by Sierra Dean
“This doesn’t concern you,” Julian replied coolly, ignoring her venomous tone. “You can leave now.”
“No.” Sam wasn’t sure where this new backbone had come from, but she knew it was more stupid than brave. More than that, though, she had no intention of leaving Ethan alone with these guys.
The big guys shared some smug looks, and Julian let out an impatient sigh. “My dear,” he began, his tone more heated than before and his focus now all for her. “I strongly suggest you get out of here. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere without—”
“Sam, it’s okay,” Ethan cut her off, probably keeping her from saying something she’d regret on multiple levels. He turned back to the men. “I can’t come.”
“Then certainly you are prepared to make good on your end of the arrangement.”
“I have another day.”
“Deadlines are a funny thing. I want some assurances. If you come up and attend Antoine’s party, I’ll consider myself assured.”
“Julian, be reasonable.”
“We can continue this discussion privately. I think you’ll find me a very reasonable man.”
Sam watched the whole exchange, biting her tongue when all she wanted to do was scream for security.
“Sam, you should go back to the hotel.”
She shook her head, but he was already disengaging himself from her, pulling his arm free and pushing her farther away from them.
“Go.”
“No.”
“Sam, I’ll be fine. Just go.”
She wanted to argue, but Ethan was surrounded by the men, and they drifted away from her, vanishing into one of the elevators.
Well, shit.
Chapter Fourteen
Julian didn’t like to hear no.
He didn’t take Ethan to the party. The elevator descended to the basement, and Ethan saw the floors tick away until they were released in the employees’ section, the smell of laundry detergent filling the slightly damp air.
Except for the sound of dozens of industrial-size washers running simultaneously, the floor was quiet and empty of staff.
“I have another day,” Ethan reminded them, as if it would make any difference.
“I worry your thoughts are not focused, Ethan. Spending time with a girl? Unless her cunt is an ATM, I don’t think she should be taking up so much of your valuable talent.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“You brought her into it, not me.”
“I’m not sure what you want me to do here,” Ethan said. “Clearly the party is out.”
“Not that you were planning to attend anyway.”
“No.”
“I want you to understand how very serious I am about this debt. Because if you don’t have my money tomorrow, there won’t be any more parties. There won’t be any pretty girls with foul little mouths. You won’t be having any fun. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” Ethan swallowed hard, praying to any God who would listen that he be allowed to turn around and walk out, no harm done. He’d figure it out. He’d get the money without Kelly. But he needed to be able to get the hell out.
“I don’t know if you’re taking me seriously.”
“I am.”
“Well. Just to be sure.” Julian gave a nod to the three men.
Ethan had hoped they were all for show, big dudes to scare him but only that. He was plenty scared—he didn’t need any follow-through. When the first fist met his jaw, he knew he wasn’t walking away.
One of the men tossed him backwards, and Ethan’s head bounced off the door of a dryer, popping it open and sending a bundle of warm sheets tumbling out. Another was there to grab him by the collar before he could collapse into the linens, holding him up so the first man could punch him in the stomach and groin, adhering to Julian’s warning to, “Mind his face. That might be the only thing he has left to get me my money.”
The men punched him until he threw up. Then they left him amongst the newly soiled laundry.
From the elevators Julian said, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. With or without that money.”
Ethan paced in front of Sam’s room, raking his fingers through his damp curls and trying to figure out a way he could get around doing what he was about to do.
He shouldn’t involve her.
He should get on a plane and fly to Palo Alto to get the money from his parents. But he didn’t have enough time to wait for them to liquidate funds or try to rationally solve his problem by suggesting the police.
Perhaps he could track down Kelly and find out what she’d done with his money. Maybe luck would smile on him for the first time that evening and she’d still have it, or at least enough he could patch together the rest.
But he knew she’d blown it all.
He was up shit creek with no paddle, and he was out of favors he could call in. Being blackballed by Julian in the casinos meant his only option—winning the money—was right out the window.
Unless he had help.
He couldn’t get into the casinos, but Sam could. She had what it took to blend in, and he was hoping like hell he could coach her well enough to make the money back, no matter how long of a long shot it was. In a high-stakes game the pots were so huge she’d only need to win a hand or two to make back what they needed. She’d be in and out in a few hours tops.
But it was a lot to ask of someone he’d known less than a week, no matter how deep their connection felt. Ethan had been stunned by her balls when she stood up to Julian, but it was one thing to sass talk a man, quite another to get herself involved.
If she said no—and she’d be within her rights to—he’d be back at square one, and if that was the case, he might as well dig his own grave then and there because he’d be screwed.
Fuck it, the worst she could do was say no, which she probably would. But at least he’d have asked, and once he’d crossed Sam off as an option, then he could figure out a new plan.
He knocked with three loud raps and resumed his pacing.
When she opened the door, she looked frantic, her cell phone in her hand and her previously perfect hair mussed—likely from running her hands through it from the stress. He felt immediately guilty because it was all his fault she looked like this. He’d already ruined her vacation, what was one more shitty request?
