8. Nikolai
Nikolai
I’m heading toward the back elevator when I hear someone running. Not a very big someone. I step into the corridor and catch a glimpse of a dinosaur backpack disappearing around the corner.
“Again,” I mutter.
“Hey,” I call out.
What was his name? Luke.
“Luke, wait up.”
Nothing but footsteps. I jog after him and catch up just as he bursts onto the casino floor.
The floor is loud. Midday, but loud enough. The slots chime. Someone at a craps table shouts. The lights cycle through their endless sequence overhead.
The boy stops.
He stands at the edge of it all, taking it in. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t cry. He just stands there with his blanket clutched to his chest.
I move slowly, come up beside him, and crouch to his level.
I know he hears me. He turns his head slightly, but he doesn’t look at me.
“You’re not supposed to be out here,” I say.
He looks at the floor. He’s breathing fast. I think about Pasha calming Catherine. The way he does the same for me when my breathing is a little off.
“Luke.”
He looks at me then. I see the fear. He’d run if he could, but he’s frozen in place.
“Come on,” I say. “I’m going to show you something cool.”
I stand and start back toward the corridor. I don’t grab him; I trust him to follow. Kids either follow or they don’t. Grabbing them only makes it a fight.
I glance back. He’s following, the end of his blanket trailing behind him.
I lead him toward the service corridor and press the button for the elevator. I was going to take the stairs. I’m still a little claustrophobic after my last elevator ride. Fuckers. The fire department had to rescue us. It was humiliating. There will be retaliation.
But first, I need to deal with my three-foot problem.
The elevator opens. I step in and wait. He hesitates before following. Someone needs to talk to this kid about following strangers. I could be a diddler. A kiddie killer.
I press the button for the executive floor.
We ride in silence. He watches the numbers above the door change. His blanket is tucked under one arm now. His other hand hangs at his side.
I watch him and wonder what’s going through his mind.
When his eyes meet mine, I know what he’s thinking, and it confuses me. He trusts me. I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything to prove I won’t hurt him.
Then I realize that I’m the same way when I meet someone. I size them up and decide quickly whether they belong in my inner circle.
The elevator stops. The doors open. Thank God. “This way,” I tell him.
I lead him down the hall to the private elevator and scan my key card. We ride up one more floor.
When the elevator opens, I walk to the dark double doors of my office and push one open. I step aside. The boy walks in ahead of me like he owns the place.
He stops in the middle of the room and looks around. His eyes go to the window first. I watch his face as he takes it in. I don’t think he’s impressed, but he’s curious.
He walks to the window and stares out.
I consider calling the floor and telling the pit boss to let Miss Collins know I have her kid. But because I might have an unhealthy obsession with her, I know her shift ends in an hour. He’ll be fine for an hour. We’ll deal with the consequences of her choices later.
I lean back in my chair and look at him. He’s small. His shirt is a little too tight. His shorts are torn at the pocket. His sneakers are worn.
I notice things. I always notice things. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t.
Once he’s finished evaluating the Strip below, he turns his attention to me. I smile when I realize his little body has relaxed. The fear from the casino floor is gone.
I gesture to the chair across from my desk. “Have a seat.”
He does what I ask, climbing into the chair and leaning forward because he’s still wearing his backpack. His blanket rests beside him, with one hand keeping a tight hold.
I had a blanket when I was his age. My father burned it in front of me. Said I was too old for it. Mom saved a piece, maybe an eight-inch square. The fabric was untouched, but it still smelled like smoke.
Maybe that’s why fire fascinates me. It’s funny, though; my youngest brother is the one who really loves burning shit down.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
He thinks about it. He lifts one shoulder in a small shrug.
I take that as no.
I pick up the desk phone and dial the kitchen extension.
“I need two burgers. And fries. The good fries, not the thin ones. Send it up to my office.”
I hang up.
The boy is watching me.
“Eight minutes,” I tell him.
I have no idea if he understands time. I’ve spent time with Mila, but I’ve never been responsible for her. I’ve never had to worry about whether she understands minutes, or if she’s eaten. Her babushka, Olga, handles all that.
“How old are you?” I ask, even though I know.
He holds up four fingers.
“Do you go to school?”
He shakes his head.
“Where’s your father?”
He stares at me. I don’t think he understands the question.
I gesture to his backpack. “Take it off. You don’t look comfortable.”
He doesn’t move. Whatever. Not my back.
I open my laptop and check my email, aware of him watching me. He’s still deciding how much he trusts me. I reply to one message before there’s a knock on my office door.
“Come in.”
One of the kitchen staff steps in with a tray and freezes when he sees the kid. I can only imagine what’s going through his head.
“Set it here,” I tell him. He does, careful not to look too hard at Luke.
“That’s all. Thank you.”
The guy scurries out. I remove the dome and watch Luke’s eyes. A flash of approval lights them.
“We’ll eat over here.” I carry the tray to the low table between two chairs in the corner.
