Risking It All.... Yvonne Lindsay

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       Seven

      Constance awoke with a jolt. Sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains, announcing that the day was well under way.

      John was gone, his side of the bed rumpled and empty.

      She blinked, trying to read her watch. Ten-fifteen? She’d slept half the morning away. Why hadn’t John woken her? She clutched the covers around her, trying to cover her nakedness, even though she seemed to be alone in here. Where were her clothes? She barely remembered taking them off. They were probably on the floor somewhere.

      She spotted them neatly draped over a chair on the far side of the room. John must have picked them up this morning. How embarrassing! She lay here sleeping while he was up and about. Right now he was probably in a meeting or doing his daily perusal of the previous night’s takings, and she was just waking up from a sensual dream.

      She sprang out of bed and hurried across the room, then tried to tug her clothes on so fast it was more difficult than if she’d taken her time. She kept glancing about the room as if someone was watching. She checked her phone and saw several messages, mostly from work. There was no way she could even listen to them, never mind return the calls, while standing in John Fairweather’s bedroom!

      Her suit was wrinkled, probably from lying in a heap all night. She couldn’t manage to get her hair to cooperate either. She certainly hoped she could get out of here without running into anyone. And she had to drive all the way to her hotel and back before she could even get to work.

      She tried to use the elevator that opened right into the suite, but she couldn’t get the door to open. It required some kind of code she didn’t know. Cringing with embarrassment, she cracked open the door that led into a hotel hallway. A cleaner’s cart sat two doors down. She’d better get out of here before they wandered in with the vacuum. Glancing around and scurrying like a cartoon character, she darted for the public elevators at the far end of the hall.

      Constance pressed the button and gritted her teeth with impatience. She couldn’t remember a single occasion in her life before now that she’d needed to skulk about and conceal her shockingly inappropriate activities.

      Naturally the elevator opened right into the elegant main lobby, which was unusually well populated for a weekday morning. Worse yet, she could see John giving a television interview in front of the decorative mural on the far side of the room. The cameraman with his bulky mike and the aggressively tanned male reporter almost blocked her way to the main exit, and she hesitated for a minute to plan her escape.

      John hadn’t seen her yet and she wanted to make sure he didn’t. She didn’t want him to smile and wave or otherwise draw attention to her.

      “...investigated by the Bureau of Indian Affairs on suspicion of fraud...” The reporter’s words assaulted her ears as she got closer. Little did they know the BIA’s official investigator was trying to sneak past them wearing yesterday’s underwear, with John Fairweather’s DNA licked into its fabric.

      John was talking now, looking directly at the reporter. She seized her chance to break for the door, avoiding his gaze as she strode across the lobby, heels clicking. Luckily the camera was facing the other way so she wouldn’t be caught on tape making her escape.

      She burst out into blinding sunlight with her adrenaline pounding and fumbled for her car keys, desperate to escape before anyone saw her or tried to talk to her.

      * * *

      Back in her hotel room, after showering and washing away John’s passionate touch, Constance called the office. “Nicola Moore of the BIA called about six times for you,” Lynn whispered into the phone. “She’s getting hysterical. Where have you been? There’s been some kind of exposé article published about the New Dawn casino and she wants to know if it’s true.”

      That would explain the TV reporter in the lobby. “What does it say?”

      “The usual stuff, how they’ve grown too big too fast and it can’t be legit.”

      “That’s hardly a news story.”

      “There’s some stuff about his uncle. I forget the guy’s name but apparently he has a colorful past. Money laundering or something similar.”

      Constance frowned. John’s uncle Don? She didn’t like the guy much. He gave off a sleazebag vibe. “Everything’s still checking out fine. They’re very profitable because there are people here throwing their money away twenty-four hours a day.”

      “Are you sure you’re not blinded to iniquity by John Fairweather’s dazzling smile?”

      “Of course I’m sure,” she retorted. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound so snappy.” What a shame she couldn’t explain why she hadn’t gotten too much sleep last night. “I’m starting to get annoyed with all the negative opinions that keep cropping up, when I can’t find any justification for them. I can’t help but think people are just jealous and resent the tribe’s success. Why shouldn’t they have some prosperity for a change? They’ve been kicked around since the 1600s. It’s about time they got to enjoy life a bit. I don’t know why people get so upset that they’re making money.”

      “Maybe because they don’t pay taxes on it?”

      “Actually, they do pay some taxes. It was built into their agreements with the state. And they provide employment in an otherwise depressed area. I’ve totally revised my opinion of the place and I wish everyone else would do the same.”

      “You sound very passionate.”

      Passionate? What an odd choice of word. She’d certainly СКАЧАТЬ