Page 100 of Double Down

“Anything you need, ma’am. We are here to serve.”

It feels dirty, pandering to her, but if it keeps her quiet long enough for me to figure out what’s actually going on, I’ll eat the cost.

Whatever she needs is still going to be a fuckton cheaper than losing any of our licenses.

She leans in closer, the hat knocking my nose and her breath reeking of cheap whisky. “And I expect the finest wine to be sent to my room, naturally.”

“Of course. I’ll see to that right away.”

She gives me a curt nod before shooting the spa manager what I think is supposed to be an evil look and then turning on her heel.

The second she sweeps out of the lobby—hat tilting dangerously close to an urn on a console—I turn to the day manager.

“Do you really want us to send up the best wine? It’s a ten thousand dollar bottle of?—”

“Fuck, no. Decant a bottle of two buck chuck and send it up in an empty bottle of something French.”

Sally tries and fails to hide a smile as she puts in the order. She finally gives up and snorts out loud. “Serves her ass right.”

“Damn straight.”

“Mr. Masterson, we don’t offer?—”

“I know,” I interrupt Bonnie. “But that crazy bitch is fucking two men who can make my life really fucking difficult. I will be doing a complete investigation, and until I figure out what’s going on—and have proof of it—this is where we’re at.”

Bonnie’s nostrils flare. She’s been working on razor-thin budgets since my father cut product lines to make a quarterly deck look pretty. I log her frustration for later because right now, we need proof, not pride.

She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the floor, clearly pissed I didn’t stick up for her. She’s a grown-ass woman, though. She can deal with her feelings being hurt.

“What do you need?” she finally asks.

“Get me the CCTV footage from every angle in the spa and the front desk for the past seventy-two hours. Send it straight to Atticus.”

Her eyebrows rise. “You think she?—?”

“I think I want every single person who works in that spa or at this desk on the premises for interviews by the end of the day. I don’t know why she thinks we fucked up her face, but I want proof we didn’t. Then it’s Legal’s problem.” She steps away. “And Bonnie? Make sure everyone clocks in and mark it for double pay for the day. Everyone gets a full day’s worth of hours. And if any of the moms need to pay a babysitter, get the receipts and reimburse them.”

She nods and walks away confidently while I head to my father’s old office, my patience gone.I pull out my phone and send a group text to the other Titans.

I need Atticus’s full attention, and if he’s in front of his computer, I won’t get it.

Con

Office. Now. Get eyes on Phoenix. Make sure she stays upstairs. I want her locked in the penthouse with Zeus.

I take my seat behind the desk that still smells faintly of his cologne and old bourbon and sex from just a short while ago, and picture the room the way it’s going to be in five minutes.

Storm posted on the wall like a bouncer who’s got my back.

Mav on the arm of the leather sofa—lethal charm within striking distance.

Atticus at the desk because he needs his surfaces to anchor and steady him.

And me by the window. I take the high ground, the habit of a boy who learned early to count exits.

We’re all life-size chess pieces, the board set for a game. It’s an ugly one, but we’ll play anyway. There’s no other way to win.

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