ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS Page 3

  Trina laughed. “Okay, I get your point.”

  “All right,” he murmured again. “I got your all right. Open your legs.”

  Trina would have normally hesitated, asked why, something, but not with Reno. She opened her legs.

  When he began to gently wide her clean, stroking her womanhood with the expertise of a man who definitely knew his way around, she felt so all over the place she didn’t know what she really felt. She wanted him sexually, that was already a fact. But she didn’t know if she could deal with a man like him emotionally. He was a funny guy, and she loved the way he could so easily make her laugh, but he was a tough guy, too, the kind of quick-tempered man who would repeatedly slam down the head a kid anybody could see was just being silly and juvenile.

  But when his eyes stayed locked onto hers, and his movements between her legs became less about cleaning her up and more about sexing her up, she knew all bets were off.

  He stopped stroking her, put away the cloth, and stood to his feet, his eyes never leaving hers. He slung his shirt over his head, in a swift takeoff, rendering him completely naked now. And when he lay on top of her, and Trina could smell his sweet cologne scent once again, she was through dealing. He kissed her as he entered her, kissed her as he gyrated her slowly, wonderfully, kissed her as his movements increased, and increased still, as he began to pound her. She loved the roughness of him, the way he made her feel as if she was urgent business for him and he had to get on with it, the way he made her want more and more because he knew how to penetrate deeply, and keep the feeling strong.

  And when they both came, her entire body arching up into his, he kissed her yet again. And then, after several minutes of pure exhaustion where neither could do anything, he rolled onto his back, putting her, once again, on top.

  He held her, and stroked her hair, her back, her buttocks for the longest. He looked down at her, as her head lay on his chest, as she slept the sleep of someone completely satisfied and safe. And that was how Reno felt with her. Safe. Protected. As if all of his problems, with running his business empire, with his father, were just a mirage. They weren’t, they were as real as this vibrant woman he now held in his arms, but that was how he felt. And he loved the feeling. He didn’t want it to end.

  But as the hours ticked on, and four turned into five turned into six, he knew it had to end. He couldn’t invite a sweet creature like this into a world like his, into a world where all that mattered was how to do it to them before they did it to you. He could try to isolate her, of course, try to inoculate her from many areas of his lifestyle, but for how long could he keep up that charade? He didn’t know. But he knew this had to end. He knew that if he didn’t leave now, he may not be able to leave later.

  He left. He removed her from on top of him, pulled the covers over her sweet body, put on his own clothes, and left.

  +++

  A week later and she was entering the magnificent lobby of the PaLargio Hotel and Casino, and just like that she lost all nerve. She must have been out of her mind applying to work in a place like this. It was so grand, from its marbled staircases that went on and on and on, to its massive chandeliers and ornate columns inside and out, that Trina could hardly believe the beauty. Everything was marbled, glass, granite, intricate brick, and with the kind of paintings on the walls found more in museums than businesses. And she had the nerve to want to manage a club in a place like this? But she was here now, wearing the best little black dress she had in her closet, there was no turning back.

  “May I help you?” the gentleman behind the long, marbled counter asked her, and she explained her purpose. She was then escorted, by another gentleman, through a series of back halls and corridors, all immaculately appointed, until she was at the door that said OFFICE OF THE GENERAL MANAGER. Then the gentleman left. Didn’t tell her anything more. Just left.

  “May I help you?” the secretary asked as she entered the door and walked up to the desk. The secretary, whose nameplate read Irene, seemed loaded with contempt at just the appearance of Trina.

  Trina however, ignored the look and maintained her smile. “I have an interview with Mr. Logan,” she said.

  “An interview with Mr. Logan? Are you sure? Housekeeping interviews are on the second floor.”

  Trina could have jumped defensive, could have even considered slapping the woman, but she kept on smiling. “No, I’m sure. My appointment is with Mr. Amos Logan. For a job in management.”

  “Management,” Irene said as if she couldn’t believe it, as if she wanted to add you? “Have a seat,” she added, instead.

  And it went downhill from there. Amos Logan, the general manager, the man who would be her boss, was a little more subtle with his contempt. But it was there.

  They sat in his office, an office as big as her apartment, with her seated in front of the desk and him seated behind it, reviewing her resume. He was a small, neat, thin man immaculately dressed in a suit and cravat. His eyes were a bright green and his neatly trimmed mustache was beginning to show signs of gray. He seemed the epitome of stuffiness and daintiness. But there was also a kindness in his eyes, a gentleness about his demeanor, that Trina liked. Although his manners were atrocious.

  After a few moments of reading through her resume, he put it down and leaned back in his chair. Stared at Trina for a few more moments without saying a word. Trina wasn’t about to speak, either, so the silence became almost lifelike.

