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

by Kenna Shaw Reed

“I hope your little consultant wasn’t planning on having a weekend, because I’ll have everything delivered at five on Friday and I expect her initial opinions by first thing Monday morning.”

  I hadn’t acknowledged her presence. Hadn’t even looked her way. Okay, I’d stood facing Mason on a slight angle so I could see everything about Miss GG-Carlynn Rush from my periphery. Another skill courtesy of poker.

  Bitch.

  “If that’s the game you want to play, I can already tell you what my opinion will be.”

  Carlynn finally stood, filling the room with her presence in a way she never did at the card table. At the table, her sensuality filled the room. Here, it was the polish of private schools, wealth and power. She exuded the confidence of a woman who’d never been wrong, or wronged.

  What the fuck was her deal?

  “Then why don’t you save us all some time and money; share with the class the wisdom of your years.”

  Slowly, I turned to face my enemy, trying not to be impressed. Instead of staying back, she strode forward, until my personal space had been halved.

  “On initial examination, over the course of the weekend, the CFO division have done a fine job at implementing the company policy—” I smiled at her typical consultant speak. “But, the timing of the document delivery and the quantity of documents to be analyzed, leads me to believe that rather than look for underlying issues within the sales force performance metrics or standard credit checks and letters, the issue could lie within the CFO executive who have allowed this situation to eventuate.”

  “Bitch.”

  It was the nicest thing I could say, at least in front of her protector. As for Mason, he stood back like a proud father, allowing us to fight it out. Passive prick had never gotten in between Darius and me, but I thought he’d at least step in and save his latest toy.

  “Probably, but you are an unprofessional, arrogant asshole. Disrespectful to me, your CEO and the company you supposedly work for.”

  “Don’t you even begin to pretend you know me or my work ethic.” Still, Mason didn’t try to hose us down.

  “Then prove me wrong. Get out of my bloody way and let me do my job.”

  “What job is that? Looking for shit where there isn’t any? Looking for reds under the bed?”

  “What have you got to hide?”

  “I’m not the one hiding secrets.” A low blow, and Carlynn took a step back.

  “Then open the books, let me do my job.”

  “After the board meeting. My team are quality checking the figures.”

  “Or cooking them?”

  “Are you fucking serious?” I heard Chloe close the door. Apparently, mummy and daddy fighting wasn’t suitable viewing for the rest of the floor. “I’ve got no reason to cook the books any more than I’ll ever cook you breakfast. My team are professionals, and they are turning themselves inside out getting ready for the board meeting. You know, to make your friend here look like a professional CEO instead of a bumbling financial novice.”

  “Now,” Mason finally interjected, giving me The Look. Yeah, I’d gone too far. Made the insults personal and hit him below the belt. “I want both of you locked in a room for the rest of the week. Put your egos and shit aside and start working on my report.”

  I wanted to apologize, to Mason.

  I wanted to wring the neck of my enemy. The bitch had set me up.

  “Follow me to my office—unless Mason has already handed it over to you?”

  I didn’t even wait for a reply.

  “The bet is off.”

  Carlynn managed follow me into my office before I slammed the door, despite the four-inch stiletto heels she was probably planning to stab me with. Of course, the door bounced open. Ignoring Layla’s concerned glance, I slammed it again. Almost happy the vibrations took the life of a suicidal picture frame that used to grace my wall.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Feigning innocence wasn’t gonna help her. Not now. I was going to snow her in so much paperwork the Department of Defence would be proud. I could create truckloads of data and paper. I’d swamp her with the raw data, not just the analysis. Actually, I’d hold back the analysis to kill any fucking idea she thought was original.

  Her corporate career was about to be wiped from the face of the earth.

  “Scott, please. I didn’t know.” I threw off her hand. No way was the bitch gonna touch my arm, face or cock.

  “I call bullshit. You changed your mind about the weekend and didn’t have the guts to tell me direct.”

  “Mason called me half an hour ago, and I thought I was coming in to sign the documents.”

  “Are you telling me you can read nine guys at a card table but can’t read one bloody CEO?”

  “Maybe I let my feelings get in the way of my reading?”

  At the table, I’d learned to read her jaw, her hands. Now, her eyes held court. Innocent and genuine? Now I couldn’t bloody well read a room or a woman. How did I not pick Mason’s mood and need for answers before now? I should have known and cut him off at the pass.

  Now? I was stuck with this woman. As GG, I wanted to bend her over a table, panties down and cheeks spread. As Carlynn, I wanted to bend her over a balcony—okay, same position and outcome.

  I wanted to screw her, but I was the one being screwed.

  “I figured you for the seven of spades.” She’d never figure it out.

  “You what?” Innocence replaced confusion as she leaned back against my desk. Her perfect ass resting against the wood.

  “Am I going to have to explain everything twice? Should we get a real tutor for the fake consultant?”

  “You compared me with a seven of spades.”

  “And?” I challenged, holding her stare. Damn, she was beautiful.

  “An explanation would be handy; I’d hate to misunderstand you.”

  “I don’t care if you don’t understand me. I don’t care if I’ve just ruined your weekend’s plans with a torrent of reading. I don’t care if you’ve made promises to Mason you’ll never be able to deliver.”

