9. Chapter 9
Jasmine
My mind is grappling with the words Dario said to me. When I gather my senses again, he’s walked away and is standing beside a table with a wooden wheel. I walk over to him as it spins, a white ball bouncing between a blur of black and red numbers.
“Did you say an arranged marriage?” I whisper-shout at him.
Dario sighs. “Yes. When Martina turned twenty-one, she wed an associate of my father’s.”
“Your father is the one who chose her husband?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It is the way.”
“‘It is the way,’” I mimic. “To sell your daughter off to the highest bidder and not speak to her for over a decade?”
Dario shrugs. “Arranged marriages are a sort of tradition in the”—he coughs—“in my family. Martina knew what her life would be.”
Martina. My heart hurts for this woman I’ve never met—this woman who was never granted the luxury of deciding what her own life would look like.
A shudder runs through me. Marriage sounds horrible, but one that’s been arranged as a business transaction? Even worse. I can’t help but look at Dario and wonder if the same fate awaits him.
“Do you have someone lined up for you?”
“Are you offering?” Dario teases, and I mock throwing up.
He shakes his head with a gentle smile. “No, the men in my family are free to choose whomever they want to wed or bed, but unfortunately, the women are not as lucky.”
Fucking double standard. “That’s a pathetic family tradition.
A real one, one worth keeping, would hold both people to the same standard.
Same choice. Same voice. Same risk. Marriage is supposed to be a partnership, not a loveless transaction.
It isn’t some negotiation between families where the woman is the bargaining chip. ”
Dario’s typical bright grin turns soft. “Che bello, il mio toro.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“I agree,” Dario says, shocking me. “I don’t see things the way my father and ancestors did. Or even my brothers do. Everything you’re saying is aligned with how I feel. Women are meant to be our partners in life.”
I scrutinize him. “Are you saying that to shut me up?”
“No.” Dario laughs. “I truly mean it. How do you build a life with someone who didn’t get to choose you?”
I stare at him, stunned that he’s agreeing with me and not defending the family I’ve heard values loyalty over anything else. When his hazelnut eyes soften, and I find myself getting lost in them, I clear my throat. “So you want to get married?” I ask.
Dario shrugs. “One day, maybe. I’d like to find a partner. Someone who stands beside me because they want to. Someone I choose, and who chooses me back.”
I remain silent, so he continues, “Do you want to get married one day?”
“I’m married to my career.”
“You don’t feel like you could divide your time?”
I shrug. “I’m sure if I wanted to, I could, but right now my career is my focus.”
“Have you always wanted to go into law?”
“As far back as I can remember. My dad and brother are both attorneys. My grandfather was one, and his grandfather before him. I guess you could say it’s my family tradition. And please take full offense, but it’s a hell of a lot better than yours.”
Dario chuckles, and I hate how good it sounds. “My family has the family business tradition, too.”
“Oh? The Carusos have a long history of owning casinos?”
“More or less.” He sighs. “Are you ready to continue our date?”
I roll my eyes. “This isn’t a date.”
We continue maneuvering around tables where people are standing, playing a multitude of casino games, and I’m more confused than ever. “These games all seem so complicated. No wonder people lose money playing them.”
“We have some big winners from time to time,” Dario says.
“Oh, please. I’ve heard the saying. The house always wins, and the way you and your brothers are buying up properties, I have no doubt you win a lot.”
“We do,” Dario agrees with his handsome grin, “but every now and then someone else gets a little bit of luck.”
I snort, and he cocks an eyebrow. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and curiosity gets the better of me. “What?”
“Pick a game?”
“What?” I ask again.
“Which game do you want to play? I have a feeling you have more luck than you think.”
My eyes glance around the tables we walked among, and I shake my head. “I don’t understand these games. I don’t want to play something if I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Dario tugs my hand, pulling me in the direction of the slot machines. When we reach a bank of them, he sits me on a stool in front of one with a giant pig on the front.
“Here,” he says, offering me a hundred-dollar bill, “insert that into the machine.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Dario rolls his eyes. “There is this thing called fun, you know? Have you ever heard of it?”
“Is it fun if you lose?”
“You won’t lose. You said yourself that the house always wins.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “And I am the house.”
Dario takes back the money he handed me and inserts it into the machine.
“Now, these newer machines have a button you can simply push, but I prefer the full experience.” He takes my hand and moves it to the lever on the side.
“There are no rules or strategies you have to know with these. Just pull the lever, and watch it light up.” I stare at Dario as he pulls the lever down with me, holding eye contact until the machine begins to oink.
My head turns back to the machine, and my mouth drops, afraid I’ve broken something.
“Why is it doing that? What does that mean?”
“It means you won.”
“I won?” My mouth hangs open as I watch the numbers on the screen go up. I never win anything.
“You won!” Dario repeats with a laugh.
“Oh my gosh!” I jump up from the stool and into his arms. I can’t help but notice how incredible they feel.
This man works out, and I have no doubt he could lift an impressive amount of weight.
For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to be lifted in his arms, but as his lips dip down and come into view, I pull away, reminding myself that he is a client.
A very attractive and frustrating client.
“How much did I win?” I ask, excited and slightly turned on.
Dario points to the number on the screen.
“Two dollars? That’s it?”
He laughs. “You can’t always hit it big, but hey, you didn’t lose any money. Do you want to keep going?”
A part of me does. If I’m being honest, I’ve actually enjoyed Dario’s company this afternoon. Instead, I let my sensible and professional side guide me.
I shake my head. “No, we need to move on so I can get home.”
