Hustler (33 page)

“What did your mom say?” Page asks, lifting her wine glass to her lips and taking a sip.

“She cried,” I admit, a watery smile spreading across my face as I think back on my parents’ elated reaction when I called to tell them I got the part in La Magie. The both of them had shouted their congratulations, declaring how proud they both were before my father passed the phone to my mom and we’d talked for another ten minutes. “She’s so happy for me, but she wishes she’d have been able to see me.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Page soothes, reaching for the hand on the table.

“She can see you,” Gavin says, cutting through my sadness.

I look over at him and see he’s focused completely on my face. “What?”

“I recorded the entire thing with my phone. I’d be happy to send it to your parents so they can see what an outstanding performer their daughter is, although I’m sure they’re already well aware.”

All I can do is stare, flabbergasted, as Page lets out a delighted squeal. “Give it to me! I want to see!”

Gavin graciously hands his phone to Page and she and Davies lean into each other to watch, occasionally gasping at something they see on the small screen. “
Thank you
,” I mouth to him, all the while wanting to say, “
I love you,
” instead, but not having the courage just yet. He smiles down at me and leans to press a kiss to my lips.

“Well, I’m happy for you, gorgeous,” Nick speaks up. “I’m just sad you won’t be in the high roller suite with us anymore. Gotta say, it’s going to be boring without you.”

I smile across the table at him as Gavin lets out a low, possessive growl.

“Relax, dude,” Nick laughs good-naturedly, holding his hands up in surrender. “She’s like a sister to me. My balls actually draw up in my body whenever I think about her naked,” he informs the table, earning a loud round of laughter from everyone.

“Thanks, Nick,” I deadpan. “As always, so flattering.”

“Stop thinking about her naked,” Gavin all but pouts at my side. I lean into him and place a hand on his thigh in an attempt to tame the beast.

“Well, I have to say,” Graham interrupts Gavin’s stare down. “If I have to lose my number one cocktail waitress, I’m happy to be losing her to Las Vegas’s number one show.” From the corner of my eye I can see Page rolling her eyes.

“Here, here,” Scott chimes in, lifting his glass in the air. Everyone follows with another round of cheers just before two waiters begin placing our appetizers on the table.

The seared Ahi tuna and steak tar-tar on crostini look to die for and I dig into the food eagerly. Everyone at the table is silently enjoying their meal, that is, before Page speaks up.

“Could someone please pass me the salt?”

Uh oh
.

“What?” Graham asks with narrowed eyes, his crostini paused midway to his mouth.

“I need salt,” Page answers.

“That’s ridiculous,” Graham harrumphs. “The food’s impeccable, adding salt to that would ruin it.”

Page gives him a shrug and begins sprinkling salt from the shaker Scott just handed to her. “Tastes a little under seasoned to me.”

“Stop that!” Graham shouts. “You’re ruining it!”

Everyone’s eyes bounce back and forth between them like we’re watching a tennis match as Page lifts the crostini to her mouth and hums appreciatively. “Much better.”

It takes everything in me not to laugh as Graham nearly chokes on his own spit. I lift my own food to my mouth and take a bite. It’s good, very good, but I’m inclined to agree with Page on the seasoning, not that I’d ever say that out loud. Scott, unfortunately, isn’t as smart as me.

“You know what, man? I think she might be right.” Taking the saltshaker, he sprinkles a liberal amount on his food before popping it in his mouth. “Yep, that’s all it needed,” he says with a nod, all the while, Graham’s beginning to turn an unhealthy shade of red.

“You two don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters as he takes a bite. “Tastes fantastic to me,” he says around a mouthful, even though the expression on his face belies his words. He knows damn good and well Page is right, he just won’t admit it.

“Here, you big baby,” Page salts another crostini before leaning across the table and dropping it down on his plate. “Taste that.”

Graham stares for several seconds before finally relenting and lifting the food to his mouth. The instant the properly seasoned tar-tar hits his taste buds, his eyes go wide before he catches himself. Swallowing the bite, he lifts his napkin to his mouth and clears his throat. “Must just be a fluke.”

