Then I start winning. I hit a red-hot streak. In an hour, my two hundred dollars has become three thousand.
It’s a start. Don’t get me wrong, three grand is nothing to sneeze at. But Sammy’s timer is ticking, and I have to speed this up. I’ll need to win and win steadily for more than one night to make up the gap. I don’t have a lot of time and I still have ninety-five thousand, five hundred dollars to win.
I need the high-stakes tables.
The Grand River has them, but only in its invite-only back room. I look around the casino floor and spot a hostess watching the poker tables. Perfect. When it’s time for a break, I approach her. “Hi,” I greet her with a friendly smile. “I have a question. How does one get into the back room?”
She gives me a speculative look. “It’s by invitation only.”
Already knew that. “And how does one get an invitation?” I press.
“I’ll have to check with the Head of Security. We’ll need to run a credit check, Ms. Alves.”
She knows my name. The staff at the Grand River is good.
My credit’s not vile, but it’s not great either. It’s not high-roller territory, that’s for certain. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I nod my consent, and she disappears into a back room.
She returns almost immediately. This time, there’s no smile on her face. “Ms. Alves, would you come with me, please?”
That was fast. Anxiety stabs me. “Is there a problem?”
“The Head of Security would like to meet you.”
The Head of Security. That sounds like a problem to me. “Why?” I demand.
“He didn’t share that information, Ms. Alves. Please follow me.”
I contemplate telling her to fuck off. Except I can’t. First, it isn’t the hostess—Linda, according to her nametag—I’m annoyed with; it’s the casino management. Linda’s just doing her job. Second, Nicky Z is here for another five weeks, and I’m her PR rep. I can hardly do my job if I get myself banned from the Grand River. I imagine the expression of fury on my boss’ face and choose the lesser of the two evils.
It’s probably nothing. Probably. But telling myself that I’m panicking for no reason doesn’t do anything to calm my nerves.
Should have left the damn voucher alone.
Linda leads me to an elevator. We take it up to the forty-fourth floor. The doors open onto a large, open space, with floor to ceiling windows that look out on the water below.
The view is almost enough to make me forget how irritated I am. Almost. I move forward, an indignant tirade ready to burst from my mouth.
Then I stop in my tracks.
Because the men that face me?
It’s them.
The two guys from my unforgettable one-night stand seven months ago.
Dominic and Carter.
6
Carter
I can barely believe it. It’s her. Ella from the bar. Our unforgettable one-night stand, here in person, in the Grand River.
Yesterday, three dealers had called in sick. Today, another two. Denton Mitchell’s handiwork, no doubt. The crooked real estate developer wants to buy Dominic’s casino, and he’s resorting to his typical dirty tricks to get Dominic to sell. I’d been in my office, talking to my friend about countermeasures, when my phone had beeped. It was Linda, one of the floor monitors.
“Carter, I’m sorry to bother you,” she’d said. “But I need an authorization for a player to join the back room. I’ve sent you her details.”
“Okay,” I’d responded, walking over to my laptop.
“Her name is Gabriella Alves,” Linda had continued. “She’s the PR person for Nicky Z. New York license, decent credit.”
“Can she play poker?” I’d asked absently as I pulled up Ms. Alves’ information on the screen.
The back room has the high-stakes tables. We don’t let people play there until we know they can handle the heat. When the blind is more than a thousand dollars, the losses can rack up alarmingly fast. Two years ago, a guy lost fifty grand one night at the New Sun, just down the road from us. He walked outside into the cool night, put a gun to his head, and blew his brains out. Ever since then, no one gets an auto-entry until they’re vetted.
“Yes,” Linda had replied. “She played on the lower tables. Did pretty well.”
I’d pulled up Gabriella Alves’ driver’s license details. Her photo had filled the screen, and I’d sucked in a breath.
Because it was her.
Ella.
It was one night. It was seven months ago. I should have forgotten her, but I haven’t been able to. My memories of Ella are as bright and vivid as they’d been that snowy winter evening. She’d been fiery. Passionate. She’d been open about her desires, and she’d played no games. She’d wanted both of us, and she hadn’t pretended otherwise.
But when we’d woken up in the morning, she was gone. No note. No contact information, and no way to find her again.
She should have been a passing fancy, but I haven’t been able to forget her.
And now she’s standing in my office, an expression of shock on her face. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her curves. Her hair is longer than I remember, the long, loose waves caressing her shoulders. Her lipstick is a bright, bold shade of red.
She looks like my every fantasy come to life.
After the week I’ve had, I don’t even know what to think. It’s like the universe kicks me in the balls, and then hands me a winning lottery ticket.
Dominic recovers his wits faster than I do. “Ella?”
“Dominic?” She sounds as dazed as I feel. “Carter? What are you doing here?”
