The Safe Bet

by Brittney Sahin

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MICHAEL STUDIED KATE AS SHE stood on the other side of the door at his friend’s apartment. She was dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a loose-fitting, yellow T-shirt that made him wonder if she was attempting to hide her sexuality. She was failing, in his book.

  “I can’t believe you tried to back out on me.”

  “Well, you know, I don’t have my lucky Red Sox hat. So, I thought maybe I shouldn’t come,” she answered with a smile in her eyes.

  He moved out of her way and allowed her to enter his friend’s loft. “This is Jerry’s place. He teaches at a school north of Charlotte.” He shut the door, and she turned toward him.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I love that you don’t play poker with, um, millionaires. It means I can afford to play.”

  God, he loved her smile. The way her eyes lifted in perfect time with her lips made something in his chest hurt, in a good way. He could tell she was nervous, but he doubted it was because of the poker game. “I wasn’t always rich. And having money doesn’t mean anything,” he said, low enough so his friends wouldn’t hear him. His buddies were impatiently waiting in the living room where the poker table was set up.

  “Money means something when you use it to help others as you are.” She winked at him and walked down the narrow hall like she knew exactly where she was going.

  He stood still at her comment and watched her disappear. When he heard a loud grumbling of voices, he knew his friends had just laid eyes upon her. He rubbed his jaw, grinned, and hurried toward the living room.

  “Michael. Seriously? You think we’re going to be able to concentrate with Kate at the table? You know we have a hard time with Julia—and she’s like family,” Brett joked as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the back of the oversized white couch. Most of the furniture was pushed against the walls to make room for the long, oval poker table.

  The entire apartment was no greater than eight hundred square feet, but a nice loft in the city came with a price. Michael and his friends rotated the game among their houses. There were eight players in total, including Julia, when she was able to make it.

  “You better continue thinking of Julia as a sister,” Michael warned. He tapped Brett’s shoulder and looked at Kate. “This is Brett—he’s a pediatrician. And married, by the way.” Did I really invite Kate to a poker game with a bunch of sex-charged guys? He studied his friend, Jerry, watching the way his eyes raked over Kate’s toned body.

  “The only one of us who is married,” Jerry added. “Hi, this is my place,” he said, stepping up to Kate.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Michael observed Kate, noticing the way her jeans hugged her ass as she reached forward for Jerry’s outstretched hand. He glanced at his friends who were lined up next to him, looking somewhat ridiculous as they waited for their introductions.

  They’d met plenty of Michael’s dates in the past. Half of them had been models. Some famous. And he’d never gotten sensitive about his buddies checking out whatever woman he was with at the time. But tonight, it felt different, and he didn’t have any damn idea why it bothered him. He had no claim over this woman.

  “You remind me of a young Denzel Washington,” Kate said when she released Jerry’s hand.

  Jerry exposed his white teeth when he grinned. “I’ve heard that a couple times.”

  Michael introduced Kate to the rest of his crew before they settled in at the poker table. “Want a beer? I think that’s all we have.”

  Kate shook her head no as she took a seat across the table from him. “I don’t drink when I gamble,” she said before giving him the gift of her gorgeous dimples.

  He set his Corona down in front of him and reached for his wallet.

  “How much? Is this a tournament or a cash game?” she asked while dipping a hand into her purse.

  “Cash game. You can put in as much as you want. No limit,” Michael responded.

  “Hell, no. There is a limit—a thousand. We aren’t all drowning in cash like this one,” Brett said while poking at Michael, who was sitting on his left.

  “Okay, sure. A thousand. But you can buy back in if you run out of cash,” Michael added.

  “And you’ve done that plenty of times,” Jerry said before cracking a smile. “Welcome to the game.” He raised his Corona in the air to Kate, who was sitting next to him.

  “Thanks,” she said, placing two hundred dollars on the table.

  “High card is the dealer,” Jerry said while shuffling the deck of cards. He flipped a card face-up to everyone at the table. “Looks like you, Michael.” He pushed the cards to him and sunk back in his chair.

  “Not going to put your sunglasses on?” Michael asked Kate while deftly shuffling the cards.

  “I don’t think I’ll need them.”

  I think you do. Your eyes tell me everything, Michael thought as he dealt.

  After several rounds of Texas hold ’em, Kate proved to be a legit player, but Michael had yet to go head-to-head with her. His cards were always shit whenever she was in the pot, and so he spent his time watching Kate, reading her, studying the way her eyes looked down, and her lower lip would sometimes catch between her teeth. It was a nervous habit of hers that he had picked up on during their first meeting. She always won the hand when he saw her do this. She was trying to appear worried, to dupe his friends into thinking she was bluffing.

  It was the longest hour he had ever played poker. Sitting across from Kate killed his focus on the cards. He could smell the sweet, flowery fragrance of her perfume, and since she was wearing barely any make-up, Michael noticed a slight dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  God, he wanted to kiss her.

  “Michael?” Jerry was waving his hand in the air as if pushing away a cloud of cigar smoke.

