Las Vegas is like an oasis, springing to life in the desert in all its flashy glory.
In 1946, the mob got its foothold in the Las Vegas casino business when Bugsy Siegel and Meyer Lansky built the Flamingo. And legends were born, glamorized on film but much darker in reality.
I don't know if the mob still controls gambling here. But it wouldn't surprise me if they do.
While Gabe takes me around the strip like we're a couple of tourists, I try to pump him for information on who Max is meeting with and what their business dealings are, but I can't get anything out of him. Which only makes me more suspicious that the rumors about Max's connections with organized crime are true.
I don't know how I feel about that. When I'm with him, none of that seems to matter. He's well known in Miami as a successful businessman and a philanthropist, and I try to convince myself that's all he is. It's only when you dig a little deeper beneath the surface that the ugly rumors and innuendoes come to light.
When I'm alone, I think about the things people say quietly about him. I worry I'm in over my head, and that getting too close to Max Bennett could put my career and my reputation at risk.
I worry it could also destroy whatever connection I might be making with my grandfather before it even really gets started.
Gabe checks in periodically with Max, which is how I find out Max is still busy and won't be able to break free for dinner. And how Gabe and I end up dining at the hotel and casino buffet, which is unlike any buffet I've ever eaten at before. There are live-action cooking stations where chefs prepare delicacies from around the world.
I'm so wowed by what ends up on my plate that I stop trying to push Gabe for information, and just enjoy the experience.
After dinner, Gabe checks in again with Max and finds out he's taking a break from meetings and is headed for the high stakes poker room with his group. I hope to get a glimpse of them to see who he's with, but Gabe steers me in the other direction to the hotel elevator, and I test the code Max gave me to send us straight to the penthouse level and Max's private entrance. Gabe waits in the suite while I get changed for an evening in the casino.
I hesitate for a moment between the glittery gold dress and the more conservative little black dress I also packed, then go for the gold. It's Vegas, after all. I slip into it and then sit down at the vanity stool in the dressing area to put on a pair of black stiletto sandals with thin ankle straps.
I finish freshening up my makeup for a more dramatic evening look because, again, it's Vegas. Then I stand up and, on impulse, snap a quick selfie in the luxurious dressing room in front of the trifold mirror.
"Are you about ready?" Gabe calls from the living area.
"Yes." I walk partway out. "Do we need to be somewhere specific?"
I was just going to wander through the casino and people-watch, but maybe Gabe has some other plan, like one of the shows headlining here.
"Max just texted and wants to see you for a minute. We're meeting him by the entrance from the hotel into the casino. But he has to get back to the poker room right away."
"Oh, okay." A little thrill of pleasure shoots through me at the thought of seeing him even briefly, and I congratulate myself on choosing the gold dress even while telling myself not be such a fool over a guy. "Just let me grab my bag."
I hurry back into the dressing area and pick up the little black sequined cross-body purse I bought, switch the contents from my day bag, and finish off my more sophisticated evening hair style. I use a narrow barrette with black stones and what look like—but aren't—diamonds to sweep my hair back on the side.
"I'm ready," I tell Gabe, and the elevator whooshes us back down again.
As soon as we round the corner in the hotel lobby I see him. He stands with his back to us, watching something on the casino side. Then he turns, like he's sensed my presence.
Max's gaze moves over me and his lips twitch in a slight smile, making me doubly glad I took such care with my appearance. I stare right back at him with equally blatant admiration.
Words cannot describe Maxwell Bennett in a tux.
I walk over to him. Gabe stays back a bit to give us privacy.
"You clean up nice, Mr. Bennett," I tell him.
"You look stunning," Max says, and I probably spoil my casually elegant effect by grinning at him.
"Thank you."
"I'm sorry I haven't been able to spend as much time with you as I'd like," Max tells me, and I make a comment about how he makes up for it with quality. Now he's definitely smiling.
All I can think about is that at some point this evening, he'll have to finish his meetings, and we'll be alone.
