CHAPTER 21
EDEN
It was like I didn’t recognize the place.
Which was ridiculous, because I’d worked here for years.
The casino floor glittered and chimed and pulsed like it always had—but it felt like I was walking through it underwater, everything slightly distorted, slightly off.
The lights flashed and blinked overhead, machines chiming in endless celebration for wins that were usually just pennies. Laughter rose from the blackjack tables. Glasses clinked. Chips stacked. Dealers called out totals in smooth, rehearsed voices.
Life went on.
That was the strangest part.
I stood just inside the employee entrance for a second longer than necessary, my name badge cool against my palm. My reflection in the metal door looked like me—same hair, same face—but there was something slightly misaligned in my eyes, like I’d been shifted half an inch out of place.
“You’re here?” Carl asked when he opened the door and saw me standing there adjusting my uniform. He stepped inside with a clipboard tucked under his arm, looking subtly surprised, even though I’d called HR yesterday to get back on the schedule.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. Even though I wasn’t sure that was the truth.
Rent didn’t care that my husband was ashes now, though, and tears certainly didn’t pay bills. There was also the fact that sitting alone in my apartment, listening to the silence scream, was its own special version of hell.
He offered me an awkward smile. “You don’t have to jump back in full speed. Just ease into it,” he said, watching me a moment longer, like he was considering saying more. Then he gave a small nod and stepped back into the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar.
I can do this.
I’d been doing this two weeks ago.
For one split second, the awful thought slid in before I could stop it .
. . how I wasn’t carrying the same tightrope tension anymore.
I wasn’t wondering what mood Ryan would be in when I got home.
Whether he’d spent the day spiraling. Whether he’d lost or spent all our money before I even walked through the door.
There was no dread sitting under my ribs.
Because he was dead.
I hated myself for noticing the difference.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the double doors. The noise swallowed me immediately as I stepped fully onto the casino floor. And for a second, it felt like every color was too bright.
“Eden?” I turned and saw Leigh coming toward me, her tray tucked against her hip, ponytail swinging behind her. Her usual smile faltered when she got close enough to see my face.
“Oh my gosh,” she said softly, like she’d forgotten what she’d planned to say. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I managed.
She set the tray down on a nearby ledge and pulled me into a quick, careful hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into my hair. The words slid over me, and I nodded against her shoulder because that seemed like the correct response.
When she pulled back, her eyes searched mine, probably trying to measure how broken I was if I had to guess.
“I’m okay,” I repeated, the lie smoother this time.
The awful thought tried to resurface again . . . that the air felt different now, lighter without the constant question of what he might do next, and I shoved it down.
“I just— I need to work,” I said quickly, stepping back before she could ask anything else. I could feel her watching me as I walked over to the floor manager and then started on my section. And it wasn’t just her . . . it felt like it was everyone.
I tried to focus on the familiar rhythm instead .
. . the steady weight of the tray balanced against my palm, the soft click of my heels on marble, the automatic scan of my section to make sure every glass was full and every smile was timed just right.
I moved; that was the trick. Keep moving.
Keep smiling. Keep your hands busy so they don’t shake.
I was good at this. I’d always been good at this.
My plan almost worked.
Until I caught my reflection in the mirrored column near the high-limit slots and saw the way Theo was looking at me from the bar. His head was tilted, brows drawn together, and there was a sympathetic curve to his mouth.
Widow, that’s what he was thinking. And before that, it had probably been Poor girl. Before that, someone else had been thinking Trailer park kid. There was always something about me that invited that look. Like people couldn’t decide whether to tip me or donate to me.
My jaw tightened. Was I ever going to get a different kind of stare? One that didn’t feel like someone mentally calculating what had gone wrong in my life?
Jagger never looks at me like that, an unwelcome voice reminded me.
His gaze had never made me feel pitiful. It had never skimmed over me like I was an unfortunate thing. When he looked at me, it felt as though I was the only real thing in the room. Like I was his top choice, not a charity case, or a cautionary tale.
My stomach dipped at the thought of it, and I straightened my shoulders and stepped toward my next table before I could unpack that too far.
Jagger walked in around midnight.
I knew it was him before I really saw him because my body reacted first. A tightening low in my stomach, a hitch in my breath . . . a shiver skating down my spine as if I’d just stepped into cold water.
I looked up automatically and blinked because it was immediately obvious that this wasn’t the easy, teasing version of him tonight, the one who leaned against counters and smirked like the world amused him.
He wasn’t wearing his jacket, just a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the fabric stretched clean and tight over muscle.
His tie hung loose around his neck, the knot tugged down like he’d stopped pretending to care about appearances somewhere along the way.
His hair had fallen slightly forward, the strands brushing his forehead in a way that somehow made him look more dangerous.
Like he’d already been somewhere else tonight.
Done something else. And this was the version of him that showed up afterward.
When he slid into the booth in my section, he didn’t ease into it. He sprawled, one arm stretching along the back of the leather seat and his long legs claiming the floor beneath the table. The loosened tie and rolled sleeves should have made him look relaxed.
