The Penalty

by Piper Westbrook

  When it aided Waverly in locating her phone, which had slipped to the bottom of her bag, the woman insisted she keep it.

  “I won’t miss it. I have one in every purse. Now…where’d that good-looking bartender go? I’m in need of a whiskey sour.” After she ordered and claimed her drink, the woman lifted her glass for a toast. “To women who wait around for men even in the twenty-first century.”

  “Cheers,” Waverly said, though she probably couldn’t be heard over the ruckus at the end of the bar. A group in coordinating-colored formalwear was jeering and downing shots. “I’m Waverly.”

  “Izzie.” On the verge of saying more, she was interrupted with the arrival of Sam Pratt, who wore a pinstriped suit and oozed a practiced charisma. As he offered to buy Waverly a drink, Izzie hastened to stop him with a grip on his arm. “No, that won’t do! Ladies don’t like to get all prettied up only to be kept waiting. Fortunately, I know a way you can make it up to her.”

  Frowning at the stranger who had the nerve to put a hand on him, Sam replied, “You are…?”

  “The woman who can get you into the Titanium Club.”

  Sam’s expression transformed from irritated to intrigued, which heightened Waverly’s skepticism about the offer. Furthermore, who exactly was Izzie to have the authority or desire to pull strings at a five-star casino for a pair she’d literally just met? “Isn’t entry to the Titanium Club by invitation only?” Waverly asked.

  “Yes, and I’ve invited you. My fiancé and his family are hosting a celebration there. No one but absolute VIPs are welcome. Come up and get your luck on.”

  “Then we shouldn’t intrude. It was nice of you to invite us, but—”

  “Show us the way,” Sam cut in. To Waverly he said, “Getting my luck on in the Titanium Club? There’s no better place to be tonight.”

  Waverly could think of several alternatives, none of which included an elite gambling room or Sam Pratt, who now seemed more interested in admiring Izzie’s ass than the woman he’d come to the casino to meet. To arrive late and straightaway jump at a stranger’s invitation spoke his message loud and clear—he had as little interest in this setup date as she did.

  But to keep her word to her mother, Waverly joined him as he followed Izzie, who shimmered under the building’s extravagant lighting in her silver dress and tall shoes. In the elevator he talked and bragged and boasted about his career, hobbies and accomplishments. Waverly was so focused on tuning him out that she hardly noticed when the doors opened to an elegant top-floor corridor that ushered them into the Titanium Club.

  Waverly didn’t plan to stick around long but didn’t mind losing herself just for a while in the luxury of the high-limit gambling enclave: Art Deco style, enticing table games crowded with ritzy guests, polished servers moving soundlessly over the plush glittering carpet, the scent of liquor and cigar smoke and risk in the air.

  “What’s the celebration?” Waverly asked Izzie as Sam strutted off toward the poker table. They went to the bar, where Izzie requested a fresh whiskey sour along with a server attentive enough to make sure her glass didn’t turn up empty tonight.

  “A birthday in the family.” The woman added a swear and drank with relish.

  A familiar figure moved into Waverly’s line of vision. He hung back, observing the two women even while the one who’d accompanied him tried to snare his attention. Again, Waverly felt a shudder of lust at merely seeing Jeremiah. How he seemed able to coax that reaction without actually touching her at all was beyond comprehension.

  Izzie followed her gaze. “Italian guys are sexy, aren’t they?”

  “Um…”

  “You’re fucking him with your eyes.”

  “I’m not.” She squared her shoulders, determined to keep Jeremiah where he belonged—in the category of coworker. “It’s just that I work with him.”

  “I see.” Izzie wiggled her fingers at Jeremiah, and Waverly wanted to shrink, hoping he wouldn’t come up to them and play yet another round of “Guess Who I Am Today.” One minute he was with her, the next, against her—and not in a good, sexual way.

  Jeremiah’s response was to take his date’s arm and stride off to the roulette wheel, which was whirring as fast as Waverly’s thoughts. Even when she wasn’t looking to find him, the man continued to make appearances in her life.

