Page 44 of Don't Bet On It
“What did you just say to me?” Olivia’s voice was so shrill that it bounced off every lounge wall.
Tallulah, who had migrated over to some customers, lifted her head. The way she abandoned the guests and cut over in our direction reminded me of a shark scenting blood in the water.
Uh-oh. This was so not good.
“You heard me.” Either Kyla didn’t recognize the dangerous footing she was on or she had reached the end of her rope. “I’m sick of you sticking your nose into my business. This lounge is my turf. If you have a problem with it, perhaps you should take it up with management.”
“I am management,” Olivia reminded her.
“Pfft.” Kyla crossed her arms over her chest. “You might have slept your way to a title, but that doesn’t make you management.”
I opened my mouth to stand up for Olivia, who was steaming mad, but it was too late. Tallulah had retrieved a pitcher of water from the bartender when Olivia started screeching. Before I could even come close to defusing the situation, Tallulah upended the pitcher over our boss’s head.
I stood there, dumbfounded, as Kyla sputtered and swore under her breath. Then she straightened. “Everybody is fired,” she announced in a booming voice. She had the audacity to look smug.
Olivia wasn’t about to kowtow to Kyla, however. Not after what had been said to her. “Nobody is fired,” she shot back.
“You’re not the boss!” Kyla was shrill.
“Yes, well, we’ll see about that.”
13
THIRTEEN
In hindsight, throwing the pitcher of water at Kyla had been a bad idea. Did I regret it? Not so much. Still, the fact that Cora Stone, Zach’s mother, insisted on a session with the casino psychologist for everybody involved was not a good thing for any of us.
“This is all your fault,” Ronan hissed as he sat in one of the chairs provided in the therapy room. Six chairs were arranged in a circle, and we were the first ones to arrive at our mandatory session.
He wasn’t wrong. Still, I felt the need to argue. “It’s not as if she didn’t have it coming.” I studied my fingernails. I was due for a manicure. I never paid for one—why would I when I could do my nails just as well myself?—but always made a point of keeping on a regular schedule. Nobody wanted their drinks delivered by someone with chipping and flaking nail polish. It denoted a lack of general hygiene, and that was a big no-no.
“That’s beside the point,” Ronan hissed. “We have to sit through therapy now.”
I shrugged. “I’ve been through so much therapy that it doesn’t even register, at this point.”
Ronan sent me a sharp look. “You have?”
I realized my mistake right away and tried to backtrack. “I was speaking generically.”
He studied my face for an extended beat. “I don’t think you were. Are you in therapy?” His voice seemed to echo across the room.
“Hey!” I jabbed a finger at him. “Speak a little louder. I don’t think the woman in the nosebleed seats heard you.”
“Oh, I heard him,” Olivia replied in a petulant voice as she walked into the room. Yes, even she had been ordered to the therapy session. I felt more guilty about that than about Ronan being here.
Zach was with her. He looked more amused than upset.
“You too?” I asked, momentarily horrified. Dragging my best friend into what would amount to a psychiatric experiment gone awry was one thing. Forcing her husband—one of the biggest of bosses on the premises—into the mix was quite another.
“Technically, I’m not required to attend,” Zach replied. He cast Olivia a sidelong look. “I figured that maybe I should be present just in case.” He led Olivia to the chair next to me then seemed to think better of it. “Maybe I should sit here.” He plopped down in the open seat and gave me a sidelong look. “You’ve been a bad girl.”
I rolled my eyes. “I still maintain this isn’t my fault.”
“Oh yeah?” Zach challenged. “Did you trip and accidentally lose control of the water pitcher?”
“Will that get me out of this?”
He laughed. “No, it most certainly will not.”
