Chapter 7 Tashi
Tashi
Three days after the fire—nearly a week into my time in Vegas—I still couldn’t walk past a microwave without my pulse spiking.
But I could work. And that was what I needed.
My Heroes campaign did more than go viral—it shifted the conversation about Olympus Royale. Booking inquiries flooded in. Media outlets wanted interviews. Other hotels were studying our approach to crisis management like we’d invented a new playbook, which gave me a new problem.
I needed to prove I wasn’t a one-hit wonder.
I was deep in Q3 marketing projections when someone knocked on my office door. Not the polite tap of housekeeping. A confident rhythm that somehow sounded expensive.
“Come in,” I called, not looking up from my laptop.
“Leo says you’re good at this job.”
I glanced up. Orion stood in my doorway wearing a navy suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had that intensity I’d noticed in the hospital. The kind that made me feel seen and examined at the same time.
“Leo’s biased,” I said.
“He’s enthusiastic. There’s a difference.” Orion entered, closing the door behind him. “I prefer to form my opinions independently.”
“Should I be worried?”
“That depends.” He moved closer, and I caught his cologne—something expensive and understated that made me want to lean in. “How good are you actually?”
The challenge in his voice made something in my chest tighten. This wasn’t the tender man who’d held my hand in the ambulance. This man was the CEO who’d built an empire, and he was testing me.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“Facility tour. You can show me what we’re missing.” He glanced at his watch. “We start in ten minutes. Bring your phone for notes.”
He left before I could respond, and I sat there for a moment processing the challenge.
Then I grabbed my phone and followed.
The casino floor at ten a.m. was a different animal than the chaos at night. It was quieter, but the players were more intense. They were definitely not tourists.
“Tell me what you see,” Orion said as we walked through the slot machine rows.
I took my time, letting my eyes adjust to the sensory assault of lights and sounds. Then I started noticing patterns.
“Your traffic flow is off,” I said, pointing toward the main entrance. “See how people naturally veer right when they come in? But your highest-payout machines are on the left. You’re fighting human psychology.”
Orion’s eyebrow rose slightly. “Continue.”
“And your surveillance cameras.” I gestured upward without looking directly at them. “There’s a dead zone between sections C and D. Someone who knows what they’re doing could exploit that.”
“Ares will want to hear that.” Orion made a note on his phone. “What else?”
We moved through the casino, and I cataloged everything.
The lack of clear restroom signage frustrated people and they left.
The brand-new slot machines confused older guests.
The cocktail waitress station had been placed too far from high-traffic areas, leading to slower drink service and disgruntled gamblers.
“You’re hemorrhaging money in small ways,” I said as we reached the poker room. “Death by a thousand cuts. None of these small losses are fatal individually, but when combined, they add up significantly. You’re leaving revenue on the table.”
Orion’s expression had shifted from skeptical to impressed. “Leo was right. You are excellent.”
“It’s my job,” I corrected.
His laugh surprised me. Genuine and warm, completely at odds with his controlled exterior. “Noted. Let’s check the restaurants.”
Mt. Olympus Grill was stunning—all marble and gold accents, designed to evoke ancient Greece without being tacky. The lunch crowd was thin, which I noted immediately.
“Allergy accommodations?” I asked the hostess.
She blinked. “We can modify most dishes?”
“Can you guarantee no cross-contamination?”
“Um. I’d have to ask the chef?”
I looked at Orion. “You’re losing customers. People with serious allergies—like me—won’t risk eating here if your staff seems uncertain. That’s money walking out the door because you haven’t trained properly.”
“That’s an easy fix,” Orion said, making another note.
“It’s also a liability issue. One anaphylactic incident and you’re facing a lawsuit that makes the fire look like a candle.”
We moved into the kitchen, and I spotted more problems. The prep stations were disorganized. The staff looked exhausted. A manager barked orders like a drill sergeant.
“Employee turnover?” I asked quietly.
“Higher than I’d like,” Orion admitted.
“I can see why. Your kitchen culture is toxic. Stressed employees make mistakes. Mistakes cost money and reputation.” I watched a line cook flinch as the manager yelled. “You need to address that.”
“Adding it to the list.”
We continued the tour—conference facilities, spa, pool deck, high-roller suites. In each area, I found something. Small inefficiencies, missed opportunities, vulnerabilities that could become problems.