  “As I would imagine you know,” he said, “we have openings for our three newest clubs, the Red Room, the Blue Room, and the Taffeta Lounge. The Taffeta is off the table from the get-go. You are not qualified to manage that club. The Red and Blue are possibilities, however remote given your ah . . . I guess you can call them qualifications.” He said this with a flick of her resume.

  “Why’s the Taffeta off the table?” Trina wanted to know.

  Amos smiled. “Let’s just take my word for it, shall we?” Then he stood up. “Let’s go.”

  Trina stood too. “Go where, sir?”

  “To meet the boss. My boss. Your ultimate boss if you get hired. You’re going to meet the owner.”

  Trina swallowed hard. “The owner of the PaLargio?”

  “No, the owner of Caesar’s Palace. Of course the owner of the PaLargio. He makes the final decision on all management-level staff. He meets all short-listers.”

  “This means I’m on the short list?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s great,” Trina said, unable to suppress a smile. “Is it because of my five years of club management experience?”

  “Do you want the politically correct answer, or the truth?”

  Trina hesitated. “The truth.”

  “You’re black and you’re a woman in a field of candidates that boast too few of both. So yes, Miss Hathaway, you’re definitely on the short list.”

  Trina’s smile left. So that was the deal. If they hired her, she would be the token. Not based on her qualifications, but based on her color and gender. The token minority or token woman, either or both. It felt like a slap in the face. But she followed him anyway, determined to see this through. And if they decided to give her one of those manager slots, she was going to take it without hesitation, and work her butt off. And her hard work alone would show those good old boys just who was the real token.

  They took the glass elevator to the thirtieth floor. They walked across the shiny marbled tile and entered what appeared to be a suite filled with ten desks, ten assistants working at those desks, and the main office in the far back of the suite. They walked over to the main desk, which sat in the middle of the suite. Behind the desk was Caylee Carson, a gorgeous blonde with massive boobs.

  “Hello, Amos,” Callie said with a grand smile.

  “Hello, Cay. Is he in?”

  “He’s in. What you got here?” She looked past Amos, to Trina.

  “A short-lister for management. Can I go in?”

  “Sure,” she said, her eyes never leaving Tri
na.

  Amos headed toward the back of the suite, with Trina quickly following. When they arrived at the door, he hesitated and looked at her. “Just go with the flow,” he advised. “He likes to ask questions, that’s his style, but everybody who knows Mr. Gabrini knows that--”

  “Did you. . ,” Trina interrupted. There couldn’t be two people in Vegas with a name like that. Could there? “Did you say Mr. Gabrini?”

  “Yes,” Amos said, staring at her. “Dominic Gabrini, although his friends and those of us on my level calls him Reno. Why, you know him?” Amos said this with a smile and an arrogant look on his face, as if he already knew that wasn’t possible.

  Trina’s heart was hammering. She couldn’t be this unlucky to have slept with the one man who had the last word on her getting her dream job, she just couldn’t be. Of all the jokers in Vegas, she couldn’t be this unlucky! “No,” she said, attempting to maintain her composure, “I just wanted to make sure I heard you correctly.”

  “He asks lots of questions,” Amos went on. “Don’t go all over America with details. Just keep it simple and you’ll be all right. He doesn’t like know-it-alls.”

  Trina nodded as he knocked, her heart in her shoe, and then they entered.

  FOUR

  It was like entering a parallel universe. The office was buzzing with activity, with so many people in there, some at the conference table working, some seated on the leather couch, piles of papers stretched out on the cocktail table in front of them, and yet another group standing in front of the massive desk, apparently waiting for Reno to get off of his cell phone.

  Reno was standing at the floor to ceiling window that overlooked the elegant waterfalls in front of the PaLargio. He was on his cell, walking back and forth, and seemed to Trina to be big-time stressed. He was constantly moving, and she therefore couldn’t see his eyes, but she was willing to bet they were expressive.

  It wasn’t until the desk phone began to ring did Reno turn away from the window. “Who’s gonna handle it then,” he was asking into the phone. “You?” Then he looked toward his desk. “Get that, Joey,” he said to one of the young men standing in front of his desk.

  Joey quickly answered the phone.

  “I ain’t gonna handle it, you gonna handle it?” Reno continued saying into his cell. “This is a mess of your making, pal, not mine. Yeah, I want you to find out. Do I want you to find out? Of course I want you to find out. What you think this conversation is about?”

  Joey placed his hand over the receiver. “It’s Vinnie,” he said to Reno. Reno shook his head.

  “He’ll have to call you back, Vin,” Joey said into the desk phone. “I know that, but I can’t make him.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya’,” Reno said into his phone. “I hear ya’ loud and clear. My hearing you ain’t the problem here. Your hearing me is the problem here. I got a club full of crap furniture that I want out of there now and I’m not talking about tomorrow. Who’s gonna handle it? That’s what I need to hear. I need to hear who’s gonna get that crap furniture out of my beautiful, spanking brand new club so that opening day will be stress free. And I mean stress free, Marky. Well you need to get on it, you need to find out who’s gonna handle this and call me back.” He slammed shut his cell. “That guy,” he said disgustedly, shaking his head.

