to join me?”
“I don’t think so.” Not wanting to appear rude—she was, after all, in the public relations business—she tempered her rejection with a smile. “I have a long drive ahead of me.”
“Oh, come on, a quick one. Club soda, of course, since you’re driving.” He leaned forward, his tone softer, almost caressing. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
Her curiosity piqued, Olivia frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll see.” Taking her elbow, the contractor escorted her to an out-of-the-way table in the nearby lounge where he ordered two club sodas.
“I see you like to gamble,” he said when they were settled. The thought seemed to please him.
Denying it would have been pointless. She was now certain that he had not only been watching her but had overheard her conversation with the pit boss, as well. “Occasionally.”
“Expensive habit.”
“My habits are nobody’s business,” she said sharply.
“True. I’m sorry.” But he didn’t look sorry. In fact, his amusement seemed to grow.
A waitress in a flouncy black skirt brought their drinks and quickly disappeared.
“To better luck at the tables,” Mulligan said, lightly touching his glass to Olivia’s.
Olivia sipped her club soda, wondering what he wanted with her. if he had orchestrated this “chance” meeting, as she suspected, what was his goal? What could he possibly want from her?
“So,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “Are you going to tell me what you meant when you said I wouldn’t regret having a drink with you?”
His smile was mysterious. “I was referring to a little favor we might do for each other.”
“Really.” More and more intrigued, she waited.
“I couldn’t help hearing your conversation with Charles a few minutes ago.”
“You know Charles?”
“Quite well.” He gave her that cocky smile again. “I, too, enjoy the tables every now and then.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if he was about to confide in her. “How much are you in for?”
Olivia bristled. No one, not even her mother, knew about her regular trips to Atlantic City, but she sensed that Mulligan, whose connections some claimed extended to the Mafia, knew exactly how much she was in for. “None of your damn business.” This time she didn’t bother to smile. She didn’t like people who snooped into her affairs.
The sharp reply didn’t appear to faze him one bit. “Didn’t you hear me? I want to help you.”
“You also mentioned a favor.”
“A small one.” Mulligan hitched his chair closer until their knees touched. Then, with hardly a change in expression, he pulled out an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. “Here you are, Olivia, the end of all your problems. Ten grand. Five to get the people upstairs off your back and another five to have a little fun.”
She didn’t miss the subtle switch from “Miss Bennett” to “Olivia,” as if they were already accomplices in some secret scheme.
chewing on her bottom lip, she looked at the envelope but didn’t touch it. There were a million reasons why she shouldn’t take money from a slug like Mulligan—all of them valid. On the other hand, the manager of the Golden Palace had warned her that, if she didn’t settle her account by week’s end, he’d turn the matter over to a collection agency.
But she was too smart not to know that such generosity came at a high price. “What do you want from me in return?”
Mulligan leaned back. “I understand B&A was recently commissioned to design a six-story department store in Lower Manhattan.”
“That’s right.”
“And your father is taking bids from various contractors.”
Now she understood what he wanted, and the thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. But if there was one thing she had learned working in PR, it was the art of remaining cool. “So?”
“I want to know what the low bid is.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you
Learning to Kill: Stories