The Mentor (Necessary Lies Book 1) (9 page)

We had a couple “one more time” moments until it was finally mid-afternoon and we were both starving.

“We should go into town,” Nolan said as he stood up to stretch. I watched the muscles in his body flex with his reach.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” I said. “I’m sick of Lean Cuisines and cereal.”

Nolan smiled. His face was so different now. He’d let down a wall. The coolness and aloofness were gone for a moment. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time. The real him. Not the man who worked for my father.

“What do you feel like?” he said as he pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. “Anything in particular you want?”

“I don’t know,” I said laying across the bed, staring at him. “A sandwich. And then you again. That’s what I want.”

He laid down next to me, pulling me toward him. His kiss invigorated me and as his mouth met mine, his hand pushed on the small of my naked back.

“That sounds good to me,” he said. “I hate to say this because it’s the last thing I want, but go get dressed. I’ll have Michael come pick us up in 30 minutes.”

********

Leaving the house with Nolan was such a foreign experience. I had arrived there not knowing this man, not liking him all that much, and now we were hand in hand in the back of a Range Rover, watching the scenery pass by as we drove down off the mountain and into South Lake Tahoe.

I couldn’t help but wonder what my father would think of this. If Dad was “like a father” to Nolan, in some weird way did that make him my step-brother?

I wasn’t one to be so reckless with my emotions. I was pragmatic to a fault. But with all that had happened this week, Nolan Weston had become my escape. Even as close as he was to the situation, whatever was happening between us was helping us both get through it.

There was a sub shop at the bottom of the mountain we were on, one that faced the lake.

I ordered a turkey and provolone on white while Nolan ordered a meatball sub. We took both to our table, a Bonnie Raitt song crooning above us from tinny speakers.

“Finally, good food,” he said, taking a large bite out of his sandwich. His hair, dark but with flecks of gray at the temples, was tousled and wild. He’d never looked so sexy. I wanted to lean over and bite his bottom lip. He looked so delicious. But I refrained.

“So what exactly happens when I meet with the firm?” I asked, nibbling the corner of my sandwich.

“Wow, down to business already,” he said. “You are your father’s daughter.”

I looked out over his shoulder and through the window. A young couple were bundled up and walking around the lake in snow shoes. They looked so happy.

I faced Nolan again, “Well. It’s why I’m here, right?”

Nolan nodded, “Yep. There are things to settle. It may take more than one trip. We have offices in New York too, some of the board members are there and didn’t make it to Tahoe due to the weather. So this will probably be a long process, of transition, of whatever it is you want.”

“But I don’t even know anything about the firm,” I said. “Sure, it’s legally mine, but that’s like telling me I own a cricket team in India. I know nothing about either cricket or India, so my owning it wouldn’t do much good for anyone. Can’t I just put someone in charge and be a silent partner? Or sell my stake?”

“Your father has explicit instructions. You’re not to sell your share. Which by the way, isn’t even a share. You’re it. You are the sole owner,” Nolan said firmly. “I suppose you could sell if you really insisted, but it was number one on the list of things he didn’t want to happen. He built this firm for you to have one day. And his father built it for him, and your great-grandfather is the founder of it. The Hunts have been a huge part of things for a very long time. Your father believed in its cause, but he also knew it was what kept him from being with you. So he always told himself that if it could all one day be yours, it would maybe make up for his distance from you.”

“And what is your cause?” I asked, looking at him. “You keep secrets. You blackmail people. You use power and deceptive tactics so rich people can get what they want. You’re not a charity. Let’s be honest.”

Nolan nodded, “I won’t deny it. We use… Intimidation, sometimes. Blackmail. But it’s never against people who don’t have it coming. Trust me.”

“And what do you do?” I asked. “Those photos I saw? Are those you?”

Nolan shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, “Sometimes. I’m also used as a representative of sorts. For your father. I guess I’m his consigliere if I’m looking for a definition for what I do. I represent his best interests. And by extension, yours.”

