is one of the rarest—and the worst—ones. He looks me straight in the eye and fucking gropes me again. I’m seeing red at this point, my hand itching to curl into a fist I can plow into his face. He’d look so much better with a broken nose. And a missing tooth or two.
I, however, wouldn’t look nearly so good living on the streets, and right now, the only thing standing between me and total poverty is this job. Not quite what I imagined for my life when I graduated from Vassar top in my class, but I figured out a long time ago that beggars really can’t be choosers.
Besides, right now it’s this or crawling home to Daddy with my head down and tail between my legs. And since that’s
so
not going to happen, I’ll just have to grin and bear it. I might not be able to control this guy and what he does, but I’m damn sure able to control myself and the life I’m making for myself. And that includes not giving in to my temper, no matter how much I’m provoked.
Besides, my shift is almost over. I can take anything, even the loss of control that comes with this job, as long as the end is in sight. I learned that the hard way a long time ago.
“How about a date tonight?” he says as he slides a warm, slightly sweaty palm up my arm. It’s all I can do not to shudder in disgust.
“The casino frowns on employees dating customers. But I’m happy to bring you another drink, or a menu if you’re hungry.”
“What the casino doesn’t know won’t hurt anybody.” His hand continues its foray up my arm, the backs of his fingers brushing against my breast, my nipple. “When do you get off?” He grins at his own innuendo.
I meet the dealer’s eyes over his head and Jake speeds up his dealing. His face is carefully blank but I can see the look of disgust in his eyes, know that it mimics the one I’m currently doing my best to hide.
“I’ll be working for a while yet,” I tell him, gently extricating myself from his grip. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”
I smile tightly as he flips a chip onto my tray—a twenty dollar one—but I can’t bring myself to say thank you. Instead, I nod in acknowledgment and disappear into the flow of traffic just outside the ropes marking the high roller area. It’s not until I’m several steps away that I allow myself to breathe again.
I take a couple more orders, deliver them to Michael as I pick up my latest round of drinks. And then I’m off, making yet another circle around the tables. Tonight, this half of the high roller circle is much better behaved. As long as you don’t mind a few lingering glances and a pat or two on the ass.
It’s not forever, I remind myself as I ignore the way Mr. Benson slides his hand up the inside of my arm. He takes his Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks and flips a twenty dollar bill onto my tray as a token of his appreciation. I pocket it and thank him nicely.
Next stop is the poker table. Buy-in is fifty grand tonight, and every seat is taken. I drop the Belvedere and cranberry at Mrs. Jenkins’s elbow, the Nolet’s Reserve and tonic next to Mr. Davies and the shot of Patron Silver beside Mr. Cervantes. I back up without waiting for a tip—three hours delivering drinks to him has already taught me to get in and out as quickly as possible.
It’s as I’m heading back to the bar that I notice Whale Number Three—the Russian guy—hassling some casino bunny who’s wandered into the big leagues. She’s dressed up, probably planning on catching herself a high rolling whale, but even from here I can tell the one she’s caught is way out of her league.
Damn.
I hurry back to the bar, pick up my drink order and scoot in that direction. The last thing I want to do is engage in another conversation with this guy, but his hand is wrapped around that girl’s arm and I can tell by the way she’s twisting around—and the grimace on her face—that he’s hurting her.
On my way over, I stop by one of the security
I, however, wouldn’t look nearly so good living on the streets, and right now, the only thing standing between me and total poverty is this job. Not quite what I imagined for my life when I graduated from Vassar top in my class, but I figured out a long time ago that beggars really can’t be choosers.
Besides, right now it’s this or crawling home to Daddy with my head down and tail between my legs. And since that’s
so
not going to happen, I’ll just have to grin and bear it. I might not be able to control this guy and what he does, but I’m damn sure able to control myself and the life I’m making for myself. And that includes not giving in to my temper, no matter how much I’m provoked.
Besides, my shift is almost over. I can take anything, even the loss of control that comes with this job, as long as the end is in sight. I learned that the hard way a long time ago.
“How about a date tonight?” he says as he slides a warm, slightly sweaty palm up my arm. It’s all I can do not to shudder in disgust.
“The casino frowns on employees dating customers. But I’m happy to bring you another drink, or a menu if you’re hungry.”
“What the casino doesn’t know won’t hurt anybody.” His hand continues its foray up my arm, the backs of his fingers brushing against my breast, my nipple. “When do you get off?” He grins at his own innuendo.
I meet the dealer’s eyes over his head and Jake speeds up his dealing. His face is carefully blank but I can see the look of disgust in his eyes, know that it mimics the one I’m currently doing my best to hide.
“I’ll be working for a while yet,” I tell him, gently extricating myself from his grip. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”
I smile tightly as he flips a chip onto my tray—a twenty dollar one—but I can’t bring myself to say thank you. Instead, I nod in acknowledgment and disappear into the flow of traffic just outside the ropes marking the high roller area. It’s not until I’m several steps away that I allow myself to breathe again.
I take a couple more orders, deliver them to Michael as I pick up my latest round of drinks. And then I’m off, making yet another circle around the tables. Tonight, this half of the high roller circle is much better behaved. As long as you don’t mind a few lingering glances and a pat or two on the ass.
It’s not forever, I remind myself as I ignore the way Mr. Benson slides his hand up the inside of my arm. He takes his Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks and flips a twenty dollar bill onto my tray as a token of his appreciation. I pocket it and thank him nicely.
Next stop is the poker table. Buy-in is fifty grand tonight, and every seat is taken. I drop the Belvedere and cranberry at Mrs. Jenkins’s elbow, the Nolet’s Reserve and tonic next to Mr. Davies and the shot of Patron Silver beside Mr. Cervantes. I back up without waiting for a tip—three hours delivering drinks to him has already taught me to get in and out as quickly as possible.
It’s as I’m heading back to the bar that I notice Whale Number Three—the Russian guy—hassling some casino bunny who’s wandered into the big leagues. She’s dressed up, probably planning on catching herself a high rolling whale, but even from here I can tell the one she’s caught is way out of her league.
Damn.
I hurry back to the bar, pick up my drink order and scoot in that direction. The last thing I want to do is engage in another conversation with this guy, but his hand is wrapped around that girl’s arm and I can tell by the way she’s twisting around—and the grimace on her face—that he’s hurting her.
On my way over, I stop by one of the security
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