2. Two

2

TWO

G etting called to my father’s office was never a good thing. Most of the time he ignored me—he had better things to do after all—and I preferred that. When he went out of his way to pay attention to me, that’s when I knew things were going to start sucking. Big time.

Ryder Stone was not a guy who ever wanted to sit across from his son and shoot the breeze.

How about those Raiders?

He doesn’t care unless he can make money off it. He prefers it when fans still have hope and bet even though most everybody knows the truth is they will lose.

How about those Golden Knights?

Here’s the truth. Having a hockey team in the desert was a stupid idea. Almost nobody cares about the Golden Knights.

Basically, what I’m getting at is that sports are not something I can converse about with my father. The only thing he wants to talk about is work … and that’s the last thing I want to talk about. Sure, I love working for the casino—who wouldn’t?—but I don’t need to spend my days talking about it. That’s where we diverge.

“I’m here to see my father,” I announced to the woman behind the desk outside my father’s office on the 35th floor.

The woman, who was new, looked to be about twenty. Seriously, could she even drink? My father’s secretaries had been getting progressively younger over the past five years. They didn’t last long either. I had my suspicions on why that was, but I kept them to myself. That seemed safer than point blank asking my father if he was cheating on my mother with his secretaries and then firing them when he got tired of them.

“And you are?” the woman asked blankly. She didn’t look all that interested in doing her job.

“Zach Stone,” I replied.

She merely blinked again.

“He’s my father,” I blurted because I didn’t know what else to say.

“Oh.” The woman pursed her cherry red lips. “Okay.” She let loose a vague gesture. “He’s that way.”

I studied her a beat—was this seriously the best my father could do?—and then headed toward my father’s office. There was no point in getting to know his new secretary. She wasn’t going to last anyway. Perhaps he’d run out of good secretaries and was now hiring on looks alone because it was easier.

I paused in the door of the open office and stared at my father. He still looked good, and not just for his age. There were shots of gray in his dark hair, but only at the temples. Women everywhere said it made him look distinguished. Since most of them were trying not to drool when they said it, I was fairly certain they meant it as a good thing.

He wore his typical Ralph Lauren suit. He had the same suit in eight colors, all a slight variation from the previous. He also had a few Armani suits, but in a rare show of personality, he said they were too small in the crotch. He winked when he said it, which was why I knew he was trying to be funny.

Ryder Stone could not pull off funny.

Dad didn’t look up. He was busy staring at something on his desk. I made a throat-clearing sound to get his attention, but he didn’t meet my gaze.

“Don’t just stand there loitering, Zachary,” he said. “Sit down.”

I held back a sigh and moved to one of the garish wingback chairs across from his desk. My father never did anything small. My sisters used to make jokes that he was overcompensating for something, and I was starting to wonder if they were right.

“You wanted to see me?” I kept my tone neutral. My father didn’t react well to jokes or nerves. He expected me to be a professional at this point in my life, and even though I felt a little jocularity could go a long way in this place, I’d given up trying to make him laugh a long time ago.

“I did.” Dad jotted something down in the ledger he was looking at and then slowly raised his chin to look at me. “You’re thirty-two.”

I waited for him to expand. When he didn’t, I nodded. “Yes. Since March. I’m a Pisces. Some people say that makes me too emotional, but I happen to think I’m just emotional enough.”

Dad didn’t crack a smile. Ah, another failed joke. Even when I say I’m not going to try, I still do. What is wrong with me?

“What does my age have to do with anything?” I prodded after a few beats of uncomfortable silence.

“You’re thirty-two,” he repeated.

“I’m not sure?—”

“Do you know what I was doing when I was thirty-two?” he asked, cutting me off with barely a flick of his eyes.

“I believe you were running this hotel and casino,” I replied. It was slowly starting to sink in where he might be going with this, and I didn’t like it.

“That’s correct. When I was thirty-two, I took over the hotel from your grandfather. Our net worth was half of what it is now.”