Instead, he looked like a king who’d taken off his crown because he didn’t need it.
I swallowed and forced myself to look away, my pulse thudding. This was not the Jagger I knew. This was not the man who’d been gentle with my grief, who’d distracted me when the silence got too loud, who’d made me laugh when it felt like laughing would crack me open.
This Jagger looked like he hadn’t slept and he was riding some kind of razor-thin line.
I made myself continue working like nothing had changed. I greeted guests, delivered drinks, smiled at men who tipped too little and leaned too close, and laughed in the right places like nothing inside me had shifted.
But every time I passed his booth, I felt him there.
Watching.
He didn’t scroll through his phone. Didn’t pretend to study a menu or glance at the machines nearby. He wasn’t gambling. He just sat there, his gaze steady and intent as I moved through my section.
When I finally got the courage to step up to his booth, I was sure I’d never experienced such an intense stare.
There was something hot and restless burning behind his eyes, and another shiver slid under my skin before I could stop it.
“Hi,” I said, because good evening felt wrong between us, like that would be us pretending we were strangers when we weren’t.
His eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they burned brighter, tracking every inch of my face like he was memorizing it again, like the time between this morning, when he’d brought me breakfast, and tonight had rewritten something fundamental.
“Hey,” he replied in a voice that was rougher than I was used to hearing. The sound of it curled straight through me.
“What can I get you?” I asked, folding my hands loosely in front of me so he wouldn’t see the way my fingers wanted to fidget.
“Whiskey, neat,” he said, and there was no smile or teasing add-on. No Dealer’s choice or Surprise me, like he most likely would’ve said before. I nodded and turned away. The awareness of him followed me across the floor, that burning stare a tangible thing at my back.
When I returned to his table and set the glass down, his hand shifted just slightly, close enough that the heat of his body brushed my knuckles. I inhaled sharply at the touch, and that was when I caught it . . . his scent.
It wrapped around me before I could stop it, sliding under my skin like it had been waiting.
That was what I’d been smelling in my apartment, morning after morning.
I straightened up quickly, my nerves skidding sideways. How had that happened? He’d barely been inside more than a handful of times. Those had been quick visits, brief conversations in cramped rooms, and yet, somehow, he’d lingered.
In the air and in my sheets. In my fucking senses every hour of the day.
“You’re back,” he said, not looking particularly pleased at that fact.
“Yeah,” I replied, a little snappier than I meant. “I decided that bereavement leave was very kind . . . but it was better for me to keep busy.”
He looked like he wanted to say something about that, but instead, he leaned back. “You shouldn’t be here,” he finally murmured, a little growl in his voice.
My spine straightened, irritation sparking hot through the unease. “That’s not your call.”
“I know,” he said immediately, his mouth pursed in regret. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” I all but snarled.
His gaze dragged across my face, down the line of my throat, and over my shoulders.
It traced the dips of my collarbones and the curve where my blouse pulled tight across my breasts.
I felt it when his attention moved lower—to the narrow line of my waist and over the swell of my hips beneath the fitted skirt.
The intensity didn’t ease at all.
“Are you . . . all right?” I choked out, feeling like I was about to combust.
His jaw ticked once, and he looked away as if he was trying to recalibrate. After a moment, his eyes came back to mine. “My business is having some issues,” he said evenly. “But I’m managing them.”
That didn’t really explain why he was staring at me like he wanted to eat me, but I felt bad that I’d snapped at him. “I’m sorry,” I said softly.
His eyes glimmered, and I watched, awestruck, as his tongue dipped out to lick a drop of whiskey from his lower lip. “So fucking sweet,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than me.
He straightened slightly and took another drink. “Go,” he added quietly. “Keep working. I’ll . . . just be here.”
I hesitated for half a second, irritation tangling with concern and something far more unsettling before I gave a small nod and stepped away, letting the noise of the casino swallow me again.
It will pass.
That’s what I kept telling myself.
He was going to finish his drink, settle whatever storm he’d dragged in with him, and leave. And then I could do my job the way I always did, head down, smile on, heart locked tight behind my sternum.
But he didn’t leave. He stayed.
Every time I crossed my section, I felt his gaze . . . and it was getting under my skin.
I dropped drinks at a blackjack table and felt it between my shoulder blades. Took an order at the bar and felt it between my thighs. I laughed at something one of the regulars said and felt it then, too. I had never been more aware of someone in my entire life.
And finally, I’d had enough.
I finished my round, and set the tray down at my station, taking a steadying breath that did absolutely nothing. My nerves felt scraped raw, my skin too aware of itself, and my thoughts were looping in a way that made it hard to concentrate on anything else.
I spotted my floor manager near the pit and made my way over. “Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Can I take a quick fifteen?”
“Of course.” He looked me over, his brows drawing together slightly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered automatically.
“You look . . . pale,” he said carefully. “If you need more than fifteen, take it. We’ve got coverage.”
I forced a small smile. “I’m fine. I just need a minute,” I murmured, already turning away.
There was no need to look back at Jagger as I headed off the casino floor. I could feel his attention following me the entire way.