Page smiles mockingly before saying, “Or your chef doesn’t have the first clue on properly seasoning his food. Properly salting something is Cooking 101. You’d have to be an idiot to screw that up.”

“That’s preposterous!” Graham yelps indignantly. “I’ll have you know that Jean Gusteau is a world renowned chef! He has a Michelin star for Christ’s sake!”

“Good, for him,” Page replied nonchalantly. “The tar-tar was still under seasoned.”

I do my best to swallow down my laughter, but a strangled, choking noise still manages to escape my mouth before I cover it with my hand. “Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe,” I offer as Graham shoots me a disgruntled look. From the snickers around the table, everyone else finds the stand-off between those two just as funny as I do. We somehow manage to finish off our appetizers without more drama, talking about menial things, staying away from the topic of our food, just as the main course comes out.

Then the shit really hits the fan.

“Excuse me,” Page stops the server with a kind smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a pain…”

Graham snorts, “That’s unlikely.”

She shoots him a dirty look before wiping it clean and looking back up at the waiter. “As I was saying, I don’t mean to be a pain, but my Beef Wellington isn’t prepared right.”

“Bullshit!” Graham shoots up from his chair and charges around the table. “I’ll give you the salt on the tar-tar, but now you’re just lying you… you… liar!” Seriously, I can’t help it, I giggle behind my hand because a flustered Graham is just hilarious! Gavin squeezes my thigh under the table and I look up at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I am
not
a liar! See!” Page cuts another chunk from her Beef Wellington. “The beef is clearly overcooked. It should be pink in the middle. This is gray. And the puff pastry is soggy, not flakey. The dough hasn’t even been cooked all the way! And once again,” she waves her hand in the air. “The seasoning is off.”

Graham grabs the fork and lifts the skewered Beef Wellington to his eyes, his shoulders slump as he sees just what Page was talking about, but being a stubborn man, he refuses to admit defeat. “Looks fine to me,” he says, the obvious lie written across his face.

“Taste it,” she grinds out between clenched teeth.

With a visible gulp, Graham brings the fork to his mouth and closes his lips around the bite, chewing slowly as we all watch on in rapt fascination.

“The puff pastry should have flaked off in your mouth, and the beef should have been tender and juicy. That’s not what you’re experiencing right now, is it?”

Graham swallows down the beef and shoots Page a murderous look. “You think you can do better?” he asks sarcastically.

“I
know
I can. Your chef might have a Michelin star, hell, he could have cooked for the goddamned President. I don’t care! That meal is subpar at best, and you know it. If you want to stand there and act like what I’m saying isn’t the God’s honest truth, go right ahead, but I’ll be there to say I told you so when this restaurant goes under because you’re too pig headed to listen to someone you know is right.”

Placing the fork back on the table, he brushes at the lapels of his jacket before reaching for Page’s plate and picking it up. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he addresses the table. “I’m, um… I’m just going to have a quick word with the chef.”

He turns on his heels and all but runs towards the kitchen, the poor, flustered server scurrying after him.

“Well,” I state, finally laughing openly. “That was entertaining.”

“Are you kidding me?” Scott guffaws. “That was amazing! Page, I think you’re my new hero, I’ve never seen someone put Graham in his place like that.”

“Agreed,” Gavin chuckles, lifting his wineglass to Page. “That was a thing of beauty. That fucker needed to be knocked down a few pegs. We’re forever in your debt, Page.”

“Well, fuck me sideways and call me Susan,” a gruff, masculine voice states crassly from behind us. “If it isn’t Gavin motherfucking Saint.”

The light mood at the table suddenly grows glacial, and it isn’t until I turn to face the foul asshole that’s just spoken that I understand why. Gaudy gold chains hang from his neck, a woman who’s clearly just been picked up off Freemont hanging from his arm. With one look, it’s obvious he’s so beneath Gavin it’s not even funny, but from the way Gavin’s entire frame has grown stiff as a board, it’s clear they know each other, and well.

And something in my gut tells me that Gavin seeing this man again is not a good thing.

**GAVIN**

Every last nerve ending goes on high alert the minute I hear the gravely, smoker’s voice of Harley St. James. I don’t even have to turn around in order to confirm it’s him, I can smell the pungent scent of his over the top, classless cologne he claims comes straight from Italy.

Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I look over my shoulder to see the rotund man staring down at me, the evil glint in his eyes telling me right off the bat that he’s not here for small talk.

“Harley, what brings you around these parts?”

He cracks his knuckles, trying to appear intimidating, but the only impression I get from the man standing before me is that of a Class-A douchebag. “I’m back in the states and I’m looking for some competition.”

I nod just as Penelope’s hand squeezes my thigh. The tension between Harley and I is evident, you don’t have to know of our past to understand it is one full of animosity just from the way we address each other. “Hotel Paragon has the best high roller suite on the Strip, I’m sure you’ll find great competition here. I’ll be sure to inform Graham when he gets back about you sneaking in on the roster.” With a curt nod, I dismiss him, willing him to leave us alone. I don’t want anything to ruin the celebration we’re having in honor of Penelope.

Giving her a calm smile, I squeeze her hand that’s still resting on my leg and try not to show the palpable tension that’s rising on the back of my neck. Just from him breathing behind me my hackles are rising. Harley St. James is not one to be trusted. I’ve learned this well.

During my poker playing prime, I played Harley quite a few times, never letting up and always taking the cake. I’ve seen him grow from a meager player to one to watch for. It wasn’t until we hit the tables in Monte Carlo that he gave me a run for my money. That was until his signature chip flip sent him spiraling in the opposite direction. I took a chance and called his bluff, giving me the most victorious win of my career, putting me on the map as the best poker player in the world. From there, my high for the game dwindled because I’d just accomplished all there was in that world.

I play here and there now just for the hell of it. Not because I need the money, but because it passes the time. Thankfully, after I got my head out of my ass as a young kid in this torrent game, I wised up and invested my money, tripling my earnings over the years to the point that I can sit easy for the rest of my life, never having to pick up another hand.

From the look in his eyes though, I can see Harley wants a rematch. Too bad for him, I really have no desire to sit back at the table with him.

“I don’t want back on the roster, I want you.” Harley says from behind me, clearly not catching on to my dismissal.

I lift my joined hand with Penelope and show it to Harley. With a smart ass smile, I say, “Sorry, Harley. I’m taken.”

A growl escapes the man as he shoves my shoulder forward, causing Scott, Nick, and me to stand while the women at the table all shrink back in distress. “You know what I mean,” he grits out.

Brushing at the spot on my shoulder his slimy hand just touched, I say, “I suggest you fuck off before you get yourself into some trouble.”

Stepping up to me, toe to toe, he seethes. From the corner of my eye I can see Scott round the table, prepared to jump in when needed. “Cut the shit, Saint. I want a rematch.”

“I’m out of the game,” I answer honestly. “So you’re going to have to find someone else to play.”

“You and I both know there is no one out there good enough to give me the kind of challenge I’m looking for. You can’t just quit the game, Saint. I can see from the glint in your eyes that you’re interested, so what’s holding you back?”

I know the dick is lying through his teeth because right now my face is stoic, unreadable, not giving away one ounce of the emotions roiling through me. “Nothing is holding me back. I’m out, so get over it and move on before I have my friend Scott show you the door by way of his foot up your ass.”

Scanning the table, Harley’s eyes connect with Penelope and immediately the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I can feel a sweat start to creep up my spine. It’s a foreign sensation for me, one I’ve never experienced before. Is it fear? Panic? Whatever it is, I don’t fucking like it, especially since it’s correlated to Penelope.

“Got yourself a girl there, Saint? She’s a pretty little thing.” Reaching out, he fingers a strand of Penelope’s hair.

Without thinking twice, I pull my arm back and slam my fist into Harley’s face, sending him back a few steps. Pain vibrates through my hand as my chest heaves. “Don’t fucking touch her,” I bark, causing the entire dining room to grow silent as they watch our interaction in rapt fascination.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” Graham demands to know, two plates of Beef Wellington in his hands as he reenters the dining room.

Staring down at Harley, I say, “This dickhead was just leaving.”

Harley grips his jaw as he stands tall, not letting my punch affect him, even though I can see his face is already starting to bruise and swell. From my side, Penelope grips my hand, a very worried look on her face.