali.”

“I …” I glance at Damion, who gives me a knowing smile, and then back at her. “Yes.
I’m Kali.”

“Well, then,” she says, “give me a hug.” She wraps her arms around me. “And he’s right. You are lovely.”

My cheeks heat. “Thank you.” I gaze at him. “Thank
you
.”

He and Dehlia share a look. “And polite,” Dehlia says. “You were right. She has manners. Rich is looking for you, Damion. He’s got a plan to finally dethrone you.”

Damion rubs his hands together. “Let the war begin.” He leans down and kisses me. “Ping-Pong battle. You’ll be okay with Dehlia?”

Dehlia snorts. “Of course she’ll be okay. You think she’s a girl so she needs her hand held.” Someone comes in the door and says something in Spanish. Dehlia glances at Maggie. “They need help up front.”

“Oh, thank you. Let me out of the kitchen.” She quickly removes her apron and heads toward us, pausing to greet me.

“What brings you here?”

I start to mention the press release and change my mind. “Damion.”

Her eyes glow. “Damion.” She smiles. “I heard something to that effect. I approve, for the record. He works too much. He needs someone to slow him down. I’ll catch up with you later.” She disappears out the door.

“Maggie lost her husband the Thanksgiving before last, and Damion thought she needed a second home. He brought her here to volunteer and she just showed up every Saturday after. She’s all excited about planning the holiday meal this year. Of course, she picks up McDonald’s better than she cooks, but she tries.”

“Is this the time I admit Taco Bell is my specialty?” I ask sheepishly.

She levels me with a warning look. “No Taco Bell. You want Mexican, I’ll cook it right here for you. Let’s skip the kitchen and go to the lounge.”

We head into a small TV room with worn leather couches and chairs. “Looks like we have it all to ourselves.” Dehlia plops down on a leather couch and then motions for me to sit. “Damion says you want to talk to me about the shelter, for next weekend?”

“Oh, yes.” I settle across from her in a chair. “Can you tell me the history of this place?”

“Well, honey, I immigrated here with my mother. She died of cancer not long after I turned sixteen. I was homeless and scared and landed in a place like this that was more
nightmare than shelter. One of the young men who came in to teach us English adopted me. Together he and I vowed to make the shelter better. My husband and I took it over and ran it for many years, until he passed five years ago. That’s when Damion stepped in and created this place.”

So Damion is behind this. “How did you meet Damion?”

Her eyes soften. “He didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me?”

“He knew I would, of course.” Her eyes tear up. “He gets upset talking about it. He doesn’t talk about it.”

My eyes tear up, too, and I’m not sure why. Because hers do. Because I know she’s about to tell me something that hurts Damion. I move to sit next to her. “Tell me. Please.”

“When he was seventeen, he and his mother were here in the shelter. Or the old shelter, before we moved.”

“Damion was homeless.”

She nods. “His mama had lost her job and they had no family. Four days they were here when she just dropped dead.”

I gasp and cover my mouth. “No. God. No.”

“It was horrible,” she says grimly, swiping away a tear. “I was there. I still remember like yesterday. And that poor boy lost it. He was lying over her, screaming for his mama. He went into shock and had to be hospitalized.”

Tears spill down my cheeks. “How long?”

“Two weeks. When he got out, he was my boy. My Roberto and I nurtured him back to health. Six months later it was like he found someplace to put it all. He turned eighteen and took a job on commission, selling stocks or some deal like that, and the next thing we knew he was making money and always trying to give us some. He never turned his back on us, though. He was here every weekend.”

I stand up. “I need to see him.”

She tugs me down. “No. Not here. It’s too emotional for him. Talk to him alone.”

I swallow hard. “I just want to go hug him.”

She smiles. “He can use some hugs. He doesn’t let anyone in. There was a girl years back, when he first got money. He met her here and thought they were alike. Soon she started
milking him for money and he got tired of it. Gave her some cash and sent her on her way. Only she wanted more cash. She threatened to say she was abused at the shelter.”

“What did he do?”

“Dared her to do it, and thankfully she didn’t.”

I stand up. “I’m not going to say anything to him, but I want to be with him right now.”

She pushes to her feet and squeezes my arm. “I like that idea. Then later I’ll teach you to cook and you can help with Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I’ll make the tea and roll napkins or something.”

She grins. “I can teach you to cook.”

No. She can’t teach me to cook. But she’s taught me a lot about Damion.

A few minutes later Dehlia leaves me in the sports center, and I watch Damion laughing and joking with a group of ten teenage boys. He glances my way. Our eyes meet and he sets down his paddle and walks toward me, and I have only one thought: I’m falling in love with this man. No. I don’t care if it’s too soon. This is Vegas, after all. I love him.

He stops in front of me, lacing his fingers with mine.

“Hey,” I say.

“She told you.”

“Yes. She told me. Why—”

“I still can’t talk about it. I know it’s crazy—it’s fifteen years ago—but I still get … just … can’t.”

“You are the most incredible person.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. And I’m going to spend as much time as you let me making sure you know it and showing you in any way I can.”

