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

by Kenna Shaw Reed

  I knew whatever Scott had thrown at me earlier had only been an appetizer. We were about to go to war, only I needed this contract and the more he fought me, the more Mason would think Scott had something to hide.

  “Why Softli?” I gave him more rope.

  “I mean, did you just Google the top companies and throw out your CV hoping someone would bite?”

  “Based on my research, Softli is an innovative company that has been able to hide missed opportunities and a rising debt book behind headline grabbing sales.”

  That set both men back in their seats. Okay, my written pitch hadn’t been as blunt. After seconds of glances back and forth, Mason gave the slightest nod, deferring to Scott.

  “Explain.”

  With weeks of research of Softli, its competitors and suppliers, I didn’t look to my notes. Keeping a soft tone and non-judgmental smile in place, I never wavered from Scott’s eyes. As CFO, the size and quality of the debt book came down to his governance. Any attack on the debt book would come across as personal, as well as professional.

  I needed Scott to welcome me into his company, not circle the wagons.

  Scott asked for details and I used the same techniques which could remember every hand played during a six-hour game to recall Softli facts and figures.

  Ignoring how his intense stare created butterflies out of nerves and threatened to destroy my ability to form sentences, I fought to be Carlynn. Charming, respectful. Not once hinting Scott should shoulder blame for the risk Softli faced. Only pointing out how I could help. Behind the scenes and without the media or their clients noticing.

  “Tell me about your other clients.”

  I waited until the waitress cleared our plates before responding. Without naming companies, I offered sufficient details to be convincing. When Scott flinched as I talked about rewriting invoices and training for sales personnel, I knew I’d struck a nerve.

  “It’s always difficult when staff are rewarded by commission without having to live with the consequences of signing up highly leveraged clients.”

  While Mason became my nodding man, Scott barely managed a wry smile that never quite reached his eyes.

  My poker smile became genuine as our mains arrived and I could relax back while the men returned to discussing Scott’s newest hobby. The idea of trusting my life to a thin rope triggered my worst nightmare. I didn’t trust safety rails, safety glass or even ladders. But rock-climbing did explain Scott’s tan. His cheekbones were more finely cut and his eyes brighter than the first night. The fitted clothes could only hint at what upper body muscles Scott needed to compete. No wonder he’d been missing at the tables.

  Again, the moment Mason set down his cutlery, Scott launched back into his interrogation.

  “I thought it was my turn to ask the questions.” I ignored Scott’s question about behavioral science research with one of my own. Hoping Mason would play peacemaker, but he seemed content to watch us spar.

  “I thought you’d have convinced me by now.”

  “It’s not my job to convince you. My job is to help you understand your clients.”

  “They aren’t my clients. I don’t find them or manage them. I need them to pay their accounts on time and for sales to stop creating more headaches.”

  “Then let me help. You’ve got Mason’s attention. Use me.”

  Something must have struck a chord. Immediately, Scott leaned back and sipped the glass of dry white wine. Not giving me fulsome answers, but enough to help me frame where our priorities should be. Yes, we might be able to work together without killing each other. Although, if my disguise didn’t hold—

  No.

  Not going to go there.

  Not even going to think about it.

  Scott would have to trust me with his company. Only then would I even consider trusting him with my secret, my life.

  “In games, there’s always a winner. Success is clear. If we work together, what would success look like, to you?”

  My final question.

  In all games, rules were important but not as important as knowing when to walk away from a loss, or how to know when you’d won.

  I brushed an errant strand of hair that had been tickling my cheek while Mason gave me the corporate spiel and Scott set almost impossible goals.

  Their answers didn’t matter. Success would be defined in my contract.

  For me, success had become redefined with every minute I’d sat across from the one man who’d invaded my dreams.

  I wanted one night with this man. To feel what it would be like to make love to a man who could feel so strongly about something, or someone, that he could self-destruct one day and then be literally on top of the world the next.

  Fighting my feelings was going to tie me up in knots. I needed to face him across the card table. Face him, and face my fears.

  And hope it didn’t cost me my life.

  Scott

  Any satisfaction from whipping my brother’s ass on our weekend adventure back to The Eternity had been blown to smithereens.

  In no mood for lunch with Mason and his latest toy—read expensive consultant—I’d turned up ready to cut and dice the proposal for entrée and feed it to the bottom-feeding troll for main meal.

  Instead, I’d become an innocent by-stander to the lunch from hell. Walking out with very clear instructions from Mason to cow-tow to the same woman about to come in and rip my team and I a new one.

  Fuck.

  Damn.

  Fuck.

  “Mate, you look like thunder.”

  Just when I thought my day couldn’t get worse, of course, I had to share the elevator with Darius-fucking-Patera.

  “Not today.” My fingers automatically stroked the scar, courtesy of Mr. Hot Shot CIO.

  “Women, wine or work?”

  “Bugger off.” The last thing I needed was for Darius to go running to mummy—Mason—and complain about me treating him like a bitch.

  “Heard Mas is bringing in some corporate guru. Don’t let her push you around.” Surprisingly, Darius sounded sincere.

