Page 34 of Don't Bet On It
“Yeah, that’s not how it works.” I was good with people. I could often talk them down from a petulant fit. Misty was not prepared to playthatgame, however.
“I want a queen,” she demanded.
Tallulah picked that moment to swoop in. “Anybody need something to drink?” she asked in her chirpiest voice. “How about some iced tea?” Her gaze was on Misty as she asked the question.
“Yeah, Misty,” a taunting voice called from behind Tallulah. “Do you want some iced tea?”
I flicked my eyes in that direction and found the woman of the hour. Maisie Coventry. She was dressed in what had to be a five-thousand-dollar cocktail dress and a veil to signify she was the queen for the evening. It didn’t look to be of the cheap variety, like those worn by other women dressed similarly on the casino floor.
“Of course I don’t want iced tea,” Misty scoffed.
“I told you she would lose her chill first,” Celeste volunteered to nobody in particular. “You never could handle your liquor.”
Misty’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “I’ll have a pomegranate martini,” she gritted out to Tallulah without looking in her direction.
Tallulah touched her tongue to her top lip then glanced up at me. She was obviously torn.
Servers in the casino had to walk a fine line. Alcohol lowered inhibitions, so people were more willing to bet money—even big money—when gambling. If people got too drunk, however, they picked fights and occasionally passed out at the tables. Tallulah was supposed to make the call about whether to cut off the alcohol.
The last thing we needed—the very last thing—was a story making it out of this lounge and into a tabloid regarding one of the younger stars of HBO’s current big hit.
“Let’s get some iced tea,” Tallulah said brightly, seemingly making up her mind on the spot. “We’ll get some food in you—we can order from any restaurant on the property—and then you’ll be good to go in an hour.”
That seemed unlikely to me. Misty was one drink away from passing out. I smiled all the same. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”
“Nobody asked you!” Misty fired back, her eyes flashing with disdain. “You’re cheating anyway. I don’t like you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I want another pomegranate martini,” she said to Tallulah. “I also want a different dealer. This one is cheating.”
Dealers are accused of cheating all the time. Like there would be anything but grief for us if we did. It wasn’t as if casino owners were trying to stop people from winning. The exact opposite was true. An excited winner made everybody hopeful that they might win too. It was one thing to be accused of cheating on the main floor. It was quite another for it to happen in the high rollers lounge, however.
“Nobody is cheating,” I assured her. “You’ve just had a run of bad luck.”
“You’re lying.” Misty’s eyes filled with fire as they locked with mine. “You’re a big, fat filthy liar!” She screeched it at the top of her lungs.
Of course, since Kyla was making her hourly pass through the lounge at that exact moment, her attention was drawn to the table.
“What’s going on?” Kyla asked as she appeared at my side.
“He’s cheating,” Misty replied, jabbing a finger at me. “I wanted a queen, and he gave me a ten.”
Kyla blinked, then she blinked again. She seemed thrown by the accusation. “I see,” she said finally.
“He’s not cheating,” Tallulah countered. She looked as surprised as me that the words had come out of her mouth. “Ms. Penrose has had a little too much to drink.”
Misty lashed out when nobody was expecting it and caught Tallulah across the face with a hard slap. My mouth fell open—I so wasn’t expecting that—but what I expected even less was Tallulah’s response.
She might have been trained up to the specifications of Vegas—the gambler was always right, within reason—but Tallulah was at her limit. She caught Misty’s hand before the woman could smack her again and gripped it tightly.
“That will be enough of that,” Tallulah gritted out.
Misty’s eyes became the size of saucers. “You don’t tell me what to do.” She jerked her hand away from Tallulah. “I tell you and you”—she turned to face me, landing a hard smack on my cheek before I had a chance to telegraph what was about to happen—“what to do.”
“Holy crap,” Celeste squealed. She sounded gleeful. “I didn’t think she had it in her. And here I thought you were terminally boring, Misty.” She was still cackling when Misty turned and smacked her hard enough to knock her off her stool.
I was still debating how to respond—what could I do here?—when Tallulah took a flying leap and landed on top of Misty. She didn’t hesitate when she wrapped her arm around her neck.
“That will be enough of that,” Tallulah hissed. She was big enough—or, rather, Misty was small enough—that Tallulah had no problem wrestling her to the floor.
“I will kill you!” Misty flailed about like a fish out of water.