“Congratulations?” I was wary, uncertain where he was going with this. He was always hard to read.

The look he shot me suggested that wasn’t the response he was looking for. “What are you doing at present, Zachary?”

He never called me Zach. It was always Zachary. I swear the sound of my own name made my balls want to climb back inside my body and hide until the apocalypse was over. “I believe I’m head of casino operations.”

Dad made a face. “That’s your title. Do you oversee the casino operations?”

“I … do things.” I definitely didn’t like where this was going. I’d been promoted to my current position three years before when my uncle Dexter retired. And by “retire” I mean he moved to a tropical island with his twenty-year-old girlfriend and still got his share of dividends every month. He just decided he was no longer working.

“What do you do?” Dad leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. This felt like a trick question.

“Well, right now I’m having a conversation with the chief operating officer of the Stone Group.”

“Uh-huh.” Dad’s smile was tight. “Who runs the casino, Zachary?”

The question irked me. I knew what answer was expected, however. “You do.”

“I do,” Dad agreed. “I handle all the day-to-day operations. You occasionally wade in when there’s a dispute between the chefs or a maid decides that she was sexually harassed by one of the guests.”

“I don’t think they ‘decide’ they were sexually harassed,” I argued. “There’s a genuine sense of impropriety from some of the guests, and it’s not fair to the staff.”

“Yes, alcohol makes people turn into idiots,” Dad agreed. “Do you ever meet with the unions? Do you ever oversee conferences? Do you ever actually make plans for the future of this casino?”

He knew the answer to that. Unfortunately, so did I. “Is this you firing me?” I wasn’t nearly as worked up about the possibility as I might’ve been under different circumstances. In some ways, it would be a godsend. Not having to answer to my father on a daily basis would be awesome. Of course, I had zero marketable skills outside the family, so finding another job that would afford me a penthouse in a top casino was unlikely. Still, how bad would it be to not have the family money to fall back on? Thinking on the subject had my stomach going suddenly queasy.

The answer was bad. It would be very, very bad. “What do you want from me?” I asked finally.

“I want to retire, Zachary,” Dad replied. “I want to have an end date in sight. You were promoted three years ago because I expected you to start figuring things out. I wanted you to take a hands-on approach.”

“That’s pretty difficult when you second-guess everything I do,” I muttered under my breath, the words escaping before I could think better of it.

Dad arched an eyebrow. “That’s how it works. You wade in, you make some mistakes, I correct those mistakes, and you learn. You’re not doing any learning, though.”

I frowned. “I learn things.”

“The only thing you’ve learned is how to get up the skirt of whatever showgirl strikes your fancy this month. Don’t think I’m not aware that you’ve been through seven of the ten women on the current cabaret line.”

I shouldn’t have gone for a quip. Since I couldn’t help myself, that’s exactly what I did. “I guess that means I still have work to do.” I winked, and then instantly regretted it.

“The other three are lesbians and think you’re gross,” Dad said. “Quite frankly, this playboy stuff that you’ve embraced was expected when you were twenty-two, and mildly cute—at least according to your mother—when you were twenty-five, but it’s just sad now that you’ve passed thirty.”

I wanted to call him on the carpet regarding his assistant but didn’t dare. It was obvious I was walking a very tight, very narrow line right now. “I didn’t realize my dating habits were important to the company,” I said instead.

“Well, they are.” Dad was firm. “You are a reflection of this family. It’s time for you to settle down.”

Was he being serious right now? “What is that supposed to mean?” I was afraid to hear his answer, but I asked the question anyway.

“It means that you need to start getting serious about life,” Dad said. “That starts with the playboy persona taking a permanent dirt nap in the desert. You’re also going to start sitting in on financial meetings, and you’ll start taking an active interest with the unions and department heads.”

That sounded terminally boring … and maybe a little exciting. The truth was, I’d given up trying to be proactive with the casino’s long-term operations not long after sliding into my current position. Day-to-day operations were one thing. My father didn’t give me grief about that. Whenever I had a suggestion for the future, however, he shot me down.

