Lucía said, “Will Peter come sit and drink with us?”
My cousin milled around on the periphery, ever ready to make an assist. “I think he’s still working for a bit longer.”
Natalie asked me, “So what do you do?”
“I used to help out with my parents’ financial planning business until about three months ago. But it’s a tough”—lethal—“market.”
“Your investment background interests me,” Dmitri said. “Perhaps you can help me make a determination about a few prospects.”
Doubtful. My skill set involved selling dummy stocks like they were snake oil—not evaluating them. “Those days are over for me, I’m afraid. Now I’m a cocktail waitress here at the casino.”
“How are you liking the service industry?” Lucía asked.
In Vegas? Why, I just love when customers drunkenly grope me. And married men do it best!
As I tried to formulate an answer, Natalie groaned. “My server gigs sucked. Note to self: If a restaurant supplies sporks, tips there will be nil.”
She’d had server jobs? According to Pete’s intel, she’d grown up on a huge farm in Nebraska and had inherited a fortune five years ago.
Lucía said, “I enjoyed cleaning houses better than I did slinging wings at a Hooters-type establishment. Scrubbing toilets was . . . purer.”
Even as I laughed, I wondered why she had done either. Her mega-rich family had controlled one of the largest coastline tracts in Florida for generations.
Maybe their parents had made them work minimum-wage jobs to try to keep them grounded. Or perhaps the Sevastyans controlled their public information, putting their best face forward. I glanced at Dmitri, finding his gaze on me.
A tech genius with unlimited resources could hide a lot of dirt. Hmm . . .
“Customers can be so bizarre,” Natalie said, drawing my attention. “Have you ever had a guy ask for a cosmopolitan, but he wanted it in a ‘manly glass’?”
“Yes! Then there’s always the guy who says, ‘No, you’re cut off!’”
Natalie laughed. “I’ve had dudes say that to me too!”
Dmitri wasn’t laughing, but one corner of his lips curled, the barest hint of a coming smile. His amused expression? It looked so . . . out of practice.
Jessica handed out shots, only to the girls. Once we’d geared up with salt and lemon, she said, “Okay, ladies, start your livers. Now it’s our turn to make roast toasts.”
Come again?
Natalie raised her glass and winked at Lucía. “To the three types of orgasms. To the holy kind: ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’ To the affirmative kind: ‘Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.’ And to the fake kind: ‘Oh Maks, oh Maks, oh Maks.’”
Lucía and Maksim laughed with such ease I figured their sex life must be stratospheric. With a sly grin, Lucía said, “To Natalie. She doesn’t have a cherry, but that’s no sin, since she’s still got the box that the cherry came in.”
I chuckled until I realized they might expect me to come up with one. In past toasts, I’d paid tribute to Lady Luck, but if these people expected a roast toast . . . I loved limericks, had even won a contest once, so I cobbled one together.
“Here’s to my Vice-Vice Baby”—Jessica gazed meaningfully at me—“for being single, seeing double, sleeping triple . . . and having multiple.”
I was still laughing when, sure enough, everyone turned to me. I raised my glass to Jessica. Feigning an Irish burr, I said, “There once was a looker named Jess, who always knew just how to dress. At a party like this, she’d land more than one kiss; who she’d fuck was anyone’s guess. Sláinte!”
Jessica guffawed. Natalie and Lucía howled. Aleks and Maksim cracked up.
Dmitri hadn’t laughed, but his lips curled again, and his eyes were lively, crinkling a touch at the sides.
Everyone seemed delighted—and surprised—by even that mere response.
Jessica commanded, “Lick, shoot, suck, my bitches!”
After that shot, the night sped by too fast. Despite an occasional glare from Vasili, I ended up having a great time. I’d had to remind myself I was working, a career first.
Dmitri was unfailingly attentive, asking if I was comfortable or if I needed anything. Once he found out my favorite cocktail, a fresh rum and Coke was always in front of me.
Jess was one of a kind, and Lucía and Nat were seriously cool. I admired how tight those two had their husbands locked up. Devoted didn’t really cover it.
Whenever Nat left Aleks’ side, his gaze would clock her, as if he counted the seconds until she returned to him. Maksim couldn’t seem to touch Lucía enough, and he often whispered things to her that made her eyes shimmer.
My sister and I had a theory that three percent of the masculine population was good. How else could we reconcile all the scrotes we met in our business with the great guys in our family and among our KAs?
Were the Sevastyan brothers in that tiny percentage?
Maksim was the most charming of the three, confident and friendly. Aleks seemed more introspective and intense. He laughed with the group, but he didn’t talk much.
Dmitri was quiet too, seeming to catalog like a computer any information I divulged. . . .
The Caly’s midnight light show had just concluded when Maksim pressed a kiss to Lucía’s head and rose. “I think it’s time for a cigar with my brothers.” Aleks stood, but Dmitri didn’t.