Poker Face: A Small Town Romance (The Beaufort Poker Club Book 1)

by Maggie Gates

  There it was. The painful reminder that she wasn’t the same strong woman I’d grown up wanting to be. She didn’t know that I’d already had this conversation with her. With a smile plastered on, I untangled a skein of yarn. “Yeah, I did. I won the competition.”

  “Good girl! I knew you could do it, Maddie Lee. Now, tell me about the restaurant. Are you busy with the summertimers yet?”

  Knit one, purl two. Knit one, purl two. Mom’s knitting needles worked their way through the yarn as I unraveled it for her. We chatted casually for a while, talking about new desserts I was dreaming up for the fall menu, all the changes around town, and all the big names that would show up for the Big Rock Blue Marlin Tournament this season. Word had it that a couple retired NBA players were putting together a boat crew to compete this year.

  “Now what about you, dear?” She asked. “Is there a fella in your heart yet?”

  I giggled, “No, Momma. I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “Is anyone seeing you?” She countered.

  “I just told you I’m not seeing anyone.”

  Momma shook her head the way she used to when I’d be too hyperactive to pay attention. “Just because you’re not seeing him doesn’t mean he’s not seeing you. Keep your eyes open, dear.” Before I could say anything else, she asked, “Say, how are Steve and Heather Pelham doing? Have they started trying to have kids yet? Those two in love like that—No reason to wait!”

  I stared down at the yarn in my hands. “Heather’s, um—They’re, um….” I blinked back the tears. “They’re real good, Momma.”

  Mom smiled pleasantly, “That’s good. That’s good.” She laid down her knitting needles and patted my hand. “Your time will come, Maddie Lee.”

  I shouldered my bag and waited for Linda to get back to her seat at reception. Nurse Ratched—I mean, Nurse Jackie—walked through the lobby with her nose so high she could probably get a cable signal. She gave my short denim shorts a haughty assessment and a humph of snooty disapproval. Bitch. The last hour of my visit had been painful. Mom’s good day slowly faded, and I watched her slip back into being a stranger. Luckily, Linda plopped down in her chair before Jackie could give me her unwanted two cents. Linda lifted her glasses that hung from a chain around her neck and tapped at her keyboard. “Alright, Miss Maddie. What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to make sure that the payment I made for Mom’s care went through.”

  Linda typed away on the computer keys. “You’d have to talk to someone from billing, but I don’t see any flags on your mom’s account, so I’d say you’re good to go. Just keep an eye out—if there’s an issue we’ll give you a call.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks, Ms. Linda.” I hurried out before the grief could crash into me again. The warm sea breeze was a welcomed reprieve from the sterile smell of the memory care facility.

  I had a few hours before poker night started and I contemplated heading into the restaurant, but Luca was there and I didn’t want to face him. Not yet, anyway. If I saw him, I knew exactly what would happen. I’d say his name and there would be no going back. His name would leave my lips and I’d let him strip me down and take me up against the wall of his office. Bent over the top of his desk. On top of the stainless-steel work tables in my kitchen. I’d kneel in front of him and suck him off while his hands yanked and pulled my hair, demanding everything I had to give.

  Luca.

  I hopped in my Jeep and navigated my way through Morehead City, heading over the bridge to Radio Island and then over once more to Beaufort. I curved through Front Street, passing Queen’s Coffee and the general store that also doubled as a laundromat. The Taylor Creek Inn came into view and I saw Hannah Jane outside directing the staff from multiple rental companies as they picked up chairs, tents, and tables from the weekend of weddings. I honked the horn and waved as I drove by. I almost pulled into Revanche to grab lunch, but I saw Luca’s sleek black BMW park in the lot and decided against it.

  That man never not worked, and it was infuriating. That was my thing. I practically lived at the restaurant. Hell, my home kitchen was bare bones. I don’t even think I owned a whisk. I ate most of my meals at work. If I had room to set up a cot in the pastry kitchen, I’d probably sleep there too. Now there he was—taking over my turf.