“Oh my God, Ethan, what did they do to you?” Dropping her phone without looking to see where it landed, she crossed the threshold and took his face in her hands. He winced when her fingers touched his split lip. The growing bruise on his cheek wasn’t too fond of being handled either, but the worst damage was below the neck. Her reddish-brown eyebrows dipped in a concerned V, and she withdrew her hands. “What’s going on?”
“I’m in trouble,” he admitted, forgetting he had planned to ease her into things by being charming and glossing over his wounds. Now he sounded pathetic, and he felt certain she’d balk on his plan and—like his parents—would want to go right to the cops.
What did she know about him that might convince her not to? That he gave a good tour of the Vegas Strip and could make her come? How could he convince her to follow through with his plan when even he didn’t believe what he was doing was right?
He wanted her to gamble on his behalf, to pay a loan shark off so he no longer had to prostitute himself or get his ass kicked.
They didn’t call it Sin City for nothing.
Ethan looked awful. A purple-black bruise was blossoming on his cheek and blood had caked his lower lip. Sam never should have left him alone. She wasn’t sure what she could have done to keep this from happening, but she shouldn’t have let them lead him away. She felt lucky nothing worse had happened to him, but that didn’t make her feel any better. Her rage at Julian was running hot, and she couldn’t decide what had her more wound up, Ethan’s wounds, or her desire to shred Julian to pieces.
For his part Ethan looked like he was about to vomit. The tremor in his voice when he said he was in trouble was what
made her think his problems ran deep enough she should let him talk before she tried to say anything.
“Come in.” She stepped out of the doorway to give him room to pass, and he hesitated in the hall for a moment before accepting the invitation. His first step told her why. He was limping visibly, and his hands went to his ribs with visible agony. Once inside, he made a beeline to her bathroom and splashed water on his face then sat on the edge of the tub, gritting his teeth, his eyes shut tight.
“What’s going on?”
“I need your help.”
“Okay. With what? You have to tell me something.”
He appeared flustered and lost, like he didn’t know where to start or how to explain, but she thought she owed it to him to let him speak on his own terms instead of pushing any harder.
Don’t give him any money, her inner voice chided, but she tried to shut it out, even though all signs pointed to that being the root of this whole situation.
“I owe someone a lot of money.”
Yup, just like she’d feared.
“I don’t have any money, Ethan. I’m not rich.” She racked her brain, trying to fathom some way she might be able to help, but she didn’t have that kind of money.
He shook his head, but the movement seemed to hurt him. “No, no. I don’t need your money. I need to get money, and I need your help, but I’m not asking you to give me anything.”
Sam leaned against the bathroom counter and regarded him with careful consideration. She wanted to go to him, hold him and solve his problem in any way she could. But if trouble were baseball, Sam was batting in the minors and Julian and his thugs were in the All-Star game.
“How can I help? If I can help.”
Ethan raked one wide palm through his hair, the dark curls seeming more wild and unruly than ever before, giving him an unhinged and dangerous appeal. A traitorous twinge made her lady parts tingle, but she tamped it down to focus on the issue at hand.
“Do you know anything about playing poker?” he asked.
“Poker? Are you serious? Like…Texas Hold ’Em? Seven-Card Stud? That sort of thing?”
“Yeah.”
“I know my ex spent a lot of unnecessary time online playing it, but otherwise I don’t know much at all. What does this have to do with anything? Do you have a gambling debt?”
He ignored her question and asked, “Have you ever played?”
“Once or twice, in college.”
“Do you think if I showed you a few things you might be able to play a hand or two?”
Now the nagging suspicions that had been starting to quiet down came bubbling back to the surface at a hard boil. Something was definitely weird about what he was asking her. He needed money, but he wanted her to play poker? And why wasn’t he telling her anything?
“You want me to play poker for you? I assume to win you whatever money you need?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s a question for you. Why couldn’t you play poker for yourself?”
Ethan made a face and averted his gaze, as if he couldn’t decide whether to tell her the truth or make up a believable lie on the spot.
“I can’t go into the casinos.”
“Why not?”
“Because the man I owe money to has made sure it’s not an option for me.”
“The guy from the MGM? Julian? Yeah, he seems like a really fair guy to be indebted to. How much do you owe him? And why?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
Sam let out her breath in a whoosh. Her old Corolla at home wasn’t worth ten grand. The down payment on her little house had barely been more than that when she’d bought it five years earlier. What in God’s name had Ethan needed money for so badly he would borrow it from a guy who was, well…a douchebag?
“What was the money for? Was it for drugs? I’m not going to help you if I’m paying off your drug dealer.”
“I’m clean, I swear to God. There’s a chance the money ended up buying drugs, but that wasn’t why I borrowed it.”
“Tell me why, and maybe I’ll help.”
“It was for a production investment. Kelly—the other Samantha Hart, that’s her real name—she said she had a sure-fire plan if we could get the money ASAP. I should have known better. Kelly has had…problems. But I never thought she’d fuck off with my money and leave me in a lurch. Anyway, I was supposed to have more time to pay this guy off, but he’s calling it in now, and if I don’t get him his cash…he owns me.”
