How could he not tell me that the people we were meeting with were the infamous billionaire Creighton Karas and his megastar wife, Holly Wix?
I keep my forced smile in place through the introductions on the deck of the pool and manage not to choke on my own spit when a woman I’ve heard on the radio more times than I can possibly count shakes my hand.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, India. Or can I call you Indy? From what Jericho has said about you, I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine.”
For a second, I wonder what the hell Forge said about me, but I’m too tongue-tied to ask.
“The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Wix. Or is it Mrs. Karas? What should I call you?”
The breeze rising off the sea sends her loose dark hair rippling out behind her like she’s in a photo shoot. The woman is even more stunning in person than on TV.
“Call me Holly, and I’ll call you Indy. I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends.”
Holly’s Southern twang reminds me that she wasn’t always married to a billionaire, but won her first recording contract on a TV show. Now she sells out stadiums all over the world. I would expect her to be dripping with diamonds and wrapped in couture, but she’s dressed in a flowing white-and-blue sundress and silver gladiator sandals.
“Holly.” I say her name like some kind of idiot and then snap my mouth shut as her husband extends his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Indy. I’m Creighton. Or Crey, if you prefer. We can be informal since you helped me win a bet with a friend of ours.”
“A bet?” I wheeze out the word.
“Forge swore off marriage at one of our meetings, so of course, a friend and I wagered on how long it would be before he took the plunge.”
I glance at Forge, whose brows seem to lift in amusement, which is the opposite of what I would expect from him when faced with a friendly jab of that nature.
“I didn’t know what the world had in store for me yet.” He curves the hand on the small of my back around to settle on my hip. “But you also didn’t tell me about the bet. I can’t believe Riscoff was willing to take you up on it.”
“He was the one who came up with the idea.”
Forge’s body vibrates with his chuckle. “Of course he was. I’ll have to make sure to let him know how happy I was to prove him wrong.”
“Your table is ready, Mr. Karas. Would you like me to bring over a bottle of champagne? It would be my pleasure,” a server says as he waves toward the private area screened off on three sides with modular bamboo walls, just to the side of the pool.
“I’ve never turned down champagne, except when I was pregnant,” Holly says, her accent growing stronger. “I’m sure not going to turn it down now.”
Forge’s hand tightens on my hip as we follow the server toward the table. “Champagne is perfect. Indy’s ready to celebrate her win last night at a game in Mallorca. Over two million. Kicked every man’s ass at the table.”
For some reason, hearing Forge brag about me sends a shock wave of surprise through me.
We all settle into our chairs, and Creighton’s attention is on me. “Impressive. Although not surprising, considering that your reputation precedes you.”
Wait, is he saying he’s heard of me? Like beyond what Forge told him?
“You follow poker, Mr. Karas?”
“Creighton.” He corrects me, lifting a glass of water to his lips. “And not regularly, but even I remember hearing tales of a woman they called Queen Midas when I spent some time working on a project in Vegas.”
Whoa. Not what I expected to hear. But it sets me at ease and makes me feel like I’m not the odd one out at the table.
The server returns with a bottle of champagne, and after Creighton approves it, he pours each of us a glass.
“I didn’t play in Vegas long. Too many Americans with chips on their shoulders and something to prove.”
Holly bursts into laughter, nearly knocking over the champagne as she reaches for it. “That sounds about right. There’s nothing like good old-fashioned arrogance. I imagine you’re just as well acquainted with it as I am.”
I cut my gaze to Forge over the top of my champagne flute. “I’m getting there.”
“You can’t put me in the same category as him.” Creighton waves at Forge as he protests to his wife. “He’s barely civilized. I couldn’t even get him to leave his damn boats and come to land to discuss my first proposal.”
“They’re ships, not boats, dammit. And what can I say? I prefer the ocean to most people,” Forge says with a lazy lift of his chin.
“So, how did you end up in business together?” I ask before taking a sip of champagne.
Creighton snorts and looks at me. “I badgered him. Threatened to land on the deck of his ship whether he gave me permission or not. And when he finally said he’d give me an hour of his time, the man barely spoke two words during the meeting.”
The server returns, and Forge and Creighton both order whiskey.
“And then what happened?” I ask as soon as the server disappears beyond the bamboo wall.
“I got to the technical part of my proposal, and he proceeded to point out every single assumption I had wrong and explained why I would lose every penny I invested if I stuck to my original strategy, because I didn’t know shit about shipping.”
I look between the two men, and Forge’s posture is more relaxed than I’ve ever seen before.
“And was he right?” I ask Creighton, already guessing the answer. Forge doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to speak on a subject when he’s not certain.
“Completely. He didn’t even rub my face in it. He just told me how to do it correctly, and we made a shit-ton of money.”
“Cheers to that!” Holly lifts her champagne in the air, and the rest of us follow suit.
I like them, I decide. But I like my husband even more.
