Reckless Gamble: a billionaire high stakes suspense romance (City Sinners Book 4)

by Kenna Shaw Reed

  “If ever you want to take things private, just let me know.” Carlos stepped in a little too close, attempting to trap me against the wall furthest from the exit. “I’d like to see how you go all in when there are different stakes.”

  “Ohhh, Carlos!” I couldn’t blame the lump in my throat on food, still I raised my voice just enough to get attention. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to get kicked out. “I don’t think I could handle you in private!”

  “Mate, she’s being polite—if the lady played you in bed the way she plays in cards, you’d be crying yourself to sleep in shame.” Lachlan Morriset cut between us. “You okay?” he asked softly.

  “Carlos, thank you for an entertaining evening.” In the game of life, a scorned man could be more dangerous than a scorned woman. “You all made me work for my money tonight.”

  They hadn’t, but I needed to set up for some losses starting tomorrow night.

  Carlos snuck away while Lachlan stayed as my self-appointed bodyguard. “Thanks, you didn’t have to cut in, but I appreciate it.”

  “Carlos is a proud man.” Lachlan kept a watchful eye on Carlos as I gathered my bag and jacket and made to the door. “You’ve beaten him at cards, what, five or six times? Now, you’ve publicly turned him down.”

  “I don’t date other card players.”

  “Good to know, but he’s not going to understand a woman can beat, and reject him, in the same night.”

  “Then, he’d better get used to it.” I didn’t mean for it to come out as bitter or twisted. I’d married a man like that. It had taken all my patience and non-existent good will not to transfer my repressed anger onto Carlos, but every person had a breaking point. Carlos was nearing mine and didn’t realize how much pain it would radiate his way.

  “Look, you’re obviously after some quick cash. Dial it down a notch in the games and let’s talk about setting you up in some safe investments.”

  Rumor had it, Lachlan could lose his shirt at the poker table tonight and replace it tomorrow. One of Sydney’s most elusive dealmakers and bachelors, his rumored fee of seventeen percent—instead of the standard ten percent—only sounded high. Of all the regular players, he’d been the first to give respect and last to flirt.

  A barracuda at negotiations, but a genuinely nice guy to his friends.

  “I’m not interested—”

  Yes, if I was going to do something stupid, I could do worse than Lachlan Morriset, but it was Scott Alexander who kept my bloody heart racing, despite his absence.

  “Business. I’m all about the business.” Lachlan pressed the elevator button. “Take care, love. Think about my offer and don’t break too many hearts before I see you again.”

  Lachlan blew an innocent kiss as the elevator door closed. Alone at last, I let my façade drop and allowed the sense of relief wash over.

  One more win. Yes!

  Tonight had been hard fought. Yes, the outcome had never been in doubt, but now none of the players took me for granted. Sometimes they tried to team up against me, other times, they allowed me to pick off the strong while they went after the weak.

  Nights became longer. Games became more strategic.

  Hours seemed like years while I held the same face and posture. before going home alone.

  Scott.

  Why, of all the men, did I have to be obsessed with the one man who could avoid me?

  Patience.

  “This is Chloe Morrison from Mason Winters’ office. Mr. Winters would like to discuss your proposal on Thursday morning. Could you please confirm your availability at ten?”

  I awoke before midday to a message better than a royal flush.

  Replaying it several times until I could picture the secretary by her voice inflections. Searching quickly, I found my research files of public interviews and speeches featuring Mason Winters. The best way of getting inside the head of the Softli CEO was by watching his interviews without the audio. He could say the words written by others, but he couldn’t hide himself as a person which came through with his body language and facial expressions.

  When I’d first moved to Sydney, I had a tiered list of potential clients. Rather than send out a cookie-cutter email, I researched each CEO and tailored my approach.

  Weeks ago, I’d made an unsolicited pitch to Softli. A balance of logic and intuition, based on where I felt his business was starting to slow because of the maturing market.

