Page 99 of Double Down

“I am,” I say, keeping my voice smooth. “Conrad Masterson. How may I be of service, Ms…?”

“Langford. Mrs. Karen Langford,” she sniffs.

Karen Langford. “Of course,” I say. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Your spa is the problem!” she says, jabbing a manicured finger toward me. “It ruined my face. I have an event in two weeks, and look at me! Look!”

She whips off the sunglasses. Her forehead is frozen in a state of permanent surprise, but it’s not uneven. There’s nothing obviously wrong with her. Except I recognize her. She’s the same Karen Mav had to deal with a few nights ago.

The spa manager jumps in. “Ma’am, as I’ve already explained, we don’t offer Botox here. We offer facials, peels?—”

“Don’t you dare gaslight me!” she screeches. “I have the receipts. Do you know who I am?

The phones lift higher. A couple near the ficus leans in, the kind who will tag us before the elevator doors close. I angle my body to give cameras nothing but my profile and a smile.

I know exactly who she is. After Mav’s little encounter, we had a dossier made.

She’s Mrs. Langford, the wife of a powerful senator and—if my memory is right—the mistress of a man who sits on the state gaming board. She could cause problems on so many fronts for us. Thegaming boardespecially are two words that can makean inanimate license get a little twitchy. This isn’t a guest service moment. It’s a live charge on a wet floor.

Just like that, I can see the headlines.

Casino Under Fire for Disfiguring Politician’s Wife.

Botched Botox Scandal at Luxury Resorts.

Death and Disfigurement in Savannah

The last thing I need is another scandal. Not with the overdoses, the drug rumors, the cops sniffing around, and now the motherfucking mafia at my goddamn door. Not to mention the Ghost in our cameras—Atticus’s word, but it fits. Every mess in the last week comes with mysteriously missing footage and our fingerprints stamped all over it.

I am going to defuse this situation, and then I am going to do whatever it fucking takes to get this shit back under control. I don’t give a shit who I have to bribe, maim, or murder. The next time I am balls deep in my girl, the relief is going to last longer than fifteen goddamn minutes.

I put on my best, most charming smile, the one that can hide all manner of sin under southern hospitality. It’s dripping with a charm sweeter than honeysuckle and bourbon. Hospitality, after all, is nine-tenths theater.

Sally Dupree used to make me rehearse in her back office, especially when I was acting like an asshole. It was all about posture, pitch, breath—control them. Make them do what you want them to do.

“People don’t pay for rooms,” she’d say. “They pay to feel safe, and they pay to feel important.”

Today, safety and significance is going to cost Titan-Wynn a few comped nights and a velvet rope around a tantrum.

I lean in a bit and place my hand on Mrs. Langford’s shoulder, giving her a friendly little squeeze.

“Ma’am, I’m very sorry for your experience. Whether or not it happened here, you’re our valued guest. Please accept my deepest apologies that you were not treated as such. Let me personally rectify that immediately.”

“Damn right I am,” she says with her chin in the air.

“So here’s what I’m going to do. We’re going to comp your current stay. In fact, extend it as long as you like, also on us. Full spa package, meals, whatever you need while I personally investigate your claim.”

Her chin lifts. “That’s more like it.”

From the side of my eye, I see phones lower. A couple peels off toward the elevators, one of them shrugging. The current resumes its slow, expensive flow.

I think Mrs. Langford is satisfied for the moment. It’s hard to tell with her face frozen.

She lists off a few demands, ticking each one off on her fingers and eyeing me shrewdly the entire time as if to see when I’ll give. Housekeeping twice a day, a private cabana, and coffee service at her door at exactly eight a.m.

Ms. Dupree is already keying in the requests on her tablet, color-coding in that way she taught our whole front-of-house:green fordo this to retain your sanity,red forwatch your ass.

I hold my smile.