  “I’m good at my job. If you’ve got nothing to hide—”

  “I guess this was your way of rescinding my invitation to Katoomba?”

  “Don’t tell me you were looking forward to it?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Don’t you wish you could?”

  Subconsciously, or consciously—I’d never know with this woman—her knees parted. Room enough for my hands even though her legs remained crossed at her ankles.

  Ignoring my brain, I closed the gap between us. Her knees pressed against my chest. Tipping her chin with one finger, I felt her breath, heard her heart racing.

  Fuck.

  They made movies about angry sex, but I’d never understood the attraction until now. I could kiss her, and she’d let me. I could part those knees until my tongue and her pussy were on first name basis.

  I could, we could, but I wouldn’t.

  “Toss a coin.” I reached over to the swear jar Layla forced me to use. When Carlynn refused to take the coin, I placed it in her lap. Watched it slide down the red skirt until it rolled around the floor.

  Carlynn needed to walk away. GG needed to run. If we ended up in the same room, I wasn’t going to be responsible for the shit we were gonna do. One of us would be destroyed, and I didn’t want to take her down with me.

  “What?”

  “Toss a coin. Heads we go to the game and the bet stands—only if you win, I’ll make your life easier.”

  “And tails?” Biting down on her lip only made them more kissable. Watching the red flesh emerge from between her teeth, her mouth only centimeters from mine. What the fuck was I doing?

  “I’ll take my sailboat out on the Harbour, or go up to the central coast for the weekend.”

  “You agreed to Katoomba.”

  “That was before—”

  “Trust me. One weekend, away from all of this.” She waved her hand across my desk. “It wi
ll be fun.”

  “Doubtful.”

  Still, I looked for an acceptable out.

  “Okay, heads and we’ll try not to kill each other during the weekend?” I flexed my chest as Carlynn ran her fingers from shoulder, down and over my abs, resting on my belt buckle. “But what will tails get me?”

  “I’ll give you my hotel room key, but it’s up to you whether you use it.”

  I was so screwed.

  Three of a Kind

  GG

  To hell with everything I’d planned, promised, wanted and believed.

  Scott had trusted me with the reservations, and I’d made a decision.

  He wouldn’t need a hotel room key.

  At least, not to his own room.

  “So that’s one king-size room?” the receptionist confirmed.

  “Yes, I asked for a spa bath and fully stocked bar?”

  “Of course, Ms.Rush and do you want to book breakfast to share in your room or to enjoy our banquet in the dining room?”

  “Can I have a banquet for two in the room? My partner can be indecisive so it’s easier if he has a selection.”

  A polite way of not admitting ignorance of Scott’s breakfast habits or even whether he’d turn up.

  “If there’s anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable—”

  “I do have a special request.” My face flushed as I wrote down the specific instructions. Would he even care?

  “Certainly, I’ll pass that onto our chef.”

  “Only if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “I can assure you, that’s one of the less complicated requests we’ve had. Enjoy your weekend and good luck at the game.”

  I’d already confirmed all other rooms had been booked—most players were cheapskates when it came to accommodation. They wanted their money on display in the room, not on the room. But when it came to this weekend, I’d made the decision.

  One bet.

  One reckless, stupid, crazy bet.

  On one weekend with Scott. Hoping one weekend would either get him out of my system or life.

  #gee2 Be careful

  I’d hoped to see a text from Scott, or even Mason. Instead, the notification was from Uncle Bob. An innocent post to Twitter with our random hashtag. At least we’d hoped it would be obscure enough not to raise the wrong sort of attention.

  #gee2 ?

  I didn’t have to wait long for a response.

  Same same #gee2 but $$$

  Crap.

  My darling ex-husband had gotten himself into more trouble. Shit, crap and double crap. Three-dollar signs could only mean a six-figure debt.

  NMP #gee2.

  I’d left my ex and left town. What else did I have to do to prove his problems were no longer mine. His decisions were his responsibility.

  Not how they C it #gee2.

  My uncle’s message couldn’t be misconstrued.

  “Damn him!” I threw my bag across the room, slamming it into the cheap coffee table.

  For months, the only direct contact with my ex-husband had been through two sets of lawyers. I communicated with one based in Dubbo who then communicated with one based back down in Melbourne. With the help of my family and Norman Hastings, I’d gone to extreme lengths to get away from my ex.

  It had taken a small fortune to hide my digital and physical trail. Changing my name had been surprisingly easy, but the rest of my identity had meant leaving my family. Protecting them by ensuring even they didn’t know my new name or how to reach me.

  Except through a single Twitter hashtag.

  I’d lost everything because the man I once loved couldn’t read a room, hand of cards, or me. Once, I’d loved him enough to be blind. Not anymore. Not when his enemies wanted what he probably couldn’t deliver.

  ID? #gee2

  I held my breath, knowing Uncle Bob would understand.

  Looking. Bye #gee2.

  I crawled around the floor, picking up my scattered wallet, lip-gloss and eyeliner from across the room, shoving them back in my bag. I needed time to think, remember the plans.