  Discreetly she searched for him in the crowd and spotted him now fully occupied with three different women—one of whom was an Emmy Award–winning actress.

  “Meet my fiancé,” Izzie suggested, crooking her finger at someone.

  Waverly almost choked to see Luca Tarantino coming toward them. He was the woman’s fiancé? Waverly must’ve overlooked that nugget of information when she’d surfed the web for information about Jeremiah, but uneasiness colored her shock. Why hadn’t Izzie mentioned that she also knew him?

  In person Luca Tarantino appeared almost gaunt, but he commanded attention, dominating the room as he greeted Izzie with a nibble on her neck.

  “You doing good over there, Luca?” Izzie said, turning fully into his embrace.

  “Molto bene.”

  “Winning’s put you in a fantastic mood. Imagine if you got lucky every night.”

  Unsure what to say to that, Waverly kept her mouth shut until Luca released his fiancée and inquired, “Who’s this bella donna?”

  “Waverly Greer,” Waverly answered, watching for his reaction. He slid Izzie a sidelong glance—Was that disbelief? Disapproval?—but when neither he nor Izzie commented, she continued, “Now that you know who I am—who my parents are—will you have security escort me out?”

  “That would be cruel, considering what measures you must’ve taken to get into the club to speak to me.”

  “Actually, I was downstairs waiting for a date and Izzie invited us up. Now that the opportunity to speak to you has come up, yes, I’d like to, Mr. Tarantino.”

  “Call me Luca. It’s my firstborn’s birthday. Drink in his honor, won’t you?” Without pausing to let Waverly decide, the man ordered port for the three of them—though Izzie made a show of nudging aside the port and favoring her whiskey.

  “Port for you, bella Waverly.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve acquired the taste for it.” But she accepted the glass anyway. Could she possibly reach Jeremiah via his father? On the surface Luca seemed reasonable, if reserved and kind of on edge. Jeremiah needed to know that his father had willingly initiated the sale of the Villains franchise to her parents. Okay, so perhaps this wasn’t the opportune time or place, but— “Can we talk?”

  “Please do.”

  “I meant privately.” Maybe it was a moot point to ask for privacy, particularly since his fiancée had been the one to extend the invitation to her in the first place, but there was a hungry, predatory air about Izzie as she secured her hold on Luca and watched Waverly with a neutral expression. Even if Waverly did ask, it wasn’t likely that Izzie would leave Luca’s side. Whatever else she had to say to Luca Tarantino, she’d have to say it in front of his fiancée.

  “Is there any chance of the Greers and Tarantinos getting along?” Gently she added, “Your sons have the idea that my parents—my father—coerced you into selling the team.”

  When he simply stared at her, unblinking, much as her mother had earlier, Waverly felt frustration surge through her system. “Whatever my father said to you has been misunderstood. J.T. Greer’s a big guy, and yes, he can be intense. Everyone knows that. Some people find it charming. But he’d never put himself on the line by threatening violence just to buy your football team.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I’m looking to move forward,” she replied. “Maybe to start I ought to find my date and leave.”

  “Stay. I insist.”

  “Luca, my family doesn’t want any trouble. My parents are both good people—”

  “Waverly Greer,” Luca interrupted, untangling himself from Izzie and preparing to walk off with his port. Not bella Waverly.
Just Waverly Greer. “A word of wisdom. You’re only as good as the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Why is she here, Izzie?” Jeremiah had earlier downplayed his surprise at spotting Waverly in the Grimaldi Royal Casino’s private gambling den—decorating the bar with Izzie Phillips, of all people—but as he pretended interest in the roulette game, he watched his father join them for a drink and soon after saw Luca and Izzie abandon Waverly.

  Izzie, who appeared to be in a celebratory mood despite the little detail that it was the birthday of a man she hated, had worked the room in her silver look-at-me dress and had eventually made her way to the roulette table. Picking up one of his chips, she muttered, “Know thy enemy.”

  Jeremiah turned to spy Waverly in the recesses of the room, sitting at the poker table with her date, a man in a pinstriped suit. Izzie dropped his chip, upping his bet, which was promptly lost to yet another house victory. “Don’t try your luck with my chips, Izzie.”