“Just be with me, Kali. That’s enough.”

“I am. I am with you.”

He strokes hair from my eyes. “You know what you can do for me now?”

“What?”

“Help me convince these boys they aren’t ever going to beat me at Ping-Pong.”

I laugh at his change of mood. “I bet I can.”

“So you think you want to play me?”

“Oh, yeah. I want to play you.” And we aren’t talking about Ping-Pong.

“Game on, baby. Game on.” He drags me toward the tables, and, indeed, I think:
Game on
.

Damion and I spend every second of every day we possibly can together during the next week. The charity fund-raising poker tournament finally arrives and is a huge success. We close the day with a two-hundred-thousand-dollar take home, and neither of us can wait to tell Dehlia. Damion calls her and invites her to dinner, then we head to his room—which has really become my room, too—to shower and change out of our work clothes.

I head to the fridge of his full kitchen and grab a soda. “Can I ask you something?”

He leans on the bar across from me. “Since when do you ask if you can ask anything?”

“I know this event raised a lot of money, but it can’t be enough to support the shelter. It’s a huge facility, and Dehlia has a staff.”

“I told you,” he says shortly. “I took care of it.” He turns and walks away, and I blink after him, shell-shocked at his sharpness.

I set the soda down and follow him, finding him on the patio. I take one look at the way he’s leaning his hands on the wall, chin tucked to his chest, and I go to him.

Gingerly, I settle my hand on his back. “Hey.”

He lifts his head and looks at me, storm clouds overtaking the green of his eyes. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” I say cautiously.

He pushes off the wall and scrubs his jaw. “You know how I said I handled the mob here at the casino?”

Mob?
Are we really talking about the mob? “Yes.”

“There’s a guy I know from the shelter. He was there the day my mother died. He’s high up in the mob in Vegas now. I used my connection to him to get the mob out of the casino.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I also used his love for Dehlia to get the facility funded. He donates a ridiculous amount
of money every year. Blood money—I know it is. But, damn it, he’s doing one thing in his life right. One thing.”

“I’m … confused about how I feel about it.”

“That makes two of us.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Then we’ll be confused together.” And I dare to take a risk. “Damion. I—”

His phone rings, and he kisses me. “Hold that thought.” He sighs. “Terrance. Things are heating up with the investigation on the breach of security.”

He takes the call and my moment is lost, but I vow to get it back.

* * *

Thanksgiving eve morning, I greet Dana—who has long since figured out that Damion and I are seeing each other—with a smile. “Where’s Mr. Ward?” she asks, glancing around the corner, still just as nervous with him as ever.

“In a meeting. Relax. It’s a half day. You probably won’t see him at all.”

She sighs. “Oh, good.” Then looks guilty. “I really can’t say that to you anymore, can I?”

“Of course you can. He’s still intense.”

She laughs, and I head to my desk to work through a stack of reports Damion has me compiling on the different properties. Come noon, I haven’t heard from him, and I dial Maggie to see what time she’s heading to the shelter tomorrow, but I get her voice mail.

Another hour later, Dana and I wish each other a happy holiday. As I step onto the elevator to head to HR, I think of how much I like Dana. It was incredibly kind of her to want to find Natalie’s pictures for her. Sadly, though, Natalie never deserved Dana’s concern.

I’m stepping off the elevator when my cell rings, and it’s Damion. “This security thing is blowing up. The ringleader of the security breaches was a management-level employee at one of the other properties. A dozen employees have been arrested for a plot to steal from the casino, including Natalie.” He hesitates.

“What? What aren’t you saying?”

“Maggie is one of them.”

I stop walking and lean against the wall. “Oh, God. No. Damion. I’m sorry.”

“Money makes people crazy.”

I think of the woman who bribed him, of how that must live in his mind. “I don’t want your money. You know that, right?”

“Kali, baby, you’re the one thing I’m sure of, and that’s good right now. It’s really good.”

“Damion, I … I …”

“Me, too. Me, too. We’ll translate that later.”

I smile sadly, because I know how much he’s hurting. “Sooner rather than later. Can I come to you?”

“No. I don’t want you in this. I’ll call you later and then I just want to lock ourselves away and forget this shit for the rest of the night.”

“Yes. I’ll be here. Call me.”

* * *

At nearly seven o’clock, Damion has checked in with me several times but doesn’t seem close to being home.
Home
, I think, looking around his suite. I wonder if we shouldn’t get a real home. He’s never had that. Ever. I want him to have that.

Another hour passes, and when my cell rings this time, it’s Terrance. “We need to talk.”

My gut knots. “Why don’t I like how that sounds?”

“Heads up: Natalie told Damion that you were in this, too, and that you were going to write a tell-all piece and expose him for what he is.”

“Oh, God. No. It’s a lie.”

“I believe you, and I think he does, too, but he’s had a hell of a day.”

I remember him grabbing my hand and telling me no recordings. He’s going to be suspicious. People have lied to him. I’ve been lied to. I know what that feels like.