“I don’t understand.” I licked my lips. “Are you saying you’re retiring?”

Dad snorted. “I can’t retire until I’m certain you’re capable of taking over. I keep thinking that you’ll grow up eventually and get serious about stuff. You don’t, though. You act like you’re twenty-two and you don’t have any responsibilities. It’s become apparent that I’m going to have to force you to be responsible.”

That sounded ominous. “I don’t … how is that going to work?”

“You’ll be provided with a schedule each week,” he replied. “You will attend each and every meeting required of you.”

That would be tedious and draining, but I could manage it. Or at least I hoped I could. He clearly wasn’t done, though.

“You’ll also start dating appropriate women,” he continued.

My stomach constricted. “And who gets to decide if they’re appropriate?”

“I think it will be fairly obvious.” Dad tapped his fingers on his desk. “No more showgirls. You need to pick a woman who you wouldn’t be embarrassed to take to a corporate party.”

I had news for him. I wouldn’t have been embarrassed to take a showgirl to a Stone Group party. In fact, I would’ve found that wildly entertaining.

“You’re the future of this company, Zachary,” Dad continued. “You’re going to be the face of it.”

“What about Ruby, Pearl, and Opal?” I demanded. “Are they getting meetings like this?”

“Your sisters, while a forward-facing part of this company, aren’t going to be the head of it.”

I didn’t say it out loud, but I’d always found his sexist leanings on the subject unfair. My sisters—especially Opal—were far more serious than me. Opal could’ve taken over the company today, and it would’ve been smooth sailing. According to my father, that simply wasn’t allowed. It had to be a boy.

Me. I was the anointed one. That had never felt like more of a burden than today. “And if I say no?” I asked finally.

“You can’t say no. If you try, you’ll be out of a penthouse, out of your salary, and out of the family.” Dad leaned forward and met my blank stare. “You have responsibilities, Zachary. It’s time you started fulfilling them.”

I WAS STILL IN SHOCK THREE HOURS LATER when I met Rex at the Vanderpump Cocktail Garden. It wasn’t one of my favorite spots—I preferred a more low-key environment—but Rex was on the hunt, and he liked the women who frequented the Vanderpump establishment. They were right up his alley, meaning vapid and far too interested in seeing a reality television star.

“He said what to you?” Rex froze with his espresso martini halfway to his lips.

“He said I have to start dating an approved woman,” I replied. That part bothered me more than the meetings for some reason. “No more showgirls. That’s exactly what he said.”

Rex glanced over at the pretty woman behind the bar. “Does that mean no more bartenders either?”

“Pretty much.” My penis was on a holiday anyway after the conversation I’d had with my father. It wanted to hide. “What do you think he means about an ‘appropriate’ woman? You don’t think he means a librarian, do you?”

Rex snorted. Then he sobered. “I don’t know, but I’ve had more than one spank fantasy about a hot woman in nerdy glasses. That might work.”

I pinned him with a death glare. We’d been best friends forever—sometimes I thought he was the only genuinely real person in my life—and I wasn’t about to cut him out or anything. I would’ve preferred a bit of sympathy, though. “He’s being serious. I have to date someone who he approves of.”

“Well … let’s think.” Rex cocked his head. “When was your last public relationship?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been a few months.”

“You haven’t had sex in months?” Rex’s eyebrows practically flew off his forehead. They were making a run for the Canadian border they moved so fast.

“What?” I shrank in the face of his horror. “I haven’t been feeling it lately.”

“Yeah, but you’re surrounded by cocktail waitresses in barely-there dresses all day. Just pick one, have a quick romp, and then move on.”

How could I explain the aimless feeling that had been flooding me for the past six months? Rex wouldn’t understand it. He lived and breathed Vegas. Me, on the other hand, I’d been struggling. I couldn’t hide from the fact that I was starting to feel the need for more.