  “Sorry.” But her eye roll contradicted any contrition. “I recognized Waverly in the lounge and had to get her up here with Luca. Just like I thought, she started right in on pressuring him to tell you and Milo that the sale is legit. All she cares about is her agenda.”

  Couldn’t the same be said for Izzie…and him? Jeremiah shook off the thought. He was only hunting for a solution to a problem, righting a wrong. Thankfully, Milo, the guest of honor, was in the club dining room with his date—not that even an elaborate meal prepared by a celebrity chef could fully distract him from the truth that he was another year older but no closer to recovering from the loss of his NFL career and his birthright.

  Jeremiah had asked his college friend Elaine, who’d graciously agreed to be Milo’s companion on his birthday, to be patient. Sometimes having friends as close as family came in handy. Elaine, and their friends Vaughn and Jane, had been happy to join the Tarantinos tonight. Science geeks in college, the four were so tight that they’d kept in touch after graduation despite the fact that Jeremiah had declined a lucrative offer to study in a prestigious PhD program in order to pursue a career with his family’s pro football team. It had been his opportunity to impress, to prove he was no ordinary nerd. Vaughn and Jane had paired off and gotten hitched, but Jeremiah wasn’t interested in hooking up with Elaine.

  Jeremiah was dateless tonight, having been more concerned with ensuring his brother had a good time. Besides, he got plenty of pussy on a regular basis and was comfortable with that reality. Or he had been before he’d crossed paths with Waverly.

  She was his worst temptation. Being around her every day at camp was glorious torture. She made him feel like a naive boy, and he was anything but. At night he dreamed about screwing her. In private he fucked his fist with brutality, wishing he was inside her.

  He wanted to prove that he was stronger than basic lust, needed to resist the impulse to protect her.

  She was bad for him. Just as Izzie said, Waverly had her own agenda and wasn’t afraid to put it first. At camp he’d observed with his own eyes her assertiveness…how she acted as if she believed “It’s me against the world” yet could be vulnerable if caught off guard. During that staff basketball game, when the wide-receivers coach had knocked her to the ground, Jeremiah had seen that flash of vulnerability cross her face. And when she’d let him help her up, he’d felt glad that she trusted him truly for just those brief few moments.

  Fuck, did he have it bad. What he needed was to clear his head, maybe let the mouth of a perfumed beauty in the Titanium Club distract him from his ultimate distraction.

  After all, Waverly had clearly moved on to someone else.

  “Who’s the man she’s with?” Jeremiah asked Izzie.

  “Sam Pratt, a journalist from La-La land.”

  “You brought a journalist here without clearing it with the owner?”

  “Hey,” she said defensively, “he’s the one who convinced her to come here. Just tell Grimaldi to keep his high rollers on their best behavior if he’s worried about bad press. What’s the problem, anyway? This is a casino. People gamble and drink and get high and hook up. Big deal.”

  Jeremiah didn’t want to make waves in the casino. He’d wager the Girard-Perregaux wristwatch he wore tonight that his godfather, Antony Grimaldi, wouldn’t like the idea of media infiltrating his private, excessively guarded gambling den. Everyone here tonight, from A-listers to politicians, had an understanding. Gamble dirty, socialize freely, and nothing leaves the club. Oh, and, of course, no unauthorized media allowed.

  That Izzie had broken a rule, had disrespected the casino owner’s wishes just for the chance to toy with Waverly, showed Izzie’s desperation—and made Jeremiah unsettled.

  “The outcome is all that matters,” Izzie said, reaching for another chip from his stack. “If we can take away Waverly’s power, remove her as a threat, and show her parents that we aren’t screwing around, then we’re pretty much guaranteed to get back what belongs to us.”

  Pretending to lean down to examine his chips, Jeremiah said carefully, “Izzie, the team’s not yours. Never was.”

  “I don’t know what you and Milo think I’m after, and frankly I don’t care. Your father made a promise to me. He can’t honor it without reclaiming the team.”

