She began softly tapping Lia’s face. “Wake up, darlin’.” Madeline looked at him briefly. “Say, Jake, don’t you think this girl looks a lot like Hannah?”
Jake turned away, pretending to be uninterested. “I can’t say I’ve noticed,” he lied, and then, changing the subject, added quickly, “I’ll get a damp towel. Maybe that will revive her.” Glad for the diversion, Jake strode across to his adjoining en suite bathroom. He stared stony faced at his reflection in the washbasin mirror as he ran a cloth under the tap. “Selfish fucker.” Did he even know himself? He’d spent three years in self-inflicted solitude, licking his wounds, trying to come to terms with Hannah’s death. He missed her now as much as the day she’d died.
When he pushed open the en suite door, Lia looked a little better. Color had begun to return to her cheeks, and her eyes fluttered as she slowly came back to consciousness. He handed Madeline the damp towel, and she gently placed it on Lia’s brow.
They’d had fainters before. Mainly grizzled, old compulsive gamblers pretending to have heart attacks just to get out of paying their debts. Most people paid up, especially when he threatened them with Nevada state law.
His secretary nodded. “She’s coming round.”
“Good. I’ll run her home.”
Madeline looked at him, raising a brow. Just like his mother had when he was young, she made him feel like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “My, you’re feeling unusually benevolent today, Jake.”
“I’ve got a heart, Madeline. I just have to dig a little deeper than most, that’s all.”
“Hmm, I was beginning to wonder.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Jake raised his hand. “No, don’t say it. Like everyone else working here, you think your boss is a cold, heartless son of a bitch.”
Madeline shook her head and giggled softly. “You never used to be so cold and aloof, Jake. When I first started working here, you were a real fun guy to be with. Everyone else will tell you the same. But since Hannah—”
“That’s enough, Madeline. I like you, but remember you’re an employee of Arabian Nights Casino, the same as everyone else.”
In the past half hour he’d had his ass well and truly kicked by two women. First by Lia Constantine. Her acerbic observation of his personality had been cutting, and so very close to the truth. Even he recognized himself. Now his secretary had joined in the feeding frenzy, too. Feeling outnumbered, he stalked back to his desk. He placed the legal documents required to claim on Fred Constantine’s estate back in the safe.
He scanned the documents one last time before securing the heavy, reinforced door. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t tear them up. There was a paper trail going all the way to her father’s bank account and back again. With insufficient funds in Fred Constantine’s account, the bank had rejected their claim. Then the news filtered through that he’d died. The shareholders would want to know what had happened. They would insist on a claim being made on his remaining estate.
He knew he’d end up taking her inheritance away. No wonder she’d laid into him. Maybe he deserved it.
Anyway, as far as he was concerned, it was all water off a duck’s back. He’d been in this situation many times before. It came with the territory. It was part and parcel of the job. Casino bosses were never going to be popular with guys who owed them a lot of money. It was business, pure and simple. No need to take offense. Only her angry words had cut deep into his psyche. What the hell do you know about grieving? I’ve only known you for half an hour, but I can already see you’re nothing more than a cold, soulless man. He knew all about grieving. He’d closed himself off for years. How could she know about the long lonely nights he’d spent in his penthouse suite? All that time wishing he had the power to turn back the clock, and bring Hannah back to life. Over the years he’d amassed a small fortune. He didn’t need to worry about money, he had enough to last him a dozen lifetimes, but even that wealth couldn’t save his beloved Hannah. She’d died, and since then, he’d died a little more with each passing day. All those wonderful plans they’d made together had been buried with her. The irrepressible life force he’d always carried with him had slowly withered and died after her sudden death. Lia Constantine had been right. All that was left was a cold, soulless man. He was nothing. Just a lonely vessel wandering the halls of his casinos. An empty man, living a barren, dead existence.
He found it unsettling that he could go for years without a thought for himself, or anybody else, for that matter. Yet it had taken one slender girl with an uncanny resemblance to his dead wife to alter that. He looked across at the young woman who’d reached him in just the matter of a few minutes. She was now sitting upright, and sipping from a glass of water. She’d invaded his comfort zone, wrecking his status quo. Jake grimaced. Yeah, he’d take her home and then get on with the rest of his fucking miserable life.