Dario doesn’t comment, but instead pushes a button, and a ticket prints out. “Let’s get you your money and continue our date.”
“I told you this isn’t a date,” I all but growl at him, annoyed with him calling it that again.
“It could be.”
“It absolutely couldn’t. I don’t date my clients.”
“Is this a company policy? I’m sure I could arrange something with Mr. Jorgensen. He seems to like me.” Dario smiles his megawatt grin, and the charm dripping from it tells me he’s right.
I follow him as he walks over to a cashier and hands over my ticket. “It’s a me policy. Though I’m sure the company would frown upon it.”
Dario hands me $102 in cash and sighs. “Okay, fine, we will just sleep together.”
“Stop,” I say with a laugh, knowing he’s joking. “If I don’t date my clients, I definitely won’t sleep with them.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “Well, who do you sleep with then?”
“Oh my gosh,” I say, shoving the money back at him. “Here, this is yours.”
Dario ignores me. “I’m serious. What’s your type? Maybe I can help you find someone here in the casino.”
“Here you’ve been asking me on a date, and now you’re eager to find me someone to sleep with?”
His lips curl up. “Until you come to your senses and decide I’m the one you should be with, I don’t mind helping you out. I’m no cockblock.”
“And I’m no thief. This is your money, Dario.”
He shakes his head. “That’s your money, Miss Baker. Or are we on a first-name basis now?” He leans in, and I hate the way my body reacts as he whispers my name in my ear.
I clear my throat. “Jasmine’s fine, but remember that our relationship is still strictly professional.”
“Of course.” Dario smiles, backing away. The new space between us allows a woman in an orange-sequined dress cut low, revealing a fake pair of tits, to step in.
A bangled wrist snakes up his chest, touching his exposed skin. “Hi there, handsome.”
My eyes follow her movements as her hands continue to glide down over his mouthwatering arms. When they reach his wrists, she moves her hand to dip into his pocket, clearly after something hiding underneath.
Dario grips her wrist, freezing her hand right before it grabs hold of his dick.
The dick I realize I’m staring at and wondering about.
Quickly, I move my eyes to his face, noticing his ever-present smile is gone.
His eyes are dark as he stares at the unfortunately gorgeous woman. Are they filled with lust?
“What’s your name, beautiful?” His words vibrate in the air, and I can’t help but notice the way the woman closes her eyes and swoons under his touch.
“Ruby,” she purrs.
Dario lifts two fingers in the air, and a man dressed head to toe in black swoops in, arriving in a flash.
“I’ll meet up with you later,” Dario whispers as the man who looks a lot like security shakes his hand then steers the woman away from us.
I don’t miss the way he stares after her, his eyes glued to her sequined-clad ass.
I need to leave. In the very short time I’ve known him, this man has proven he is a shameless flirt, likely to bed any woman who looks his way. Which, when you look that damn good, is a lot of women.
Knowing what he shared about his family, I have no doubt Dario was feeding me a bunch of bullshit about believing women are partners and should be equal in a relationship. He is no better than his father, using women for what he can get from them.
I turn away from Dario, looking for the exit signs to get the hell out of here.
When I find the one I’m desperately seeking, I head toward the hotel lobby.
I leave through the sliding doors as quickly as possible, but unfortunately, Dario is by my side in no time, gripping my wrist the same way he held Miss Sparkly Dress.
“Jasmine, what’s wrong?”
I yank my arm away. “Our meeting is over, Mr. Caruso. You’ve shown me all I need to see, and it’s past time for me to go home.” I point overhead at the darkening sky.
“Then I’ll drive you there, Miss Baker.” He says my name like it burns his tongue.
“There’s no need. I’ll arrange a rideshare. You seem to have plans anyway.”
Dario stares at me for several moments, the heat of his gaze burning into my profile. The moment is heavy as we stare at each other, both our mouths in tight lines of frustration.
Then, he throws his head back and laughs, a deep, throaty sound that would have me weak in the knees if he wasn’t such a vile man. When Dario calms himself, he looks at me, his smile as wide as a Cheshire cat. “I like you like this, mio toro.”
“Like what?”
Dario takes another step toward me, and while my body tries to stay where it is, my mind wins the war, and I take a step back.
“You’re jealous.”
A harsh laugh sounds. “I certainly am not jealous.”
“Tell me, Miss Baker, were you bothered by that woman?”
I scoff. “I was bothered by her rudeness. We were clearly in the middle of a conversation, and she just forced her way in like I wasn’t standing there.”
“And when her hand roamed over my body, touching places you haven’t, did that upset you?”
“Yes,” I admit, and Dario steps closer to me.
“You know, you can touch my body if you’d like.”
My jaw drops, and I clench my hands so they don’t go rogue and try to give in to his offer. I promptly close my mouth and shake my head. “Eww. I mean that I was upset because she was putting her hands on you without your permission. Nobody should touch anyone without their consent.”
Dario’s smile widens. “That reminds me of our meet-cute.”
“Our what?” I ask.
“Our meet-cute. When we met at the firm, I kissed your hand, and you growled at me. You also accused me of having a slew of hidden sexual harassment charges.”
“What’s cute about that?”
Dario licks his lips. “Your demand for consent is not only noble, but it’s sexy.”
I roll my eyes. “Sexy isn’t cute.”
“No? Well, have you seen yourself when you’re angry, Miss Baker?”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Very cute.”
I’m stunned, unsure of what to say, but like magic, Dario’s shiny car pulls up to the door.
“Get in the car, Miss Baker.”