Play with Me (Novella) (3 page)

“I don’t want to forget—”

“You won’t.” He sits back abruptly and lifts his knee from mine, then reaches into his briefcase and hands me a pad and pen. “Write it down.”

I nod. “Yes. I didn’t have time to prepare, or—”

“We only have about ten more minutes. Write, Ms. Miller.”

My lips thin; my spine stiffens. I have no idea what was in that text message, but he hasn’t banked his reaction to it as I’d thought. He’s harder now, colder. It’s as if a block of ice went up between us. He is the arrogant, demanding boss I expected him to be, but I will not cower. “Understood,” I say, clicking my pen. “I’m ready.”

He wastes no time wondering if I really am ready. He begins spilling out information, and I can’t write fast enough to get it all down.

We are just pulling in to the terminal when he says, “We need to exchange phone numbers.” Then, to my shock, he grabs my phone and takes the liberty of typing his number into it before handing it back to me.

I accept it, careful not to touch him, and I am almost certain that he is careful, as well. “What’s your number?” he asks.

“It’s still a Texas number,” I warn before reciting it.

He puts it into his address book and then glances at me. “When are you getting a Vegas number?”

“I … soon.”

“Get one tomorrow. Text me when you have it.”

He opens the car door and steps out, then slams it shut a little too hard. I jump at the harshness of the action and then frown. He’s moody, far too good-looking for my sanity, and
impossible to figure out. He definitely is not a sure thing, and neither is this job, but I’m committed. I’m going to gamble on them both.

My return to the hotel lands me inside the main security operation for the casino, tucked away in a tiny waiting room that feels like a prison. Apparently I don’t formally have the job until I am cleared as employable by the company standards. For an hour, I sip coffee and try to watch the news on a flat-screen television, but it can’t hold my attention and I pace instead. Not that I have anything to worry about with my clearances; I just want this job solidified. I want to be officially employed, even if it’s technically as a temporary worker. It’s a foot in the door.

Finally, an hour into my captivity, Terrance Monroe, the blond, thirty-something head of security for all three of the Vantage properties, joins me. He lifts a folder in his hand and motions to several chairs against the wall. “All right, Kali,” he says as we claim two seats, having torn down the airs of last names in the first sixty seconds we’d met. “We have your security check, fingerprints, and credit scores. You’re clear for temp employment.”

“I can report to work tomorrow, then?” I ask hopefully.

“Human resources will need to see you at eight in the morning on the twentieth floor. Bring your identification and you’ll have a picture ID made.” He sets the folder on the chair separating us and taps it. “That has a map of all three casinos, a list of staff, and your access codes for parking and the executive floor after hours.”

I push to my feet, afraid someone will find another challenge for me to hurdle before this day is over. “Terrific,” I say, shoving hair out of my eyes, behind my ear, beyond caring how I look right now. I wonder if I’d feel the same if Mr. Ward were here. Somehow, I don’t think so. “Thank you.”

Terrance stands up, too. “Eager to get out of here?” he teases, and his friendliness is easily received, genuine, welcome after the day I’ve had.

I snort, and it’s not my most ladylike moment. “I’ve gone from new reporter at the local paper, to jobless, to assistant to the CEO of one of the biggest casino operations in Las Vegas in about twelve hours. It’s been the world’s longest roller-coaster ride of a day.”

“Well, then,” he says, reaching for the folder and handing it to me, “consider this a get-out-of-jail-free pass. Bring it in with you tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” I say, embarrassed that I’ve forgotten my paperwork. “Thank you. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know. You’re working at a high level. If you see a problem, speak up.”

“I will. Absolutely.” I’m encouraged by his friendliness, which matches Dana’s. Maybe everything corporate doesn’t have to leave me black-and-blue.

“Good.” He inclines his chin. “And good night.”

“Good night.” I start to leave and then remember the explosion on my new desk. Turning back, I ask, “Can I stop by my office?”

“I thought you were eager to get out of here.”