  “Not that she’s going to be your problem. I don’t think she’s gonna grace the dungeon where you keep your programmers any time soon.” Even if there was a slither of sincerity, I couldn’t resist the snide tone. Bastard deserved that and more.

  “Maybe not, but I mean it. Don’t let her push you around.”

  “Well, I played the good corporate citizen. I’ve done the lunch meet and greet. Now, gotta through the details before she can start.”

  “Look, you and I are never going to be friends.”

  Darius blocked my path back to the safety of my office. Damn it, why did he have to have two offices? One here, pretending to be an executive, and the other with his programming minions in the basement?

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  Instead of reacting, Darius continued. Pretending to be human? Wonders would never cease.

  “But as long as we both work here; we need to be united and the common enemy isn’t each other—it’s the cowboys in sales who are spruiking claims that my tech guys can’t deliver in the promised timeframes—”

  “And aren’t fully costed or even when they are, the clients can’t pay up.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Okay, now he had my attention. Darius and I had made fortunes working for Softli, supplemented by our side hobbies. For me, investments and gambling. For Darius, his investments included a piece of every consultancy job he’d ever taken, plus some nightclubs.

  It had been almost a year. Time to let the past go. It wasn’t in either of our interests to go after each other, and in any case the ship called Catherine had sailed.

  He took my sigh as a sign. Of what, I didn’t know and didn’t care. “Scott, I’m not gonna buy you dinner or flowers but believe me, when it comes to this consultant, we’re on the same side. How about we work together on separate board papers.”

  “The market loves an active client book with new sales
.” I could almost predict some of the board members’ responses, which is why my paper needed to be read and heard. A full day writing and rewriting words, until even a kindergartener would understand.

  “Forget the market—why don’t we shake things up and focus on Softli.”

  “I’ll send you a draft I was working on yesterday. See if we can make it a joint paper?”

  The devil in disguise nodded before showing his true colors, “What’s the consultant like? Worth a look?”

  Yes.

  No.

  Yes.

  I used to think I preferred blondes. Short, cute and bubbly blondes.

  Until GG. She’d lit a fire in my gut that no amount of time seemed to erase.

  Until Carlynn Rush. Even in the darkened restaurant, I’d been captured by the way her dark, wavy hair cradled a porcelain face with a perfectly cute nose. The beautifully manicured nails with clear gloss I wanted to break against my skin, preferably my back but I’d be willing to give into lady’s choice. And her voice, cultured and low as if she was singing the blues.

  A hidden sensuality beneath the corporate suit. I wanted to rattle her composure. Throw her against my balcony railing and fuck her hard until she screamed.

  Use me, she’d said. I didn’t need her consultancy bullshit, but her body was built for mine. Move over GG. I wanted to make Carlynn’s pale, full lips redden with bruising kisses. I’d match her scratch for scratch and up her ante with molten wax and leather ties.

  Beneath the silken blouse was a woman wanting to be treated as such, and this time I wasn’t going to sit back and play nice.

  Carlynn Rush. Whoever she was, I needed to use her to screw all sexy brunettes out of my system.

  “Nah, she’s not worth your time.” I shrugged, but she’s definitely worth mine.

  After the debacle of lunch turned into an ambush, my calendar then decided to join the world pitted against me, and deny me time off.

  Haze Chatfield had taken most of the rock-climbing crew over to New Zealand for a month’s tour. They’d invited me, and if budget and board meetings could have been delegated, I’d be over there in a flash. My inner adrenalin junkie demanded a fix.

  Scott: Next game?

  Jarryd: Will you actually turn up this time?

  Scott: How’s the spare chair going?

  Might as well address the elephant in the room with a joke. When a player didn’t show, Jarryd sometimes fronted the buy-in, knowing it would reduce with blinds until all gone. Not much fun for Jarryd, but at least the players didn’t go home short. I’d been the missing player far too often lately.

  Jarryd: Better than you if you don’t turn up this time.

  Scott: Not only am I gonna be there, but you’ll also have prime seat to watch and learn how to play.

  Jarryd: Just make sure your ass is in the chair. First hand starts at eight.

  I could already smell the new deck of cards.

  Hear that first shuffle.

  See the excited faces thinking tonight would be different, each mug thinking that tonight they’d be going home with the pot.

  It had been too long since I’d turned up determined to win.

  Deciding that lunch with Mason had been my good corporate deed for the day, I packed up my desk early, dropped into see my parents, even allowed them fifty uninterrupted minutes to gloat about their precious Edison, before heading home to change.

  Black shirt and suit. No tie or even cufflinks. Underdressed by Jarryd’s standards.

  Dressing to match? I hated when my inner voice asked questions better left unanswered.

  “Scotty!” Cleese greeted me like the long-lost friend we’d never been. Not even my beloved sister could call me Scotty, and Ed’s nose would never recover from the first time he tried.

  “Decided to slum it with us?” Cam joked.

  “Glad you decided to show your face again—especially now you’re not the only one who’s been beaten by a girl.” At least one face I didn’t mind seeing. Lachlan Morriset had sought my advice and pocketed sizable commissions on a number of financial deals. It would be good karma to reclaim some of that money tonight.

