20

Wolfe releases a sigh laced with obvious irritation, like he’s gearing up to tear them a new one.
And then, as the last one shuffles out, it’s just him and me. Alone.
A nervous knot forms in my stomach, making it difficult to swallow. Now what?
“Are you managing all right, being back at work?” he asks, his voice dipping lower.
“Absolutely! I’m thrilled to be back.” I decide to go on the defensive. “I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And what impression do you think I have of you?”
I think of the stupid Daredevil figurine on my desk.
“Well, if I were to hazard a guess… it would be someone who isn’t taking her job seriously.”
His stare darkens, something burning beneath the surface. “You’re way off.”
What the hell does that mean?
My pulse starts running a marathon as an invisible force field of tension seems to spring up around us. It’s electric. Suffocating.
Wolfe opens his mouth to speak again, but an abrupt knock on the glass stops him. My eyes flick up to see Killian Quinn giving Wolfe the stink-eye. I’ve never been so grateful to see the company’s other grumpy co-founder.
Wolfe shoots him a curt nod, then releases a deep sigh. “I need to go, Lucy.”
“Sure,” I reply quickly, seizing the opportunity to put some distance between Wolfe and myself and rush out of the boardroom.
For the next half hour, I struggle to take a decent breath.
JP
I drag myself into the boardroom to join my business partners, Killian and Connor, my exhaustion embedded in every muscle. Lucy coming back to the office yesterday left me sleepless the entire night.
“You look like you went ten rounds with Tyson in his prime,” Killian quips, eyeing me up and down. The guy never misses a beat.
Coincidentally, the championships are being held in our flagship casino this weekend. And as owner, I should be overseeing the whole production.
“Do I,” I grumble, tossing my Armani jacket on the table, rolling up my sleeves, and collapsing into the plush leather chair. “Couldn’t sleep for shit last night.”
Concern flickers across Killian’s sharp features. “Everything okay, buddy?”
“Just great,” I respond, my voice a steady rumble. Bullshit alert: level ten.
The truth? I spent the previous day watching Lucy navigate her first day back at work. An amnesiac Lucy, oblivious of me and the intense history we share. Then nightfall brought a staring contest with the ceiling, the gears in my brain grinding as I wrestled with this seemingly impossible conundrum. The proverbial rock and hard place had nothing on amnesiac Lucy.
“Need another vacation?” Killian’s query hangs in the tension-laden air, the underlying implication leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
Ha. Some vacation. Most people don’t know that my so-called “R&R” was an intense detox retreat, instead of cocktails and bikini-clad women in Maui. But Killian and Connor knew because I’d been on the brink of complete self-destruction. I’d only been back a couple of days when Lucy’s accident happened.
“I’m good,” I grind out, fighting to keep the weariness from seeping into my voice. “If I need a breather, I’ll sound the alarm.”
“Okay, man,” Connor says. “Just let us know. I know how working with Killian can tip anyone over the edge.”
Killian glares at him.
“Without sounding like a broken record, what I really need”-I exhale heavily-“is to detach myself from the casino industry.” And maybe join a monastery. Perhaps even take up herding yaks in the Himalayas, where I can’t hurt anyone else.
But they already know that. I let the pent-up sigh escape.
Since the inception of the Quinn & Wolfe empire, I’ve been spearheading the casino operation. Casinos weren’t just my business, they were my drug, my adrenaline, my whole goddamn life.
But now, I need an exit.
Vegas is a merciless beast, sucking you dry under the guise of a good time. All it left was the grime, the gritty bits, and a silhouette of the man I wanted to be.
I guess I thrived in the casino business because, at heart, I was a “well-managed” gambler. I was the guy who could shrug off losing a million on a Friday and make it back by the time the eggs benedict was served at Saturday brunch.
I’m the workaholic who clawed his way out of the grime and hopelessness of trailer park life. The gambler with an eye for business. But I’m also an introvert at heart, lacking charisma. I needed to lure the whales into our casinos, keep the gaming commissions off our backs, and have politicians eating from the palm of my hand. I needed to radiate charm that wasn’t in my nature. And a few lines of the finest “Bolivian marching powder” usually did the trick.
No, Manhattan is better for my state of mind.
“Did we bait Tony Astion from Royal Casinos into an interview?” I ask.
“Tony’s not cut out for this,” Connor cuts in. “JP, you’re the guy. You’re the only one we trust with the casinos. Nobody knows the Vegas scene better. You’ve got the connections, the influence, the contacts into the mob, the feds, the high rollers.”
“Why, thank you, Connor,” I respond, my voice heavy with irony. “Always good to remember I have a veritable directory of unsavory characters at my fingertips.” This conversation has been on repeat for the past two months. “I’m not disappearing. I’m stepping back. And ideally, not living in Vegas.”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Killian intervenes. “Fifteen years in the business, and now you want us to switch gears and start a damn hippie commune?”
What I’m actually trying to start is a wellness retreat branch of Quinn & Wolfe. My jaw tightens. Without the Quinn brothers onboard, this could become a one-man uphill battle. “If I can make it rain in a casino, I can sure as hell get people to chill out in a spa.”
A year ago, the idea of meditation and green juice would’ve had me doubling over. But after everything, maybe that kind of peace is exactly what I need.
“Just as long as you’re not aiming to create some sort of ‘Let’s chant together, drink matcha, and find our inner peace’ kind of place,” Connor chuckles, cracking himself up. “If we’re swapping roulette wheels for yoga mats, JP, we’re gonna need to have a little chat.”
“Maybe a bit of meditation would do your sarcastic ass some good,” I counter, rolling my eyes.
Connor shoots me a knowing smirk. “This smells like a midlife crisis. Must be something in the water. Killian just had his.”
“And what was my midlife crisis?” Killian fires back, eyes narrowing.
“Hooking up with the nanny.”
“Clodagh is not a hook-up,” Killian growls. “And watch your words, or my actual midlife crisis might involve me introducing your face to my fist.”
Ah, Killian had to pick the Irish nanny, as if he was auditioning for some heartwarming Hallmark movie. The arrogant tycoon, suddenly finding himself head over heels in love with the vivacious, fiery Irish nanny. Although Clodagh doesn’t seem like the typical nanny.
“But Killian’s downward dog is on point,” Connor chortles, pressing his brother’s buttons. While Killian’s off playing Mr. Darcy with his Irish nanny, Connor, in contrast, is on an entirely different trajectory with most of the models in Manhattan. “His delightful yoga instructor, Clodagh, has schooled him well. You’ve already got your first customer, JP.”