  Michael looked up. “Sorry. My turn?” He glanced at his cards. Pocket kings. Finally, a decent pocket pair. He placed his bet and leaned back in the black folding chair, which was a bit too small for him.

  “I’m all in.” Kate looked up at Michael and tilted her head.

  He kept his eyes on her as his friends to her right bowed out of the game. When it was back to him, he studied her, checking for tells. She swallowed and adjusted back in her seat. That was new. Was she bluffing?

  Or was he just feeling sexual tension from her? The magnetic pull between them was making it hard to breathe. He reached for his chest, ready to loosen a tie that was strangling him, only he was wearing a T-shirt. “Is it hot in here?” he found himself asking as he stood up from the table.

  “Come on, you afraid of a challenge? A duel of the sexes?” Jerry joked.

  Michael tried to focus, but he found himself consumed by his past, by the memories he had tried to silence. Why was this happening now?

  The rocky terrain as his boots slipped on the climb.

  Gunfire.

  IEDs.

  Torn flesh.

  Blood.

  He turned away from the table, not wanting Kate to see him like this. His throat constricted, and he wondered if he was choking. He opened the patio door and walked outside. He braced the railing and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the steady stream of images that exhausted his mind.

  “You all right?” Jerry asked. He slipped through the door and leaned against the railing next to him. “Kate wanted to check on you herself, but I figured you’d prefer not.”

  Good call. He inhaled a sharp breath and opened his eyes. “I’m fine. Really.” He tucked the painful memories back inside and rubbed his hands over his face. “Be right in.”

  After a few moments, he sat back down at the table and reached for his beer. He took a swig of his drink and studied Kate. Her mouth was angled down, and her shoulders drooped forward. Was she worried about him? Or worried he might call?

  Perhaps she was playing him.

  “I fold.” He set his beer down and watched her cheeks flush.

  The two players
to Michael’s left also folded, leaving only Kate in the hand. She began to gather in the pot. “So, what did you have?” he asked as he leaned back in his chair, feeling more relaxed.

  “A good player never reveals,” she said as she stacked the chips in front of her.

  And then she winked at him.

  You’re killing me, woman. Michael straightened in his seat, feeling overwhelmed by his desire to kiss the edges of her mouth as her lips shifted up into a sexy grin.

  *

  “You’re really not going to tell me, huh?”

  “No way,” Kate said, swatting his chest. “What if we play again?”

  He stopped walking for a moment. “Can it be just us next time? And maybe . . . a different kind of poker game?”

  She studied his eyes as they focused on her mouth, wondering what sinful albeit delicious thoughts he was harboring. “In your dreams.” She couldn’t help but crack a smile. And only in my dreams, too.

  Michael cleared his throat. “Why’d you change hotels?”

  I think I’d rather go back to talking about strip poker. She started to walk again, not sure what lie to spin. “I thought it would be more convenient to be here for the gala.” Totally plausible, right? And true, in part. It would be a lot easier to stay at the same hotel as the ball.

  “Miss Adams?”

  Kate looked away from Michael and toward the concierge, who was approaching her. The staff had become well acquainted with her from her work on the ball. “Yes?”

  “We had a delivery for you earlier this evening.” He was carrying a glass vase of at least two dozen white tulips.

  Michael tilted his head and studied Kate. “Secret admirer?”

  Kate swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. The memory of the flowers that had been laid upon her mother’s grave flashed to her mind.

  Michael removed his hands from his shorts pockets and reached for the vase when Kate didn’t move. “You okay?” he asked, nodding toward the concierge and studying her.

  She was staring at the vase in his hands as her heartbeat escalated.

  “Kate?” Michael gripped the vase with one hand and rested his other hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up into his eyes, not sure what to say. “Yeah, I’m okay. No note?” She kept her hands to her sides, not eager to touch the flowers, which were no doubt from the man or woman who was following her. She had started to believe it was a jealous ex-lover of Michael’s who was trying to scare her away, but now her mind reeled, trying to come up with alternate theories.

  “I don’t see a message,” he replied as he held the vase up. “I’ll ask the concierge.”

  She watched Michael head to the desk, and she rubbed her hands against her thighs, unconsciously sucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

  The texts had made her nervous. The red envelope had tripped her up a bit, making her more alert. More cautious. But the flowers—the flowers felt different. Perhaps it was the connection to the grave, to her mother, that was making her ready to run to the bathroom and throw up.

  “No note,” Michael said upon approach. “Any idea who sent them?”

  “I don’t know. It’s no big deal.” Only it really is. She started for the elevator, but Michael grasped her arm.

  “Kate, what’s going on?”

  She gulped and turned to face him. “The flowers are probably from someone who knew my mother. Someone left the same white tulips at her grave when I visited last weekend.”

  His hand slipped from her forearm to her wrist, and he pulled her closer to him. The gentleness of his grip, despite his massive strength, surprised her. “You’re going to drop those,” she said, her gaze drawn to the vase, although she wanted it nowhere near her room.

  “Do you want me to leave the flowers down here?”