  “What if he gets what he wants but still reneges on that promise? What then?”

  Izzie handed him back the chip, her eyes flat. “I’m in this, Jeremiah. Are you? Because if you are, you can’t question me at every turn.”

  Jeremiah glanced to where Waverly and her date sat at the poker table. His imagination conjured visions of her claiming the head trainer position—he’d already witnessed her in conferences with their superiors on the training staff and coaching staff regarding her push to bring yoga into the Villains’ training regimen.

  Then his memory interfered, adding images of her hard at work with the players and arming herself with confidence in the face of disrespect. Simultaneously she was a threat to be defeated and a prize to be won.

  Either way it wasn’t right, because she was more than even that.

  “Jeremiah? What’s it going to be?”

  Tuned in to Waverly, Jeremiah sensed her laughter. He saw her toss her head back, chuckling at something the pinstriped journalist said. “I’m in,” he told Izzie, easing away from the game. “Bet it all if you want.”

  Jeremiah made his way to the Titanium Club’s packed dining room and claimed a seat at Milo’s table. On one side of him was their father. On the other was Milo’s date for the night, Elaine. “Good party, Dad.”

  “I wish I could take credit,” Luca said, clapping Milo’s shoulder, “but it was Antony’s suggestion. So all compliments go to him. And according to him, all complaints and the bill come to me.”

  Laughter followed. Then, when Elaine excused herself to the restroom, Luca reached over to straighten Milo’s bow tie with a smirk. “My son. See that?”

  Milo and Jeremiah exchanged confused shrugs.

  “Elaine. She looked back at you when she left for the powder room.”

  “So?” Milo reached for his wineglass but Luca stopped him.

  “Listen. Every woman I’ve had a…deep connection with…from Anne to Izzie, has looked back at me in a crowded room. Elaine looked at you.”

  Jeremiah didn’t appreciate his mother and Izzie being lumped together that way, but his father was insistent upon making the point that his college friend Elaine was genuinely interested in Milo and just maybe… “Is this a prediction of some sort? That Milo and Elaine might end up getting serious?”

  “A possibility. The odds are in your favor, Milo. What do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s time you switched to something zero proof.” Milo took their father’s wineglass and replaced it with a crystal goblet filled with ice water. “I know Waverly Greer had a chat with you and Izzie. She’s still here. Why?”

  “Our conversation was brief. Izzie says she invited her to the club to gamble
, so let her gamble.”

  “Maybe someone should keep an eye on her.”

  Jeremiah waited until the chef delivered the main course from the menu he’d personally prepared for Milo’s table before he slipped out of the dining area to the spacious gambling room. He saw Waverly engaged in a lively blackjack game, her date nowhere in sight. He strode over.

  “Of all the gambling joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.” He met her flustered look with a poker-faced expression and hovered behind her as a fresh round of bets were placed and the silk-vested dealer began whipping out cards.

  “Bogie. You own this casino? And here I thought seeing you tonight was just a weird coincidence.” The dealer dished out a ten to accompany Waverly’s nine and four. Giving up on the game, she moved a couple steps back from the table, allowing a man in a tuxedo to take her place.

  Jeremiah did not move, and now she was wedged against him. The blackjack game was getting hot and people were converging from all corners of the room. He used that to his advantage, wondering how long he could have Waverly right where he wanted her. “I don’t own it. My godfather does. Earlier today at camp you mentioned looking forward to having time to yourself. Yet here you are. Would we really call you and I being here tonight a coincidence, Waverly?”

  At the sound of her name being whispered across her ear Waverly seemed to shiver. She looked different, so tame and exquisite. At camp she was always dressed to sweat—and more than once this week he’d been struck with the urge to pull her into a private corner on the training estate and fuck her until all his pent-up want transferred from his soul to hers. She deserved to know what he faced every single day.

  “First of all, alone time is a wish that’s hardly granted. I drive practically forty miles every morning for a daybreak run at Cathedral Rock, mainly to get away from duties and expectations and…everything. And second of all, your stepmother invited my date and me up here.”

  Emphasis on the word date.