The Best Bet (4 page)

The waiter arrived and asked for their drink and appetizer orders.

“Want to try the pot stickers? We could split an order,” she said.

“Sure.”

“Do you have a drink preference?”

He shrugged not certain what he wanted. At home, he drank Coronas with limes, but that didn’t seem right with Chinese food. He was beginning to feel like a country bumpkin. And that was one of the reasons he’d wanted to take a new job away from San Antonio. He needed to get out of his rut. But he doubted that his rustic approach would impress such a cosmopolitan woman like Adriana.

“May I suggest a Mai Tai? They’re really good,” she said.

“Go for it.”

Turning to the waiter, she ordered, “Pot stickers for an appetizer and bring two plates, please. And two Mai Tai’s.”

The waiter bowed and left.

“Have you thought about an entree?” she asked.

“I’m afraid to mention Chow Mein.”

Wrinkling her nose, she asked, “Did you know Chow Mein isn’t an original Chinese dish? It’s something Chinese immigrants concocted to suit American tastes.”

“
Nooo
.” He drew the word out purposely, hoping she’d take the hint. “You don’t say.”

She glanced at him. “Sometimes, I get a little carried away. I don’t mean to be obnoxious, just entertaining.”

Her apology made him feel like a scumbag. Was his male pride that important? It was a subject he wasn’t very objective about, considering how badly it had been shredded during the past two years. But he couldn’t live on the defensive forever, either. And it wasn’t her fault that he’d hidden out most of his life in San Antonio and seen little of the world. She was only trying to help. Maybe it was time to reevaluate.

He reached across the table and touched the back of her hand. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing fine. I find you very entertaining.”

She smiled again and leaned forward, turning the menu toward him. They went into a huddle over the entrée selections. Seated this close to her, he couldn’t help but notice the flawless perfection of her skin and the bright sheen of her hair. And he liked the way she smelled, too. Her perfume was light but alluring, reminding him of spring wildflowers with a hint of lemon.

He let her lead the way when they decided on dinner. She ordered two adventurous sounding dishes: Szechuan Shrimp in a Noodle Nest and Peking duck.

Their drinks arrived, followed closely by the pot stickers, which were balls of delicately spiced meat wrapped in big, soft noodles with a soy sauce for dipping.

He sipped his drink and took a bite of one of the pot stickers. “Hey, these are great. The pot stickers are really good.” He dipped one in the sauce and popped it into his mouth.

And he did like the Mai Tai, even though it was a little acidic. It went well with the Chinese food, though. But the pot stickers were the bomb. Juicy and tasty, they melted on his tongue.

Grinning at her, he bit into a third pot sticker and turned a thumb up.

She grinned back, saying, “I’m glad you like them.”

They polished off the pot stickers and ordered another round of drinks when their entrees arrived. Again, Adriana took the lead, serving up fried rice and portions of the shrimp and duck so they could taste both dishes.

He reached for his fork to dig in. She laid her hand on his bare forearm. Her touch sent a tingle of heat running up his arm.

“Try the chopsticks,” she urged. “It will be fun. Have you ever used them before?”

“No. I usually cut to the chase and use a fork.”

She giggled and took his chopsticks, peeling them from their paper wrapper. “Here, I’ll show you how to hold them.” Her hand curved around his, and she lowered her cheek where their faces were almost touching.

Her nearness almost sent him over the edge. His face warmed and lower, he grew hotter still and . . . hard. He swallowed and thanked the heavens for the drape of his napkin. But it wasn’t enough. All he had to do was turn his head one inch and capture her lips.

This is pure torture.

He tried to pay attention, tried to force his stiff fingers around the chopsticks. She released his hand and leaned back, taking up her own chopsticks as an example. “See, hold them like this.” She glanced at his hand. “That’s good, but you need to cradle the left one between your thumb and index finger.”

He followed her direction but all he could think about was kissing her. He clutched the enameled wood tightly and scooped at a bite of the Peking duck. The food dropped between the sticks, landed on the tablecloth.

His face grew hotter. He focused all his concentration on the damned pieces of wood, and he managed to get his fingers in position again and retrieve the duck. Slowly, he raised the piece of food to his mouth and swallowed. He’d done it. Mission accomplished. Now he repeated the effort, scooping the food from his plate to his mouth.

