Heating Up the Holidays 3-Story Bundle(13)
“Oh. Okay. So you don’t need the file?”
“Get me the plane, Ms. Miller.”
The sharpness of his tone takes me off guard. “Dana,” I say. “Get Mr. Ward a plane, please. His meeting was just canceled and he’s ready to be home. He’d like to leave within the hour.”
“Okay,” she says. “What about the computers?”
“I’ll get an update from tech support for you,” I promise, winging it, not sure what is happening but certain it’s far more than we all know.
“On it,” Dana assures me, and turns to leave.
“I’ll go check in with tech support in person,” Maggie offers, and she’s gone before I can reply.
“Ms. Miller?”
“Yes,” I say, pressing the phone fully to my ear. “I’m back.”
“Text me your personal email. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He ends the call.
I grimace at the phone. Something is off. Something is really off. I text him my email. He doesn’t reply. Until he does, I don’t even know what to do next. Nerves flutter in my stomach for no explainable reason.
Intending to find a scanner not attached to the network, I gather the file and am stuffing it into my briefcase when Terrance appears in the door, his jaw clenched, eyes hard. Those nerves I had turn into stabbing pains. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“There’s been a security breach. The casino and hotel are going on lockdown. We hope to have the public areas cleared in a few hours. Anyone considered high risk will not be released until we have the source of the breach. You’re a temp and it’s your first day. That means you, Ms. Miller.”
Ms. Miller. Not Kali. My throat tightens and I rasp out, “What does that mean—lockdown?”
“It means I’m going to give you a cushy room with free room service, where you can work until the breach is located or Mr. Ward arrives and decides differently.”
I press my hand to my stomach. “I’m a suspect?”
“Everyone’s a suspect in an incident this large. Some are simply classified as more high risk than others.”
“Do I have to agree to this?”
“You’re getting paid hourly. Why wouldn’t you agree?”
Because it’s insulting? Because it feels really bad? I grab my purse and my briefcase. “Let’s go.”
He gives me a nod and turns, expecting me to follow, and I do. We ride to the penthouse level in silence and he motions me out into the hallway, on my heels as he directs me to my left. At the door to the room, he faces me. “I need your phone, and all access outside the hotel is restricted. You can keep your computer, but Internet connections are blocked.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat. I was wrong. Vegas is not where I’m supposed to be. This is not where I’m supposed to be. I dig out my cell and hand it to him, and I hate that my hand shakes as I do. “If you need me, call the security desk. If you need food or anything else, call the front desk.”
“Yes. Okay. Thanks.”
He swipes the key to the room and holds the door for me to enter. Once I’m inside, it shuts behind me and I lean against the hard surface, staring at what is before me. I am in the glitz and glamour of luxury, complete with a grand piano, and all I see is a prison. And all I can think is, What just happened?
Part Five
Business or pleasure?
The silence is deafening. Three hours into my confinement in the luxury suite, and I have not heard from Terrance or Damion Ward, nor have my attempts to contact them through the hotel reception yielded any results. I begin to question all my reasons for coming to Vegas, not to mention the insanity of trying a new career path. There is no way the entire casino staff is locked down in rooms like this, and I can’t help but read into the silence. I’m worried; I can’t help it. I don’t even get parking tickets, and this is unnerving enough to have me pacing the room in my stocking feet, willing the phone to ring.
By the time I’ve been tormented by my scenario for a full four hours, I know I have to do what I swore I never would again. I attempt to call Texas for help, not sure if I prefer the pain of talking to my asshole father, the attorney, or my asshole ex, the attorney. I just need to find out if I can walk out of here without getting into legal trouble. Turns out that I don’t have to choose between hometown assholes: I’m forbidden any calls outside the casino even from the hotel phone they can easily monitor.
Three more hours pass and I’ve exercised my in-casino calling privileges at least half a dozen times. I’ve even threatened to leave the room, only to be quickly assured that the floor is on lockdown, including elevators and stairwells. On another call, some employee named Derek instructs me to watch a movie On Demand as a comp from the casino. Right—comp unless they call me a thief. And no movie is going to make this wait bearable. Nor will a clearance from the crime save my job. Enough people know I’m on lockdown that my reputation will be in tatters. If Natalie was telling the truth about why she was fired, I’ll probably be fired, anyway.