by Nell Stark
But when the husband led out with a two hundred-dollar bet, a spike of doubt lanced through her chest. Had she misjudged him, too? Had he been dealt pocket rockets and just made three of a kind? Yes, he had led out strong, but pocket aces would have merited strong betting throughout the rounds given the lack of flush and straight possibilities. Was she willing to bet two hundred dollars on that supposition?
Yes, yes, she was. The pot odds were in her favor. Two hundred dollars to win over a thousand dollars, assuming TJ stayed in. Nova carefully counted out eight green chips and tossed them into the center of the table. TJ called as well, and why not? It was his birthday. He had five thousand dollars sitting in front of him. If he’d stuck around this long, he probably had at least a pair.
“Let’s see them,” the dealer said, mustering a little more enthusiasm than usual, perhaps for TJ’s benefit.
The husband turned over an ace and king, giving him a pair. Pleased that she had read him correctly, Nova turned to TJ as she showed her hand. For a moment, his face was blank, before he grinned ruefully and shook his head.
“Thought that might happen,” he said before flipping over the fourth ace and an eight of diamonds. “Damn.”
“Rough one,” the husband agreed.
“Next time, TJ.” Vesper’s voice floated over her shoulder.
As Nova scooped up her chips, she wondered whether Vesper was happy for her. She probably hoped TJ would do well in his first gambling venture, especially since he was playing poker and not craps or roulette. The rake—the cut taken by the house from every poker pot—was somewhere in the neighborhood of five percent. That wasn’t nearly as much of a moneymaker as a single high roller who dropped thousands on each toss of the dice or spin of the wheel.
As the dealer passed out new cards, Nova glanced over her shoulder. She had expected to find Vesper watching TJ or perhaps checking her phone. But Vesper was looking right at her with a contemplative expression that disappeared beneath a mask of aloofness as soon as their eyes met. Nova turned back to the table, automatically checking her cards even as her mind raced. Could Vesper actually be interested in her, somehow? Was her indifference actually a mask, or was that just wishful thinking? And should she stay in this hand having been dealt a two of clubs and a nine of spades?
At least one of those questions had an easy answer. Unsuited two and nine were not worth playing. When TJ bet ten into the pot, she was one of the three players to fold. The flop revealed the ace of diamonds, and the jack and eight of spades. Dangerous. The husband bet twenty, and Nova watched TJ closely as everyone before him called. He didn’t hesitate before doing the same. She wondered whether he had a strong hand, or whether he was just feeling cavalier about spending his money.
At the turn card, the elderly woman gasped quietly. The queen of spades not only made a flush possible, but also a straight flush—or so they would all believe. Nova knew better, of course, since the nine of spades had been hers. The husband bet fifty, Bill folded, and again, TJ called immediately. Showdown time.
Since neither of them had the missing nine, Nova guessed that at least one had a flush. She watched TJ closely as the dealer flipped the river card to reveal the eight of hearts. His expression never changed, but the fingers of his right hand curled inward, as though he wanted to make a fist. But was he fist pumping in triumph, or in frustration?
The husband bet out another fifty, but this time, TJ didn’t just go along for the ride. He skimmed a black chip off the top of his stack and sent it spinning into the middle of the table. One hundred dollars. Surely, the man would call his re-raise, having already invested so much money in the pot.
He narrowed his eyes at TJ and flipped another fifty-dollar chip across his knuckles. “All right, son,” he said finally. “Let’s see whether you’ve got beginner’s luck.”
“I think he has that straight flush!” the elderly woman said, pushing her reading glasses into her white hair.
Nova couldn’t keep from shaking her head. “Full house is my guess. Eights over something—maybe jacks.”
TJ’s head turned so quickly she thought he might have whiplash. He regarded her intently as he flipped over his cards to reveal the jack of hearts and the eight of diamonds. “How did you know?”
“Some math, some deduction, and a little bit of luck. Congratulations, by the way.” She gestured to the husband. “He has a flush. The pot’s yours.”