"I don't know if I mentioned I have this thing about a handsome man in a tux." I move closer, grazing my fingers lightly over the smooth lapel.
"Is that so?" Max reaches an arm around me, resting the palm of his hand on the open back of my dress and pulling me even closer. Our bodies are almost touching now. He leans down slightly and lowers his voice.
"I have a thing for a particular woman in a dress that's just begging me to slip my hand in the front and explore what's underneath."
He takes his other hand and traces it lightly along the deep vee of my dress, running his fingers over the silky fabric much like I was just doing with his lapel. For a giddy moment, I think he might actually move his hand a little to the right, under the dress and cup my bare breast.
Instead, he steps back slightly, reaching into his pocket.
"These are for you," he says, and deposits a small stack of black chips into my hand.
My eyes widen as I look up at him.
"Is this you trying to get me to lose money so you can play out that fantasy you told me? Because I am not going to go gamble away $50,000 just so you can—" I pause, and I know I'm blushing.
Max has this wicked glint in his eye that makes little currents of electricity run through my body.
"My fantasy," he reminds me in that same low voice, "had to do with you stealing my money. I expect you to lose this. And it's only $5,000."
"Oh. Only," I say, and he laughs.
"Hadley, what's the point of coming to one of the best Vegas casinos if you don't spend a little money on entertainment? Go play one of those games of skill you said you enjoy. Or feed it all into the slot machines. I don't care."
I stare at him, incredulous. "You really want me to go lose $5,000."
"I want you to have a good time. Especially since my meeting will be moving back up the suite later, so you may have to entertain yourself for quite a while. If you run out of chips too quickly, Gabe can get some more for you on my account."
"If I go through $5,000 quickly, that's a good sign to stop gambling and find some other form of entertainment."
"Well, there's plenty of that here." Max moves closer again, and before I realize what he's doing, that amazing mouth is on mine. The kiss ends too quickly and makes me wish we were back in the room.
"Later," he says, reading my thoughts.
And then he's gone, back across the casino, disappearing into the crowd. Gabe appears next to me.
"So," I say to Gabe, "I guess it's time to gamble."
***
What I actually do is walk around the casino first to get my bearings.
When I was in college, a group of us used to play blackjack regularly for pennies, and since then I've mostly just played at those casino-night fundraising events various nonprofit organizations always seemed to be having in Philly.
Like I told Max, playing for real at the casinos in Atlantic City wasn't something I could afford to do on a public defender's salary. And I don't like risking real money.
But since Max gave me a handful of chips and expects me to use them, it doesn't seem like real money. I've read that's one of the reasons casinos use chips. People are willing to risk chips much more readily than they would actual cash.
After walking around, I settle in to watch one of the blackjack tables, and when a seat opens up, I take it. I trade in a couple chips for ones in lower denominations. This is not a high stakes table, and I'm more comfortable starting out my bets with $25 chips.
I lose the first few hands, but I know the best strategy is to play consistently. Gambling can actually be relaxing when you're in the zone, provided you maintain the attitude that the game itself is entertainment, and you can afford to lose.
After awhile, I start winning pretty steadily, and I'm amused to see that a few people have gathered around to watch me. Once I start playing more aggressively in my decisions to split or double down, my winnings start increasing faster.
I really am just playing for fun, but even when I'm playing for charity, I pick an arbitrary number going in that I'll stop at.
The only way to "win" at gambling is to know when to stop.
I hit my number and tell the dealer I want to color up. The dealer gives me higher value chips in exchange for my impressive stack of lower value ones, and I give up my chair to a waiting player.
"I'm surprised you stopped," Gabe says as we walk away. "Seems like you had a streak going."
"That's the best time to stop," I tell him, "before the streak runs cold."
If you leave before things have a chance to get bad, you never have to deal with disappointment.
Gabe offers to cash in the chips for me at the cashier's window, but I tell him I'm going to hang onto them for now. They take up even less space in my bag than the original ones did.