  The call back had taken longer than I wanted, or expected, but it had come.

  Life was too short to work with idiots or people I couldn’t respect. Still, I needed to pull a large contract for a buffer against the inevitable bad run at cards. Eventually, an asshole would get lucky and clean me out. I needed the confidence only a successful consulting gig could give.

  Patience.

  I replayed Mason’s latest address to the stock market at one and a half speed, listened to Chloe’s message once more, and then responded.

  This could work.

  Scott

  “I expect you to be there.”

  “Why?”

  Being friends with my boss didn’t grant me any favors.

  Well, it kept my job intact when the press bayed for blood.

  It got me out of administrivia bullshit whenever it didn’t involve budgets.

  But I didn’t appreciate getting an email from Mason Winters demanding my presence at a meeting without any context. Two days of not replying and Mason had decided to extend the invite in person. Emails could be ignored, but not the phone call, mobile to mobile. Bypassing my protective secretary.

  “I want you to meet someone.”

  “There’s apps for that, if I was interested.”

  “I’m looking at engaging a consultant. If I do, she’ll be working closely with your financial division to go through your bad and doubtful debt book.”

  “With what financial qualifications?” With the little Mason had given me in the email, I’d checked out the consultant online. Big on promises, light on detail. Just another trumped up consultant thinking Softli was a soft touch with big pockets and ready to believe mumbo-jumbo corporate witchcraft.

  Not on my watch. Sometimes, I had to protect Mason from his niceness.

  “None, but—”

  “So, what you want me to do is open up our confidential records to someone who is not qualified to read them, or the experience to understand.”

  “She isn’t unqualified or inexperienced.”

  “You’ve made your decision; you don’t need me there.”

  “Scott, the meeting is at ten. I expect you to be there.”

  Bloody hell, Mason never pulled the CEO bullshit unless he was deadly serious. Still, I had enough to do without having to turn up to hear some outsider promise the benefits of behavioral science to reduce our bad and doubtful debts.

  Yes, cashflow was a growing problem—something I’d tried to table at the last six corporate board meetings without getting a fair hearing. But, while ever the sales team were rewarded based on signings and my financial team were either not given the time or opportunity to do due diligence including credit checks, the debt book would grow.

  Mason: Check your email for some pre-meeting reading.

  For a smart guy, Mason made a mistake in forwarding the whole consultant pitch. The idea of paying good money, and far too much based on the estimates, for some consultant to come in and critique the invoicing process and wording on the forms was a waste of both money and my time. It was almost too easy to manufacture a crisis demanding the CFO’s personal and undivided attention.

  Scott: Sorry, suggest you proceed without me. I’ll be offline dealing with this issue.

  A separate email detailed the whole crisis as proof.

  Mason: Rescheduled to Friday, 3pm.

  Scott: Can’t—leaving early for family thing.

  Mason: Monday at 2.

  Scott: Thought you wanted that board paper finished? If urgent, have it without me.

  Mason: Lunch at
Pedro’s. Tuesday at 1. No excuses.

  At least I had time to finesse a paper for the next board meeting. If they agreed to what I wanted, Softli wouldn’t need a bloody consultant.

  GG

  The invitation had been very precise—turn up to the inner-city address at twenty-five minutes past one and be prepared to pitch.

  My nerves had been on edge since the Thursday cancellation, especially when two subsequent meeting placeholders were also cancelled within half an hour of the invitation coming through. Either Mason had cold feet—which challenged my read of the guy; or the chief financial officer was fighting a rear-guard battle against the idea of bringing me in.

  Luckily, the restaurant was on Darling Harbour and easily accessible by train and a short walk. I timed it to perfection, arriving outside with two minutes to spare, just enough to check my appearance in the reflective windows.

  No time for second guessing. I steeled myself to open the door with confidence. Corporate arrogance rather than sexual swagger of a card game. Smiling at the waitress, I lifted my chin, “Mason Winters is expecting me.”