  Luca said his turf was the bedroom, and the notion had adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  I rounded the corner, heading inland. Glancing down at my phone, I thought about calling Lauren, but what was I supposed to say? Hey girl, sorry you got fired by this asshat after he bought out the restaurant you worked at, but he’s super hot and ridiculously fuckable.

  Maybe I was loyal to a fault. People got fired all the time. That didn’t mean the rest of us had to take up that fight for them. Gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled into the parking lot at Jokers. My stomach was growling and if I didn’t get some food in it in the next ten minutes, I’d go from irritable to unbearable.

  “Hey, Mad,” Bridget said as I plopped down onto a barstool. “Lunch?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Drink?”

  “Better pace myself. Make it a Cuba Libre. Hold the rum.”

  Bridget snorted and slid me a glass of Coke. “Don’t think you have to worry about pacing yourself with those.”

  I shrugged and ripped the paper off the straw and stuck it in the glass. “Eh, it’s poker night. Weather’s nice, the current’s not crazy—We’ll probably float the bar.” I smiled sheepishly, “You know how I get.”

  She tossed her head back and laughed, “Oh, I know. Bummer I’m gonna miss it.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Kyle’s taking me out tonight. Said he got a reservation at this place in New Bern.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Sure, I was happy for Bridget, but poker nights were sacred. The door flew open and Chase strolled in. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my two favorite ladies,” he said, shooting a wink at Bridget.

  She rested her arms on the bar top and leaned over, “What can I do for you, Detective Brannan?”

  “Just a water, darlin’.”

  I rolled my eyes. Anyone with a pulse could see that Chase was crazy for Bridget. Well, everyone except Bridget. “You know, Chase. They have these things called bottles. You can store all kinds of things in them. Some people even put water in them so they don’t have to stop at a bar in the middle of the day when they’re thirsty.”

  Chase flipped me the bird and took the glass from Bridget. “Last time I checked, you were a professional chef who has access to not one but three kitchens and yet you eat here. Wanna talk about that?”

  My stomach growled just as Bridget slid the plate across the bar to me before disappearing to check on a few more customers. I took a big bite of the chicken salad sandwich and mumbled, “I’m avoiding Luca.”

  “Seemed like you two were pretty cozy in here the other night.”

  I picked at the sandwich, pulling the raw tomato off and setting it aside. “I need some space.”

  “From him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chase flagged down Bridget and asked for two pieces of bread and some mayonnaise. “Need me to have a word with him?” He asked when Bridget disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned and handed Chase the bread and a bottle of Duke’s, he slapped the mayonnaise on the bread, stole the tomato off my plate, and made himself a sandwich. “I can pick up Steve on the way. He’d probably enjoy scaring the shit outta DeRossi.”

  I shook my head, “No. I just need some space from him. From the restaurant. He’s never not there.”

  “Probably because he knows that’s where you’re gonna be.”

  “Probably because he just sank a big chunk of money into it and wants to make sure it’s not gonna crash and burn now that Rob’s gone.”

  “How much?”

  “More zeros than you and I will ever see, that’s for damn sure.”

  Chase just shrugged and busied himself with his tomato sandwich. I dragged
a French fry through some ketchup and popped it in my mouth. Was Luca actually hanging around to oversee the restaurant? When hospitality groups acquired a restaurant, it was pretty much unheard of for the CEO to be running the day-to-day of one little establishment. Luca owned restaurants ten times the size of Revanche in destination cities—not a sleepy fishing town in North Carolina. Why was he still here?

  My phone interrupted my thoughts. The number on the screen was from the main line at the restaurant. “Hello?”

  “Mad, it’s me,” Luca began. “Sorry to bug you on your day off.”

  I nearly choked on the French fry and frantically pawed for my Coke to wash it down. “Lu—um, hey.”

  His gruff chuckle sent a shiver down to my toes. Could the man make me orgasm with just his voice? “You know, at some point we’re gonna have to talk about this, Madeline.”