“I work at the Grand River.”
“Wait, you’re the Head of Security?”
“I am.” My brain is still refusing to work. One and two-word answers is all I seem to be able to manage.
“And you?” She turns to Dominic, an eyebrow raised.
He grimaces. “I own it.”
Her eyes widen. “The casino? The whole thing?”
He nods.
“Oh wow,” she murmurs. “I should have let you buy all the drinks that night.”
Her remark breaks the tension. I laugh out loud. “Come on in,” I invite, gesturing to the couch. “Sit. Do you have time for a drink, or are you on a red-hot streak and want to get back downstairs?” A disconcerting thought strikes me. “You’re not with someone, are you? Linda said you were Nicky Z’s publicist, but that doesn’t mean—”
“I’m not with anyone.” She gives me a faint smile. “And I’d love a drink. Red wine, if you have it?”
“I do.” I open a bottle and pour her a glass. Dominic helps himself to some Scotch and sits opposite her. I grab a Diet Coke and join them. “Gabriella or Ella?”
“Gabriella.” She looks faintly embarrassed. “My friends call me Gabby. Sorry about the fake name. Bars can be really—”
“You don’t need to explain.” Dominic leans forward. “Well, you don’t need to explain the name. I do have a question.” His gaze rests on her. “You left without saying goodbye. Did we do something you were uncomfortable with?”
“No, no.” She doesn’t meet our eyes. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I don’t have the greatest dating history.” She looks up. “It was a good night. I didn’t want to ruin the fantasy.”
It was more than a good night; it had been the best night of my life. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a pessimist.”
“I’m a realist.”
Dominic changes the topic. “And you’re Nicky Z’s new publicist?”
“Only temporarily,” she replies, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m covering until my firm can find a replacement for Anna. My boss thought it’d take two weeks.” Her lips curl into a smile that sends a punch of need through my gut. “Then again, Paul has a nasty habit of telling me what he thinks I want to hear. Worst case, they can’t find anyone, and I’ll be here for the duration of Nicky’s run.”
“Five weeks, then?
” Dominic asks.
“Five weeks, max.”
I don’t have to be a genius to figure out what Dominic’s hinting at. It’s obvious from the look on his face that he’s still attracted to her.
And me? Oh hell, yes. She takes another sip of her wine. Her tongue flicks out to capture a stray drop on her lower lip, and all the blood rushes from my head. My mind goes straight to the gutter. I imagine licking wine off her body, and my cock hardens. I have to bite my tongue to keep from groaning at the sheer eroticism of that visual.
Is she still single? Is she interested in picking up where we left off? She implied earlier that she’d only been looking for a temporary fling, which stings a little. But I get it. I’m in a similar place. Noah is my first priority, and working a full-time job as well as taking care of a young child doesn’t leave a lot of room for anything else.
Dominic doesn’t really date either. He’s too much of a workaholic.
Even if we were interested in dating—which we’re not—how would it work? That night with Ella—I’ve never done something as wild, as passionate and uninhabited. It had been my first and only threesome. But in real life? I just can’t see it. Ever since my parents died, I’ve stepped up to be the responsible one. I put myself and Chloe through college. I serve in my homeowners’ association. I coach Noah’s baseball team. Kindergarten incident aside, I’m an upstanding citizen, and model members of the community do not have threesomes.
No, a relationship isn’t in my future. But if she’s interested in something more casual?
Five weeks with Ella. No, not Ella. Gabriella. Five weeks to taste her sweet lips. Thirty-five days to hear her soft moans. To see the heat in her eyes. To run my fingers over her oh-so-kissable skin. The temptation to open my mouth and ask her if she wants me—if she wants us—is almost unbearable.
“And then what?”
“Back to New York,” she replies. “I’m a lowly publicist. I do what my employers tell me. When they say jump…”
“You’re wearing a watch that retails for more than ten thousand dollars,” I interrupt.
She glances at the Rolex on her wrist. “This was a birthday gift from my parents. They’re rich. I’m not.” She grimaces. “Don’t get me wrong, I adore them. Growing up, I never wanted for anything. I’m privileged, and I’m painfully aware of it. Their connections opened doors for me. Probably still do. But I moved to New York to try and make it on my own. So, yeah. When my boss says jump, I jump. Because otherwise, I don’t make rent.”
That’s when the idea strikes me. Gabriella could be the solution to my biggest problem.
She can play poker. Linda said she did good on the main floor, and none of my staff is prone to exaggeration. She has a solid reason to be in Atlantic City. Nobody knows that we’ve met before.
A frisson of excitement trickles down my spine. All I need to do is convince her to get involved. This could work.
I set my Coke down on the side table and lean forward. “Gabriella,” I start, my voice vibrating with urgency. “I have a proposition for you.”
