Chapter One

 

Present Day…

 

The car service driver that Brett frequently used was looking to be a bad idea. For the third day this week he had gotten Chuck, a nice enough man in his fifties or sixties who seemed to be lonely or at the very least had a gift for gab.

For the past five minutes Chuck had been rambling on about some sort of vegetable, chicken casserole that his wife had cooked him the day before. Aside from Brett’s occasional glance and head nod to the driver every minute or so, he had shown little interest to the man’s raving review. How good could a casserole be anyway, he wondered.

Brett had only been in this town for a month and already the hustle and bustle of the Vegas Strip were getting to him. He wasn’t used to such a fast-paced lifestyle. Retirees and quiet nights where all the guests were in bed by eight o’clock were more his speed.

All his years in hospitality management hadn’t prepared him for the noise and bright lights of the city that never sleeps. Especially not a city like Las Vegas. If he was in his twenties still it might be exactly what he was looking for, but approaching his mid-thirties, Brett had long since ditched his bad boy image and behavior.

“Mr. Dare?”

“Huh?”

“I said, you ever have one of those?”

“I’m sorry, one of what?” he asked, quietly praying this man wasn’t still talking about casseroles.

“Gyros. You ever have one?”

“Oh… yeah, I’ve had them. Why?”

“That place there on the corner. They’ve got the best in town. Made by a real Greek and everything.”

“I see.” Brett nodded again, thankful that he could see they were only a block away from Elite.

As Chuck pulled up to the sidewalk he turned to face him. “Listen, I uh, got these cards made. Business cards I guess. My daughter made them for me on her ‘puter.”

Brett reached his hand out and took the white business card. “Thanks, Chuck.”

“You bet, Mr. Dare. And listen, my cell numbers on there. So, call me if ever you need a ride, okay? I’m only about five minutes west of the strip so I can be here lickity split.”

“Will do, Chuck. You have yourself a nice night.”

Brett tucked the card in his jacket pocket and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The Friday evening crowd was already winding around the corner, filled with the young men and women who were hoping to get inside to one his cousin’s club.

The doorman, Sal, recognized him and unhooked the velvet rope. “Mr. Dare. How are you doing tonight?”

“Fine, Sal. And you?”

“Fine, just fine. You here on business or pleasure tonight?”

“Hopefully both. I’m supposed to meet Gabe here tonight. Something about family business he wants to fill me in on. But, to tell you the truth I just want a glass of scotch.”

“Oooh wee. Now you’re talking.”

Sal opened the door for Brett and added, “why don’t you have one of those for me too. Something tells me it’s going to be a long night.”

“Isn’t every night in Vegas long?”

“Don’t you know it.” He replied with a chuckle.

Making his way through the crowd he saw Gabe heading his way.

“Hey cousin. You look like shit.” Brett harassed him.

“Thanks. I feel like it too.”

“You sick or something?”

“Yeah, man. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Are you kidding me? I just got here.”

“I’m sorry. Head’s pounding, just puked for the second time today, I’m gonna pass out if I don’t get out of here.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant. Does Isabelle know? Is it hers?” Brett joked.

“Funny, smartass. Look, I’m sorry. Can we do this next week?”

Brett had been about to give his cousin a ration of shit, but Gabe looked like he was ready to hurl all over him.

“Yeah, man. Get out of here. We’ll talk next week.”

“Thanks.”

The last thing that Gabe wanted to do was listen to Chuck ramble on about his wife’s cooking again but, the man seemed to be reliable, so he sent him a text to come back and pick him up. While waiting he decided to take a seat in one of the corner booths for a quick shot of his favorite medicine for a long day at work.

Scotch.

He loosened his tie as he leaned back against the soft black leather. For being thirty-three years old, he felt more like he was fifty. He’d always enjoyed his work in hotel management. These past weeks at Caesar’s Palace as head of their customer relations department had been more exhausting than he’d anticipated. Drunk casino goers were an awful lot for needy than the seventy-year-old crowd he was used to back in Arizona at the retirement resort he’d worked.

Running a hand through his hair he closed his eyes for a moment. Just then a familiar voice had him looking up at someone he thought he’d never see again.

“Hello there, Sir. Welcome to –.”

“Tracy?”

“Brett?”

Neither of them said another word. Brett stared at her in disbelief. Tracy Beaumont, the object of the only real regret he had from his teenage years was standing before him. Her dark hair pulled into a messy bun and wearing the Elite uniform, complete with shiny black heels which showed off those legs he remembered all too well.