“Hey, now, missy.” The husband’s face was turning red. “Are you counting cards?”
“Counting cards?” She laughed. “This is poker, not blackjack. The deck is reshuffled after every hand.”
“So?”
Was this guy a moron, or just dense? “So it’s not possible to count cards in poker.”
“Then how did you know what I have in my hand?” A vein was throbbing in his neck.
“I didn’t know. I guessed you made a flush on the turn, given that you increased your bet at that point. And when the eight paired on the board, I figured TJ must have a full house or else he wouldn’t stay in.”
“Unless I was playing stupidly,” TJ added.
“Well, sure.” She shot him a grin. “There’s no accounting for stupidity.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” the man grumbled to his wife. He stood and collected his chips. “Let’s play the slots for a while.”
“Works for me,” the dealer said under her breath as they walked away.
Nova laughed. “You’re welcome.” The casino would take much more of his money at the machines. In her next breath, she caught Vesper’s scent—a breath of jasmine tinged with strawberries. Her body must have categorized it unconsciously; until now, she hadn’t even realized Vesper had a scent. It was subtle but present, and it made her stomach flip-flop.
She turned to the sight of Vesper with one hand on TJ’s chair, head bent as she spoke softly to him. After a moment, she pulled back. “So, I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you,” he said distractedly as he organized his winnings. She wondered how he could be so dismissive in her presence. Was he gay? Or did he somehow know that she was?
And then her thoughts disappeared at the warm pressure of Vesper’s hand squeezing her shoulder far too briefly. “Try not to bait the amateurs,” she murmured, but her lips were curling just enough that Nova knew it was a joke. “Too much.”
She was gone before Nova could muster a reply. Instead, she sat blinking down at her cards, wondering how the whisper of a scent and the faintest touch of a hand had set her head spinning. Automatically, she picked up her cards, but as she put them back down she had no idea what they were.
“Nova?” TJ nudged her. “You calling?”
“Hmm?” Nova suddenly realized that everyone was looking at her, and that there was already sixty dollars in the pot. “Oh. No. I fold. Sorry.”
She had completely spaced out. Poor manners…and poor strategy, too. She had to be able to maintain her concentration, even in the presence of a beautiful woman. If some green kid like TJ could stay focused better than she could, she’d be in serious trouble at the tournament.
A few seconds later, he mucked his cards. As the others played out the hand, he leaned toward her. “Can you teach me to do what you do?”
What you do. There wasn’t anything all that special about her methods, but maybe he’d never run into a professional poker player before. “You mean figuring out someone’s hand? It’s an inexact science, you know.”
“Sure, but it’s still a science. I want to learn how to think that way about poker.”
“Okay.” Nova had written a few columns about strategy for Royal Flush’s player blog, but she had never sat down one-on-one and coached another person. Hopefully, she’d be a decent teacher. The last thing she wanted was TJ getting frustrated and taking his complaints to Vesper. “Happy to help.”
“Great.” He leaned a little closer. “And you should come to my birthday party tonight.”
Who invited someone to their birthday
party five minutes after meeting them? “I’d love to, but—”
His kilowatt smile cut her off. “Vesper will be there. She organized it.”
For the second time in as many minutes, words failed her. Was TJ playing matchmaker? If so, why? And didn’t those kinds of schemes always end up in disaster?
“I’ll put you on the guest list. Room 6035. Come by any time after ten.”
“Um…thanks.”
By then, the dealer was shuffling again, and TJ immediately bent over his new cards. Nova could only follow his example. The irony would have made her smile, if she hadn’t been working so hard on her poker face.
Chapter Eight
Vesper was watching the caterer arrange sushi roll after sushi roll on the dining table when her phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but she answered it quickly. Her cell was unlisted, and the only people who called it were coworkers, clients, or prospective clients. This must be one of the latter.
“This is Vesper Blake.”
“Hello, Ms. Blake. This is Priscilla Beauregard.”
