Page 95 of Play Fake
He shakes his head. “Nah, thanks. I gave up gambling a long time ago.”
I recall him being suspended for a season for betting on the outcome of games, but I’m the last person who would judgeanyone for the decisions they make, considering I’ve had enough of my own interesting choices over the years.
When we get to the lounge, Ainsley takes in every inch of opulence the place offers, and cameras snap in our faces as we enter.
“Wow,” she breathes beside me. She’s wearing a glittery blue gown, and she looks gorgeous. I’m certain I don’t deserve her.
I’m surprised my father has people taking photos given the fact that we’re escorting some of the wealthier players downstairs this evening, but the underground portion has been open since Friday, and so far, it’s Vegas’s newest best-kept VIP secret.
I just need to keep Ainsley in the dark, too, and I’ll be golden.
I hate keeping things from her, but I have to. It’s for her own good.
I wish I didn’t know about it, either.
But I do, and I plan to make a shit ton of money out of the deal.
“This is gorgeous, Dex. So luxurious. Not at all what it looks like in the photos.” The place isn’t a typical dark casino. This lounge is the essence of luxury, and it’s all white and gold, from the leather chairs to the white marble floors with gold veins.
We take a few photos, and I introduce her to some of the workers, including the men my father has chosen to run this place. I’m not running it—I’m simply a celebrity host who stops in on occasion to drum up business.
These guys are the real brains behind the operation, I guess.
We get some drinks and mingle a bit as I introduce Ainsley as my wife, and I know it’s getting to the time where I need to start moving some of the guests downstairs.
“Why don’t you play some Texas Hold’em while I entertain a few of my dad’s clients?” I suggest.
She looks a little annoyed that I’m ditching her, but I don’t really have much choice here. Riding a line for my own safety is one thing. Involving her is another thing entirely.
I recall my father telling me that the feds were on his tail when he first presented this idea to me months ago. I can’t help but wonder who, aside from the FBI, might be tailing him. Who has he pissed off, and am I safe from them or not now that he’s got me involved?
I won’t do the same thing to Ainsley and Jack that my father did to me.
CHAPTER 40: Ainsley Bradley
Two Baseball Players
I’m fuming as I sit at the table, unsure as to whether I’m supposed to bet or fold—especially because I’m not playing with my own money.
I’m still learning this game, and Dex just threw money at me before he ditched me. I have no clue where he went, and frankly, I’m not sure why he invited me along if his plan was to just leave me at a table.
I could ask the guy beside me what to do, but I’m playing against him, so that idea is out.
I end up folding only to discover that I would’ve won.
I leave the table and head toward the cashier’s cage to exchange the chips for money, and then I wander around looking for Dex. The place isn’t huge—not like one of the grand casinos on the Strip, anyway. It’s elegant and luxurious, clearly meant for people with much more money than I have.
What a waste. These people could be giving their money to charity. Hell, Dex’s dad could’ve done that with the money he spent on the marble floors or the white leather chairs.
Instead, he pumped it into this place, and now Dex is here all the time supporting the waste. Getting these rich people to waste even more with the hopes that they’ll double it or triple it or walk home with more money than they ever could’ve dreamed only to waste it on something else equally as stupid tomorrow.
Maybe I just need a drink. I need to loosen up a little.
It’s just hard when I think about how I grew up. Two teachers’ salaries with barely enough to scrape by. Having to work for everything I ever had.
I’m not saying these people don’t work hard, and I’m also not saying that I’ve never wasted my money frivolously. But not like this. The amount of excess here is appalling, and it’s making me uncomfortable.
I don’t belong here. And if Dex does, maybe I don’t belong with Dex, either.