“Let me take you home,” he offered softly, when the last of the color had returned to her beautiful face.
“No it’s okay, I’d rather—”
“Please. It’s the least I can do for causing all this distress.” He knew she’d resist.
She opened her mouth as if to protest again, but Madeline cut in. “I’d accept, darlin’. He used to be so generous, but just lately he’s like a bear with a sore head.”
“You could have fooled me,” Lia readily agreed. Her green eyes held his. “Very well. I shall inconvenience you. Just like you’ve inconvenienced me.”
Madeline laughed. “That’s the spirit, darlin’. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. That’s my motto.”
Jake shook his head and walked across to his desk. He knew better than to protest. Madeline had a viper’s tongue on her. That was for sure. Another good reason for keeping her employed as his secretary. She could fend off the most determined of crazy gamblers. Just the other day, she’d stopped a high roller Arab sheik from entering his office with a badly charred steak, determined to make him eat it. Apparently, he’d wanted it well done, and a disgruntled chef had served up a burnt offering instead. Just the slightest thing could set off a highly strung gambling man. This particular guy regularly spent seven-figure amounts of money at the tables, but Madeline knew exactly how to sweet-talk him. Needless to say, the chef was sacked. As compensation the high roller was given the best suite of rooms in the casino hotel free of charge for a week. They also paid for a private jet to take him back to Dubai. All this came to hundreds of thousands of dollars. A drop in the ocean compared to what the guy lost at the tables. Jake had been so impressed with Madeline’s ability to smooth the situation, he’d given her a raise.
Jake picked up the telephone. “Frank, bring the car around. I’m on my way down.”
Chapter Five
Lia reluctantly followed Jake from his private office and stepped into the waiting elevator. Still a little unsteady on her feet, she leaned against the interior wall. She hadn’t fainted in years, but then the knowledge that she would lose her inheritance was hardly an everyday occurrence.
“I hope you’re not feeling too bad, Ms. Constantine.”
“No need for the small talk, Mr. Benetti,” she curtly advised him as the elevator doors closed. “As soon as I’m home, I can forget all about you and your seedy club.”
“Very well,” he answered, his face hardening into granite. He kept his gaze firmly from hers. If she didn’t know any better, he seemed reluctant to look at her. Well, good, the feeling was mutual.
His expensive aftershave reached her nostrils in the close confines of the elevator. It annoyed her that she actually enjoyed savoring the intoxicating scent. It seemed to surround her. Out the corner of her eye she covertly studied him. She guessed by his surname and dark looks he came from Italian stock. He was much taller than she’d originally thought. At least six three and broad, too. Jake Benetti looked like a man who took care of himself, and as a personal trainer, she should know. He wore a white, short-sleeved shirt, and had his suit jacket folded across one arm. Covered in masculine hair, his forearms showed the prominent veins of a man who indulged in hard physical exercise. His upper arm development pressed provocatively against the linen sleeves. A gold Breitling watch circled his wrist. No doubt he could afford anything he wanted.
His face remained passive and unmoved. Yet she could just glimpse the faint traces of laughter lines etched around his eyes and mouth. Perhaps he’d been happy once? According to his secretary, Madeline, he hadn’t always been the selfish prick he was now. What had caused him to become so unhappy?
When the elevator reached the ground floor and the doors parted, the noise from the casino hit her. Jake Benetti slipped on his suit jacket. “Allow me,” he said, cupping her elbow in his palm as he began guiding her from the elevator. A jolt of electricity flowed through her arm at his surprisingly gentle touch.
For the first time in her life, Leah stepped into a casino. It wasn’t the opulent, air-conditioned interior that first grabbed her attention, but the sheer noise. Hundreds of slot machines were busily working away. The sound of their infernal bleeping echoed around the large hall. People were transfixed. Their eyes glued to the spinning reels and messages that flashed before them, as the machines ravenously swallowed their hard-earned money. “Dumb idiots,” she whispered to herself.