Every nerve in Vesper’s body went on high alert, and she quickly ducked into the closest unoccupied room, which just so happened to be the office. Its glass desk sat before a window with a view of the Strip, and its mini-fridge was stocked with the complimentary bottle of Johnny Walker Gold she had ordered herself. Right now, she wanted a shot to settle her stomach.
“Mrs. Beauregard. Please allow me to express my condolences.”
She sniffed, whether because of tears or in dismissal, Vesper couldn’t tell. “I received your gifts.”
“It’s the very least I could do on behalf of Valhalla. Your husband was respected and admired by our staff.”
“His money was respected and admired.” Her voice cut the air like a dorsal fin.
Vesper gripped her phone more tightly. One thing was clear: the Killer Whale’s widow didn’t like bullshit. And if Vesper didn’t adapt to that quickly, she’d probably be hearing a dial tone sooner rather than later.
“That, too.”
Mrs. Beauregard’s laughter sounded like the bark of a seal, but higher pitched. Vesper wanted to join in but bit down on her lower lip and forced down her hysteria. It was time to step up and play ball.
“Did you enjoy the gift, I hope? I know you received many.”
“Why do you think we’re having this conversation? You did your homework, and I can tell.”
Vesper wanted to be pleased with herself, but she didn’t dare. “What else can I get for you, ma’am?”
An exasperated sigh was her response. “Nothing, if you ever call me ma’am again.”
“I understand, Priscilla. And please, call me Vesper.”
“Good. Now. For starters, you can get me one of those fancy Celestial Palaces next weekend, and a premium level spa treatment for three more. I’ll be bringing my best friends.”
“Excellent.” Vesper scrabbled in her purse for the small notebook and pen she always kept ready to hand. “And how much of a credit line would you like?”
“How much did my husband have?”
“Usually three million over the course of a weekend.”
“With you. Or rather, that sycophant, James. Davis gambled at a few other places that gave him just as much.”
Vesper knew he’d gone to other casinos from time to time, but had they really extended him that kind of credit? They might have, she supposed, especially if they were trying to woo him away from staying at Valhalla.
“Double his number, Vesper, and I’ll never even put so much as a pinky toe through any other door.”
Vesper could practically feel the blood draining from her face. A six-million-dollar credit line when Priscilla had never so much as placed a bet? Her bosses were not going to like that. At all. “Are you sure you plan to gamble that much, ma—Priscilla?”
“It’s not about how much I gamble, Vesper. Surely you must know that.” Her voice could have withered a rose in full bloom. “It’s about who has the biggest dick.”
The sudden vulgarity made her press down so hard with the pen that she punched a hole in the page. “And that’s what you want,” she said slowly.
“That’s what you’re going to get for me.”
Vesper only narrowly stopped herself from saying she would try. That wasn’t what Priscilla wanted to hear. “May I call you at this number with confirmation of the details?”
Priscilla gave her a fax number instead and then hung up before she had finished saying good-bye. Vesper collapsed into one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and quickly jotted down a few more notes. When she was finished, she stretched her legs out in front of her and rested her head on the back of the chair. The Killer Whale’s wife was coming to Vegas with friends and she’d chosen Vesper to be her host.
James was going to go ballistic.
The thought made her smile until she realized she had reservations to book and a massive credit line to secure. After checking in with the caterer, Vesper spent the next twenty minutes on the phone. She was arguing with the casino manager about the credit line when one of the staff cracked the door and mouthed, They’re here.
“Steve, I have to go. The Hamiltons need me. Just remember: this is the Killer Whale’s widow, and right now, the only place she wants to spend her money is here.” Vesper didn’t know that for a fact, of course, but she had a feeling that Priscilla hadn’t been lying about her intentions. “Pour yourself a drink, do some mental math, and find it in your heart to authorize six million.”