  For the love of God, Luca—stop talking before I have to change my panties.

  “What can I do for you, boss?”

  “Looks like there’s some time clock discrepancies with some of your bakers. I just need you to take a look and sign off on the time sheets before it goes to payroll this week.”

  Oh. He really did just call about work. Why was I so disappointed? “Yeah, um… Yeah, I’ll look at it first thing tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I’ll leave it on my desk and let you get back to your day.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and Maddie?”

  “Yeah?” I asked with baited breath.

  “You sound really pretty today.” And then he hung up. Damn him and his smooth talking, underwear incinerating, swoony voice. I was going to need a thorough tryst with my vibrator before I went into work tomorrow. And he wasn’t even dirty talking—He just said I sounded pretty. How the hell did a thirty second phone call have me teetering on the edge of shattering into a million little pieces?

  “You okay, Mad?” Bridget asked. She and Chase were staring at me like I sprouted wings and a unicorn horn.

  I looked back down at my phone. “Yeah, I’m good. Just fine.”

  Chase raised an eyebrow, “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Need me to have words with DeRossi?”

  I shook my head and balled up my napkin, tossing it on the empty plate. “Nah. I can handle it.” Could I?

  16

  ———

  LUCA

  I dropped the phone receiver back into the cradle and tapped my pen on the stack of spreadsheets in front of me. I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off my face even if I wanted to. Maddie wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. I heard it in the way she almost said my name, but stopped herself. The way her breath caught in her throat confirmed it.

  She wants this just as badly as I do.

  Her willpower would eventually wear thin, and she’d let me in again. I hope. Something about Maddie had knocked me on my ass when she waltzed into that gym in Los Angeles,and I was still trying to find my footing. She was a wrecking ball wrapped in a hurricane with a hefty side of kick-assery.

  My phone buzzed on my desk and my heart leaped like a fucking child thinking that maybe it was Maddie. Nope—It’s Astrid.

  Fuck.

  I pressed the phone to my ear and offered a gruff, “Yes?”

  “Good news,” she said, seemingly unperturbed by my tone. She was used to my signature no-nonsense approach. The woman was colder than Maleficent, but she was efficient. That went a long way in my book. I didn’t need nice little platitudes and hand-holding. I needed someone who got shit done. Astrid fit the bill. “You have the house for the rest of the summer.”

  My eyebrows shot up. That was a surprise. I figured the rental company would’ve had bookings stacked up all season long. It was a prime property. “Thanks for taking care of that.”

  “Don’t thank me until you see the bill.”

  “That’s a non-issue.”

  “I know. That’s why I didn’t run it by you first.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That baking show you judged airs in two weeks. You’re expected to promote it on your social media.”

  I grumbled something that sounded like, “Fucking hate those corny network captions.

  “I’ll send you the information. Just be the jackass America knows and loves to hate.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Uh,” Astrid paused.

  Shit. I’d been in North Carolina too long. You sure as hell didn’t call women from New York ma’am, lest they knee you in the nuts and rip you a new asshole.

  “Yeah, I’m going to go now. This is weird. Enjoy the house.” She hung up without another word.

  I opened a drawer and pulled out the file folder that Astrid had waved in my face a few days ago. Before I knew it, I had spread the photos out on the desk and was unzipping my pants. This had to be the last time. It was getting ridiculous how much I’d jacked off to the thought of her. And then Astrid had given me photos of the two of us on our date. Those damn near microscopic shorts she wore. The tank top that gave me a glimpse of that lacey little bra that held up her luscious tits. Thinking about the way she smiled—how she smelled a little bit like sugar and vanilla. The way her perfect lips tasted. The quick breaths she sucked in when she was nervous—not that she let anyone notice. I gripped my shaft like a vise and worked it up and down in a frenzy.

  Her long legs appeared in my mind. Those tan legs that led up, up, up, to who knows what. I worked my dick faster and faster. I remembered feeling her pussy nestled up against my cock while she straddled my waist when we made out. Fuck yes.