“I am, but there was a mess on the desk when I arrived, like someone maliciously destroyed paperwork. As tired as I am, it doesn’t seem good to leave it like that overnight, especially since I’ll be in HR first thing tomorrow.”

“That was cleaned up while you were gone.”

“Oh,” I say, and my curiosity gets the best of me. “What happened?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Thank goodness they have nine lives,” I joke. “I assume whoever left my job wasn’t very happy?”

“As every sad Texas song says, goodbye isn’t always easy.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Not all us Texans love country music, but my horse is parked outside. I hope you don’t mind?”

He grins. “Sense of humor. I approve, but I still can’t disclose information on any employee’s departure.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be appropriate of you, but …” I hesitate, then ask, “if you were gambling on me being here in a year, what would you say my odds are?”

“I’m not the one who has to gamble on you. And since your new boss isn’t a gambling man, I’d presume he feels you have what it takes to do the job and stay around.”

“Right. Okay. Thanks.” A blast of emotion overcomes me. Unwilling to let him read my weakness, I quickly head for the door, hating how needy I am for the reassurance I don’t feel
he’s given me. It’s that “alone” word Mr. Ward used. It has inched its way under my skin and stayed there.

“Kali.”

I pause at my name and glance over my shoulder at Terrance. “Yes?”

“He’d go without help rather than settle for less than the best.”

Relief washes over me, and my lips curve into a smile. “Thank you.”

A few minutes later I slide into the rental car, and a sigh escapes from deep inside me. Mr. Ward might not be a gambler, but he chose me. And I’m choosing to look at my career in a new way because of him. We are the closest thing to a relationship I’ve had in a very long time.

* * *

I stop by the grocery store on the way to the hotel I checked in to upon arriving in Vegas last night. It’s nearly nine when I enter my small but functional room and unload my purchases in the fridge, heavy on the microwave dinners. Even if I wanted to win a man’s heart, which I don’t, I will never do it through his stomach. My mom was the gourmet, and as much as she tried to teach me, I enjoyed eating more than preparing meals. Well, right up until puberty, when I had to start watching just how much I sampled.

By nine-thirty I’ve already showered and changed into sweats, eaten a microwave dinner, and looked up the bus schedule. I was considering letting go of my rental and saving the cash I had set aside for a used car. Instead, I decide to hang on to the rental for a few more days and leave my belongings stored with the moving company. I’ll stay here, and if things go well, I’ll try to get into an apartment before the holiday.

It’s nearing eleven when I snuggle into bed with my laptop and a cup of instant hot cider. Like Mr. Ward’s cologne, the cider reminds me of the holidays and the good times they were with my mother. And while it makes the hotel room a little more like home, I cannot help but think about all that has happened since I lost her. If she were still here, things would be so different.
I
would be different.

Determined to prepare for tomorrow before sleep takes hold of me, I Google my new boss and discover that his first name is Damion. Even the man’s name is sexy. So is his success. At the extremely young age of thirty-two, he has been in the position of CEO for nearly two
years. What isn’t sexy is the scandal around how he got the job. Apparently he’d been consulting for the board of directors and personally recommended the termination of the ex-CEO; he even took part in its execution. Some said it was self-serving, as he’d then taken the position in the interim before transitioning to full-time.

My cell beeps on the nightstand and I grab it, hoping it might be Kelly, my ex-roommate, who has grown more and more distant since she moved to Hawaii with her boyfriend three months ago. I frown at the caller ID. It reads
DW
, and the message says,
Are you awake?

DW. DW. And it hits me. Hello, Kali. It’s obvious. DW is Damion Ward, and why is my heart fluttering? It’s just a text.
Just
my boss.
Yes
, I reply.
Are you in New York?

I got to my hotel about 15 minutes ago
.

I wait, expecting more, like a reason for the contact, but he says nothing else. As when we were in the elevator, I feel that I’m supposed to fill the empty space.
Do you have to travel like this often?

His reply is instant.
Wishful thinking?

I grimace at the phone. It rings. I don’t even check the caller ID. I know it’s him. “I do not wish you out of town all the time.”

“You keep having to say that for a reason.”