By the time we reached the security center, Orion was looking at me like I’d just performed magic. “How do you see all this?” he asked.
“I pay attention. Most people don’t.” I shrugged. “Also, I’ve spent three days studying your operations obsessively because I nearly died here and want to understand why.”
“Fair point.”
The security center was impressive—wall-to-wall monitors showing every angle of the hotel, sophisticated software tracking movement and patterns, with access logs streaming in real time.
Ares would love this. Probably spent half his life here.
“Our surveillance system is state-of-the-art,” Orion said, moving close enough that I could feel his body heat. “Every entrance, every corridor, and every high-value area is covered.”
He reached past me to point at a monitor, his arm brushing mine. “These cameras have facial recognition, license plate readers in the garage, and thermal imaging for mechanical rooms.”
“Thermal imaging?”
“Fire prevention. After what happened to you, we upgraded.” His voice dropped. “I wasn’t going to let that happen again.”
The intensity in his tone made my breath catch. We were standing too close. Professional distance had evaporated somewhere between the poker room and here.
“Orion—”
“Mr. Kolykos.”
We both turned. A man in his fifties stood in the doorway, wearing an expensive suit and official-looking credentials clipped to his jacket. Everything about him screamed authority and bureaucracy.
“Mr. Wilder,” Orion said, his voice cooling instantly. “This is unexpected.”
My head jerked up and I stared straight into the calculating eyes of Daniel’s father.
Why hadn’t I put Vegas and Kurt Wilder together?
I knew in the back of my brain that he was in Nevada and was associated with casinos.
In New York, there’d been no reason to worry about him.
But now, I could see trouble standing before me.
“Routine inspection.” Wilder’s eyes moved to me, and something shifted in his expression. Recognition mixed with calculation. “Ms. George. Daniel told me you’d landed on your feet. He didn’t mention where.”
My stomach dropped.
Kurt Wilder always looked at me like I wasn’t quite good enough for his son, even when I’d been planning to marry the cheating bastard.
“Mr. Wilder,” I managed, keeping my voice steady. “Small world.”
“Indeed.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Daniel’s been quite concerned about you. Said you ran off to Las Vegas without telling anyone, which left him to handle the wedding cancellations alone. He said you’d been under a lot of stress lately. Unstable, even.”
The blood roared in my ears. Unstable. That was what Daniel was telling people?
“Mr. Wilder.” Orion’s voice cut through my panic like a knife. “If you have official business for the Gaming Control Board, please state it. Otherwise, Ms. George is working.”
“Of course.” Wilder pulled out a tablet. “I’m here to follow up on the recent fire incident. Specifically, I want to address concerns regarding employee conduct and potential conflicts of interest that could impact your gaming license.”
“What conflicts of interest?” I asked.
“Well.” Wilder’s smile turned predatory.
“Daniel mentioned that you have a history of engaging in inappropriate relationships with your supervisors. Boundary issues. You have exhibited vindictive behavior in the past when your romantic advances were rejected. I’m simply ensuring that pattern hasn’t followed you here. ”
What? Blood roared in my ears. Lies. All of it. Daniel had fed his father lies because I had the audacity to leave him.
“That’s defamation,” I said, my voice shaking with fury rather than fear. “And if you’re using your position at the Gaming Control Board to pursue a personal vendetta based on your son’s lies—”
“Tashi.” Orion’s hand found my elbow, steadying me.
“Mr. Wilder, I’ll be filing a formal complaint about this interaction.
You’ve made accusations without evidence, targeted a specific employee for personal reasons, and threatened our gaming license based on demonstrably false information. I suggest you leave. Now.”
Wilder’s face went red. “Mr. Kolykos, I don’t think you understand—”
“I understand perfectly. You’re abusing your authority. We have security footage of this entire conversation. I have witnesses. And I have lawyers who would love nothing more than to dismantle a corrupt Gaming Control Board official.” Orion’s voice was ice-cold precision. “The door’s behind you.”
For a moment, I thought Wilder might push back. But something in Orion’s expression made him reconsider. He left with a muttered excuse about official follow-up, but the threat hung in the air like smoke.
I stood there shaking, fury and humiliation warring in my chest.
“Tashi.” Orion turned me to face him, hands gentle on my shoulders. “Breathe.”
“He called me unstable. Vindictive. He’s going to destroy my reputation because Daniel couldn’t handle being dumped.”