CHAPTER 2
“When’s your…?” Cane stalled, distracted by a blonde couple sucking face at the VIP check in counter at the hotel casino he and Charlie worked at.
Charlie snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Eyes over here, O’Reilly. It’s not a free porn hub video.”
Cane whipped his head Charlie’s way. “A…what? I don’t…watch…that.”
“Uh huh, just strangers making out in the lobby then?” she questioned as she flipped through her files.
“Yeah. I mean, no,” he corrected. “I’m not even watching that,” Cane insisted. “There’s something about them. Are they on your list?”
“Nope. Kandi brought them to my attention. I guess they’ve been in town a week or so and have been cleaning up all over the strip,” Charlie said, leaning against the counter, just out of ear shot. “I upgraded them to a suite and comp’d some dinner and show reservations. See what they’re all about.”
Anyone commanding that much attention in a public place typically meant something. They were causing a scene for a reason. They wanted to be noticed. Most would think someone up to no good would lay low, go under the radar, and stay unnoticed. But Cane knew better. He had been in this town long enough to know two-bit cons made their presence known. They were likable, earned the trust of those around them — they were the last to be accused because they were hiding in plain sight and never appeared to be missing, because everyone saw them, remembered them. It’s the quiet ones who were always first on the suspect list — and the real crooks were long gone before they were figured out.
“I don’t think they’re whales.” Cane was sizing them up. “They don’t have real money. If they’re cleaning up, it isn’t the honest way.”
Charlie rolled her eyes at Cane’s judgement. “Oh, come on. Not everyone is a criminal, Cane. You think anyone fun, or having fun, is up to something. Newsflash, the world’s not out to get’cha. Not everyone is a bad guy waiting to get caught by big, bad Cane O’Reilly and his crew.”
“His accent isn’t real.” Cane crossed his arms and tilted his head as he began to profile the glowing couple who seemingly couldn’t get enough of each other.
“They’re just a couple of Orange County airheads,” Charlie defended, even if it was a bit of an insult. She thought they were fun and cute — and may have earned her a nice bonus. “Maybe he’s just had a few drinks and that’s all you’re hearing. He’s just…slurring.”
“Speaking of Orange County — that orange tan came from a bottle, and if booze can make your British accent sound Australian every other word, then yeah, a few drinks.”
“As long as they’re spending money on the casino floor, all is good.” Charlie shrugged. “Fake accent or not, their head to toe couture is worth more than our salaries combined, I’m sure.”
“Knock off,” Cane deadpanned. “That couture is as real as the Rolex I’m not wearing, and if you think that bottle blonde is natural, I’d suggest you comp a waxing at the spa and take a peak. See if the curtains match the drapes.”
“Pfft,” Charlie spat. “Maybe you should watch some porn hub. You’re sounding a little desperate if you want to look under robes in the spa.”
Cane’s stare heated as his gaze drifted over Charlie. “Now, why would I do that when I have…?”
She put her hand on Cane’s hard chest, ready to push passed him, but stalled for a moment. “Let’s not finish that thought, buddy.”
“Oh, I’m buddy now?” Cane teased. “I guess we can call it that. We’re the kind of buddies who…”
She placed a finger over his mouth. “Let’s keep that one to yourself too. We’re at work, and that thing you’re doing…with your…eyes.” She paused, locked in his stare briefly. That thing he was doing with his eyes began to flutter low in her belly. Coming to her senses, she shook away the daze he had her in. “Stop it, O’Reilly. Jesus. You’re acting like a horny teenager.”
“Given the buddy system you have us practicing at home,” he began, his voice dropping to a sultry timbre, “can you blame me?”
“And this is why we can’t have nice things.” Fully aware of the effect Cane’s imagination was having while revisiting the mere hours’ old memory of their afternoon shenanigans — the naked kind — Charlie finally passed by him sure to brush against the bulging ridge he was now sporting. She whispered as her hand lightly grazed his excitement, letting him know she was fully aware of the ideas dancing around in his handsome head. “But maybe later we can…if you play your cards right.”
A barely-there breath escaped Cane as he watched Charlie make her way — sexy swagger in check — to the blonde couple he suddenly had a deeper dislike for. They were her priority while he was left to hide behind the counter until what he called the Charlie effect wore off and he could comfortably walk again without making women swoon, and most men uncomfortable, over the swell in his pants.
“Mr….Windsor, was it?” Charlie asked the blond weasel who was priority one on Cane’s private hit list.
“Windsor, ah…yes. Phillip Windsor.” He stalled, waiting for awareness to wash over Charlie. “Of the Berkshire Windsors?” When Charlie offered an awkward nod indicating the name meant something to her, the man went on. “This lovely steed is my wife. Elizabeth,” the man said with certain confidence.
Cane snorted. Did he really just call his girl a horse? He wasn’t entirely current on English slang, but he was certain a steed was still a horse. This guy wasn’t fooling anyone…was he?
“Windsor,” Charlie repeated, brows furrowed as her mouth did this quirky twist that often-accompanied thinking. “Why is that so familiar? Have we met before? I could have sworn this is your first stay here with us.”
Cane knew exactly why it sounded familiar. Windsor was also a castle in England where a dude named Phillip lived…with his wife Elizabeth. As in Queen Elizabeth. Do people really fall for this shit?
“No, mate. I don’t believe we’ve met. Maybe we’ve made your news or tabloids and that’s where you know us from,” Phillip replied.
Cane rolled his eyes at Phillip’s use of the Australian slang. Seemed the guy was still confusing the two countries. Cane muttered under his voice, “Excellent, the royal family is in town.”
“Pardon me, sir?” The man, Phillip Windsor, said with a heavily offended English accent this time. “Is there a…problem? You know, we left our last hotel because they had the audacity to tell me I couldn’t use the helicopter to take my lovely lady to the Grand Canyon for a picnic. I must’ve played one, maybe two large, just last night on the tables, and they couldn’t fly us out to lunch. Are we going to get the same treatment here, sir?”
“No.” Cane plastered on a smile. “Not at all. I just wasn’t aware we had royalty staying with us. As the head of hotel security,” Cane emphasized security to make a point, “I would have thought your…people would have reached out to ensure proper protocols were in place. By the way, your steed…she’s lovely.” Then, he mumbled, “Bet you ride’er hard and fast — a good two-minute guy.”