35
Forge
If there’s one thing I’ll never have to worry about, it’s whether Indy can hold her own in a social situation. She’s a brilliant conversationalist, witty, self-deprecating, and just generally fascinating.
She’s charmed Holly and Karas. I know it wasn’t something she set out to do, but she did it all the same.
Dinner has been cleared away, and we’re nursing the remainder of our drinks. I should be thinking about how quickly I can get Indy home and naked, but I don’t want to cut this short. She’s enjoying it too much to bring the night to a close, even if the sun is setting behind us and the breeze off the Mediterranean cools with each passing hour.
“You find an artist you think has talent, and then you sign them to your label? Just like that?” Indy asks Holly with an awed expression on her face.
“Pretty much. I go with my gut. I can tell who wants it bad enough, and who isn’t willing to work hard enough for it.”
“I thought it took months and a million committees before a record label would sign someone.”
Holly tips the rim of her glass at her husband. “It does, unless your husband decides to go over your head and buy your record label for you.”
Indy’s blue gaze bounces from Holly to Karas. “No way. He didn’t.”
“Oh, he sure did,” Holly says as Karas picks up the bottle and pours the remains into his wife’s glass.
“You forgave me eventually. I think you even thanked me.”
“Men,” Holly says. “What do you do with them?”
Indy finally shifts in her chair to face me. “Don’t think I forgot you said you’d let me pay for something tonight. I meant it. And don’t go buying the freaking hotel so you can use the argument that it’s really already bought and paid for.”
With any other woman, I would have said it was the champagne that helped make her comfortable in the situation, but I know that’s not it. Indy has a hard-won confidence about herself that comes from the way she had to survive. I recognize it because it’s the same way I am.
I
haven’t been able to stop thinking about what she said earlier. That life seems to work out the way it’s meant to.
Part of me wants to start believing what’s between us is real and could actually last, but my cynical side won’t let me give in to that idea. It’s not like buying a record label behind her back; I lured her into marriage without telling her the true reason why. She’s only staying for the money. I’d be a fool to think she won’t walk away the second the divorce papers are signed and the deposit hits her account.
And that’s no one’s fault but my own. Pushing the stabbing regret aside, I lift the tumbler of whiskey off the table and down the last sip.
“I promise I won’t buy the restaurant or the hotel,” I say, and shoot her a wink to cover the morose turn of my thoughts.
“And you’re definitely not paying for dinner,” Karas says, slapping a hand on the table.
“But—”
“It’s already been charged to our room. How about I invest some of your poker winnings, and we can consider this a business dinner that I’ll then write off, and you won’t feel guilty because you’re helping me pay less taxes.”
“Like you weren’t writing it off already,” Holly says with a playful roll of her eyes.
Karas rises and steps behind his wife’s chair to pull it out. “Of course, but you didn’t need to spill all my secrets.”
“Hardly a secret. But now, I think we need to go walk. I want to see this castle that I was told I couldn’t leave the island without seeing,” Holly says, lifting her chin to look straight up at him. Karas takes the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss to her lips before helping her out of her chair.
Indy’s eyes light up. “You haven’t seen it yet? It’s not far. An easy walk. Let me be your tour guide. And . . . just so you know, there are some incredible ice cream shops on the way.”
“I’m sold,” Holly says as she stands.
“What do you say?” Indy asks me. “Want to go explore like tourists?”
I pull out her chair and offer her my hand. She slides hers into it, and I squeeze tight.
“Lead on.”
36
India
Holly is enamored with Castell de Eivissa and its weathered stone walls and their carved inscriptions. As we wander through the medieval structures, I realize how lucky I was that my mother decided to disappear after she brought us to this island. It’s been my home for so many years, I’ve started to take its beauty for granted, and I wonder if Jericho has done the same.
Jericho.
His first name is popping into my head with more and more regularity, and each time, I have to check myself. This time, I stumble on the cobblestone street, and his hand is there to steady me.
“You okay? Too much champagne?”
“No. No, I’m fine. Just missed a step.” I can’t tell him the reason I missed a step is because of him.
After learning about his childhood this morning, and now seeing him with friends while he jokes and laughs at playful ribbing, he’s no longer this forbidding titan of industry or ruthless opponent. He’s flesh and blood.
I sneak a glance over my shoulder as the sea breeze ruffles his hair and the dimming light casts shadows from his sharp cheekbones. Incredible flesh and blood, I amend, and someone I like spending time with.
Maybe even more than like it. I’m starting to crave his droll comments and sarcastic wit. He makes me smile, and that’s not something I thought I’d ever say.
Not to mention, he has the world’s most incredible penis and he knows how to use it.
Maybe being Mrs. Jericho Forge isn’t the worst thing in the entire world. He’s done nothing but help me so far, and while I know there’s plenty in it for him, he didn’t lie about it. He just didn’t tell me the whole truth about his motivations.
In his position, I probably would have done the same thing. He took one hell of a risk when he bet on me, and I’m starting to wonder if losing at La Reina wasn’t actually the best thing to happen to me yet.
