ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS (4 page)

juvenile.

But when his eyes stayed locked onto

hers, and his movements between her legs

became less about cleaning her up and more

about sexing her up, she knew al bets were off.

He stopped stroking her, put away the

cloth, and stood to his feet, his eyes never

leaving hers. He slung his shirt over his head, in

a swift takeoff, rendering him completely naked

now. And when he lay on top of her, and Trina

could smel his sweet cologne scent once

again, she was through dealing. He kissed her

as he entered her, kissed her as he gyrated her

slowly,

wonderful y,

kissed

her

as

his

movements increased, and increased stil , as

he began to pound her. She loved the

roughness of him, the way he made her feel as

if she was urgent business for him and he had

to get on with it, the way he made her want more

and more because he knew how to penetrate

deeply, and keep the feeling strong.

And when they both came, her entire

body arching up into his, he kissed her yet

again. And then, after several minutes of pure

exhaustion where neither could do anything, he

rol ed onto his back, putting her, once again, on

top.

He held her, and stroked her hair, her

back, her buttocks for the longest. He looked

down at her, as her head lay on his chest, as

she slept the sleep of someone completely

satisfied and safe. And that was how Reno felt

with her. Safe. Protected. As if al of his

problems, with running his business empire,

with his father, were just a mirage. They

weren’t, they were as real as this vibrant woman

he now held in his arms, but that was how he

felt. And he loved the feeling. He didn’t want it

to end.

But as the hours ticked on, and four

turned into five turned into six, he knew it had to

end. He couldn’t invite a sweet creature like this

into a world like his, into a world where al that

mattered was how to do it to them before they

did it to you. He could try to isolate her, of

course, try to inoculate her from many areas of

his lifestyle, but for how long could he keep up

that charade? He didn’t know. But he knew this

had to end. He knew that if he didn’t leave now,

he may not be able to leave later.

He left. He removed her from on top of

him, pul ed the covers over her sweet body, put

on his own clothes, and left.

+++

A week later and she was entering the

magnificent lobby of the PaLargio Hotel and

Casino, and just like that she lost al nerve. She

must have been out of her mind applying to

work in a place like this. It was so grand, from

its marbled staircases that went on and on and

on, to its massive chandeliers and ornate

columns inside and out, that Trina could hardly

believe the beauty. Everything was marbled,

believe the beauty. Everything was marbled,

glass, granite, intricate brick, and with the kind

of paintings on the wal s found more in

museums than businesses. And she had the

nerve to want to manage a club in a place like

this? But she was here now, wearing the best

little black dress she had in her closet, there

was no turning back.

“May I help you?” the gentleman behind

the long, marbled counter asked her, and she

explained her purpose. She was then escorted,

by another gentleman, through a series of back

hal s and corridors, al immaculately appointed,

until she was at the door that said OFFICE OF

THE GENERAL MANAGER. Then the

gentleman left. Didn’t tel her anything more.

Just left.

“May I help you?” the secretary asked as

she entered the door and walked up to the

desk. The secretary, whose nameplate read

Irene, seemed loaded with contempt at just the

appearance of Trina.

Trina however, ignored the look and

maintained her smile. “I have an interview with

Mr. Logan,” she said.

“An interview with Mr. Logan? Are you

sure? Housekeeping interviews are on the

second floor.”

Trina could have jumped defensive,

could have even considered slapping the

woman, but she kept on smiling. “No, I’m sure.

My appointment is with Mr. Amos Logan. For a

job in management.”

“
Management
,” Irene said as if she

couldn’t believe it, as if she wanted to add
you
?

“Have a seat,” she added, instead.

And it went downhil from there. Amos

Logan, the general manager, the man who

would be her boss, was a little more subtle with

his contempt. But it was there.

They sat in his office, an office as big as

her apartment, with her seated in front of the

desk and him seated behind it, reviewing her

resume. He was a smal , neat, thin man

immaculately dressed in a suit and cravat. His

eyes were a bright green and his neatly trimmed

mustache was beginning to show signs of gray.

He seemed the epitome of stuffiness and

daintiness. But there was also a kindness in his

eyes, a gentleness about his demeanor, that

Trina

liked. Although his manners were

atrocious.

After a few moments of reading through

her resume, he put it down and leaned back in

his chair. Stared at Trina for a few more

moments without saying a word. Trina wasn’t

about to speak, either, so the silence became

almost lifelike.

“As I would imagine you know,” he said,

“we have openings for our three newest clubs,

the Red Room, the Blue Room, and the Taffeta

Lounge. The Taffeta is off the table from the

get-go. You are not qualified to manage that

club. The Red and Blue are possibilities,

however remote given your ah . . . I guess you

can cal them qualifications.” He said this with a

flick of her resume.

“Why’s the Taffeta off the table?” Trina

wanted to know.

Amos smiled. “Let’s just take my word

for it, shal we?” Then he stood up. “Let’s go.”

Trina stood too. “Go where, sir?”

“To meet the boss. My boss. Your

ultimate boss if you get hired. You’re going to

meet the owner.”

