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give to Adrian?
    I continue working as I wait. About ten minutes have passed when there is a knock on my door. The bouncer, Ed, from my club opens it and peeks his head in.
    “There’s a Tara here to see you, sir.”
    “Send her back, and leave my door open.”
    A couple of minutes tick by when I hear a faint knock. Glancing up from my laptop, I take in the sight of the blonde whose fist is tapping on my doorframe.
    “Come in.” This chick is hot, and I think I might’ve met her once. How did I forget about her? I’m wondering if since Adrian broke the golden rule and fucked a so-called employee if I can, too.
    “Take a seat.” I motion toward the chair across from my desk. She fidgets, pulling on her short shorts before she sits, and I make a mental note to check her out when she’s in uniform.
    Dammit, I need to stop thinking with my dick for one minute.
    “Thank you for seeing me. I’m Tara Northrup.” All formal and shit, she stretches her hand out to shake mine. I resist a smirk as I reach across the desk and take her hand. It’s soft, but her handshake is firm.
    “What can I do for you?”
    The corner of her lip takes abuse from her pearly whites.
    “Um, this is difficult for me. I hate to be a snitch, but I feel it’s important. One of your members in the Royal lounge is cheating.”
    My head goes back, and I look off toward the wall. I figured she was coming in here to complain about Shannon or maybe her skimpy uniform. Not something this monumental.
    “OK, first, before you give me a name, how would you know this?”
    “I play Texas Hold‘em, sir.” She blushes as her eyes cast downward. “Rather good actually.”
    This is too formal when we’re about to get down to the gritty shit. “Call me Zev.”
    “OK.” Her eyes come back to mine, and I notice how deeply blue they are. She reminds me a little of Blanca, and I frown from the memory of how poorly I treated her the other day.
    Tara is not as put together as Blanca, yet she’s still prettier. You can tell she’s worked a long shift. Her mascara is smudged under her eyes, and her blonde waves of hair are everywhere.
    Those golden waves, as they drape over her shoulders, attempt to hide her more than adequate tits, but it’s not working. As a matter of fact, her nipples are giving me a free peep show through her white tank top.
    Shit, eyes upward, Zev.
    “So, you’re a server in Royal, and you play poker. What else do you do?”
    Her eyes fill out rounder and appear more vibrant as her mouth opens and shuts. Why do I care what else she does? It’s probably because she had the balls to come in here and accuse one of my members of something as serious as cheating at cards.
    An immense amount of dough is on the line in that room, so yeah, I definitely want to know more about this brave woman.
    “I have a business degree, but I haven’t put it to use yet, sir–I mean, Zev.” Shit, she’s a smart one and probably ambitious. The exact type of female I steer clear of.
    I lean back in my chair and swivel it lightly. My fingers tent in front of me as I contemplate what to do with her.
    “I have a tip to heal your wrist,” she says out of nowhere. It dawns on me that she’s referring to the brace I’m wearing on my arm for carpal tunnel. I smirk. She’s observant.
    “What’s that?”
    “You need to push your laptop back farther. Since it’s close to the edge of your desk, your wrists are hanging down too far when you type.” She smiles broadly but blushes.
    I think something in my pants is going to tent, too, if she doesn’t stop with the lethal smile. Why am I more interested in this woman than knowing who is cheating in my lounge? Back to the situation at hand.
    “Thank you for the tip. Now, who’s cheating in my lounge?”
    Her throat clears. “His name is Noah. I don’t know his last name. He’s blonde, light eyes.”
    I hold a hand up to stop her. This is bad. Real fucking bad. “I know who Noah is. What is he doing