A Game of Chance

by Emma Shortt

  Beautiful and smart.

  Cute and sassy.

  How was Chance possibly going to survive this investigation with Blue by his side?

  He looked up at the whiteboard and laughed. The investigation? He’d be lucky if he survived the night.

  Chapter Eight

  Meg couldn’t help but feel like she was in a movie as she approached the bar where Chance had suggested they meet up. She was trying her best not to feel that way, but part of her suspected it was a losing battle.

  She was on her way to meet a private investigator.

  They were joining forces to crack a case.

  And the location couldn’t have been more perfect for their first assignation.

  It was in the shady part of town, if there was such a thing. Sandwiched between a gym and an all-night liquor store, the bar looked like its best years had passed a long, long time ago. Meg knew it wasn’t dangerous—she’d Googled the crime stats earlier in the day—but she did need to be on her guard. Not because of any possible seedy characters. Not even because there was a strong chance that whatever liquor the bar served would be a hell of a lot stronger than pineapple-and-peach cocktails. But because Chance was in there. And whatever happened between them tonight would set the tone for all the days to come.

  Meg kept that thought firmly in mind as she paid her cab, made her way across the dimly lit strip between the sidewalk and the bar, and pushed open the sticky door that led inside. She wanted to give a little cheer once she did so, because the bar was exactly how Meg had imagined it would be. The lighting was low, provided by a few hanging glass fittings, all of which looked like they needed a damn good clean. The carpet was of an indeterminable brown color, with several strips of plastic matting running alongside the tables that filled the majority of the space. The tables, and the chairs for that matter, were all dark wood, and each table had a dim lamp upon it. Most of the tables were full. Most of the bar was full. And it was noisy.

  Meg paused next to an aging glass partition and took the scene in. It was a world away from her usual haunts, but Meg immediately warmed to it. People were in groups, in couples, laughing, drinking, and snacking on the bowls of nuts sitting on every table and running along the entire bar. She could see why Chance had chosen this place. Even though Meg barely knew him, she felt like this bar fit him. Meg wanted it to fit her, too. Why, she didn’t know, but that was how she felt.

  She spotted him the moment that thought ran through her mind. He spotted her, too. Their eyes met. Meg’s stomach flipped. It was going to be flipping quite a bit tonight.

  She took a deep breath at that thought and plastered a cheery sort of smile on her face before making her way through the bar and across to Chance. Did people turn to look as she walked by? Of course they did. Meg looked like no one else in the bar. Electric-blue hair tended to do that.

  He stood up as she approached the table. He’d chosen one in the corner, looking out onto the rest of the bar. The lamp overhead was flickering. It made shadows play across his face. For a moment, Meg was struck by an overwhelming feeling of familiarity. Those eyes…where did she know them from?

  “Good evening, Blue.”

  His softly spoken words made Meg’s stomach flip all over again. The feeling of familiarity faded, to be quickly replaced by that same intense attraction that she had felt in the kitchen of KIT. Meg had to work very hard to make her words sound carefree.

  “Good evening, Chance.”

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  These feelings? Coupled with alcohol-lowered inhibitions? Meg couldn’t begin to imagine what a dangerous cocktail that might be. She shook her head. “I’m good for the moment.”

  “Have some water, then,” he said.

  He gestured to the table. There was a pitcher of ice water and two glasses there. One was already full. Chance clearly wasn’t drinking any alcohol, either. Meg couldn’t help but wonder if his reasons were the same as hers.

  “Did you pick this place on purpose?” she asked as she took a seat.

  “What do you mean?”

  Meg waved a hand at the space around them. “It’s like something out of a PI movie. All old decor and jovial atmosphere.”

  Chance smiled. “If this was a PI movie, then you would surely be the femme fatale.”

  Meg smiled, too. How could she not? “I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I was imagining myself in a role. It wouldn’t be the femme fatale, though. Too obvious.”

  Chance poured her water and placed the glass in front of her. “Let me guess, you’d be the villain.”

  “Of course.”

  “The hero wouldn’t find out until the end?”

  Meg wrapped her hand around the glass. It was cold. The contrast to the heat she could feel throughout her entire body could not be ignored. “You’re the hero?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, it’s true that I would keep you guessing to the very last moment. I’m not sure what you would do when you eventually realized what was happening.”

  Chance shook his head slowly. “I’d be in a tough position.”

  “I have a feeling you’re good with tough positions, Chance,” Meg said before she could even think the words through. The moment she realized exactly what she had said, Meg snapped her mouth shut.

  Chance visibly stilled. His eyes locked on hers and the tension, that damn tension, arced around them all over again. Meg swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. The attraction she felt for Chance, the attraction that she had told herself all afternoon was something she could easily handle, seemed to squeeze her chest. She pulled in a shaky breath.

  “Blue…” Chance began, but Meg quickly waved his words away.

  She needed a minute. No, she needed to think her words through before she said them. Story of her entire life.