  I kicked the trash can under my desk, moving in front of me as I imagined her dancing on the bar top at that hole in the wall place after the funeral. Watching her hips sway, thinking about what I’d feel like to have those hips in my hands with nothing between us. What it’d it feel like to have her waking up next to me, her ass pushed up against my cock. Reaching around to cup her breast. Pinning her down on the bed and spreading her knees wide, tasting her inside and out. Hauling her to the shower afterwards and getting dirty again before we got clean.

  “Fuck, Maddie—” I grunted as long spurts of my release coated the trashcan. For a moment I just sat there with my dick in my hand, staring at the photos of the two of us together. The restaurant bustled just outside my door and the noise brought me back to reality. I grabbed a handful of tissues and cleaned myself off before zipping my trousers back up. Tying the trash bag shut and opening a new one, I hid the evidence of my lack of self-control.

  Fuck it. I needed to figure out why the hell Madie was intent on hating me and I needed to do it fast.

  Searching her Twitter account occurred to me, but that’d be like looking for a needle in a very hateful haystack. To my surprise, after I made sure she got home safe from the bar, the mean tweets stopped. She still avoided me like the plague, but I could work with that. She couldn’t hide in her kitchen dungeon forever. I’d give Maddie her day off and then push a little harder.

  Truth be told, I didn’t need to call her about the time sheets. I could have just as well waited until tomorrow when she was here, but I wasn’t going to give her a day without at least making her think about me. About us. Something clicked in my very horny brain. I pulled up my email and scrolled through my overflowing inbox until I saw the unread message with Maddie’s employment history from the general manager of my flagship restaurant in New York. My eyes scanned the page until I found the section that said “Reason for leaving.”

  Bingo. I grabbed my phone and fired off a text.

  Luca: Let’s talk about New York.

  Minutes that felt like days passed before Maddie ever responded. When she did, my heart sank.

  Maddie: Let’s not.

  Luca: Why not? That’s it, right? That’s why you hate me. Why you hate the idea of being with me.

  Maddie: Today’s my day off. Unless the restaurant is burning to the ground, leave me alone.

  Luca: The restaurant is burning to
the ground.

  Maddie: Call the fire department.

  The woman was infuriating. I was ready to torch the place if it meant she’d talk to me. Maddie and I needed to clear the air before I ran out of liners for the damn trash can. I pulled up the website for one of my favorite equipment suppliers and add-to-carted my way back into Maddie’s good graces.

  17

  ———

  MADELINE

  I stared at the plume of flowers that sat on my kitchen counter.

  “So, are you gonna put them in water?” Hannah Jane asked as she loaded my fridge with the drinks that she brought over for poker night. “Or are you just gonna stare at them until they die a slow, painful death?”

  “Is that what you’re supposed to do when a man sends you flowers?” I deadpanned. “I usually just rip the blooms off and stab them into cakes. I’ve never been given flowers that weren’t supposed to be decapitated before.”

  “Hardy-har-har.” Hannah rolled her eyes and plucked the vase off the counter and set it in the sink. “You know, you’re also supposed to call the sender and say thank you.”

  “I don’t know who sent them,” I lied. “Maybe I have a secret admirer who wants to stay secret. Very, very secret.”

  Hannah grabbed the card out of the pick and read it. “Is secret admirer spelled, L-u-c-a? Because it says here that he’s thinkin’ about you, Madeline.” She wiggled her eyebrows and pinned the card to my fridge.

  “Here’s something to think about,” I smirked as I showed her my middle finger.

  She snickered and topped off the vase with water before setting the flowers in the windowsill. “Babe—Luca’s hot, he’s rich, he understands the chef life, and he’s totally into you! For the love of God, please explain to me why you’re not doing the no pants dance with that gorgeous hunk of a man!”

  “You don’t know that he’s gorgeous. He could be perfectly average for all you know.”

  “Mad, I’m not blind,” She snorted. “I saw that photo he sent in the group text. Those are abs made for licking, honey.”