  “Certainly, please come this way.” The impeccably dressed waitress escorted me past the linen clad tables and sparkling silverware. Against the backdrop of classical Italian opera, my heels clipped across the polished concrete floor. Elegant, expensive but not ostentatious or obscene. The interior only a canvas to the floor to ceiling windows and magnificent water views.

  Away from the public tables, petitions provided discrete screening for a small number of diners in the back of the restaurant. Each table still had the million-dollar Harbour views, but without either passers-by or other diners able to see who was dining with whom.

  Yes, I immediately understood and liked Mason’s style—not wanting his competitors or executive know about me until he was ready to unleash any findings. Smart.

  “Mr. Winters, your other guest has arrived.”

  I took in his table. The blonde CEO unmistakable from my hours of footage. The camera didn’t give justice to his personality or charisma.

  No. Mason Winters wasn’t the reason I wanted to run screaming from the restaurant and get on the first plane out of town, the country.

  Every ounce of poker training kicked in. Forced my face to somehow remain professional and gaze steady.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  “Ms.Rush, please accept my apologies for the changing dates and times.”

  “Mr. Winters, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I could ignore the other guest until introduced. It was easy to focus on the elegantly dressed Mason Winters in his understated baby blue shirt, warm smile and firm handshake.

  “I’d like to introduce my Chief Financial Officer, Scott Alexander, who I expect has a number of questions about your proposal. Given how busy we all are and how closely we’ll need to work together, I thought it was better to organize a working lunch.”

  “Ms.Rush.” Scott offered to shake my hand with no sign of recognition. Either he had a better poker face than I remembered, or the recognition was one-sided. Okay, my black leather dress had been replaced with a dark blue, conservative suit and white silk blouse. Instead of my heavy poker playing makeup and severe ponytail of straightened hair, my corporate disguise was minimal makeup and hair falling soft around my shoulders.

  I’d dressed to exude a calming professionalism designed to win over a chief financial officer. I’d dressed for confidence—theirs in me.

  “Please call me Carlynn.”

  I met his cold eyes and overly firm grip. Clearly, Scott didn’t appreciate being ambushed by his CEO.

  My mistake. How could I have been so prepared for Mason and Softli and hadn’t even thought to dig deeper into the Softli executive? I mean, I should have made it harder to avoid approaching a company with a conflict of interest.

  Scott dropped my hand and fell back to his seat. Not bothering to hide his fury, but still no recognition.

  If I could hold a poker face for hours at the table, I could survive one lunch. Either he blew my cover, or I’d deal with him later.

  Patience. Breathe.

  “Here’s the deal.” Mason took the lead. “Miss Rush, you get to go over your pitch until we are served entrée. Scott gets to ask clarifying questions until mains are served. While ever I’m eating, we don’t talk work. I don’t care whether we count the boats out on the Harbour or if you recite the alphabet. I need the two of you to walk out of here in agreement on what needs to be done and how the two of you will work together. Use our time today to get to know each other and put your egos away. Ms.Rush, I’ve heard good things about behavioral insights, but I’m yet to see it in practice. Make me a believer. Scott is one of my two most experienced and trusted executives. You will treat him and his team with respect. Scott has been trying to get me to focus on the debt book for six or seven months now, and I regret to say, it hasn’t been my priority.”

  From my research, Mason wasn’t prone to long speeches. This meeting meant something to him. He’d realized how much Softli needed me, but he wanted Scott on board. I’d also noticed Scott’s eyebrows go up at the end. So, Mason had heard him, but Scott hadn’t felt heard, until now.

  Interesting.

  “What are we allowed to talk about between mains and dessert?” Scott asked, regaining his disinterested stare.

  “Ms.Rush gets to ask you more clarifying questions—which I expect you to answer fully and without the media spin or hedging.”

  “After dessert?”