“Because you keep assuming incorrectly,” I reply, irritated at myself for noticing the rough, sexy quality of his voice. “I want this job. I’m going to do it well.”

“Terrance said you were eager to get out of there tonight. I thought maybe you might have changed your mind about the job. Maybe I intimidated you after all.”

“I—what?” I sit up. “I didn’t say I was eager to leave. Or I did, but to be rested and ready for tomorrow. I just got into town last night. It was a bad day, and—”

A low rumble of laughter fills the line, sending a shiver down my spine and heating my skin. If Vegas is sin, this man is its poster child. “I guess you really aren’t intimidated by me,” he comments. “And I know what you said to Terrance. I only wanted to see how you would respond.”

“Playing with me?” I ask. “That’s not very nice, especially since what I’m intimidated by is the idea of being unemployed.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Surprised—especially after what I read about him—I ask, “You’re intimidated at the idea
of being unemployed?”

“It’s more about fearing failure, and losing my job would be failure. It would mean I’ve let down customers, employees, and the board of directors. Those are big demands, and I feel the pressure like everyone else.”

I’m blown away by his confession, especially his use of the word “fear.” I’ve known men I would have thought were like him, but none of them would share vulnerability with someone they knew well, let alone just met. “Do you enjoy that kind of pressure?”

“I’m sure it’s similar to you getting a big story as a journalist. We are both chasing success. Sometimes—often—that means getting past a problem. The positive outcome is the high. I need someone who isn’t afraid of the pressure or of me. And, as you have already guessed, some people are afraid of me.”

“Do they have a reason?”

“Why don’t you judge for yourself? And I do mean yourself, Ms. Miller.”

“I have a mind of my own.”

“You’ll have to if you want to stay in this position.”

That part of me craving security demands I confirm what he has just inferred. “Can I? I mean, is there a chance I can become more than a temp?”

“I wouldn’t have hired you if there wasn’t.”

“Circumstances forced you into hiring me.”

“I don’t let circumstances force me into anything,” he counters, and it’s much more comforting coming from him than from Terrance. “If I hadn’t been impressed with you,” he continues, “I would have insisted Dana cover until I picked a replacement.”

“I impressed you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“That’s why,” he replies.

“What’s why?”

“You might fear being without a job, but it doesn’t stop you from being you or asking questions. And questions are good. They lead to answers. In fact, I’m interested in finding out what you think of the staff once you get done with the inquisitions I know are coming. We can compare notes when I get back.”

“To judge them or me?” I ask, the entire idea opening a barely sealed nerve ending. I’ve been judged, and I don’t like it.

“I simply want to know how our thoughts come together.”

“To assess my judgment.”

“To assess my judgment.”

His answer is unexpected. Everything about him is unexpected. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

“Then don’t say anything. Just be you and I’ll be me and we will see if we like where that leads us.”

I swallow hard against the thickness in my throat. “Where that leads us?”

“Yes. Where that leads us.” And when I can easily imagine there is intimacy in those words, he shifts, leaving me dazed and confused. “Call me when you get to your desk tomorrow, Ms. Miller.”

“Wait,” I say, and I mean to ask about his prior assistant, but somehow I blurt, “What will your caller ID say when I call you?”

“I’m DW and you’re KM,” he replies.

I am surprised and pleased with this answer.

“Is that what you wanted to hear, Ms. Miller?”

“Yes,” I respond simply, hoping to discourage him from asking more questions, since I can’t answer what I don’t understand. I simply don’t want to be just a number or “the temp.”

“Well, then,” he says thoughtfully, drawing out the words and seeming to hesitate on something he wants to say, before he finishes with, “Good night, Ms. Miller.”

“Good night, Mr. Ward.”

Neither of us hangs up. Seconds tick by, and I think we both expect something to happen that never does. And then the line goes dead and the call is over, unfinished in some way that feels wrong where he feels right. Despite all that has happened today, I have this sense that I am where I’m supposed to be. And the last thought I have before the shadows of slumber overcome me is of when I fell backward in the elevator and he caught me.