  “Maybe I should have a drink, after all.”

  She stood up before Chance could say another word and headed straight for the bar. A pretty, smiling woman took her order. Meg didn’t even take it back to the table. She downed it in one. The liquid warmed her throat, dislodging the lump somewhat. She pulled in another shaky breath. She had to get a handle on this. Chance was just a man. This was just an attraction. Meg had experienced plenty of both over the years.

  She turned to look back at him. He, of course, was looking at her, but Meg couldn’t begin to work out what the look in his eyes meant. What she did know was that, like it or not, she was going to have to be very, very careful with Chance. It was either that or take him home with her tonight.

  Something blossomed in her stomach at that thought. She was single. If he was too… Why shouldn’t she take him home with her? Why shouldn’t she act on this instant and crazy attraction? What was stopping them?

  X-Tech…your work…the evidence…

  She frowned as those very sensible reasons made themselves known. It was almost like Kate was in the room. And what would Kate say? That maybe, in the end, the best way to deal with whatever was happening here was just to let it happen? That was, after all, what Kate had done with Will and that had worked itself out.

  With a decisive nod—because what other choice was there?—Meg nudged the glass back to the woman behind the bar, straightened her shoulders, and walked back over to Chance. He stood again as she approached and did not sit back down until Meg was seated, too. She crossed her hands on the table and scrambled for something to say. Chance beat her to it, and in a way that Meg did not expect.

  “Does it feel strange to have people follow you as you walk around a room?”

  Meg frowned. “Follow me?”

  “With their eyes,” Chance said. “A bunch of them did it just now as you walked to the bar. I’m guessing that’s not a new thing for you.”

  “It’s because of my hair,” Meg said, even as she twitched slightly, wondering who had been looking at her. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have been bothered, but Meg had made an effort tonight to be as low-key as possible.


  “It’s not just the hair,” Chance replied. “It’s everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Your clothes…”

  “What about them?” Meg asked, bristling slightly. She’d put an awful lot of thought into her clothing choice tonight. “I’m undercover.”

  “Undercover?” Chance laughed softly. “Here’s the thing with going undercover, Blue, you have to blend in.”

  “I’m blending in as much as I can…”

  “You have electric-blue hair.”

  “Well, yes…”

  “And you’re wearing the tightest jeans I’ve ever seen.”

  “I have tighter pairs than these.”

  “And that T-shirt barely covers your—”

  “My what?” Meg demanded, bristling even more.

  “You don’t blend in,” Chance said. “You could never blend in. You’re too striking.”

  “I don’t have any other wigs,” Meg snapped.

  Chance took a quick gulp of his water. “I don’t mean the color of your hair. I mean you.” He paused, and his next words made Meg’s heart squeeze in a way that was completely unfamiliar. “You’re too pretty.”

  “Too pretty?”

  “Yeah.”

  Meg took a deep breath. She wanted another drink. But then, she didn’t want Chance to think she was a lush. For some odd reason, his opinion of her mattered. Why? She’d only just met him.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been called ‘too pretty’ before,” she said slowly. “Thank you, I guess.” She shifted on her seat. “And thank you for the flowers, too. They’re beautiful.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Another deep breath. They were rapidly becoming necessary. “You’re very striking, too.”

  Chance started at those words. “Excuse me?”

  “Maybe attractive is a better word.”

  “Meg…”

  It was the first time he’d said her name. Meg liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. Those lips…

  “You can give me a compliment, but I can’t give you one?” she said quickly. “Here’s something you’re going to have to know about me, Chance, and sooner rather than later; I’m all about equality.”

  He sat back in his chair, arms crossed. He was on the backfoot. For maybe the first time since they’d met—not including the knee between his legs, Meg was ignoring that particular incident—he was feeling the flipside. Meg liked that.

  “Earlier you said I was too dumb to understand your work.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You suggested it.”

  “Well…”

  He shrugged. “In fairness, you were probably right.”

  “I’m sure I’d have trouble understanding your work,” Meg said.

  “I feel very patronized right now.”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. They were flirting. Dear Lord…they were flirting. It was so wrong, and so right, and Meg did not know what the hell she was doing. “A guy looking like you do? It’s probably character building.”

  Another shrug but suddenly there was an intensity there again. Meg felt it immediately. She found herself leaning forward. Chance mirrored her action. The space between them closed. The tension arced and sizzled.

  “You probably prefer the nerdy types,” Chance eventually said, and there was a note to his voice that made Meg shiver.

  There was no ignoring it now. Had there ever been? And so, Meg said the words that were going to seal their fate. “Chance, is that a roundabout way of asking if you’re my type?”

  Chapter Nine

  How much space was there between them? The width of the table for sure, but a few inches between their faces at most, because they were both leaning forward, both acting on the desire to get closer, to minimize the little space that was left, to let the heat and the intensity between them ratchet up another notch.