“You represent my best interests?” I asked. “We haven’t known one another that long.”

Nolan balled up the paper his sandwich had been wrapped in, “Yes, well. You ready to go back? Is there anything you needed in town?”

“Is there something else you’re not telling me?” I said, leaning forward. “You’ve seen me naked, Nolan. You’ve been inside me. You can tell me things now. I think we’ve become acquainted. Yes?”

Nolan smiled, “We don’t have enough time to go over everything you don’t know. But I promise to never lie to you, Camilla. You ask me a question and I’ll answer it honestly. But I’m also not going to be completely forward about everything we do. For your protection and for the protection of our clients. Anything you need to know… the answers are all at the house. You haven’t even scratched the surface, I’m afraid.”

I stood up, “Well, in that case. Let’s get back home.”

As we walked back to the SUV I couldn’t help but have a dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sure, I wanted to know more about my father and the business he’d dedicated his life to.

But I also wanted to preserve another Before in my life. The Before I knew my father owned a private international spy firm. Life was getting stranger and stranger by the day.

After speaking too our driver, Michael, Nolan looked down onto the lake for a moment and surprised me with a question. “Do you play blackjack, Camilla?”

“I’ve never been inside a casino except to walk through on the way to see a show,” I admitted.

“Ah, well, we have a bit of time to kill. The plows are working the roads up near your new home, and it would be dangerous to drive back now. So I suggest we avail ourselves of the thing Tahoe is best known for after natural beauty and snow – the casinos.” With that, Nolan pointed out several gleaming structures nearer the lake, nestled between the trees.

My body was aching to receive more of Nolan Weston’s “teaching,” but being out of the house was refreshing and I was still getting to spend time close to him, and there was nowhere I’d rather be. Fifteen minutes later, our SUV rolled into the porte cochere at MontBleu Resort, a massive gold building housing a hotel, casino, and a variety of restaurants. Nolan explained that the property used to be called Caesars Tahoe, and that it had been my father’s favorite place to gamble when the mood struck.

During the drive, Nolan gave me a crash course on blackjack. I knew the basics, of course, the goal being to get as close as possible to twenty-one without going over, but he instructed me on the mechanics of the game, such as how to request more cards (“hit”) by tapping the felt or motioning with my hand and how to stand pat by waving a hand over the top of my cards. Those were all things I could learn from a how-to-gamble pamphlet. The next part of his curriculum was decidedly graduate-level stuff.

“Blackjack is one of the few games offered in casinos in which a savvy player, in particular a card counter, can theoretically have a mathematical edge, Camilla,” he explained. I assumed, correctly as it turned out, that Nolan was such a “savvy player.”

“Unfortunately, casinos have developed countermeasures to combat people like me, although I have disguises that can defeat their facial recognition tech (of course he did) and the counting system I use is sophisticated enough to leave most casino security personnel wondering what just happened, but I’m not the one who’s going to be playing for serious stakes today. You are.”

I tried to protest, but Nolan seemed excited by the prospect of working with me to do our part to empty MontBleu’s coffers.

“We’ll play with my money. I’ll take a marker. I’ll gamble for small stakes, lose more than I win, and keep the count going. My conversation will dictate your play. If I talk about the weather, snow, skiing, anything like that, the deck is cold and you should dial it back. If I start talking at length about you, then, cheesy as it sounds, the deck is on fire. It’s scorching hot. And you should wager accordingly.”

He gave me a primer on basic strategy and assured me that I was a “smart girl” and that he had no doubt we’d be a success. Somewhere between splitting and doubling down I felt lost, but with Nolan staring into my eyes and leaning over to kiss my neck, everything seemed possible.

