Concealment (The Cassano Series Book 1) (4 page)

Adrian

I barely hear the knock on my door before Simon barges in.

“Who the hell is Vicky, and why would you place a new girl in the Elite lounge?”

“There was an altercation between her and a patron, so I moved her there.”

“Why wasn’t she fired?”

“She’s too attractive. She’ll be well received in Elite.”

I feel his eyes on me as I shuffle papers on my desk. When he says nothing, I glance up.

He’s waiting for me to slip … to give something away he doesn’t already know, but he must remain in the dark.

Although Simon is valuable in a number of ways, he acts on impulse only. This is one situation where I can’t allow that to happen. He nervously bites his lip.

“I know you’re hiding something.”

Dropping papers, I lean back in my chair.

“What’s that, Simon?”

“I don’t know, but you’ve never done something like this before. We have a revolving door of attractive women. What makes her different?”

“Have you looked at her?”

“Tight body, but she’s older. She’s out in the lobby.”

“She’s here?” I ask a bit overzealously, my heart instantly beating faster.

He smirks. “I see what is happening here.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but the woman is going to quit if she never has the opportunity to do her job. Bring her to me, so I can apologize for your rude behavior.”

“Yeah, that’s why you want to see her. You better keep your cock in check. If all we’ve worked for blows up because of some chick, I’m kicking your ass.”

I glare at him. “You need to keep your attitude in check. Our clients would never disclose what they’re doing, so there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, and it’s not like she’s in the Royal lounge.”

He shakes his head and moves the hair he keeps too long out of his face before marching out. I rise and wait by the door, which is something I don’t normally do.

I’m drawn to this woman, and I can’t explain it. She’s the last female I should want to know or be near.

Simon returns with Victoria trailing behind. “I’ll take it from here,” I say sternly to him. He glares before leaving us alone.

“Please come in.” Her chest rises and falls dramatically before me as she passes by. I can’t help but notice since I’m finding it difficult to keep my eyes off her visible breasts.

I’ve never seen an employee wear this outfit so well. I’ve never had one wearing it in my office, either, which is making this encounter much more personal.

Hell, I’ve never even had a server in my office. Managers and supervisors deal with them, not me, but she’s not only a server; she’s a cop, and I need to remember that.

I shove my hands in the pockets of my dress pants and gaze at her after she turns around. Her green eyes are full of apprehension. Is this an act, or do I make her nervous?

Victoria

Adrian Cassano is eyeing me, appearing deep in thought. The sleeves of his burgundy shirt are rolled up to the top of his forearms, dark hair displayed above where his hands are shoved into the pockets of his grey dress pants.

They hug his thighs a touch, and my eyes betray me, checking out every prominent segment of his physique.

“I want to apologize for my brother, Simon. He was confused as to why you were working in the Elite lounge. Servers are employed longer before being promoted to that area.”

“If it’s going to create a problem, I can go back to working in the casino.”

“No, I believe you’ll enjoy working in Elite. I didn’t think to inform him is all, so I apologize.”

I glance around his office, unsure of what to say. The silence has a voice of its own, revealing everything and nothing.

I’m confused over why he has brought me here twice. Does he have a habit of doing this with female employees, maybe to seduce them?

“Do you prefer this uniform over the other?”

His words have me glancing down at my outfit. I cross my arms in embarrassment and frustration. “Seeing how I’m not a stripper, I’d prefer neither.”

Adrian smirks before stalking toward me. His brown eyes are soaking up the sight of me, along with the air in my lungs, until he’s standing inches from my insides.

Blood coursing, heart pounding, breath holding. They’re the internal cues indicating imminent danger. In this case–desire for a man I need to feel nothing for.

I stare up at a couple of faint scars on his forehead. His five o’clock shadow is pronounced this evening, and I have an urge to glide the back of my hand along his defined jawline to feel the roughness of it.

Adrian Cassano is all man.

“You shouldn’t feel self-conscious. I’ve never seen a women look better in it.”

My gaze drops to his chest. This is completely inappropriate. If it was happening with any other guy, I would tell him off, yet I want to hear more words leave this man’s attractive, parted mouth.

I thought I had Adrian figured out from research I’d done, but he’s a well of mystery.

“I should return to work.”

Removing a hand from his pocket, he takes hold of my chin and tilts it upward, forcing my gaze from his chest to his eyes.

He lets it go and slides his hand through his black hair as he abruptly turns and takes two steps away.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“I’ll go.”

He turns back. “Don’t. After seeing what you did to that man yesterday, I find you intriguing.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t believe that.” He’s staring at me as if my image owns him, and I want to crawl back into my protective shell of clothing and power, a badge and a gun.

It’s not an option if I want the information I came here for, but I don’t have to bow at his feet, either. Instead, I can play hard to get. Isn’t that what keeps a man interested? The chase?