Before he could answer, she hung up. As she smoothed the front of her dress, she caught her reflection in the darkening windows. Her hands were still trembling, and no wonder—she had never spoken to Steve that way before. But she had also never hosted for someone with as much money or clout as Priscilla Beauregard. If she was going to rise to the next level of her career, she was going to have to leave her comfort zone from time to time—to move beyond assertiveness to downright aggression.
When Vesper took a deep breath and clenched her hands into fists, they stopped trembling. It was time to focus. This was the homestretch of TJ’s party. The guests—his parents, their closest family friends, and a dozen peers from college—had enjoyed dinner at Barri followed by Cirque du Soleil. Now they had returned to the suite for sushi, sake, cocktails, and a black sesame crème brûlée cake. She had to admit it—TJ was turning into a man of discerning tastes. Before his request, she hadn’t even realized it was possible to make a crème brûlée cake.
As she left the office and turned toward the foyer, she met Theodore Senior and Marisa in the corridor. He was loosening his tie with one hand, while the other remained around Marisa’s waist. Vesper’s smile was genuine. Watching them together almost made her want to believe in true romance.
“Ah, Vesper,” Theodore said. “There you are. The show was great.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“The kids liked it too,” Marisa chimed in. “They’ll be up soon. One of them convinced Teddy to play a few dollars at a slot machine in the lobby.”
“If he hits a jackpot, his head won’t fit through the door.” TJ’s first day of casino gambling had been a success for him. He had made several hundred dollars at the poker table before getting lucky at craps to the tune of just over a thousand. His father, on the other hand, had lost almost ten thousand playing blackjack. An ideal trade-off where Vesper was concerned.
“Is there anything else I can get for you tonight?” she asked.
Theodore glanced at his wife before answering. “Not at all. But I did want to let you know that I’ve invited my colleague, Bizmark, to join the festivities when he arrives later on.”
Vesper reached for her phone. “Bizmark Deloreo, correct? His flight is slated to arrive in just under an hour. I’ll let Jeremy know that he should encourage him to come up.”
“Perfect, thanks. And please tell Jeremy that he’s welcome as well.”
“It’s been a lovely day for Teddy
,” Marisa added, smiling. “Thank you for taking such excellent care of us.”
Vesper tamped down the part of herself that warmed to the praise. She was more comfortable thinking about what to do next, and that involved finding the birthday boy. After wishing them good night, she kept moving. By the time the door opened, she was waiting expectantly in the foyer.
“V!” His face lit up when he saw her, and she found herself immediately enveloped in a rum-scented hug. As he pulled back, she caught sight of his wide smile and slightly glazed eyes. By the look of it, Theodore Hamilton Jr. was happily tipsy. “You shoulda been at the show!”
“I’m glad it was fun. Get anything off the slots?”
“Nah. Maybe tomorrow.” His friends filtered past, but he made no move to join them. “Oh, meant to tell you at dinner. I invited that poker player. Nova. She said she’d give me pointers.” He bent his head so that his mouth was close to her ear. “And she’s cute.”
Vesper froze. Was she going to have to break the news that for the second time in his life, he’d developed a crush on a lesbian? The first time had been hard enough. She didn’t want to have to do it again, especially not on his birthday. Steeling herself, she looked up…only to find him trying to waggle his eyebrows. It wasn’t really working, but she got the point. He wasn’t the one attracted to Nova. He thought she was, and he was trying to set them up.
All she could do was laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
“C’mon, Vesper,” he wheedled. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”
The question felt like a blow to the chest, and for one agonizing moment, she couldn’t take a breath. He was more drunk than she’d thought. Sober, he would never have said something so callous.
He frowned then, perhaps realizing his error, but before he could say anything, one of his female friends swept in to take his arm. Amelia had brown hair and brown eyes, and her face was too angular to be beautiful, but no one was better at making TJ laugh. On more than one occasion, Vesper had caught her watching him longingly. “Come on, Ham,” she said, using the nickname preferred by his college friends. “Ethan’s going to eat all the spicy tuna rolls if you don’t hurry.”
