Deep Blue (13 page)

I’ll promise him anything, as long as he keeps holding me like this. “I won’t. Totally stupid,” I mumble, nuzzling his shirt and breathing in his clean scent.

Jaeger leans back and our eyes meet for a long moment. The intensity makes my breath quicken. He lowers his head infinitely slowly until a puff of air from his nose tickles my skin. His lips graze mine, a delicate touch that is the total opposite of Drake’s mauling. Jaeger’s gentleness speaks of heat and longing, and something deeper I can’t put my finger on. But I want it.

If I thought the attraction between us was intense, the electricity his lips generate is coiled, sizzling need. My fingers clutch his shirt. This is what I’ve craved. All night, all week—since we first met.

Jaeger pulls back, keeping an inch of space between us. His breaths fan my chin, thumb rubbing circles along my hairline. “Is this okay? After—”

I lean up and fasten my mouth to his in answer. Whether I acknowledge it to myself or not, I’ve been waiting for this kiss for weeks.

His fingers slide into my hair, angling my head for better access, and I’m drowning. My belly tightens, body arching toward him. I wrap my arms around his broad back and pull him close until we fall backward onto the cushions with him on top.

His weight feels amazing. Not crushing or forced, but just enough to fire more need. I’m a sea of sensation and all we’re doing is kissing. My legs squeeze his hips, drawing him closer.

A short, guttural moan escapes his mouth and his hand drifts from my hair, down my throat, to my chest, wrapping around my breast. He pulls his mouth away and runs kisses along my chin and neck. “Cali,” he whispers, cupping my breast and rubbing his thumb over my nipple.

It’s not until he says my name again that the lust clears enough to register that he’s attempting to communicate with something other than body talk. I look into his eyes.

“When is Gen getting back?” he says.

Wha …? Gen?
Shit.

Panic spears my gut, and not because I’m worried Gen will walk in on us, though she could. I forgot all about Gen and Jaeger and the possibility that something exists between them. After all the encouragement I’ve given Gen to get back out there, here I am making out with a guy she may like. The worst part is, I pushed Jaeger and Gen together.

What am I doing? I squirm out from beneath him, my anger piqued at myself and the idea that Jaeger could be playing me. I have to find out what is going on between them. Gen is my best friend.

I swallow and attempt to gather the rest of my brain that scattered the minute Jaeger loomed over me with his large, heated body. “I don’t know, but she was pretty drunk when I left. She’ll probably be home soon.” What a night this has been.

“Maybe I should leave.” He stands and adjusts his pants, which I realize now house a very large, impressive bulge. I glance away.

If I ask Jaeger about Gen, I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell truth from lie. The subject needs to be addressed soberly, when I’m not reacting passionately to my protector. “That’s probably a good idea.”

This morning my head feels like I thrashed it against a sharp boulder a few thousand times, but I’ve held back the queasies thanks to a few green olives and dry toast. Gen, however, has not fared as well. She’s in the bathroom puking her guts out.

“You okay in there?”

She doesn’t answer, so I open the door a crack and check on her. She’s hugging the bowl, her cheek affixed to the rim. I open the door wide. “You don’t look good. Do you want me to take you to Urgent Care?”

“No,” she says without moving. “Just need quiet time with the toilet.”

I grab two washcloths from the cupboard and soak them in cold water. I drape one across the back of her neck.

Gen moans. “Feels good.”

“Here.” I hand her the other. Her arm wavers unsteadily in the air. I grab her fingers and direct them to the cloth.

I keep a close eye on her for the rest of the day, and by evening she’s eating. I don’t bother asking how her night went. I’m pretty sure she won’t remember, and to bring it up might encourage questions about mine. I don’t want to go there. Not until I’m sure I’ve not encroached somewhere I shouldn’t have.

Holy crap. The full force of what could have happened with Drake if Jaeger hadn’t shown up hit me this morning. I will never do anything like that again. And afterward, with Jaeger? Clearly, I was not thinking. I was
feeling,
and allowing it to control my actions
.
If there’s something going on between Jaeger and Gen,
I
could be the other woman this time. Gen can barely trust as it is after the last A-hole played her. The level of betrayal in this situation would be so much worse.