  Uncle Bob had promised not to take any chances. He was about to change social media accounts. Within a day, he’d set up a new account using the name of my primary school. Each day, he’d post pictures of puppies. Unless things became urgent, and then he’d post photos of his cat until I made contact.

  Complicated directions he’d laid out when helping me leave town. Things the former Carlina Hargraves never thought she’d need to remember, until my ex-husband decided to fuck over my life, again.

  Scale? #gee2

  I needed to know if Australia had become too small a place to hide.

  #gee2 6.

  I hoped one weekend with Scott would be worth a six-out-of-ten risk rating.

  “Ready?”

  Scott met me at the marble statue in the foyer. Yet another would-be tourist attraction enshrining an explorer or favorite son of the city.

  I didn’t care.

  Scott had texted his arrival less than ten minutes ago. I’d been ready for hours. In my customary black outfit. Carlynn had turned into GG. While Scott, had shed his designer suit for city casual. Navy blue linen shirt with white buttons over long grey designer jeans. I’d never seen this side of Scott before. He looked almost, normal? Not the corporate suit and not the man who set the scene at Jarryd’s table.

  We stood out. Separately and individually.

  Scott Alexander had the body and presence that every man in this hotel faked. They wanted to walk in like they owned the joint, Scott could probably buy entire block with his spare change.

  “GG? Are you ready for this?”

  I hadn’t spoken, merely walked towards the registration table, collecting my pass. I didn’t need conversation, I needed—

  “GG?” This time, he’d ditched the disgust from Mason’s office and anger from his. A gentle hand on my arm holding me back. “We don’t know anyone here. Sometimes these country boys can turn mean when the cards don’t go their way.”

  “You mean, some boys don’t like being beaten by a girl?” I sneered, appreciating Scott’s misplaced concern. Okay, misguided concern. Okay, completely warranted but nothing I hadn’t dealt with before, concern.

  “I’ve got your back. But are you ready?”

  The question could have been about the game or sleeping arrangements. I smoothed down my ponytail, dropped my hand in his and motioned to the room.

  “Absolutely.”

  Tonight, and the weekend would be a success—unless we bowed out on the first night. I needed to clear my head and play one hand at a time.

  “Gentlemen, can I have your attention.” The microphone buzzed as the MC tried to direct it away from the speakers. “Gentlemen, please,” he tried to talk over clinking glasses and scraping chairs.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” He’d finally noticed the waitresses and two or three other female players. “Welcome to the K Challenge. The rules are simple.”

  I watched Scott’s jaw tick as the rules were explained. Players had been allocated across ten tables. One hundred players in total and only the last table would end up taking home any cash. My starting table was in the back, nearest the kitchen. I might as well have been seated with the children. Scott’s table was close to the stage.

  “I guess goodbye and good luck,” I mused. Wanting to kiss him for good luck. Wondering what he’d do if I made the move? Kiss me back or publicly reject me? Either way, I could wait a few more hours before finding out whether this chemistry was a one-sided fantasy.

  “So, when will I see you again?” Scott asked.

  “Today we go from one hundred down to thirty. Tomorrow, it’s all about getting to and winning the final table.”

  “Seems like a lot of time to get rid of a couple of players.”

  I wanted to warn Scott against arrogance. When I started out in Melbourne, I’d played pubs and clubs before moving to private games. There would always be a lucky son-of-a-bitch who cleaned
up when professionals would have walked away. If anything, I played more cautiously against amateurs than against real players.

  Weekends like this kept the adrenalin flowing and the card playing real. These players cared about winning. They needed the money as much as I did. A couple of thousand dollars could get a car repaired. The thirty thousand purse could pay down a mortgage.

  Scott and his friends would never understand. Their idea of play money was the difference between living in a car or in a home for most people.

  “Then, aren’t you lucky we’re on different tables otherwise I’d make sure your time in this game was short and not sweet.” I raised my chin, reminiscent of the almost moment in his office. Knowing he’d rise to the bait.

  “Brave words from a woman who walked away from the last table we played at with nothing.”

  Once again, we were toe to toe. Most tables were already seated, and the MC had given the room a three minute warning. We didn’t have time to resolve our issues before the game. Still, if this was our version of foreplay, have at it.

  “Next time you come up against me, you’ll see what I’m made of,” I teased.

  “Baby, I already know what you’re made of—that shit you pulled back there with Mason was unnecessary and low even for you.”

  “That was no stunt.” Damn it, what would it take for him to believe me? “I told you, he summoned me that morning. I had no notice, and there was nothing I could do.”

  “You could have tried harder to get out of it.”

  “I need this contract.”

  “Why?”

  It was more than the money, but I couldn’t explain. Not without putting Scott at risk, just by knowing. “I just do.”

  “Then you’d better not get beaten by anyone but me.”

  I almost felt guilty at the speed my table whittled from the original ten down to four. We were quickly combined with the remnants of another table where I stopped watching Scott across the far end of the room. I needed all my concentration to avoid being collateral damage between two feuding players. Eight of us did little more than play our blinds while the large stack of chips moved from one to the other and back again.

  Other tables started clearing around us and by the time five of our table had joined their friends at the bar, Scott stood behind me. Making no secret of his attention.