“I’d like to go back to work.”

His intense expression becomes indifferent before he strolls to his desk. “Wait in the lobby, and I’ll call someone to escort you back.

“If you have any trouble with anyone in this hotel, I want you to ask to see me.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Cassano, but I can fight my own battles.”

“Yes, I guess you made that obvious yesterday.”

“Have a good day, sir.” I make a beeline straight to the door, never looking back.

***

“Hey, Reg. Do you want to hang out?” I ask him over the phone as I walk to the bus stop. It’s late after my shift at Hotel Submission, but I figure he’s up worrying about me.

“Uh, I’m already out.”

“Where are you?” The silence lingers, his guilt hitting the pause button. “Let me guess. The guys asked you to play poker.”

“I’m sorry, Vic, but their egos can only be crushed so many times. You win almost every game and we’re dudes. We want to scratch our balls and belch our beers.”

“Yeah, because my presence prevents you from doing that,” I say sarcastically.

“You know what I mean.”

“That’s fine. I should get to bed, anyway. These double shifts are already killing me.”

We say our goodbyes, and I load the bus, utterly exhausted but excited about what morning will bring.

Victoria

I arrive at the Tropicana hotel at ten-thirty in the morning on Saturday, not long after admission begins for a collector automobile auction.

No, I’m not bidding on a car. I wish. I’m attending to admire the classic vehicles and find out what they sell for. I stroll through the lobby, checking out the ones on display.

Red velvet rope keeps spectators at enough distance to drool on themselves but not on the sparkling paint of a restored beauty.

I stand to the side of a 1952 Chevrolet Belair convertible. It’s baby blue with a white top, and my mind takes me back to the image of cars lined up at a drive-in.

Silver trays are hooked onto the door windows with snacks from the concession stand. Couples are either watching Abbott and Costello or making out under the stars.

“What made this particular car earn your undivided attention for the last ten minutes?”

I jerk my head to the side, and there stands Adrian Cassano. He’s smiling at me, his eyes light with ease.

“So, you’ve been watching me for ten minutes?”

“Yes, you’ve had my attention that long.” His hand comes up, fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from my face. “The wigs are interesting, but this length and dark color suit you better.”

Shit, my hair.

“How did you recognize me?”

“Victoria, your face isn’t one that could be easily forgotten.” His proximity is close enough for me to smell a scent of cologne that is already stimulating a reaction from me.

“What happened to ‘I shouldn’t touch you’?”

“We’re not at work.”

“I’m still your employee.”

He smirks. “What is it about this car?”

Turning back to the Belair, I take a steady breath in an attempt to purge excitement he has stirred.

My heart is pounding in my chest, blood pumping through my veins at warp speed, raising my core temperature. I feel like I did in his office only hours ago.

“It’s not the car but what it represents.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Twenty-five cent milkshakes, Mr. Cassano.”

“Hmm … you have me intrigued once again, Ms. Stuart.”

Turning somewhat toward him, I look around us, interested to know if he’s alone.

“I should probably get inside to find a seat.”

“Please, be a guest at my VIP table.”

My head shakes swiftly. “No, I couldn’t do that but thank you.”

“You’ll be right in front of the vehicles. You can’t tell me that isn’t enticing.”

That is enticing. So is he, and it’s a serious problem. I eye the tan pinstripes on his blue shirt before my gaze prowls along.

Once again, sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. A small, dark patch of hair peeking out the open collar of his shirt matches that which is on his arms.

Dark brown khakis have the privilege of contouring his athletic form, and even dressed business-casual, he has a rugged appearance. He’s manly, mystifying and undoubtedly trouble.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but I’m your employee, Mr. Cassano.”

“Please, call me Adrian, and I’m beginning to think you being employed by me is going to pose a problem.”

I stare into his mysterious eyes that are now heavy and heated. Do I look like a damn fool? He probably does this to a different server every day.

He takes what he wants and then tosses them out the door with their last paycheck. I scrunch my forehead.

“That’s exactly why I shouldn’t sit with you. I need my job. Have a good day, Mr. Cassano.” Stepping around him, I walk briskly to the doors of the auction room.

The heels of my short, tan boots hit the shiny floor of the lobby, the clacking drawing the attention of a few people. It’s going to be a long day if I have to admire him along with the cars.

After paying twenty bucks for entry into the auction, I take my uncomfortable seat. Four hundred vehicles will be displayed within a circle of spectators, who sit on raised platform seating.

I flip through the program I was handed at the door. In my dream world, I’m leaving here in the red 1969 Chevrolet Camaro staring back at me from one of the shiny, colored pages.

I wasn’t alive then, but it doesn’t stop me from envisioning that muscle car streaking down the highway. I even bet a couple had sex in the back of that baby.

