Page 33 of Don't Bet On It
“We have a group coming in,” Tallulah announced, ripping me out of my reverie and drawing my attention to her.
“What?” I asked blankly.
She gave me a dirty look. “A group. We have a big one coming in. It’s a bachelorette party.”
The clock on the wall showed it was only five o’clock. “Isn’t it a little early for a bachelorette party?”
Tallulah shrugged. “It’s Maisie Coventry.”
I didn’t recognize that name. “Okay.”
“The star of that teeny bopper soap opera.” Tallulah sounded exasperated. “You know, the one about the rich kids in the uber-expensive wardrobe that all the teenagers are talking about now.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I said blandly.
“She’s a big deal.”
“And she’s getting married?” I ran that through my head. “Since when is it legal for teenagers to get married and hang around in the high rollers lounge?”
The look she shot me was pitying. “Teenagers don’t actually portray teenagers on teen shows. Maisie Coventry is thirty.”
“And playing a teenager?”
She shrugged. “Teenagers are only allowed to work so many hours a day. If it’s an adult, then you can work them to the bone.”
It was something I hadn’t considered. It made a strange sort of sense. “Okay, I get it. Is there something I should be made aware of?”
“Just that we’re about to be inundated with a group of young Hollywood starlets who are going to be drunk and demanding.”
That scenario always seemed to hurt her more than it did me. “Okay.” I shrugged. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Yeah, talk to me again in two hours.” With that, she flounced away. I thought I heard her mutter something that sounded like “egotistical moron” under her breath as she left. I didn’t call her on it.
LOATH AS I WAS TO ADMIT IT, TALLULAHwas right. Drunk Hollywood starlets were annoying and demanding.
“I don’t want that card.” Misty Penrose jutted out her lower lip and batted her eyelashes at me. “I want a queen.”
I smiled because I’d learned the hard way over the past hour that smiles could soften blows—at least, these women believed that—but I remained firm. “That’s not how it works.”
“But I want a queen.” Misty was four drinks deep, although she acted as if it were six. “I haven’t won a single hand since I sat down.”
What did she expect? The reason casinos even existed was because the house always won. That meant big profits for the casinos and small wins for guests. Sure, the occasional big jackpot made people think “that could happen to me,” but it occurred just enough to keep hope alive. That was by design.
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “It’s the luck of the draw.”
Misty batted her eyelashes again and readjusted on her stool so I could have a better view of her cleavage. “Pretty please.” She fluttered her lashes as if she was having a spasm.
“Sorry.” I looked around and proclaimed Celeste Bishop the winner.
Celeste shot Misty a haughty look. “You should probably quit now or you’ll be broke by the time we head out to the show.”
Misty glared at Celeste. As far as I could tell, the only thing the two women had in common was that they were friendly with the bride. They seemed to despise one another.
“Maybe you should take a breather,” I suggested to Misty. I couldn’t have these two women throwing down, and it appeared that might be exactly where this conversation was going. “I’ve found that people can often change their luck if they walk away from the table for a bit and then come back later.”
And, if I was lucky, she would drink herself into a nap on one of the couches and never come back.
Misty didn’t appear to like my suggestion. “Or you can give me a queen.”