Her gaze followed his motions. “You’ve got it! Very good, you’re a quick learner.”

He raised his head and snagged her gaze. “Maybe, but the rice keeps slipping off.” He grinned. “I try, though. You’re a great teacher.”

Now it was her turn to flush. Pink tinged her beautiful face, and her lips lifted at the corners. He raised his chopsticks in a mock salute and brought them down playfully across hers.

She feinted, ducking his clumsy jab and touched the tips of her unused chopsticks to his chest. “
En garde
.”

He laughed. “
Touché
, you got me.” He lowered his head to his plate. “But the rice is still slippery.”

Winking at him, she admitted, “There’s a trick to it, but I’m not going to tell you. You have to find out for yourself.”

Her wink surprised him. Was she flirting with him? He’d touched her twice and she’d put her hand on his forearm, but it was to get his attention. Mostly, she’d been all business. Maybe, like him, she was loosening up, putting aside her defenses to enjoy the evening. He hoped so. Or maybe it was just the effect of the Mai Tai’s. He hoped not.

Adriana shifted in the small booth, crossing her legs under the table at the front of the booth. Her formfitting skirt rode up her thigh, but she didn’t reach down to adjust it. Glimpsing the expanse of her tanned, muscular legs, his throat went dry. He gulped down half of his drink, making his eyes water and his throat burn.

“Adriana,” a man’s voice called from behind their booth, “is that you?”

Rafael looked up to see a big beefy guy in his late fifties, standing over them. The stranger ignored Rafael and leaned down to plant a big, wet kiss on Adriana’s mouth. “Sugah, whare have yah been? I’ve been looking all over for yah, girl!”

He’d wanted to kiss Adriana but had reined in his impulse out of respect. He couldn’t believe this man had just strolled over and kissed her right in front of him. His body tensed, and he clenched his fists. His first instinct was to throw the slob, ass first, from the restaurant.

“Mr. Henderson, what a nice surprise,” Adriana said. She arched one eyebrow at Rafael, as if to include him and then turned her attention to Henderson. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Henderson? Why were you looking for me? Isn’t Sean taking good care of you?”

“Don’t insult mah intelligence, sugah. Yah know it’s not the same. I expect mah sugah girl to take care of me.” He waved one pudgy hand, four fingers adorned with flashing diamond rings. “Don’t want no one else—especially mealy-mouthed Sean.”

Adriana cleared her throat, ignoring his ugly comment. Instead, she shifted her attention to Rafael and said, “Mr. Henderson, where are our manners? I’d like to introduce Mr. Escobedo. He’s also a client of the resort.”

Engrained politeness made Rafael stand and offer his hand. Or maybe if he stood up, he’d have a better chance of decking the guy?

Henderson sniffed as if Rafael smelled bad and ignored his outstretched hand. “So he’s a client, too. I don’t like it, sugah. I’m going to talk to the management and have yah assigned to me. Yah hear, girl? So shake this pup loose.”

“Mr. Henderson.” Rafael pushed himself between the two of them, purposely thrusting his face into the older man’s and getting a blast of aged malt whiskey. “You will do nothing of the sort. Adriana is an employee of this establishment, not your personal toy. And I don’t like being called a pup.” He paused, wanting the import of his words to sink in. “You’ve rudely interrupted our dinner. I think you should leave.”

The big man reared back and formed his hands into fists, bringing them slowly up and glaring at Rafael.

Rafael readied himself, too, fists clenched and shifting on the balls of his feet. He eyed the man. Henderson was big, but no taller than he. And he was far gone with alcohol, older, and obviously out of shape. Rafael kept himself fit, working out with Damian several times a week at the gym. If it came to a fight, a few punches to Henderson’s paunchy mid-section should do the trick.

 Adriana rose from her seat. “Please, Mr. Henderson, not here. You know Xanadu doesn’t allow physical altercations, no matter what the circumstances. If you persist, I’ll have to call Clyde. You remember Clyde? That nice man who helped you to your room the last time you were here? And what Mr. Escobedo said is true. We are having a private dinner. I’m sorry if you don’t like the arrangements I made for you. Tomorrow, we can make other—”

“Tomorrow ain’t soon enough to suit me, girl,” His face had turned a vivid shade of purple. He unloosed his fists and shook one finger at her. “And don’t threaten me with that bouncer friend of yers, Clyde. I won’t be threatened, girl. Yah hear! Not B. G. Henderson, the third.”

Drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, he lobbed one drunken parting shot. “This is the last time the Xanadu Resort will see me. There’s plenty of other joints in town who’ll be glad to get mah money and do anything I say.” Then he turned and reeled from the crowded restaurant, knocking over empty chairs as he went and shouldering aside startled waiters.

Together, Rafael and Adriana watched him. Adriana looked as stunned as Rafael felt. He didn’t know what to say and before he could gather himself, their waiter hurried over.

Adriana and the waiter put their heads together and whispered. Rafael was certain that he heard the name Clyde again. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he assumed Adriana was telling the waiter to contact Clyde, the bouncer, to go after Henderson and prevent more trouble. The waiter nodded once and disappeared into the kitchen.

Rafael held the chair for Adriana and then sat down, too. Gazing across the table at her, he expected an explanation, but she avoided his eyes.

He still didn’t know what to say. They were both quiet. They finished their drinks. Rafael asked for the bill. Adriana insisted it was on the house. He persisted until she sighed and signaled for their waiter to bring the check.

Rafael jiggled his foot beneath the table. It was frustrating, waiting in silence for an explanation, which she obviously didn’t want to give him. And he was angry at the way Henderson had treated her, too.

When he couldn’t stand the awkward silence any longer, he finally said, “If that’s an example of what’s so great about the hospitality business, I think I’ll stay clear of it.”

She licked her lips and stiffened her back. “Mr. Henderson is a worst-case scenario. There aren’t too many like him. He’s a whale, so he thinks he can get away with anything.”

“A whale?”

She stared at him, her eyes widening. “You don’t know what a whale is?”

He’d made another blunder, but he didn’t care. He was getting tired of this stupid

masquerade. “Should I?”

“Well, maybe not,” she said but doubt clouded her voice. “It’s a casino term. Most high rollers aspire to being whales.”

“A worthy aspiration, I’m sure.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcastic sneer in his voice.

She laughed, but her laugh sounded forced, brittle and self-conscious. “A whale is very wealthy, someone who spends hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, at the tables several times a year. Casinos will do anything to keep their business.”

“While high rollers only spend thousands of dollars, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“So, in the scheme of things, Mr. Henderson definitely outranks me.”

“If you want to put it that way. But there are unwritten rules of etiquette between casinos and their comp customers. A client is assigned to a guest relations representative by management.”

Rafael went hot and then cold, digesting her words. He had a pretty clear idea of what she wasn’t saying, the truth behind her words. How could he have been so naive? So this was what his twin had meant when he’d said high rollers could have anything they wanted.

The demure suit and slavish attention to him, along with a highly polished professional demeanor certainly had him fooled.

She was beautiful, and had a figure to die for. How many guest relation representatives looked like Adriana? Not many, he would guess. No wonder Henderson had been so angry. And no wonder he’d felt no restraint about calling her “girl” and “sugar.”

Adriana, if that was her real name, had certainly played her part. She’d known what size of boxer shorts would fit him, and then she’d teased him along by refusing his initial invitation, only to relent later. She’d ordered drinks and dinner and appeared to relax until it seemed natural for her to wink at him and casually display her legs. It all fit so perfectly, and he’d fallen for the masquerade: hook, line and sinker. What a total fool he’d been.

She was a prostitute! A high-class, intelligent pro, she knew how to play the game so perfectly that she wouldn’t compromise her resort. He might be naive and stupid about Vegas, but he knew prostitution was illegal in the city. Only outside Clark County, in the rural areas and under close supervision, was it allowed.

The room started to spin, and he knew it wasn’t from the two Mai Tai’s. He closed his eyes. His stomach churned and his gut burned. The strange food seemed to be crawling back up his throat and making him want to choke.

Opening his eyes, he found the bill had arrived. Adriana was busying herself with reapplying her lipstick. Watching her, he schooled his emotions to feel nothing. She was just as alluring as ever, but she was now off limits.