Sure Thing(34)
There’s a brief pause while he takes that in. I hear him stop typing and imagine he’s settled back into his chair so he can focus on giving me shit.
“You British bastard. You have all the goddamned luck, don’t you? When I took Nan on a tour of the Canadian Rockies last year our guide was a fifty-year-old-man named Marvin.”
“Sorry, Rhys.” I grin even though he can’t see it. “I do have a rather lucky way with the breaks, don’t I?”
“Asshole.”
“Plus I’m older, better-looking and better at sport than you.”
“Better at sport,” he mocks. “You’re such a British wanker. Better at cricket, maybe. And you’re nowhere near as good-looking as me. Everyone knows I’m the best-looking of the cousins.”
“Everyone knows? You’ve taken a poll, have you?”
“I heard it discussed at Christmas. Uncle David’s new wife mentioned it.”
“She did not.” I snort.
“She thought it though,” he replies, undeterred. “In any case, you’re taking Nan next year too. This trip doesn’t count as a turn if you’re banging the tour guide.”
“Deal. And don’t be crass, Rhys, Daisy’s not a showgirl.”
“There’s not a showgirl in sight,” he says easily.
“Of course not.”
“And they prefer to be called entertainers.”
“There you have it. Difficult life you lead in the desert, Rhys,” I deadpan. He’s currently in Las Vegas overseeing the newest acquisition for the family business, Sutton International—the opening of a two-billion-dollar hotel and casino on the Vegas strip.
“I don’t have access to the employee files in the tour division,” he finally says. “Isn’t this the shit? Who do I need to fuck around here to get clearance?”
“Likely a relative, so you might want to reconsider that.”
“Shit. Way to ruin that fantasy, asshole.” I hear him tapping again at his keyboard before announcing that he’s sent a request to the casino’s human resources director. “She’ll either have access to all the US employment files or know who does. I’ll get the file sent over to you as soon as I have it,” he says.
“Thanks, Rhys.”
“No worries. It’s not as if we’re in the midst of hiring and training four thousand employees in time for the opening.”
“Appreciate it,” I drawl as I walk through the garden of the George Washington estate. I ditched the group once we were through the orientation area, Nan happily waving me off when I told her I had calls to make.
Rhys and I both work for the family business—the one founded by Nan’s father some sixty years past. This makes us the fourth generation of family members involved in the running of Sutton International, parent company to a hotel group, river cruise line and three brands of bus tours. Including the one I’m on right now.
We have offices on six continents and offer holidays to over two hundred destinations worldwide. Rhys is heading up the Vegas project while another cousin presides over our business in Canada. An uncle runs the river cruise division out of an office in Switzerland.
And me? I’m responsible for overseeing all of it.
“What is it you need anyway?” Rhys interrupts my thoughts. “You want her phone number? Date of birth? Home address? Because you could save all of us a lot of trouble and just ask her yourself.”
“I’m curious. I need more information.”
“That you can’t get from her.”
“That’s right.” The gravel below my feet crunches as I walk and I smile at this mini-inquisition from Rhys.
“Are you sure this girl is even interested in you?”
“She’s interested.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her. She’s quite lovely. Possibly a pathological liar, but lovely.” I look up to find the woman herself standing not ten feet away. She too is on her mobile and spots me the same time I spot her. She takes a half step back, keeping her eyes on me as she talks. I take a step to the left, avoiding a small child running full tilt through the garden, and adding an additional step between myself and Daisy.
“She sounds interesting,” Rhys says into my ear, amusement clear in his tone.
“Oh, she is,” I agree as Daisy and I continue to eye each other across the garden. Clearly neither of us is interested in the other overhearing their conversation. She turns and walks down a graveled path until we’re separated by a large planting bed filled with an ornate pattern of shrubbery, both of us continuing our conversations with the other in view. “She most certainly is that.”