More connection.

More laughter.

More … love? Well, that felt like a stretch.

I did want more, though. That was something that Rex wouldn’t be able to grasp. He was still thrilled with the aimless Vegas lifestyle. I didn’t judge him for it. I was simply in a different place.

“What about a fake relationship?” he volunteered out of nowhere.

I jerked my head to him. “What? I’m not paying someone to be my girlfriend.”

“Not pay,” Rex countered. “I didn’t say pay. There’s no need to turn to prostitution … although that’s a perfectly viable life choice.”

I rolled my eyes and sipped my craft beer.

“You just need someone who has goals that align with yours,” he continued.

“I’m not in the mood for a relationship.” That was true. I couldn’t put effort into a relationship when I didn’t even know what I wanted from life. “I just want to get my head around the casino stuff. The relationship stuff can wait.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Rex’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “You need a fake girlfriend, not a real one. You need somebody who isn’t going to try to trap you with her feminine wiles or something.”

“You did not just say ‘feminine wiles’.”

“I did, and I meant it.” He tapped the bar, his mind clearly working overtime. “It’s too bad you couldn’t marry Olivia for a year or so. She needs insurance because she’s self-conscious about her teeth and she just lost her job. She’s been saving up for expensive dental work, and she just got laid off, so all the money she put away is going to go for her living expenses.”

“You’re not serious,” I said on a laugh. “Squirt? There’s no way.”

“It wouldn’t be a real relationship, though,” Rex said. “She could help you get your mind around the business aspect—she’s really good with numbers—and you could use your corporate insurance to help her with her teeth.”

“What’s wrong with her teeth?” I tried to picture Olivia and see a defect but there was nothing there. Whenever I saw her, I was momentarily blown away by her beauty. Then I had to remind myself that she was Rex’s little sister—he was much more protective of her than I was when it came to my sisters—and that she was off limits.

“I’m just saying…” Rex lifted one shoulder in a shrug and sipped again. “It’s probably a bad idea.”

It was a terrible idea. “We would kill each other. She hates me.”

“Yeah, but she’s really upset about her teeth.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s wrong with her teeth. Did they start falling out or something?”

“No.” Rex exhaled heavily. “I guess when we were kids my parents had her front teeth fixed but not her back teeth. They didn’t have the money for it. It’s a cosmetic thing—I guess they’re crowded—but she’s hyper focused on it.”

“Weird. And only she knows there’s an issue?”

“Yeah. She’s weird about stuff. She’s never felt pretty or something. She admitted that to me like a year ago when we were out drinking and I was drooling over a bartender.”

That was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. “Your sister is smoking hot.”

Slowly, Rex shifted his gaze to me. “No, she’s not.”

“Um, yes, she is.”

“No way. She’s just … Livvie. She’s so not hot.”

“You can’t see it because you’re her brother. That makes her a nonentity to you. I can firmly say that your sister is hot, though.”

Rex drained the rest of his drink as he regarded me. “You never hooked up with my sister, did you?” He was more serious than I’d ever seen him.

“Of course not,” I assured him. “I was as close with your family as I was mine back in the day. Heck, I respected your parents way more than mine. That means Olivia was like a sister to me, too.”

“You did fart in her face a few times,” Rex mused. “I know she’s still bitter about it because she brought it up a few months ago. She’s holding a grudge.”

That made me smile, although I didn’t know why. Maybe because that meant she thought about me occasionally. Although, why would I care about that? “Ah, good times,” I said finally. I didn’t know what else to say.

“The best times,” Rex agreed. He tapped the bar to signify he wanted another drink. “What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea, but I need to figure it out. I don’t think my dad was joking this time.”

“Has he ever joked about anything?”

“No. Good point, though. He’s deadly serious. I need to start figuring things out.”

“Good luck with that.”

I tried to keep my misery in check. It was a futile endeavor. “Yeah. What a mess.”