Chapter 14 #2
Crap. I look around once more. The office is simple: a desk and chair, the cabinet, and a crap ton of bobbleheads. Most of the bobbleheads are sports themed, but a few are interesting, including a jaunty little skeleton pirate with a square treasure chest…
A treasure chest that looks like it opens.
I return the keys to the desk drawer and stare at Mr. Pirate’s treasure chest. I reach over and flip the lid.
And see a small key inside.
I grab the key and carry it to the drawer, my hands shaking. I slide the key in the lock and it turns, the cabinet opening for me.
Locked cabinet drawers are suspicious, but that’s not why my heart is blasting through my eardrums—the row of files labeled Bliss inside the drawer is why.
Everything I’ve found so far I could identify as something I’ve seen or heard of before at the casino, but not Bliss.
I’ve never heard of this project, and as a manager, I should have.
Pulling out a handful of folders, I cross to the desk and lay them out.
The penthouse wing has been under construction for months.
Blackwell told us a while ago that it was being renovated, and it was the first place I searched after Mira and Tyler found the suspicious guest room.
The penthouse suites checked out, but according to the Bliss files, one half of the penthouse level—a portion separated by an outdoor veranda—is entirely different from the other half.
And this portion of the floor has been blocked off from employee access these last few months while under construction.
According to these documents, there are four suites, each with the same layout.
And they are so large as to be ludicrous.
We have wealthy patrons who stay in our regular penthouse suites, which cost a couple of grand.
Those rooms are booked for special events, at the most, and I’ve never heard of anyone leaving disappointed.
The only reason the casino updates them is to keep current with trends.
But maybe there was another purpose for the timing of the remodel.
The four Bliss suites that take up the second half of the penthouse floor are insanely extravagant, with a bar, an elaborate living area, their own elevator, and almost no windows—which is odd. The penthouse suites are known for their sweeping decks and views of the mountains and lake.
This whole time, I thought Blackwell switched rooms for his illicit activities. But what if instead of sneaking them in with the scenery, he’s created a new space for them? One so conspicuous it blends with the existing high standard of the penthouse floor?
Technically, no one has been allowed to look at that section of the penthouse floor.
Sending unauthorized employees to a construction zone is a liability for the casino.
The noise alone forced us to block off the floor beneath in order to maintain a standard of quality for hotel guests.
But when I consider it, not allowing people onto those top floors has also provided a buffer and a level of privacy for whatever they want to do up there.
The Bliss suites are huge, their layouts strange, and based on the floor plan, there’s no reason they couldn’t serve the same role as the suite Mira and Tyler stumbled upon. This has to be it.
Male voices sound outside the facility manager’s door.
I look up, then glance at the files spread haphazardly across the desk, my eyes flaring wide as panic fills my chest.
I slap the files closed and race to the cabinet, shoving them back inside the drawer and locking it. I could pretend I was leaving a note for the facility manager. Which means I need to create one, dammit.
I scurry back to the desk and jot a quick note for the manager to come see me. I’ll think of a reason later. Lunging for the door, I freeze midway.
The key.
Spinning around, I run back to return the key to the pirate bobblehead’s treasure chest, but my heel catches on the carpet. I fly forward, and the key launches from my palm. I catch myself on the edge of the desk before I take a nosedive, but the key is nowhere in sight.
Shit, shit.
I drop to the ground and crawl, searching beneath the desk. After a moment of frantic patting of the carpet and not having much luck at finding the key, cold prickles race down my spine.
The sound of the door closing comes from behind and I suck in a breath, holding it.
“Hayden? What are you doing?”
Only Adam. I can talk my way out of this.
I let out my breath and scoot back from under the desk. As I do, I spot the key leaning against the leg post. I look over my shoulder and capture his gaze. “How did you know it was me?” I reach for the key while he’s staring at my face.
He looks pointedly at my ass and grins lazily.
“That’s sexual harassment, you know.” I hobble to my feet in my four-inch spiked heels—wishing I’d chosen a more practical pair for today—the key snugly in my palm.
He walks over and peers around the desk, and I slide the key back into Mr. Pirate’s treasure chest when he’s not looking. “Oh please. It’s not sexual harassment to recognize someone from…behind.” His gaze flickers suggestively.
My mouth twists. “Very funny.”
He tips his head at the floor. “What were you doing down there? And don’t tell me you dropped something. That look of guilt you’re sporting tells me everything I need to know.”
“Fine, I won’t tell you I dropped something.” I move to walk away. “Goodbye, Adam.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me toward him, my shoulder lightly bumping his chest. “Don’t do this.” His eyes are sincere, for once.
My smug grin fades. “Do what?”
“Don’t get involved, Hayden.”
“Why would an iceman like you care?” There’s only one reason I can think of, and it must be because he doesn’t want to get caught, along with the rest of the casino execs, after I figure out what they’re up to.
“I prefer caveman.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and his eyes drop to my mouth, his expression filled with concern that slowly shifts into something more…heated. Lots of heat behind those eyes.
My head swims. His hand is warm and wrapped around mine, his chest large and protective, brushing my left breast. Suddenly his actions don’t seem selfish.
I exhale on a shaky breath. I hate the physical effect he has on me. It’s screwing with my head. Adam is guilty. He’s in with Blackwell and the others. I know it, but I can’t look away from his mouth.
His lips are a shade darker than his lightly tanned skin, the bottom one fuller than the top.
I want him to press his mouth to mine and hold me—tell me it’s going to be okay.
Because Adam is the ice king. Nothing gets to him.
And even though he’s working with the enemy, I could stand to have his strength.
You’d have to be a rock to keep it together and never show weakness.
I wish I were that strong. I’m not sure whether to admire him or despise him, but my body says admire. Definitely admire.
He swallows and takes a step back. His eyes have changed, the intensity burning behind them no longer filled with desire. “Dammit, Hayden, stop getting involved.” He brushes past me, and strides out the door.
My chest slumps, whatever string he was holding that kept me suspended in place snapped.
I don’t want Adam to be anything other than what I pegged him for on his first day of work when he didn’t remember me. He’s supposed to be shallow and self-serving.
But shallow, self-serving assholes don’t bother to warn girls of danger. And right now, I can’t tell if he’s more worried about his own skin, or mine.