Page 25 of Cocky Prince
I take in the desolate look on his face, the tension in his wide shoulders. Levi carried the weight of the family—was the responsible one, while I catered to our father and the others ran wild. He knocked our skulls together when we fought, told us to get up when we fell down, and went up against our father when he was being pigheaded about who our friends were, our plans after high school—pretty much everything. And right now Levi is trying not to fall apart; the brother who’s always had it together.
I swallow the dry ball that’s lodged in my throat. This can’t be happening. Cade men are tall and athletic, but Levi is built like the houses he protects. He’s a brick of a man, and to see him weakened mentally or physically is unnatural.
I rub my face. “Jesus Christ.” Being a firefighter is the one thing he’s ever wanted. Desk duty would be like a death knell for him. No wonder he’s been holed up these last two weeks, not wanting to see my brothers or me. The only reason I’m here is because I’m a pushy bastard who never listens to what my brothers say.
I was the conformer in the family, accepting the sports cars our father gave me whenever I did something he liked. I dressed the part of a Cade, wore designer clothes, lived lavishly, while the rest of my brothers did whatever the fuck they wanted. They pursued careers outside of Club Tahoe, lived month to month on their working-class paychecks as waiters, tour guides—firemen—while I danced to my father’s tune, doing whatever Ethan Cade told me to do. Just as long as I got my monthly trust fund check.
I stare blindly at the pile of logs off to the side. I came here today to lean on Levi and ask what he thought about this Bliss venture, but he’s the one who needs someone to lean on. And I’m no good at being dependable.
I stand and unbutton my dress shirt. I drop it on top of my jacket. “Wood needs chopping.” I tug my undershirt from my pants and stride across the yard to the ax.
I don’t know if Levi needs more wood in the bin, but he’s getting some, because I need shit to hack up.
My older brother can’t be a mess. If he is, that leaves me, as the second eldest, in charge. Not a single one of my brothers respects me. Loves me? Sure, as much as brothers who’ve harassed and argued all their lives can love one another. But their respect was something I lost years ago when I gave in to our father’s demands.
Chapter Eleven
Hayden
Isort thepaperwork for the auction and burlesque event. I’ve spent countless hours researching companies to find the right talent for the project that Blackwell put William in charge of. William is one of Blackwell’s Blue Stars, but he’s given me a surprising amount of freedom in helping him. He even handed over things he probably should have managed, like selecting party-staging companies. I can’t complain. I would have had my hand in the formal paperwork no matter what, as head of HR. This way I got to have fun selecting the décor for the party, even if it was extra work.
I stare at the contracts in front of me. My documentation is thorough; the amount of work I’ve put in obvious. There’s no way Blackwell can ignore my efforts. I’ve gone above and beyond what I was asked to do. I don’t expect praise, but appreciation would be nice.
Nessa walks in and pauses near the door. “You busy?” She’s wearing dark slacks and a white blouse, but her height is average today, so I know she’s got her platforms on under those long pants, or she’d be four inches shorter.
Nessa normally comes to my armpit. She is tiny in every way, and beautiful. She probably has no problem finding the right fit when shopping, while I have to buy everything bigger, and either deal with poor fit, or take in the waist. Sucks.
“I have a minute, but I’m about to head to a management meeting.” I stack my folders and check my hair and makeup in the mirror I keep in the desk drawer. No stray locks sticking up. Lipstick on—check. I’m ready to make a good impression.
“I won’t keep you,” she says. “I just wanted to find out if you’ve seen the new girl?”
Ugh, again? Why does everyone want me to meet the woman Adam hired? “I haven’t met Adam’s new assistant.”
“That was fast,” she stage-whispers. “Did he pick her up off the street?”
I walk around my desk and meet Nessa at the door. “No idea, but I’ve already got a bet running with him that she won’t last.”
Nessa’s eyes widen. “Really, a bet? So Mira got to you? She told me how she wants you to get close to him and find out what he knows.”
I snort sardonically. “She’s living in dreamland if she thinks we’ll become close, but I’ve been harsh on him. He’s annoying as hell, but not a bad guy.” I straighten my sweater. “And as far as the bet goes, I’m doing that to prove a point.”
“Which is?”
“That my job isn’t as easy as everyone believes.”
Her brow furrows. “Who thinks your job is easy? You’re one of the hardest-working employees here.”
And just like that, I want to cry. I love Nessa and Mira. They know how much time and effort I put into Blue. And that I care about making the casino the best it can be, despite what Blackwell believes. I swallow and take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
She makes a sound of disbelief at the back of her throat. “It’s the truth. Well, look, I won’t keep you. I’ve got to meet with Deborah about the burlesque show.” Her eyes widen with excitement. “Wait until you see our promo plan. It’s going to blow your mind. You bring in the celebs and dancers, and marketing will do the rest.”
* * *
Adam
With a tinted glassdome that overlooks the heart of the gaming floor, the executive conference room of Blue Casino is in a class of its own. And I have Club Tahoe for comparison—a thirty-thousand-square-foot casino-hotel situated on the shores of Lake Tahoe and designed to feel like an elegant log cabin. There is nothing like Club Tahoe, with its indoor lazy river, the center of which boasts secluded fire pits for roasting s’mores. But Blue Casino has a vibe Club Tahoe can’t surpass. The patrons come to Blue Casino for high-stakes gaming, a glitzy atmosphere, and the best-looking cocktail waitresses this side of the state line.
I grab the report off the top of the stack at the entrance, and make my way to the U-shaped meeting table. Blackwell typically runs our meetings with strict efficiency, but you never know. My father’s meetings often ran into lunch. I’m still waiting for that one long-winded coworker to put us to sleep with his meticulous housekeeping of cocktail umbrellas and vending-machine supplies. And thus, I find a spot for optimal people-watching down below in case the meeting drags.