“Owns you?”
“He… It doesn’t matter.”
“No, explain what you mean.”
“He uses us. People in the industry who owe him cash or favors. He rents us out.”
“He prostitutes you?” Sam’s mouth went slack, and she could do nothing to conceal her shock. “That’s appalling. Is that what he was talking about when he said you were supposed to be at a party tonight?”
“Yes. And I skipped it. It’s not my idea of a good time, Sam. And you can understand why I don’t want to owe him anything else. So can you please help me?”
She sat beside him on the tub, scrubbing her sweaty palms on her dress. All she had to do was look at him to know she would do anything she could to help him, but she still didn’t know how playing poker would…
“You want me to play high-stakes, don’t you? If I’m going to be playing for a big pot, I’m going to need money to put in. I don’t have that kind of cash.”
Ethan looked relieved, taking her words as an acceptance of his plan. When she saw the way his body sagged, as though a huge weight had been lifted, she found it impossible to tell him she hadn’t actually said yes yet. Her acquiescence was now a foregone conclusion.
Who was she kidding, though? The second Ethan Silver had walked into her hotel room, she’d been a lost cause. Ever since he’d kissed her that first night in Vegas, she’d become a sucker for him. Anyone who could make her body tingle from temples to toes was bound to be a problem for her willpower. And here he was proving that.
Only now it wasn’t her body that ached for him, it was her heart.
The defeated look on his face wasn’t one she’d ever expected from brash, confident Ethan Silver. This wasn’t her Ethan. The man she knew was all sexy swagger, and she didn’t think he had any quit in him. That Julian could crush him so easily…it broke Sam’s heart. And that feeling was all she needed to know that Ethan was more than a vacation fling. He mattered to her, and she would save him, come hell or high water.
“I have some cash, enough for a decent buy-in,” he told her. “You just need to play safe, win a few hands and get out. That’s it. Smart bets, make the ten grand and walk away.”
“Could I get in trouble for this?”
“For gambling in Las Vegas?”
Sam glared at him. “You think now is the best time to be cheeky with me?”
Ethan turned towards her, taking her hands in his and giving them a squeeze. “I’m sorry.” He brushed back a strand of her hair, making her heart beat three times faster. “No, you won’t get in trouble. We’re not doing anything illegal.”
“Then why does it seem so…seedy?”
“Because a relative stranger is asking you to gamble on his behalf.”
“To pay off his pimp,” she added. “And you’re not a stranger. Not anymore.”
Ethan grimaced at the word pimp, and Sam instantly regretted the phrasing. It was obvious Ethan didn’t relish the situation he found himself in. And owing money to a guy like Julian who would use his hired muscle to…well, looking at Ethan made Sam feel physically ill.
He was asking for her help in getting him out of a shitty situation, and all she had to do was play a few hands of poker.
How hard could it be?
Chapter Fifteen
Winning was going to take a miracle.
Sam was staring at the two cards in her hand, showing all the comprehension of someone trying to read Russian for the first time. Ethan rubbed his temples, willing himself to be p
atient by repeating the mantra, She’s helping you, she’s helping you, she’s helping you.
“You look confused,” he said, trying to gently goad her into admitting what her issue was.
“Give me a second.” She continued to stare at the five cards he’d laid out on the coffee table, then back to the ones in her hand, gnawing on her lip.
“This shouldn’t be—”
“I said give me a second,” she repeated, furrowing her brow.
He wanted to be annoyed, but she was so damned cute when she was concentrating, it was hard for him to be upset. He had to remember why he was in this mess in the first place, to keep himself focused on the plan, but all he wanted to do was kiss the wrinkle between her eyebrows.
Ethan had trouble remembering how seriously fucked he was thanks to Sam’s terrible habit of distracting him. Maybe that was a good thing. He could use something bright in this dismal situation. Sam’s poker skills would not be that hopeful beacon, however.
She had a weirdly serious concentration face, one that made it seem like her entire being was focused solely on one thing.
“I fold,” she announced, slapping her cards down.
“You fold?” Ethan reached across the coffee table and picked up the two blue cards, examining them for himself. “Well…you could fold. Except you had a straight.” He put the five and seven she’d held in line with the four, six and eight in his dealer hand. “Which is a pretty good hand, all things considered.”
“Oh.” She blushed, her embarrassment evident. “I’m sorry. I was never good at this, and you’re asking me to learn it in an hour—under some pretty stressful conditions—and then go play a high-stakes table? I once lost twenty dollars in a quarter slot machine. That’s the biggest gambling loss I ever wanted to have on my record.”
“This one won’t be on your record. It’ll be my money. And you’re not going to lose. You’re going to do fine.” He tried to make it sound like he meant it, but when he said fine his voice hitched up, cracking slightly. He was having misgivings about this plan, but it was too late to look for help elsewhere, and Sam was willing. Where else was he going to find someone who would go out on such a limb for him?
