All In

by Nell Stark

  After a few minutes of watching, the puzzle pieces fell into place. She must have made some derisive sound, because Matt looked from the table to her and back again. “What?”

  “This has to be the dumbest game ever invented.”

  “Why? I don’t get it.”

  Nova wanted to leave. She had forgotten about the crowd while she was caught up in figuring out the logic at the tables, but now the press of bodies against her was making her claustrophobic. Also, the cards were calling and she was itching for some action. Not baccarat—these fools could keep their silly game. The poker hall was just over—

  But when she turned, she found herself completely hemmed in. The audience had grown while she was deciphering the rules. At this point, there were two options: create her own path or wait for a break. For a moment, she entertained the idea of plowing her way through the throng, but the thought of touching all those strange bodies made her nauseous. How had she gotten herself into this predicament? And then she remembered: the redhead in the sexy suit. Nova scanned the floor again to no avail. She sighed, suddenly wishing for a yard-long margarita of her own.

  Matt poked her in the shoulder with a fat finger. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Nova flinched at the contact. The fat bastard sure was persistent. Maybe once she had explained the rules, he would go away. “Basically, the highest hand wins.” She gestured toward the table where a new round was just about to start. “The dealer deals two hands, one for the bank and one for the player. The players get to choose before the deal whether they want to bet on the bank hand or the player hand.”

  “Don’t the players have to bet the player hand?”

  “No. Stupid, right? They can bet on either.” Nova looked back toward the table where another round was starting.

  The dealer dealt a two and a three to the player hand on her right and then a king and a seven to her left. After a dramatic pause, the dealer turned over a four for the player. The dealer paid out the lone bet covering the player hand and scooped up the bets for the bank. The audience burst into applause.

  “But the bank had seventeen there! I thought you said the higher hand wins?” Matt rubbed his temple furiously and glared at Nova. A small crowd leaned in to hear the explanation. Apparently, Matt wasn’t the only baccarat novice there.

  “Well, there are no double digits in this game. If your cards add up to double digits, you drop the first digit and go with the second. A seventeen is played as a seven.” Nova held up her hand, curtailing the question about to be asked by Matt and at least three other audience members who had homed in on the conversation. “I know. It’s random. And ridiculous. Who wants to play a game that is really all about lucky guesses and poor math?”

  The circle of people gathered around Nova and Matt nodded their heads and rumbled in agreement. A pit boss standing by the rail shushed them and whispered a warning to be respectful of the players.

  “You figured this out just by watching?” Matt was looking her in the eyes now, instead of at her chest. His respect had clearly jumped up a few notches, not that she cared. “They’ve only played a couple hands!”

  Nova shrugged. “I’m good with numbers.”

  This time, of the six players at the table—all of them male—three had bet on the bank hand, two on the player hand, and one on a tie. The dealer turned over the bank hand to reveal an eight and a three, and the player hand to reveal a two and a seven. One of the unlucky men shook his head in disgust, while both who had bet on the player hand smiled. The dealer turned over the third card to reveal another eight. The crowd gasped, and the players’ smiles faded as quickly as they’d come.

  “What the fuck was that?” Matt’s exclamation earned another shush from the pit boss.

  “A tie, apparently.” Nova watched the dealer sweep everyone’s chips off the table except for the lucky gentleman who had wagered on a tie. As he was paid out, she did some quick mental math. “I guess that pays eight to one.”

  Matt’s eyes widened. “Did you just calculate that on the spot?”

  “Mm.” Nova stifled a yawn. Where was the fun in this? How could all these people care so deeply about something that was entirely the product of chance?

  Another hand finished, and more players busted out and left. The dealer paused the game briefly as players were consolidated from other tables. The remaining players studied their scorecards while the relocation happened. Pockets of bystanders began to break away during the lull, lured by promise of riches in other parts of the casino. Nova waited impatiently for the crowd around her to thin. Just being here had put her on edge. Maybe she needed some time to acclimate. She could take a nap, or try out the pool. Get her head screwed on straight. Later, she could play some video poker at the bar to warm up before sitting at a table next to real people.

  “What’s with the notes?” Matt gestured at the players.

  Nova ignored him, scanning the casino floor. The game was idiotic and boring, and his inane questions were like nails on a chalkboard in her ears.

  “What’s with the notes?” Matt repeated louder, this time leaning over the rail while pointing.

  The pit boss cleared his throat. “Back away from the line, please.” Matt swayed slightly but complied.

  Finally, a path materialized before her. Nova turned to go, but Matt grabbed her forearm with a sticky hand. “Wait. What’s with the—”

  “What the hell?” Nova tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, but he held on.

  “I don’t…” Matt blinked stupidly at Nova.

  A wave of anger flooded her system with adrenaline. “Let go!”

  She pulled her arm back sharply just as he released his grip. For a moment, she teetered on the backs of her heels, arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance…but then gravity prevailed. She fell backward and knocked over the tall margarita glass, splashing the pit boss and players at the nearest table. Somebody screamed, and a flurry of chaos ensued as people alternately edged away from the commotion and pushed in closer to see what was happening. In the midst of it all, Nova found herself sitting in a slushy puddle.