  Chance’s heart was thumping in his chest. His stomach was clenched tight. Hell, his entire body was wired tighter than it had been in a long time. And his cock…he was rock hard. He wanted Meg in that moment more than he could ever remember wanting any woman.

  She was so pretty.

  So sassy.

  And she was nervous.

  God, he wanted to soothe those nerves. To take her in his arms and let her know that there was no reason to be nervous around him. And yet…there was a reason…a damn good reason. What the fuck was he doing?

  “Meg…” he began, but she cut him off by leaning even more toward him, against the table.

  The new angle meant that her breasts were practically spilling out of the tight red top that she wore. Chance ached to reach forward and rub his thumbs over their curves. He’d surely have to push the material down only an inch or so before her nipples would be visible, before he could touch them…

  He swallowed against the lump in his throat. That was not why he was here. This wasn’t a date. They were here for business only. For the X-Tech fuck-up. He had to remember that. Even if every part of him was aching to do otherwise.

  “Chance…”

  His name, the name only those closest to him had ever used, fell from her ruby-red lips. Chance liked the way it sounded. Hell, he liked everything about this entire situation.

  Her.

  Him.

  What was so obviously happening between them…

  He mentally cursed the fact that he hadn’t met her at a bar like this. Hadn’t simply struck up a conversation. And yet, even as those thoughts formed, Chance knew that there was no way he would have had the balls to approach her if they had. He might have learned how to be charming, but more than a decade of living as the absolute stereotype of a male nerd—a guy who women only responded to because he was ridiculously rich—meant that Chance’s skills of seduction weren’t up to the level that a girl like Meg would expect. The game he was playing, the importance of it, that was the only reason that Chance had been able to approach her, to talk with her, to flirt with her. Because they were flirting. And it had to stop.

  He cleared his throat, intending to say something, anything, though he had no idea what he planned to say. Meg didn’t give him the chance.

  “I don’t have a type,” she said, her voice all kinds of soft. “I’m an equal opportunities sort of girl. I mean, sure, it’s nice to be with someone who looks good, but the person they are is what matters in the end.” She paused. “That Carrie Fisher quote? And I’ll say right now, I am not a fan of Star Wars at all, but how can anyone not be a fan of the late, great Carrie Fisher?”

  An image of his light-sabre collection, not to mention the perfectly-to-scale model of the Millennium Falcon that he had spent weeks building, flashed through Chance’s mind. He almost winced. “How can anyone not be a fan of Star Wars?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Tell me the quote.”

  “That youth and beauty are not accomplishments,” Meg said. “They’re the temporary, happy by-products of DNA and time.”

  “She had a point.”

  Meg let out a soft sigh. “She did, and I always try to remember it when I date. I look for smarts. I look for kindness. And I look for honesty. The packaging? That’s just a bonus.”

  Honesty… Chance’s stomach tightened. What the hell would Meg say when she realized who he was? Jack Richards, X-Tech CEO, and the man who, given the chance, would put a stop to her work.

  “So, basically a nerd,” he said.

  She smiled at that. “You’re assuming that all nerds are smart, kind, and honest?”

  “Aren’t they?” Chance asked, even though he knew the answer. There was a nerd in X-Tech who was neither kind nor honest, and he wasn’t just talking about himself.

  “They’re just like anyone else,” Meg said. “They have their good parts and their bad parts. I will admit that social skills are often an issue. There’s no getting around that. Our industry tends to attract people who have more difficulty interacting with each other than the other industries would.”
She tilted her head, a thoughtful look playing across her face. “It’s the math. Anyone who is really skilled with numbers has to be a bit…strange.”

  Chance had spent almost the entirety of his teenage years, and his early twenties, for that matter, being skilled with numbers and also “a bit strange.” It had taken him a little while to realize why that was. To appreciate that some people just couldn’t understand numbers in the way that he could. It had taken him even longer to deal with what that meant. To not get frustrated and irritated with what he had seen as other people’s lack. Because it had been so blindingly obvious to him. Why wasn’t it blindingly obvious to them? Pick up one number and drop it there, pick another and move it here, and suddenly truth emerged. Hidden truths. Meg understood hidden truths. She understood how it felt to be surrounded by those truths that no one else could comprehend. Was that why he was so fundamentally attracted to her? Because on some level he knew that she understood?

  Chance drew in a shaky breath. His mind raced even as he asked, “Why do they have to be strange?”

  “Because mathematics is the language of the universe,” she said, and Chance’s heart thumped. “If you spend your days trying to read the universe, to understand its mysteries, how can it not make you a little kooky?”

  He nodded slowly. She smiled at him. Silence fell between them. It was heavy with meaning. Chance did not doubt that they both felt it.

  “You don’t have trouble interacting with others,” he eventually said.

  Her smile widened. “No. I’ve always been pretty extroverted. I think it was because I took a bunch of theater classes at college. I tried to get Kate to come, but she refused. This is why it took her forever and a day to find a boyfriend.”