Dammit.
Thank you, Adrian, for awakening my libido. My vibrator will appreciate the overtime.

Adrian

Keeping Ms. Hart close is a necessity, but I’m discovering there is a desire inside me to have her there.

She’s different than other women I’ve met, seeming unimpressed by my wealth and authority. It’s obvious she’s a deep thinker, as well, and I want to know what is going through her head.

Unfortunately, she’s pretending to be someone she’s not; however, her ability to tell me no gives me the sense she’s exactly herself when near me.

A complete sale of a Corvette passes me by, and I note that I’ve been staring across the room at Victoria for some time.

One way or another, I’m going to get to know her. I’ll convince her with kindness that there is nothing illegal to uncover at my hotel and casino. We’ll have some fun, and then she’ll be on her way. No harm done.

***

In the afternoon, it is announced that a break is beginning. The auction resumes this evening, so I work my way through the crowd until I’m behind her.

She’s in a pair of dark jeans, her ass sculpted and swaying a touch with each step. Wavy hair down her back moves in sync. Once in the lobby, I lightly take hold of her arm.

“Victoria.”

Whipping around, her eyes meets mine before she appears put out. “What do you want now?”

Women don’t speak to me this way, so it catches me off guard. They don’t seem annoyed by my presence, either.

“Have dinner with me.”

A hand grips her hip as she pulls her purse tighter over her shoulder with the other.

“I see you’re used to getting your way.”

“Yes, so please don’t break my longstanding record. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She battles a smile, but I see it.

“I’m sure you do, and I imagine it’s only a matter of time before I’m hearing about it.”

People keep bumping into us and grumbling since we’re standing in the way of the exit, so I take her hand and begin walking.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, catching up with me.

“I want to feed you, and you’re going to let me.”

She mumbles something, but I don’t stop moving until we reach the valet. “Where are you taking me?”

I hand over my ticket to the attendant.

“The Stratosphere.”

“Another competitor?”

“Competition is good. It shows me my company’s strengths and weaknesses, among many other things.”

My silver Aston Martin Vanquish pulls up, and after I tip the valet guy, I hold the passenger door open for Victoria.

Her eyes follow the entire length of the vehicle, from bumper to bumper, before she steps inside. “I expected a classic,” she says before I shut her door.

I chuckle as I get into the driver’s side.

“I have them, but a valet attendant getting to drive one is a last resort. This car doesn’t meet your high standards?”

“It’s amazing, and I think it’s cool you’ll let the valet guy drive this but not a classic.”             

Turning onto the Strip, I start the few mile drive to the Stratosphere. Victoria’s body is for the most part still, but her eyes wander all over the interior of the Aston Martin.

Pulling up to the valet at Stratosphere, I help her out. “You know, I’m not dressed to eat at a formal restaurant,” she says nervously.

“You’re dressed perfectly for where we’re dining.” And she is in her jeans and red tank top, which accentuate her more than adequate chest.

We stroll inside, and I lead the way to Roxy’s Diner, which has a fifties theme. I glance to her when we reach the entrance, and she smiles.

“Do you treat all your dates to this casual of dining?”

“You consider this a date?” I ask.

Her cheeks turn as red as the booth seats inside. “Uh, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t a date—”

“Relax,” I say into her ear as I grab her hand and squeeze it. “I’m kidding.”

Her face is practically buried in the menu as I stare at her. “What flavor of shake would you like?”

“Chocolate,” she replies without looking up.

“If I buy you a shake, will you enlighten me on what you meant by the twenty-five cent shakes?”

Finally, she peers at me and smirks.

“I thought you were buying me one regardless.”

“Touché.”

She giggles for all of two second, cheeks reddening once again. “I’ll share what I meant.”

The waitress approaches, so we place our orders, both getting bacon cheeseburgers, fries and chocolate shakes.

Once we’re left alone, Victoria looks around the room and bites her lip. Her palms are flat on the seat of her booth.

I can tell from the way her arms are stiffened, shoulders scrunched, this woman is wound up tightly.

“I’m waiting for your story,” I say.

“Right. When I was staring at the Belair, I was picturing a drive-in. Did you know they were opening in fields all over the country in the 1950s?”

Her hand waves in front of her animatedly as eyes grow rounder. “I saw an old menu online, and shakes were about twenty-five cents back then. A burger, fries and shake combined were less than a buck. Unreal.”

“That’s it? I find it hard to believe your fascination over the cost of a meal is all you were thinking about while staring at that car for so long.”

Her fingers lace together on the table, and her eyes follow them. Knuckles whiten from the hold each hand has on the other.

Hmm … it seems Victoria and I share something else in common. She only wants to reveal the shell. I get it. It’s best to never open the shell.

But I have a strong suspicion there is a pearl inside of hers. A rare, exquisite being that no amount of money could buy.