She smiled broadly, liking him immediately. He pulled her in close enough for her to notice his woodsy scent; maybe it was cologne, maybe it was soap. An appealing scent that was sure to send some woman to her knees. As for this woman, she only got on her knees for one man, and she was hoping that was where she’d be soon when Clay arrived. Until then, she’d happily take the company of the younger brother.
When they pulled apart, Brent tipped his forehead to the casino. “What’s your poison? Craps? Roulette? Blackjack? Or you want to play the one-armed bandits? This hotel has all the new ones, so you’ve got options,” Brent said, and began counting off on his fingers. “We’ve got a Sex and the City machine, and you need to line up three cosmos to win, or else a trio of Samantha’s massagers will do. Or you can go for Aladdin’s Quest and maybe you’ll get to rub that magic lamp and watch the coins pour out. You could also sidle up to the most mind-boggling one of all—the Dolly Parton slot machine.”
Julia arched an eyebrow. “Should I even ask what you need to line up to win?”
Brent held both his hands in front of his chest. “Melons,” he said, punctuating the word crisply.
“Somehow, I think you might be full of it.”
“Ah, see, I like you already, Julia,” Brent said, draping an arm over her shoulder and guiding her through the echoing marble-floored lobby, and into the cha-ching-clanging casino. Coins rained down for a lucky patron nearby and “9 to 5” began playing loudly. Julia laughed, pointing to the Dolly Parton machine at the end of the aisle, lit up with a trio of photos of the country music legend. “No melons,” she said. “And by the way, I’ll take blackjack for 500, Alex.”
“Blackjack it is, though Clay said you were a poker fan.”
“I am, but I played earlier and I am ready to mix it up and try my luck at twenty-one.”
“Then off to the tables we go,” he said, holding out his right arm grandly as they weaved through the evening crowds, passing a woman decked out in a little black dress, a man in a sharp suit and blue shirt, and a woman wearing flats, gray, pressed pants, and a short-sleeve white blouse, looking like a perfectly adorable second-grade teacher. The woman smiled brightly at Brent, waved at him like she hadn’t seen him in years, then threw her arms around him when she reached them.
“Hey Miss Mindy, how are you?”
“Fabulous,” she said in a high-pitched squeak. “And I got your text message earlier, and all is well.”
“Excellent. I’ll call you later for more details,” he said and she nodded a yes, then he gestured to Julia. “Mindy, this is Julia Bell. She’s practically part of the family. She’s with Clay.”
Mindy extended a hand to shake, and holy fucking smokes, she had one of the strongest grips Julia had ever felt. Brent continued the intros. “Julia, this is Mindy. She runs security here for the Allegro. I helped her get the gig.”
Mindy rolled her pretty blue eyes. “Oh, you wish. You are so full of shit, Brent Nichols. I am not going to let you win at arm wrestling the next time.”
Then she turned to Julia, who was watching the buddy-buddy rapport between the two of them and trying to get a read on it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mindy said, then wagged a finger at Julia and spoke in a faux-authoritative voice. “And don’t snap any cell-phone pictures of the slot machines or I’ll have to kick you out.”
“And she kicks like a motherfucker. She spent ten years with Special Forces before starting her own security firm.”
She waved a hand dismissively as if her reputation were no big deal, and Julia found the oxymoronic nature of this woman adorable—she was tiny and gleeful, but she sure as hell packed a punch, and now Julia knew why. A sparkle from around her neck caught Julia’s attention—a brushed silver chain with a miniature antique-styled teacup hanging on it.
Like a squirrel drawn to a shiny object, Julia reached for it without thinking. “Oh my, this is so damn cute,” she said, admiring the tiny charm.
“Thank you so much,” Mindy said, then lowered her voice to a whisper, gesturing to her white and gray attire. “I have to dress simply and blend in, but I do like to add a little accent for fun.”
“It reminds me of something I saw on my sister’s show,” Julia said, then quickly explained. “She’s a fashion blogger, and she loves vintage and retro clothes and jewelry.”
“Show?” Mindy’s voice rose with the sound of hope.
“She has a video show called The Fashion Hound.”
Mindy’s blue eyes turned into those of a cartoon character, nearly popping out of her head, boinging and bouncing on coiled springs of disbelief. “I. Love. That. Show. I follow it like it’s a religion. She’s my guilty pleasure. She did an episode recently on vintage jewelry and talked about these necklaces.”