  “That GG chic, she’s been back?”

  I feigned nonchalance. No way could these guys know about my dual obsession; GG and Carlynn. One I wanted to fuck over, and the other I just wanted to fuck.

  Not that my life wasn’t without challenges. I’d decided to put any thoughts about Carlynn on ice. After the whole Darius deciding to introduce his fist to my jaw, Mason would probably chop off my balls if I even looked at Carlynn in any way other than a bottom-feeding consultant troll.

  I’d swapped drinking for climbing, running and extra gym. It showed. I’d never been fitter or had more female interest. Time to stop living life as a monk. If Carlynn was temporarily off limits, I’d smoke GG until she folded to me at cards and then in bed.

  “Twice a week like clock-work. She turns up, and cleans us out,” Jason didn’t hide his bitterness, joining our small group. Seriously, with any more bodies we could start a hair braiding convention.

  “Have you figured out her tell?”

  “Every time we think we have, she changes it up,” Cam admitted. “She’s that good.”

  “Shh, the lady has made her entrance.” Cleese had lost his fanboy shine, scowling to the door.

  Yep, the lady certainly knew how to stop conversation. The same dark glasses hiding the eyes I’d now decided would remain open and on mine when we screwed. She still wore the high, glossy ponytail asking to be twisted and held in a vice.

  The only thing different about her tonight was the ultra-short tight black skirt, nude stockings and heels accentuating long legs. I immediately placed my jacket over the seat opposite to GG’s bag. Anyone sitting either side of those legs would be watching the skirt ride up and down all night. I assumed there’d be lace tops and suspenders and I was damn sure everything the woman wore was planned to mess with our heads.

  Tonight, nothing was about to distract me. Not wine, woman or song. Tonight, was my redemption from drunken loser to winner amongst men—and women!

  “Glad you decided to show.” Jarryd left the lovely GG to greet me with an exaggerated sigh of relief. Nice of him to finally notice me. I used to be his favorite client.

  “How’s she been doing?” I nodded to GG who’d now claimed her seat and was accepting her soda water with three ice cubes and three slices of lemon without bidding.

  “I’ve never seen this kind of streak.”

  “Has she gone up against Bobbi yet?” I’d give serious money to see the two women in action.

  “Those are the only games GG is declining. Don’t know why—maybe she’s building a bankroll first?”

  “I don’t know whether I want to watch or be part of that game. It could be the hottest night ever.”

  “Mate, the smartest move is to never get in between two women unless you’re their prize,” Jarryd joked.

  “I’ll take it under advisement, but if you make it happen, let me know.”

  I decided to reposition my jacket. Not caring if GG or the other players noticed or gave a damn.

  The guys sitting next to GG would be distracted by her legs, but it was only when she sat at the table, I realized whoever sat opposite would have first class seats to her tanned breasts showing off the low-cut black leather halter neck.

  If she noticed me move seats, her reaction remained hidden behind the glasses. Too bad. I’d either get a firsthand view of her breasts and legs in bed, or she could wrap them around some other sucker.

  Tonight, it was all about the table. The table was all about the cards, and cards were for winning.

  A full house and the game started on time.

  I’d sat at a ninety-degree angle to GG’s right, knowing how to hold the cards in my left hand, able to watch each of her nuances without moving my neck. For good measure, and just to shake things up, I adopted the dark glasses from the first hand.

  “Does this me
an Alexander is here to play?” Jason drew the table’s attention to my ploy.

  “Always.”

  Keeping my face straight, I let my shrug say it all.

  Listen here, assholes. Scott Alexander isn’t just here to play, he is back.

  It was us against the world.

  Not playing as a team but not getting in each other’s way.

  With Jarryd grateful I’d turned up, and feeling the expectation of the other players, I didn’t disappoint. Playing the first three quarters of an hour with confidence. Long enough to notice GG didn’t offer up a challenge, pulling out of any hand I had interest in. Allowing me to wipe out two players before we finally went head to head over a river card.

  The other players were our appetizer.

  We were our own main event.

  I won our first head-to-head, but giving into my natural cocky bastard, over-reached on the second.

  As GG leaned across to collect my chips—now her chips—I checked my glass. Soda water, sans the lime. So why did I get a sense of Deja vu about more than her black nails. Yes, we’d been meeting nightly in my dreams, but in real life, we’d only met once.

  The more I studied her in between hands, the whole feeling became more than just her nails. It was how she sat, her posture. Even the way she held her head, ever so slightly to the side.

  No, it couldn’t be. She was messing with my head, pulling some voodoo shit. I’d only met her that once—the night I got sick of feeling sorry for myself and got my shit together.

  I tried to rationalize the intense way I studied her moves. The other guys, I could beat hands down. GG, she was a piece of work. I needed to study each move, each flinch, each breath. Not just to beat her when we eventually cleared the table of all opposition, but so I could find out the second most important question.

  The first was still up for grabs: real, padded or fake.

  The second: where the hell had I met her before, and why didn’t she remember me?