  Around the same time, Joey hung up the desk phone. “You need to talk to Vinnie,” Joey said.

  “I’m not thinking about Vinnie.”

  “You need to talk to Vinnie.”

  “I’m not thinking about Vinnie.”

  “You need to talk to Vinnie.”

  Reno frowned. “What, are you deaf? I’m not thinking about Vinnie, not right now. I have . . .”

  As soon as Reno looked up, beyond the immediate world of his desk and those around it, he froze. Even blinked. Was that her, he wondered. Was that the one woman who had haunted his dreams ever since that night they spent together? That had been a week ago, and he made it his business to avoid her, to keep her safely away from his maddening world, but she was here? In his office? In his hotel?

  Amos cleared his throat. Trina tried not to expose her own staggering shock. “Excuse us, Reno,” Amos said, “but she’s a short-lister for one of the manager’s positions. But if you’re too busy--”

  “No, not at all.” Reno walked from around his desk and moved over to Logan and Trina. He extended his hand, his eyes fixed on her. “Hello there,” he said.

  Why he had to extend his hand. Trina didn’t want to shake his hand, she wanted to disappear. Especially when he never called, never even came around to Boyzie’s again. Now he could be her boss, the owner of the PaLargio of all places?

  “Hello,” she said, shaking that hand, fighting with all she had to keep herself together.

  “Her name’s Katrina Hathaway,” Amos said.

  “Katrina Hathaway,” Reno said. “So you’re one of the hot shots that hope to manage one of my clubs?”

  “Yes.” Logan elbowed her. “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  Reno nodded. “Outstanding,” he said, although his face said just the opposite. “All right, clear the room.” He looked around, yelled: “Everybody out! I’ve got business.”

  This surprised Amos. Since when did he clear the room just to speak with a short-lister? There were times when Reno wouldn’t even stop walking, but asked questions of the applicant on the elevator, or walking down the stairs. Now he was clearing the room?

  But that was exactly what he had done. Cleared everybody out. And then he asked Amos to leave, too. “I wanna have a heart-to-heart with Miss Hathaway. See what she’s made of. I’ll send her back down when I’m done.”

  “Yes, sir,” Amos said and left, the look of confusion on his face priceless to Reno. He even laughed.

  “Amos is going, what’s up with this?” Reno joked. Then he turned serious, as Trina already was. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing toward his now-empty sofa.

  Trina sat down, and he sat down beside her. Her dress was short, and those legs he knew so well were showing magnificently. “You want something to drink, something to eat?”

  “No, I’m fine thank-you,” Trina said. Just awkward as hell, she wanted to add.

  “Okay, I don’t get it. You’re a waitress at Boyzie’s, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you figure you got the balls to go from waitress at a strip joint to manager at the PaLargio?”

  His bluntness surprised her. “I don’t think of it that way.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “What way you think of it then?” He looked down at her legs as he crossed his own and unbuttoned his suit coat.

  “I’m not just a waitress. I mean, I haven’t always been. I was a club manager for five years.”

  This surprised Reno. “Oh, yeah? Where?”

  Trina hesitated. “Dale.”

  Reno knew he heard incorrectly. “Dale? As in Dale, Mississippi? As in your hometown?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re f-ing kidding me, right?”

  Trina didn’t know how to take his harshness. He seemed like an entirely different person. “Look, I didn’t call myself to this interview, Mr. Logan did. So he’s the one who’s apparently kidding you. But if it’s that unbelievable to you, I can certainly leave.” She, in fact, stood to go, but Reno took her by the arm and gently pulled her back down.

  “Come on, don’t be like that.”

  “I don’t understand why you have to be so harsh to me.”

  “This is business, it don’t have nothing to do with you. I don’t play when it comes to my business, I don’t care if you was my grandmother sitting over there.” Then he stared into her eyes. And for the first time since she entered his office, his look softened and he looked like the Reno she remembered. “How you been?” he asked her.

  She tried to settle herself back down, to keep her wounded pride from getting the best of her. “I’ve been great,”
she said, and she wasn’t lying, either. She had hoped he would have phoned her after that night, or at least came by Boyzie’s to see her again, but she had no illusions about it. She didn’t lose any sleep worrying about it. Besides, she had yet to meet a man who didn’t disappoint her in the end. Why would this one be any different?

  “You’re still looking good, that’s for sure,” Reno said, looking down the length of her, remembering how wonderful it felt to be inside of her, now tight she was. “I meant to give you a call.”