She tried to follow him, race-walking past the dealer, around a beam, then down an aisle between the tables, but in seconds he was gone, probably lost in the crowd at the casino.
Damn. She nearly stomped her foot. But then, what would she have done if she’d caught up to him? “Excuse me, is that a handful of chips in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Enough of her detective daydreams. Time to win some money for the hell of it.
She glanced at her watch. One-fifteen. Clay would be here in fifteen more minutes. She double backed to her destination. Settling in on a high-backed stool, she texted Clay her whereabouts, collected her chips and began placing her bets. Ten minutes later, she was $1000 richer.
God, she loved Vegas.
“Excuse me, you must be the very lovely Julia Bell.”
The voice was smooth and honeyed—like a velvet lounge singer she could listen to all night. She turned to the face behind the voice and if she weren’t madly in love with someone else, she might have found the man attractive. Magnetic amber eyes, a crooner’s voice, and a tall, athletic build, with Jon Hamm-esque hair, wavy and gelled.
“Yes,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his line. But then, she was practiced at this kind of resistance having grown accustomed to a wide assortment of come-on lines at her bar. “What can I do for you, Don Draper?”
She couldn’t help it. He had the whole Mad Men five-o-clock shadow thing working in spades, right down to the suit.
He shot her a smile, showing off nice, white teeth. “I am Dominic Stevenson, the floor manager here at the Allegro. I was sent here by a gentleman named Clay Nichols. He has arranged a special game for you in the VIP room. Would you do me the favor of allowing me to escort you to him?” The man held out his arm, crooking his elbow for Julia, like an escort at a debutante ball, ready to guide a young woman down the stairs to present her.
She could barely contain her smile. She couldn’t help it. She was damn near grinning like a fool. This was the moment she’d been holding her breath for. He’d planned it perfectly like she knew he would, and had taken her by surprise. She’d never expected he’d pick a Saturday afternoon, and yet this was pure Clay. He’d wanted to give her back her love of poker with this trip, and for him to do it with such a grand gesture made her heart pound with joy for him. Everything added up, him sending her ahead, then setting this up for her. She didn’t want to take this moment for granted, so she reminded herself to savor every second. She catalogued everything—the way her veins rushed fast with hope, the way the hair on her arms rose with goosebumps, the excitement that thrummed loudly through her bones like a vibration as she stood up from the table and took the gentleman’s arm. She was eager, so very eager to see what her man had in store for her.
It all made sense—wonderful, blissful, gorgeous, sexy sense—that he’d somehow concocted a way to get down on one knee in the VIP poker room. She couldn’t wait to say yes.
“Is he there now?” she asked Dominic.
“Yes. Ready for you,” he said. They rounded the corner and entered the private room. He gripped her arm harder and dug his fingers in. The edges of her watch scraped roughly against her wrist. She tried to pull her arm away, but his hand was now a steel vise, and he wouldn’t let go.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to wriggle out of his grip as they walked past an oval table and rich brown chairs, with opulent mirrors strategically angled to hide hands. “That’s a bit too rough. Can you let up?”
“Not a chance in hell,” he said, and his voice was no longer honey. It was malice.
Like a painful injection, all her excitement was erased, replaced by ice-cold fear coursing through her body as he clasped his hand over mouth, and shoved her hard through a doorway.
Then locked the door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saturday, 1:34 p.m., Las Vegas
The $100 table with the dealer with cropped black hair and one diamond earring.
He read the text from her one more time, studying the message as if it would reveal a clue as to where she could possibly be.
But there were only five $100 tables and he’d circled them fifty times each, looking for her. She was nowhere to be seen. He desperately wanted to believe he’d simply missed her.
He returned to the table she was supposed to be at. The dealer nodded at him this time as he dealt to four players. It was an I-see-you-look, an I’m-memorizing-your-face look. Clay nodded back, and paced more, his eyes roaming the casino, scanning the tables, checking out the nooks and crannies, the bars, the lounge chairs. He paced like a caged lion. He was sure he’d have security swarming him any second because he looked suspicious as hell. Checking his watch. Checking his phone. Running his hand roughly through his hair. Dialing, over and over.
He spun around in another circle, hunting for signs for the nearest ladies room. Hell, maybe she was taking a piss. A long f**king piss. He marched over to the sign, and waited twenty seconds until a woman with dark hair, kind eyes and laugh lines made a beeline for the restroom.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for my–” he paused for a split second, the words catching in his throat because he was about to say wife when he stopped himself. “–my date, and I was supposed to meet her ten minutes ago. Would you mind asking if there’s a Julia in the bathroom? Redhead, wearing black shorts and heels.”
“Sure,” the woman said, but she gave him a look as if he were crazy to ask, pathetic maybe. A pathetic guy who’d been stood up. Maybe he was. Hell, he sounded like a desperate man who’d been ditched by a woman. But he knew that wasn’t the case.
He waited and called her again. Five rings then voicemail. Maybe she’d turned it on vibrate during the game. Maybe she’d even turned down the volume, figuring that was proper poker behavior or something.
But then, where was she? He held out hope that nature had called. That maybe she’d taken a long restroom trip.
A minute later, the dark-haired woman with laugh lines emerged, patted him on the arm, and shook her head ruefully. “Sorry, hon. No one was in there. I hope you find your lady. And if she’s run out on you, you come find me and I’ll be happy to be your date,” she said, then winked at him and headed off.
“Thanks,” he muttered, and shook his head at her proposition.
He could case the joint for all the ladies rooms, but instead he marched right back to the table with the diamond-earringed dealer. After he laid the last card down, Clay cleared his throat, and said, “Excuse me.”