Trina swal owed hard. “The owner of

the PaLargio?”

“No, the owner of Caesar’s Palace. Of

course the owner of the PaLargio. He makes

the final decision on al management-level staff.

He meets al short-listers.”

“This means I’m on the short list?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great,” Trina said, unable to

suppress a smile. “Is it because of my five

years of club management experience?”

“Do you want the political y correct

answer, or the truth?”

Trina hesitated. “The truth.”

“You’re black and you’re a woman in a

field of candidates that boast too few of both.

So yes, Miss Hathaway, you’re definitely on the

short list.”

Trina’s smile left. So that was the deal.

If they hired her, she would be the token. Not

based on her qualifications, but based on her

based on her qualifications, but based on her

color and gender. The token minority or token

woman, either or both. It felt like a slap in the

face. But she fol owed him anyway, determined

to see this through. And if they decided to give

her one of those manager slots, she was going

to take it without hesitation, and work her butt

off. And her hard work alone would show those

good old boys just who was the real token.

They took the glass elevator to the

thirtieth floor. They walked across the shiny

marbled tile and entered what appeared to be a

suite fil ed with ten desks, ten assistants

working at those desks, and the main office in

the far back of the suite. They walked over to

the main desk, which sat in the middle of the

suite. Behind the desk was Caylee Carson, a

gorgeous blonde with massive boobs.

“Hel o, Amos,” Cal ie said with a grand

smile.

“Hel o, Cay. Is he in?”

“He’s in. What you got here?” She

looked past Amos, to Trina.

“A short-lister for management. Can I

go in?”

“Sure,” she said, her eyes never leaving

Trina.

Amos headed toward the back of the

suite, with Trina quickly fol owing. When they

arrived at the door, he hesitated and looked at

her. “Just go with the flow,” he advised. “He

likes to ask questions, that’s his style, but

everybody who knows Mr. Gabrini knows that--”

“Did you. . ,” Trina interrupted. There

couldn’t be two people in Vegas with a name

like that. Could there? “Did you say Mr.

Gabrini
?”

“Yes,” Amos said, staring at her.

“Dominic Gabrini, although his friends and

those of us on my level cal s him Reno. Why,

you know him?” Amos said this with a smile and

an arrogant look on his face, as if he already

knew that wasn’t possible.

Trina’s heart was hammering. She

couldn’t be this unlucky to have slept with the

one man who had the last word on her getting

her dream job, she just couldn’t be. Of al the

jokers in Vegas, she couldn’t be this unlucky!

“No,” she said, attempting to maintain her

composure, “I just wanted to make sure I heard

you correctly.”

“He asks lots of questions,” Amos went

on. “Don’t go al over America with details. Just

keep it simple and you’l be al right. He doesn’t

like know-it-al s.”

Trina nodded as he knocked, her heart

in her shoe, and then they entered.

It was like entering a paral el universe. The

office was buzzing with activity, with so many

people in there, some at the conference table

working, some seated on the leather couch,

piles of papers stretched out on the cocktail

table in front of them, and yet another group

standing in front of the massive desk,

apparently waiting for Reno to get off of his cel

phone.

Reno was standing at the floor to ceiling

window that overlooked the elegant waterfal s in

front of the PaLargio. He was on his cel ,

walking back and forth, and seemed to Trina to

be big-time stressed. He was constantly

moving, and she therefore couldn’t see his

eyes, but she was wil ing to bet they were

expressive.

It wasn’t until the desk phone began to

ring did Reno turn away from the window.

“Who’s gonna handle it then,” he was asking

into the phone. “You?” Then he looked toward

his desk. “Get that, Joey,” he said to one of the

young men standing in front of his desk.

Joey quickly answered the phone.

“I ain’t gonna handle it, you gonna

handle it?” Reno continued saying into his cel .

“This is a mess of your making, pal, not mine.

Yeah, I want you to find out. Do I want you to

find out? Of course I want you to find out. What

you think this conversation is about?”

Joey placed his hand over the receiver.

“It’s Vinnie,” he said to Reno. Reno shook his

head.

“He’l have to cal you back, Vin,” Joey

said into the desk phone. “I know that, but I

can’t make him.”

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” Reno said into his

phone. “I hear ya’ loud and clear. My hearing

you ain’t the problem here. Your hearing me is

the problem here. I got a club ful of crap

furniture that I want out of there now and I’m not

talking about tomorrow. Who’s gonna handle

it? That’s what I need to hear. I need to hear

who’s gonna get that crap furniture out of my

beautiful, spanking brand new club so that

beautiful, spanking brand new club so that

opening day wil be stress free. And I mean

stress free, Marky. Wel you need to get on it,

you need to find out who’s gonna handle this

and cal me back.” He slammed shut his cel .

“That guy,” he said disgustedly, shaking his

head.

Around the same time, Joey hung up the

desk phone. “You need to talk to Vinnie,” Joey

said.

“I’m not thinking about Vinnie.”

“You need to talk to Vinnie.”

“I’m not thinking about Vinnie.”

“You need to talk to Vinnie.”