Gen and I spend the evening recovering from our hangovers with an eighties chick-flick movie marathon. While Gen watches
Mystic Pizza
with a pre-Hollywood, fuller-figured Julia Roberts, I attempt to figure out when and how to mention Jaeger, because the only way to resolve my problem is to find out the truth about them.

I asked Gen about Jaeger once and she denied a connection, while her eyes told a different story. I’m not sure why she’d keep her feelings about him—or any guy—a secret, unless she was waiting until the relationship was on solid ground. Given her last relationship debacle, that would make sense, but that type of tight-lipped attitude doesn’t help me.

It’s a delicate situation. I can’t tell Gen about Drake without lying about Jaeger’s involvement. And I can’t tell her about Jaeger without letting on that I have feelings for him, which could set off a friendship bomb.

The next day, I approach the seamstress counter at work scratching my arms. I haven’t figured out a solution to the communication roadblock, and all this nervous energy is giving me hives.

“Sorry, honey,” the attendant says to me after Gen leaves for her locker. “Boss says you need to visit the supervisor. Elevators off the lobby, second floor. They’ll direct you from there.”

That’s weird. I’ve only interacted with the head dealer and a pit boss who manages new trainees. I’ve never gone upstairs to the big guns—the people observing Casino Real World through stealthy security cameras.

There’s no time to tell Gen where I’m headed—I’ll be late for my shift. I nod to the attendant and jog up the stairs to the casino floor and the wall of elevators off the lobby.

The second floor of the building could not look more different from the rest of the casino. A section of cubicles takes up a good portion of the space, which is so institutional and wrong compared to the high-end décor of the gaming and customer areas, yet an upgrade from the yellowing paint and metal lockers of the basement. Offices line three sides of the floor, with one large double door labeled Security in the center of an entire wall.

“I’m Cali Morgan,” I tell the receptionist. “The seamstress asked me to come here.”

The receptionist drums bright red nails and tucks a lock of wavy, shoulder-length hair behind her ear. The nails disappear into layers of reddish-purple locks that under no circumstances came from nature. Those nails flash back out and pluck a sticky note from the desk. “Right this way.”

I follow the receptionist down the hall. Her heavy eye makeup and hair are casino glam, but the modest skirt and blouse she wears keep her respectable. I’m going to take a wild guess and say she worked the casino floor at some point.

We pass the security area and come to a different hallway lined with offices spread farther apart. The receptionist knocks on a door with Robert Middleton, Gaming on a metal plaque to the side and we enter.

Inside, a man of middling years with sandy blond hair and a dimple in his chin taps a few last keystrokes on his computer. “Thank you.” He nods to the receptionist and she closes the door behind her.

I have a strange feeling about this.

What could I have done wrong or right to land me here? I’m not the fastest dealer, but no one has complained so far. I haven’t miscounted, which is more than I can say for other new dealers. If miscounting or botching a riffle shuffle were cause for dismissal, half the summer dealers would have been axed.

Robert Middleton stands halfway and gestures to a chair. “You must be Calista. Have a seat, please.” I never go by my full name, but I don’t correct him. Something in his voice tells me this is serious.

He sits down in his wide leather chair, a large picture window looking over the mountains and lake in the background. Blood rushes through my veins, pulse pounding at my throat. This guy is big time.

Leaning on his forearms, Robert Middleton steeples his fingers. His jacket is off, but he’s wearing a white dress shirt and a striped taupe business tie so tight the skin at his neck folds above the collar. “I’ll get right to the point. We’re going to have to let you go.”

My jaw drops, eyes unblinking.
What?

I mean, that thought occurred to me, given where I am, but I didn’t actually think it possible. I’ve never in my life received anything less than an A-minus, let alone been fired from an internship or work position. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple. You are here as a summer employee. We have a probationary period of three months for all employees. If at any point during those three months we feel the collaboration isn’t a good fit, the casino may terminate without cause. It’s been brought to my attention that your conduct does not fit our culture and that you would do better somewhere else.”