Only time will tell . . . and I set the clock on that running with my ultimatum that he close his deal and let me go.
The word divorce doesn’t sound quite so appealing as it did before.
Thankfully, before I can think more about the constantly changing landscape that is my marriage, I spot the ice cream shop that I only go to when I’m truly splurging.
“Are you in the mood for dessert yet?” I ask Holly, pointing across the street.
“Girl, I’m always in the mood for dessert.” She pats her sundress in the vicinity of her belly. “Especially when I’m not on tour.”
I step out of the circle of Forge’s arms and wave my finger between him and Creighton. “I’m buying, gentlemen. Don’t even try to stop me.”
37
Forge
The women are still eating their ice cream when my phone vibrates again.
Fuck. The last thing I want to do is let this night be interrupted by business, so I ignore it. That’s when Indy pulls hers from her purse and rises from the small café table.
“Excuse me a moment?” She holds out the phone so I can see the screen. “It’s Alanna.”
I palm my phone as she steps away and see I’ve missed two calls from Summer. Why the hell would Summer be calling me?
Before I can call her back, Indy tosses her ice cream in the trash and rushes back to the table. “We have to go.”
I’m out of my seat before she’s done speaking. “What’s wrong?”
“The guests in Alanna’s efficiency apartment are tearing it apart. She’s scared, and the police said they couldn’t be there for an hour or more. Summer is threatening to try to stop them herself.” Indy grabs at my shirtsleeve to pull me away.
“Sounds like you have somewhere more important to be,” Karas says as Holly gasps.
“Yes, go. Please. Take care of it. We’ll see you again. I promise.”
“It was so nice meeting you both,” Indy says with worry lines creasing her brow. “I’m sorry the night has to end like this, but—”
“Go,” Karas says. “It’s fine.”
I grab Indy’s hand, and together we rush down the sidewalk in the direction of Alanna’s building. A car won’t get here more quickly than we can go on foot because of the congested, winding streets. Even a taxi isn’t going to be quicker.
Then I look down at her shoes, tall heels that are going to cause her to break a leg if she tries to run.
“I’ll carry you,” I say, but Indy shakes her head. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to run in these Manolos, and probably won’t be the last. Let’s go.”
She tugs at my hand. We dart through the cars, and I use my body to shield her from oncoming traffic.
We reach the corner, and one of her heels sticks between the cobblestones. Indy falls forward as she steps right out of it.
I reach for her to steady her before I yank the shoe free and push it into her hands. “Hold this,” I say, then lift her into my arms and break into a jog.
“I can run.”
“And I can run faster.”
Any further protest is silenced as I turn the corner and Alanna’s building comes into view. Summer is out front, looking around for God knows what. She spots us immediately.
“Where the hell is your security guy? I thought someone was watching the building?”
I glance around to see the dark sedan parked on the street and wave a hand. Koba jumps out.
Fuck, I should have called him and sent him up first. But my only thought had been to get here as fast as possible.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asks at the same time I do.
“I don’t know exactly,” Summer replies. “I assume they’re fucked up and got into a fight. We can hear dishes breaking and furniture cracking. Alanna is losing her mind, and the police are useless.”
I lower Indy to her feet and she shoves on her shoe. The four of us rush into the lobby as the elevator is closing, but I shove my arm betwe
en the doors. “Did they hurt you or Alanna?”
Summer whips her head from side to side. “No. She knocked, and they yelled through the door. They wouldn’t open it. I went over there and pounded until one of them smashed a plate against the door and called me a cunt. Then I phoned the police.”
“We’ll take care of them.” Anticipation pumps in my veins, the same way it did when I ran after the guy who snatched Indy’s purse in Saint-Tropez, and then again when I got her back from Bastien. No one fucks with me or mine.
“Which apartment?”
“Six B,” both women say in unison.
“Go sit with Alanna,” I tell Indy and Summer when the elevator opens to her floor. “Assure her everything will be fine.”
I don’t wait for my orders to be followed before Koba and I stride toward the apartment. I didn’t really need to ask which unit it was because the sound of destruction gets louder as we close in on the door.
Fucking assholes.
I nod at Koba and point to the door. “One. Two. Three.”
Together, we kick the white wood and the door flies open, hardware bursting apart from the force.
“What the fuck?” a man yells from inside, but Koba has his gun drawn as he steps across the threshold and I follow.
The voice belongs to a twenty-something kid, not a full-grown man. He goes quiet at the sight of the gun, but his friend sends a broken plate flying like a Frisbee at my head.
I bat it away with my forearm, and it slices across my skin with a sharp sting. “You picked the wrong apartment, motherfucker.” I stalk toward him as he stumbles back against the wall.
The room is a wreck. Broken glass and wrecked furniture everywhere. Even the couch cushions are slashed open. I don’t know what the fuck they thought they were doing, but it comes to an end now.
I grab the kid who threw the plate by his collar and lift him up. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Put me down! No one invited you to the party.”
Luck of the Devil Page 11