My staff knows me well. Four little containers of ketchup. Six packets of mayo. Another small dish for mixing.
“Come on,” I say. “Before it gets cold.”
He slides out of the chair and drops to his knees beside the table. I push one of the burgers toward him. I don’t think I have to cut it or anything. Pasha used to do that with Mila.
I tear open two packets of mayo and squeeze them into the clean dish. Then I dump in a container of ketchup. He watches while I stir the mixture. Always more mayo than ketchup. Always.
“Try it,” I say.
I dip one fry in and take a bite. He reaches for one from his plate and does the same. His eyes light up when he takes a bite.
“See?”
He takes another fry, drags it through the sauce, and eats.
“Make sure you eat some of the burger,” I tell him.
And then we eat. I realize there’s no way he’ll finish all the food, but he’s making a strong effort. When he finishes the first dish and looks at me, I mix up more ketchup and mayo.
“Good, right?”
He nods, and I see the first hint of a smile.
Security must have tracked Luke on the cameras. Three hard knocks cut through the quiet before I finish my burger. Then three more. Then a voice I recognize even through six inches of solid oak.
“Luke! Luke, are you in there?!”
Luke looks at me as he goes for another fry.
I get to my feet and cross the room. I open the door before security can, and she nearly falls through it.
She looks like she’s been running. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and her uniform is slightly askew. She has the look of a woman who has been very, very afraid and is now converting that fear into fury because it’s the only thing she has left.
Her eyes find Luke first. They always will, I think. Everything else in the room is secondary. A lioness protecting her cub.
“Come here.” She moves past me, crouches to his level, and puts her hands on his face, checking him over. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
He lets her hold his face. Blinks at her. Patient.
“He’s fine,” I say.
She straightens up fast. Her dark brows are pulled together, and her eyes are burning with rage. I find myself thinking, even now, that she is genuinely stunning when she’s angry.
The rest of me is in complete agreement as well.
“What the hell are you doing with my son?”
I gesture to the tray. “Feeding him.”
“He doesn’t need food! He had food!”
“I was hungry. He shrugged when I asked if he’d eaten. I took that as no. Manners say it’s rude to eat in front of others.”
Her mouth falls open. Disbelief flashes across her face. “Manners? Are you kidding me? Manners suggest you don’t kidnap a kid!”
“I must be a terrible kidnapper if you found us so quickly.”
“Do you think this is funny? Do you know what you just did? I went to get him, and he was gone. Just gone.”
I see the terror beneath her anger and feel a little bad, but she put him in the position to vanish.
I don’t move. “He was on the casino floor. Alone.”
Her face falls. Her bottom lip quivers. “He was supposed to stay in the break room.”
“He could have walked out onto the Strip,” I say.
“He could have been grabbed by anyone. He could have fallen, gotten hurt, wandered into any one of a hundred places in this building that aren’t safe for a child.
” I keep my voice level. I don’t yell. I want her to understand the weight of what I’m saying. “This is a casino, not a playground.”
Her jaw tightens, and the quiver in her bottom lip disappears. I can feel her fury rolling off her in powerful waves. “I am aware of that.”
“Are you?”
She flinches like I hit her. I went too far. She loves her son.
“Don’t,” she says quietly. A warning.
“I’m not running a daycare, Miss Collins.”
Something snaps behind her eyes. She grabs Luke’s backpack from beside the chair and slings it over one shoulder. Then she picks up his blanket and tucks it under her arm.
“You know what?” She turns back to face me.
I see her fighting to maintain control. “You’re right.
This is not a daycare. This is a casino.
You know what else it is? A business that operates twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and recruits people for odd hours, split shifts, and overnight rotations.
You know who takes those shifts?” She gestures at herself.
“Single mothers. People who need flexible hours because they can’t afford nine-to-five care.
People already paying for one babysitter who can’t afford a backup when the first one walks out. ”
I say nothing.
“You’re building a brand-new property.” Her voice is shaking, not with fear but with anger.
Exhaustion. Frustration. “I’ve heard all about your luxury property and how expensive it is.
Every detail curated by you.” She looks me in the eye.
“Maybe think about putting in a daycare for your employees who bust their asses to make you rich.”
The room is very quiet.
She reaches down and takes Luke’s hand. He goes with her without resistance, his backpack bouncing against her hip. She heads for the door.
“Luke.” I say his name.
He turns his head, looking back at me from beneath the dark fringe of his hair.
“Bye,” I tell him.
He looks at me for a moment with old, calm, blue eyes.
“Bye,” he says.
One word. Zero inflection. Zero hesitation.
Gabby stops walking.
She looks down at her son. Then back at me. The anger on her face has been replaced by disbelief. She stares at him for another second like she’s waiting for him to sprout a second head.
Then she looks at me one more time and walks out the door.
I return to my desk and sit down. I’ve never thought about childcare. Never thought about what it takes for people to show up every day. Pasha has never said anything. It never occurred to me he might have the same struggles. He’s always there for me because his mother is always there for Mila.