  “Oh shit.” Matt turned and pushed his way out of the throng, breaking into a staggering run as he headed for the casino exit.

  Nova tried to stand up, but a strong hand held her in place. “Wait right there, miss.” Nova wanted to rip the arm away but stopped herself when she saw the badge and gun. She slumped against the rail. Other security guards showed up and started diverting the crowds away while tournament managers saw to the players.

  “I’ll take it from here, Brady,” a firm, feminine voice declared.

  Nova looked up and stopped cursing her luck. The woman in the golden suit was even more beautiful from up close. A pair of low heels showed off her slim, toned legs and well-manicured toenails. The gentle swell of her hips and breasts made Nova’s palms ache. The pale blue shirt below her jacket was open to the second button, and the skin at her throat was smattered with freckles. Sun-kissed.

  When Nova realized she had just given the woman a blatant once-over, she blinked. Hazel eyes met her own, a chameleon swirl of brown and green and just the barest hint of gray. Nova dropped her gaze to look for the nametag she’d spotted earlier, but it was partially obscured by the suit’s lapel.

  “May I speak with you for a moment?” The woman’s smile was practiced and pleasant, but there was an edge to her voice.

  Nova felt a little dizzy, as though her skin had absorbed the margarita. When the woman extended her hand, she reached out to take it…only to realize that her fingers were as sticky as her backside. Quickly, she scrambled upright. “Sure.”

  The woman led her out of the press of humanity, toward an unoccupied place along the wall. After a glance around the room, she met Nova’s gaze. “I understand you’ve been experiencing some frustration this afternoon. The spilled drink was unfortunate, but I could see it was an accident. Why don’t you take a break for a while to cool off?”

  “I’m fre
ezing already. The AC is blasting in here.” Nova flashed a grin other women had claimed to find charming. “But if you want to come upstairs, maybe we can warm up together. Room 2074.”

  A light flush bloomed along the stranger’s cheeks. “You’ve mistaken my intent. I’ve received complaints about your commentary from several players. I’d like to request that you keep your disparaging opinions to yourself throughout the remainder of the tournament.”

  Nova recognized bullying when she heard it. Resentment flared, and she braced one hand on the wall to lean in closer. “I was explaining the game to a drunk guy. Last time I checked, this was still a free country.”

  “You were badmouthing the game to a crowd of people, within hearing of players who have spent their hard-earned money to enter this tournament.” The woman’s tone was as chilly as a Scandinavian winter. Was she really just a soulless casino executive? That would be so disappointing.

  “So if I ponied up the thousand bucks, you’d be waiting at my elbow instead of taking my elbow to escort me out?”

  “Even if you were playing in the tournament”—the woman paused to give her a skeptical once-over—“I’d still ask that you be respectful of the game.”

  Who could respect a game that was entirely dependent on luck? For a moment, Nova was tempted to go on another diatribe, but with an effort, she swallowed the words. Valhalla’s management probably wouldn’t think twice about throwing her out on her ear, and she was almost certain they’d insist she pay for her room. She couldn’t exactly afford to flush her limited funds down the drain. Still, she wasn’t about to let this woman get away with steamrolling her.

  “Well, I’d like to ask that you respect prospective clients. Do the higher-ups pay you to be this condescending?”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyes narrowed, and Nova could feel the waves of prickly indignation rolling off her like the approaching tide.

  “What was that look for?”

  “What look?”

  “The ‘you don’t belong within five hundred feet of this room’ look?”

  “I didn’t—” The woman shook her head sharply. “This conversation is ridiculous.”

  “Finally, we agree.” Nova held out her non-sticky hand. “I’ll promise to forget all about it if you will. We can seal the deal with a drink.”

  “I don’t think so.” The delicate muscles along the woman’s jawline flickered. “I trust you’ll find another way to entertain yourself this afternoon?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she spun on one heel and walked back toward the tournament. Nova watched her skirt swirl against her thighs, desire trumping her annoyance. How did such a beautiful woman become so cold, so…corporate? Nova was suddenly possessed of an insane urge to save her from herself—to whisk her away from these artificial lights and inauthentic people. Would she thaw under the desert sun? Or melt away entirely?

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she muttered. This was Vegas. Beautiful women were a dime a dozen, and most were probably just as snooty as that one had been. She’d be worse than a fool to let this most recent brush-off get under her skin.

  For a moment, she deliberated escaping to her room, sacking out on the bed, and turning on the television. But when she pictured herself there, she could practically feel its cramped walls closing in on her. No thanks. Resolutely, she turned to face the poker hall. Behind its frosted doors were plenty of people just waiting to lose their money. She was a professional. A champion. She belonged there.

  It was time to get to work.

  Chapter Four

  Vesper didn’t particularly care for boxing, but she could put on a good show—much like the two men facing off in the ring. Tonight, Valhalla boasted the best fight in town, and the arena was at full capacity. Beside her, TJ slid his thumb and middle finger into his mouth, and she braced herself for the sound of his shrill whistle. When the bell signaled the start of round four, she clapped and leaned forward, feigning interest. He had wagered five hundred dollars on the outcome of this bout—though officially, the bet had been made by his father—and for his sake, she hoped he won. For her sake, she hoped he lost. Such was the dilemma of a casino host.