I tell Gabe I need to stop in the restroom, and he says he'll meet me in the bar. Now that I'm done gambling, I have to think of some other things to occupy my time—besides drinking—without straying too far away from the hotel.
I haven't caught the amazing fountain show yet that runs every thirty minutes, so that's a possibility.
I ponder this while I touch up my lip gloss at the fancy counter in the restroom. I drop the tube back into my purse where it rests on top of the casino chips. I pause. I should think of a good spot to take a selfie holding the chips in my hand, since it's unlikely I'll ever have the opportunity again. I could text it to Max with a little joke about if he needs more stakes for his game, I've got him covered.
I reach in the bag for my phone and think, oh crap. My phone isn't in my purse. I left it on the little vanity table in the suite earlier, hurrying to finish getting ready and meet Max before he went back into his poker game.
I glance at my watch, trying to remember what time we met Max at the casino entrance. And how much time I spent wandering through the casino before I settled down to play. Surely it hasn't been that long.
Max is in the high stakes poker room. I know he wants me to stay away from his meeting in the suite, but they aren't there now. Should I ask Gabe to go get my phone?
No, that's silly. And it's not like he's my employee. He works for Max.
I can run up, grab my phone, and be back at the bar to meet Gabe before he even realizes I went anywhere.
I hurry out of the rest room, giving a quick glance toward the bar. It's too crowded in the casino for me to spot Gabe. I'll just text him when I'm on my way back down so he doesn't get concerned.
I wind my way through the casino. There's no direct path, probably because they want to distract you with all the whirling and flashing slot machines and get those last few coins out of you before you go out the door.
I get to the elevator and head up to the room, breathing a sigh of relief when I find the suite empty. I head into the bedroom and walk quickly to the dressing area.
There it is, right where I left it.
I pick up my phone and turn around to go right back down—I don't even wait to text Gabe because I can do that from the elevator.
But then I hear the outer door open. And men's voices.
Oh crap crap crappity crap. This is exactly what I did not want to happen. I'm going to get caught here in the suite, exactly where Max told me not to be.
What do I do now? Should I be brazen and just walk past them? If they are headed for the conference table—and why wouldn't they be—there's no way I can walk out of here without them seeing me.
Maybe Max is being a little ridiculous keeping me away from the people he's meeting with. I mean, yes, I do think these are people involved in organized crime. Men who Max described as not good people. But I'm sparked by intrigue.
How dangerous could it be just to walk past them?
I only have two choices. Hide in the bedroom until the meeting ends—which could be hours—and Max discovers me.
Or hold my head up and walk out like I belong here. Because I do.
The best thing to do is just to go out there calmly and walk to the door as if I don't even see them. So that's what I do.
Their voices are deep in debate over some point of their deal as I come out of the bedroom. Maybe they'll be too distracted to even notice me.
I make it almost to the outer door when everything goes quiet. Uh oh.
I slow down, my eyes still fixed on the door. And then I hear Max's voice, cold and measured.
"Hadley." Just my name.
I freeze, then turn slowly.
Five men, including Max, stare at me.
A heavy-set man with a ruddy complexion and beefy jowls looks at me like he wants to kill me, and probably could. He points a thick finger at me and scowls at Max, while a gaunt man sitting next to him leans over and whispers something I don't catch.
I don't need to hear him to know I'm in deep trouble.
The first man sets his jaw and then finally speaks, voice gritty with an accent I can't place.
"That better be a high priced hooker you picked up here in Vegas, or you got married in the last 24 hours. Otherwise, you've violated our agreement by having a witness to this meeting."
"But I didn't—" I start, and Max cuts me off with a look that's even sharper than words. Dangerous. It sends a shiver down my spine.
Max turns to the man. "She's not a hooker and she's not my wife, but anything she sees or hears is confidential. Gentlemen, meet Hadley Jones." He pauses. "She's my lawyer."
There's a few beats of silence, then a furious voice says, "Why the hell did you bring a lawyer with you?"