  They were close. Their bodies would have been touching if it weren’t for the massive vase between them. “Yes, please,” she whispered while looking up at him, unable to hide the emotion brewing inside of her.

  He released his grip on her and walked to the nearby lounge area. He set the vase down and quickly came back. “Let me take you to your room.” It was a statement, not a question.

  She stared at the floor in silence as the elevator moved to the top floor.

  “Will you let me inside and tell me what’s really going on?” he asked once they reached her room.

  She searched her bag for the keycard. “I’m fine.” She turned to open the door but shuddered when his hand touched her back.

  “I may be a bit cold-hearted when it comes to women, but I’m always there for a friend.” His voice was low and raspy.

  “Are we friends?” she asked, her back still to him.

  “I think so.”

  “Then I’d better say goodnight now.”

  She had no idea what she would do once inside her room. She knew it would be easy for her to lose herself in his arms. To forget her confusion and fear.

  But then wouldn’t Michael become just another problem?

  She felt a little cold when his hand left her back. She pushed open her door, nervous that she would change her mind. “Goodnight, Michael,” she said as she turned to face him.

  “See you tomorrow?” he asked, pressing his palm against the wall outside the door frame.

  Kate hesitated for a moment. “Probably not until the gala. I’ll be working in the ballroom to make sure all the preparations are complete.”

  He pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands back into his shorts pockets. “Okay. Well, goodnight, then.”

  Like wings breaking from a crystal butterfly, she found her body shattering at that moment as she watched him walk away when all she really wanted was for him to stay.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON. KATE hadn’t seen or heard from Michael since he dropped her off at her room, and she also hadn’t received any other messages or deliveries from her mystery stalker. Of course, her father had called her numerous times—she assumed to push the topic of her return home—but she always put him to voicemail. She felt guilty, but she needed to focus. Besides, she would be going home soon.

  She had spent the last day and a half working nonstop on the Maddox Gala. And everything for the ball was about as perfect as it could be for such a last-minute event.

  Kate walked around the ballroom, making sure everything was decorated as spectacularly as she had imagined. And it was. The designer had done a fantastic job. The room looked sleek and sophisticated. The ballroom had a baby grand piano, large crystal chandelier, two stages (one for the orchestra and another for the auction), and plenty of room for dancing. Thirty tables surrounded the dance floor. The ice blue linens with metallic overlays and silver chairs would be enhanced by the vases of fresh, cream-colored roses that would be placed tomorrow as centerpieces. Kate’s favorite part of the ballroom were the two terraces. On each, French doors opened out onto a romantic and cozy overlook: one of the city, the other of the hotels massive rose garden. Kate could picture the band playing with the doors open, the fresh September air ventilating the room. It would be perfect . . . she hoped.

  She smiled and took a seat at one of the tables. She was waiting for her friend Joseph, the caterer. He’d arrived early that morning but had been busy shopping for his menu. She tapped her short, pink nails on the table in front of her and reached for her phone. With it, she began to research Michael on the internet.

  Kate scrolled down the page of web hits until she found an article that had been published in GQ a few years earlier. Next to the article was a photo of Michael in his marine’s uniform. He looked like a man not to be reckoned with in a business suit, but in his military uniform, he looked downright dangerous.

  She averted her eyes from the photo, needing to still her pulse, and began reading the article.

  Michael Maddox is a real-life superhero. He is a man whom men dream of becoming and women fantasize about. He is an American military hero.

  But today? Today
he is dressed in a custom-fitted Ralph Lauren three-piece suit and sitting across from the board of directors for a company he just sold for three-hundred million dollars. Today, Michael Maddox is a multi-millionaire.

  But before the brawny man became a superhero, before he received the Purple Heart and Silver Star, before he became a superrich entrepreneur—who was he?

  He grew up in a small town on the outskirts of Raleigh, North Carolina; his parents were both teachers. According to his parents, Michael was a gifted child. A prodigy. He enrolled at Duke when he was only sixteen and completed his Bachelor’s in Engineering by his eighteenth birthday. Then he went on to earn Master’s degrees in computer science and business at Yale, graduating at the top of both classes in 2001.

  But when the tragic event of 9/11 occurred, Michael found himself pursued by government agencies and both the Army and Marines. They wanted him for his genius and his athleticism. So, Michael decided to serve his country and place his entrepreneurial desires on hold for the greater good.

  He enlisted in the military as an officer and quickly worked his way up to First Lieutenant. He served in both Iraq and Afghanistan, completing several tours of duty for his country.

  In 2005, a pre-unified command plan to fight against global terror networks was proposed, and in February 2006, in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, the Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command (MARSOC) was activated. Michael became a member of the elite Special Forces after completing seven months of training at Camp Lejeune. In addition to the rigorous military training he’d already received, he trained in reconnaissance, maritime navigation, foreign internal defense, survival evasion, asymmetric warfare, close quarter combat . . . and the list goes on. After his training, he was deployed to Afghanistan on several reconnaissance missions, which was when Michael began working on building and refining his intelligence software and technology. He improved the tactical remote sensor system to better monitor enemy activity and helped develop more advanced SATCOMS.