  On his far side, Theodore Senior was also thoroughly engrossed by the fight. He had removed his sports coat and rolled up his sleeves to reveal tan forearms. A ten-thousand-dollar Rolex encircled his right wrist. He had already won three times that at the baccarat tournament this afternoon, but Vesper wasn’t worried. Easy come, easy go. She was always glad when her clients began their trips on a hot streak. They were likely to gamble more money than if they started off cold.

  As TJ’s chosen boxer put his opponent in a headlock, her phone, tucked into her jacket pocket, began to vibrate. She whisked it up to her ear before realizing it was her alarm. Time to leave. When she glanced at the ring, the boxers had been separated. Taking advantage of the brief lull, she leaned closer to TJ.

  “I have to run. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave?”

  He turned to her with the broad grin that probably charmed women from here all the way back to New England. “Nah, V, we’re golden. Catch you later.”

  As she slid out of her chair, she noticed their glasses were nearly empty. On her way out, she caught one of the waiters by his elbow and pressed a fifty-dollar bill into his palm. “I need a fresh round of beer for the Hamilton party. The older gentleman is drinking the porter. The younger likes IPA.”

  “On it.”

  The waiter darted away, and Vesper continued toward the exit. The beer itself would be comped by the casino, of course, but General Grant would ensure that no one on the wait staff made the mistake of asking for TJ’s ID, as they had been trained to do. His birthday was only a few days away, and he was under the watchful eye of his father. There was no reason why he shouldn’t enjoy himself.

  Vesper allowed herself a moment of pique that enjoyment wasn’t on her own radar for the evening. She needed to sleep, not waste her time having a drink with Royal Flush’s most recent online poker champion. Poker players held a certain fascination to the general public, but they weren’t very valuable to casinos—unless, of course, they also gambled in other ways. Valhalla took a five percent rake from every poker pot, but even high-stakes games didn’t produce anything close to the cash flow from a high roller on a losing streak at craps or baccarat or blackjack. The odds of this woman being able to help Vesper’s career were low. This appointment would be a one-way street, and she didn’t have time for those.

  Sól Bar was at the base of Dragon Tower, and its décor set it apart from the rest of the casino. Named for the deity of the sun in Norse mythology, it was decorated in shades of orange, red, and gold. Its leather booths and stools were dyed a deep russet, and the tables and countertops were coated with beaten copper that glinted under the overhead lights.

  As Vesper scanned the people sitting at the bar, she realized she had forgotten to look up this woman’s photograph. “Nova” was the only name Evan had provided in his message—the player’s online handle, she presumed. She searched for someone sitting by herself. Everyone was in pairs or groups, except…

  Realization struck at the same time as the disruptive woman from the baccarat tournament turned her head. For the second time that day, their eyes met. Hers were the kind of blue Vesper had seen in photographs of the Caribbean. They widened, and then after a moment, a rueful grin curled the corners of her mouth before it was replaced by a smirk. Vesper focused on keeping her neutral expression in place, but it was difficult not to let the mask slip to betray her irritation. Another argument with this stubborn and self-righteous Lothario was the last thing she needed right now.

  “Nova?” she asked, forcing the syllables into a pleasant tone.

  She stood as Vesper approached. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

  Vesper almost turned around. Instead, she took a deep breath and kept moving until there were barely two inches between them. “Evan asked me to help you.” She pitched her voice low, an
d clipped her words so they were sharp as ice. “But if you make one more suggestive comment, I won’t stay another minute.”

  Nova held up her hands in a gesture that could either be protest or surrender, and Vesper found herself distracted by the play of muscles beneath her tanned skin. Ruthlessly, she quashed the unwanted surge of desire.

  “Stay or go as you like. No one’s making you do anything.”

  Vesper slid onto the stool next to her and gestured for Nova to do the same. “I keep my promises.”

  “Evan mentioned you owe him a favor.”

  “That’s how this business works.” Vesper signaled the bartender. She rarely indulged in a drink while working, but she wanted one now.

  “What’ll it be, Ms. Blake?”

  “Gin and tonic please, Jim, and whatever my…friend is having.”

  “Ma’am?”

  Nova considered for a moment, looking between the torn label of her empty beer bottle and the shelves of hard liquor behind the bar. Suddenly, her eyes gleamed.

  “I’ll have a Vesper. Please.”

  Jim started to laugh and then pretended it was a cough. Whatever was showing on her face made him hurry off to do their bidding. Nova sat calmly on her stool, looking too innocent. Obviously, she liked to push the envelope. She was a gambler. Of course she did.

  “What? It’s a great drink. 007 knows how to make ’em. And a distinctive name, too. Were your parents Bond fans or very religious?”

  “Neither.” Vesper was not about to confide in her. This was an unpleasant task to check off her to-do list, not a date.