His poker face is perfect. I get nothing from his expression. “What conduct are you referring to? I’m not trying to be argumentative, I just don’t understand what I’ve done that would warrant this.”

“I’d rather not go into specifics, nor am I obligated to. Your termination is effective immediately.” He stands and walks around his desk, gesturing to the door, a waft of spicy aftershave making my stomach roll. “Please return to the front desk. The receptionist has a packet of closing forms for you to fill out.”

Somehow I manage to rise, my legs shaking like crazy. Robert Middleton holds out his hand. I stare at it for a moment, then snap out of my daze. His handshake is firm and decisive. “Best of luck to you, Ms. Morgan.”

This cannot be happening.
How
is this happening?

My throat goes dry, and tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I walk to the receptionist desk and the violet-haired woman.

When I finish filling out forms, I step inside the elevator escorted by one of the security guards—as if I were a felon. The receptionist said the security guard is customary, but I’ve never felt so low in my life.

The guard promenades me across the casino floor, past Gen handing out drinks in the lounge. She doesn’t see me, but Mason does. He glances up from his bar in confusion.

I know the feeling. I swallow and keep walking, mortified. They told me not to talk to anyone, and the last thing I want is to announce what’s happening.

After the guard leaves me in the parking garage, the tears I held back spill down my cheeks. I shuffle, shocked and in a daze, toward Gen’s car, then halt.

Shit.

Gen has the keys and the receptionist said I couldn’t return before tomorrow, when my employment status would be announced.

I walk to the edge of the garage overlooking the fields of cars below and lean my head on the cold metal bars. What am I going to do? I needed this job for school. My savings from this summer would only cover a fraction of the costs of my first year, but still. I’ll have to request more loans, which may take my entire life to pay off. I’ll be a well-paid corporate slave.

Opportunities like Harvard Law don’t come around every day. I should be grateful. And yet, I’m not. It doesn’t feel like a dream, it feels like a burden.

I’m sitting in my favorite spot in the backyard on the lounge chair, where I’ve been for the last half hour staring at the trees. I didn’t bother removing the purse from my arm. It seemed like a lot of work. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I just got fired. It makes no sense.

A vibration zings my ribs where my purse rests. I reach inside and grab it. “Hello?”

“Cali, are you okay?” Gen’s voice sounds high-pitched and panicked. “Mason said you left the casino escorted by a
security guard
.”

“Yup,” I choke. The rain of tears has dissipated, but my voice hasn’t fully recovered.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“Home. I took a taxi.” I gulp a deep breath and rub my nose, which is likely bright red from all the crying. “I was fired.”

“
What?
Why?”

I’m about to say
I don’t know
when a memory of the other night pops into my head. No. He wouldn’t … would he? Drake was pissed when he left. Pissed enough to take revenge?

“I—I don’t know.”

“This is crazy, Cali. You can’t get fired. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

I filter through the events of my last night of work, and the time I spent at the club. Had I done something employees shouldn’t? The casino gives drink tokens to employees at the end of every work week, to be used at Blue bars. Administration has no problem with drinking and gambling at their facility. They’d probably be happy if we blew our entire paycheck on the house.

I drank and danced, which is no big deal. The thing that is a big deal was getting a ride from Drake and Jaeger punching him,
an executive of Blue.
Would Drake take that out on me? In this way? Male pride makes men do stupid things. I sure as hell don’t know Drake well enough to say he wouldn’t have had me fired. He proved himself a jerk, possibly worse. Jesus.

And I can’t tell Gen any of this, because I haven’t told her about Drake and Jaeger and what happened that night. “Supposedly employees are provisional the first three months. The casino doesn’t need a reason to release me. The head of Gaming said—”

“You spoke to someone
upstairs
? They never bother with us.”

“Yeah, well, this guy did. He said I don’t fit the casino culture.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re a genius, soon-to-be Harvard Law student. Not to mention, classy and beautiful. What are they looking for? Dropouts with bedhead and poor manners?”