Michael dropped us off and we entered the dizzying world of spinning reels and flashing lights. I looked around, trying to picture my father amid the chaos, winning jackpots, knocking back expensive drinks, and… something more. As we strolled past the high limit area, empty in the late afternoon aftermath of a blizzard, I could imagine some tycoon sitting behind stacks of chips, Dad passing by and giving him a wink that said “
I know something you think nobody knows… and you’re going to pay me to not only keep that secret, but to protect it as well.”

I was startled from my daydream by a boisterous guy in a dark suit shaking hands aggressively with Nolan. “Jimmy, my condolences, I was so sorry to hear about Mr. Frakes.”

Hearing the man call Nolan by the name ‘Jimmy” piqued my curiosity, but he cocked an eyebrow at me to stifle any questions I might have had.

Nolan responded as if speaking to an old friend. “Thank you, Nick, that means a lot. I didn’t think I’d ever set foot in here again, this place meant so much to Clark. I’m sorry, sweetie, forgive me. Nick, this is my niece, Cami Hunt. She’s visiting from Virginia. Cami, this is Mr. Nick Pascalo, he’s the casino manager here.”

I shook his hand, getting a smarmy vibe from him as he clearly undressed me with his eyes.

“You never told me about a niece, Jimmy. Where have you been hiding her all my life?”

“Settle down, Nick, she’s dating a Washington Redskins lineman.”

The casino boss seemed to get the message that I was off-limits, his laughter turning nervous as he bade us good luck and asked if we needed rooms or meals.

Once we were alone, Nolan leaned in close, filling me in one the missing pieces of the conversation I’d just faked my way through.

“Your father and I had identities we used only at the casinos here, Camilla. He was Clark Frakes and I’m Jimmy Stann. We’re businessmen from the Midwest who like to gamble. It’s a good cover. I’m not entirely sure how he knows about your father’s passing, but he’s harmless. A blowhard who fancies himself a ladies’ man, but certainly no threat. Ready to play?”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to this world of double lives and secret identities, but I was getting very used to having Nolan’s hand at the small of my back. And his musky, manly smell when he stood near me. Being so close, even with clothes between us, made me tingle all over.

We found an unoccupied $25 minimum table, and with Nolan-Jimmy signing for a $10,000 marker, we were in business. He kept $500 for himself and slid the remains of the rack, telling the dealer to “be nice, it’s her first time.”

I opened with three of the green $25 chips, as I’d arranged with Nolan. I tried my best to hit and stand in accordance with his instructions in the car, but I was sure I was making mistakes in my haste. When Nolan spoke, to the dealer, pit boss, or cocktail waitress, it was invariably about the blizzard and what it might mean for the ski resorts in the area. I dropped down to a single chip, winning some and losing some. Nolan was more affable than the man I’d grown accustomed to, laughing easily at dumb jokes and playing perfectly the part of a Jimmy from Des Moines. His pile of chips grew slightly as mine shrank.

After several shuffles, I was definitely losing more than I was winning, and whatever novelty and excitement may have been present when I sat down had vanished.

“Did I tell you that my niece here has an internship lined up with the New Yorker?”

Nolan was chatting up a man in a suit, a pit boss, and I almost missed his casual reference to me. I smiled as the dealer placed two face cards in front of me. After the win, I left my $50 bet up and stacked the two green chips I’d won on top before adding another pair. Nolan went on to describe how I had major publishing houses fighting over me, trying to convince me to leave school early to kick my writing career into high gear. All the while, the blizzard had moved indoors and taken the form of picture cards. I couldn’t cram chips into the little circle in front of me fast enough. Meanwhile, Nolan was casually tossing out a chip or two, winning, but cautioning the table that he was “slowing down since the dealer’s luck was bound to change and he wanted to stay ahead of it.”

I was giddy as my chip count doubled and nearly tripled. Nolan was regaling the MontBleu staff with tales of my modeling jobs in New Guinea, and no matter what I did, I won. Suddenly, Nolan took a look out the window and warned that he thought the clouds looked like snow again, that he thought it best to get out before he and his “niece” got snowed in and lost it all back.