Page 58 of Don't Bet On It
“I’m saving up money,” I replied. There was no getting out of this, so I figured it was best to give him the full story. “I have a plan for down the road, and I need to put some money away.”
“You mean a plan other than my plan.”
I shrugged. “I told you I don’t want to take over the casino.”
Dad made a snorting noise. “You make it sound as if you have a choice in the matter.”
Did he think I didn’t have a choice? “I don’t want to run the Hawthorne, Dad.” Exasperation had made my voice growly. “I’ve told you that a million times.”
“Because you want to irritate me.”
“Not everything I do is because I want to irritate you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I threw my hands in the air. My father always managed to get me going despite my best intentions. “The casino is not where my heart is. You know that. I’ve told you that.”
“Is this about that arts and crafts thing again?”
I had to bite my tongue so I didn’t explode. He’d always been like this, talking down to me as if a career in art wasn’t a “real” job. “Arts and crafts?” I challenged finally. “It’s not arts and crafts. I’m a painter.”
“That’s not a real job.” And there it was. “If you wanted to be a house painter, at least I could see that. It’s a real profession. Not one that fits your talents, but at least you would be contributing to society if you went that route.”
“Because art doesn’t contribute to society?” My voice was louder than I anticipated, and I adjusted quickly. “I don’t want to run the Hawthorne.”
“I’ve been grooming you to do just that for the entirety of your life.”
“Because that’s what you want. I have never wanted that.”
“Well, this is not going to fly.” He gestured toward the lounge. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to realize my son is working at a rival’s casino?”
“Again, it’s not about you.”
“Well, it’s going to be about me.” Dad was firm. “I’m going to have a little talk with Zach.”
My stomach constricted. “Don’t.” My voice was low and full of warning. “Just … don’t.”
Dad’s eyebrows hopped. “You don’t get a say in the matter.”
I pressed my lips together. He was such an ass. “Even if you get me fired—and I acknowledge you have that power—I will not come work for you. I need you to know that.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that.”
I FINISHED MY SHIFT. MY FATHER WASnot in the mood to gamble after all, so I handled the other casino owners. I was curious about why they were here—occasionally, all the owners got together to talk about the trials and tribulations of the Strip, although this felt somehow different—but I didn’t expect to get an answer. It wasn’t my business.
Still, what was my business was my job. So as soon as I finished, my goal was to head up to the executive level. I needed to have a conversation with Zach.
I changed out of my uniform in the locker room, resigned to a fate worse than death, and ran into Tallulah. She had changed into street clothes as well, and the way her eyes searched the hallway suggested she was looking for me.
“There you are.” She marched over to me. “I thought maybe you left. You didn’t do anything stupid and quit, did you?”
I gave her a long look. “I have no intention of quitting.”
“Oh, good.” She let out a breath. “That’s good.”
Why did she care if I kept working here? I filed that question away to ponder later. “I have to go up and talk to Zach. My father is going to force him to fire me.”
Tallulah snorted. “No, he’s not.”