  “I will bring out the most expensive port Pedro stocks and you can both have as much as you want—but only after you agree to work together without bloodshed.”

  “Confidentiality agreements?”

  “Something I’ve prepared earlier.” Ignoring Scott, I handed Mason the A4 envelope.

  “So, Ms.Rush, before you start your pitch, how is it I’ve never heard of you before?” Scott leaned back in his chair; arms folded in front.

  I held his stare, balancing up the risk and reward of outing our prior history. Better now while I could control the narrative. But linking poker to my new real name could be deadly. It had taken months to create a new name, backed with just enough experience and references to build a new and credible life in Sydney without tripping over my past.

  “Consider one of my greatest skills is to come into a firm, make a difference and then leave without your competitors, customers and other stakeholders knowing I was there.” Not a lie, but not the complete truth.

  “References?”

  “I’ve had a lengthy conversation with one of Ms.Rush’ former clients,” Mason interrupted on my behalf. “Ms.Rush offered me two options—either a fixed fee for a defined piece of work.”

  “Or,” Scott almost spat.

  “Commission based on the amount of bad debts retrieved during the next twelve months and a bonus payment based on the difference between the current debt book size and future values over the next four years.”

  “Sounds reasonable—if she can’t put up then we don’t pay.”

  “Which is what her former client did—he recommended we pay her asking price. He reckons it will work out a hell of a lot cheaper.”

  I offered both gentlemen a humble and acknowledging smile. That client should have set me up for life. Until my ex-husband destroyed everything.

  “How about we delay the decision until after our port,” I suggested, wanting to move the conversation forward. “I’ll be happy with either option, but Mr. Alexander deserves the opportunity to see what I’ve got.”

  Okay, I deserved a medal for resisting the urge to add, before he goes all in.

  Three months of fantasizing about one man and I’d almost convinced myself I’d built Scott Alexander up to mythical standards.

  If only.

  He didn’t hold back sharing his sharp wit, mostly at my expense. Nothing personal, just a never-ending narrative of consultants repackaging his insights and selling them back to Mason with a
n additional zero on the invoice.

  I also noticed the new tan, and relaxed attitude to life. Scott had lost the air of self-destruct he’d worn as a badge of honor at the game.

  Mason sat back and allowed us to bat back and forth. I delivered my pitch and addressed Scott’s concerns. He questioned my approach, access to client information and corporate finances. Intelligent questions and nothing I hadn’t either anticipated or heard before.

  Scott Alexander.

  My worlds colliding hadn’t been the plan.

  Seriously, if I didn’t need the money, I’d have made my excuses to Mason, allowed Scott a hollow victory and walked out.

  Then again, if I hadn’t become infatuated with the memory of that one night facing off against Scott, hiding behind my thinly veiled disguise would have been easier.

  My only option was to double down and keep my worlds apart.

  Replacing the poker simper with private school vowels, I thanked whatever madness had driven me to create two opposing personas.

  From the nail polish, Carlynn preferred clear gloss to GG’s black, to Carlynn’s nude lipstick instead of red. Even the postures differed, Carlynn respectfully demure with an undertone of confidence. None of the sexuality GG used to clean up table after poker table.

  As the waitress served our first course, my secret was still intact. Our bickering paused while we ate, and Scott regaled Mason with his latest rock-climbing adventure. Giving me the opportunity to study the man. As a man, instead of my competition across the green felt table.

  If Carlynn differed from GG, then Scott the card player was also different to Scott the CFO. A different tailored suit, platinum cufflinks on his white, linen shirts. In a world of fast food and disposable clothing, this was a man who invested in quality rather than quantity.

  “Why Softli?” Scott restarted our verbal sparring as soon as Mason finished his lobster ravioli in burnt butter and sage sauce. Enjoying a silent moment of satisfaction, having correctly assumed Scott’s next move, I’d timed finishing my Tasmanian mussels in white sauce with Mason putting down his fork. Scott, however, had two rock oysters to play with.