7
Gabriella
Carter’s words hang in the air. I have a proposition for you.
My heart stutters.
I haven’t been able to stop looking at them. Drinking them in. Dominic must have started the day in a suit, but this late at night, he’s lost the jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He looks good enough to eat. His dark, wavy hair is shorter than it was seven months ago, but it still grazes the collar of his shirt. His face is covered with a five o’clock shadow, one that I ache to brush against. I remember doing that. I can still feel the way his stubble prickled against my skin, how it felt against my inner thighs as his mouth covered my…
Stop it, I scold myself. Stop.
Carter’s sleeves are rolled up too. Is it possible to lust after a man’s forearms, or does that make me a pervert? Probably. His shoulders are broad, his green eyes dark with heat, and when I look at him, all I can remember is the way he’d slammed me against the wall as soon as we’d entered the hotel room, and his mouth had found mine with hot, desperate urgency.
My insides tighten with need. My hands tremble. I set the glass of wine on the table at my side before I spill it. I remember them being good-looking, but not this gorgeous. I remember the chemistry being powerful, but not this overwhelming. If I could go back in time, I’d go back to that bar in Manhattan seven months ago and congratulate Past Me for having impeccable taste. It’s almost difficult to breathe in their presence. My need fills me, banishing air from my lungs and almost driving common sense from my brain.
Almost.
“What sort of proposition?” I’m proud of myself, proud of how calm I sound. Inside, I might be unraveling, but at least I don’t show it.
Dominic shoots Carter an exasperated look. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” Carter stares at me. “I need a favor. I’ll pay you for your trouble—”
“You’re not seriously suggesting I sleep with you for money.”
“What?” His tone is shocked, and I wince. Next time, think before you blurt out the first thing on your mind, Gabriella. I might want to sleep with them again, but judging by Carter’s reaction, the sentiment is one-sided. Probably just as well. I’ve done so many stupid things recently. No need to add another entry to the list.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I’ve misunderstood. I’ll shut up now and let you finish.”
Carter still looks shocked. Dominic shakes his head. “Carter,” he says. “I want to go on record. This is a terrible idea.”
Carter’s jaw tightens. “This morning, you said you’d back me up. Were you lying?”
The other man throws up his hands. “Fine.” He gets to his feet, pours himself another shot of Scotch, and stays where he is, staring out the window, his body set in lines of tension.
Yeah, this is definitely not an invitation to pick up where we left off.
I tend to charge into situations. I speak before I have a chance to think—accusing Carter of propositioning me for sex isn’t the first time I’ve put my foot in my mouth, and sadly, it won’t be my last. But now that I’ve had a second, I realize something else is going on here. I turn back to Carter. “Let’s start over. What’s the matter?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’ve had custody of my nephew for the last four years,” he says. “Noah is six. When my sister died, his father, Ed Wagner, decided he couldn’t cope with taking care of a toddler. He took off, leaving Noah to my care.” His expression makes it clear what he thinks of his brother-in-law. “Earlier today, a judge awarded Ed sole custody of Noah.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Among other things, because Carter almost punched Wagner in front of Noah and the rest of his kindergarten class,” Dominic says, his voice caustic. “Am I getting that right, Carter?”
Carter’s fingers tighten around his can of Diet Coke, but otherwise, he doesn’t react. “I lost control,” he says evenly. “I screwed up. It won’t happen again.”
Dominic opens his mouth to reply, and then thinks better of it. He downs his drink and pours himself another. I stare from one man to another, not fully understanding what’s going on. I know I don’t know them. But the last time I saw them—the night I slept with them—I would have sworn that Carter and Dominic were friends. Good friends. Really good friends, the kind that fucked one lucky woman—me—without any apparent hint of jealousy or one-upmanship. Now, they’re both on edge. They’re brittle. Both seem to be hanging on to control by the slenderest of threads.
“The custody arrangement is temporary,” Carter continues after a long pause. “If I can show the judge that I can follow her rules for six weeks, she’ll revisit the issue.”
“What are her rules?”
“No contact with Ed,” he says. “No contact with Noah outside of a ten-minute phone call.”
“And no contact by a proxy either,” Dominic adds from his spot by the window. He’s o
n his third drink now. Or is it fourth?
Carter frowns. “I’m following instructions. I’m staying away from Wagner. But,” he says, his eyes piercing into me. “Ed’s never had Noah for any length of time before. If Noah has a nightmare, Ed won’t know what to do. If Noah throws a tantrum because he wants another piece of cake…”
He looks so helpless. My heart aches in sympathy. I can’t even imagine what I would do if someone took my child away from me. And yes, Carter is Noah’s uncle, not parent, but he’s been the one taking care of his nephew since he was two. This has got to be brutally difficult. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He doesn’t appear to hear me. “Parenting a child isn’t easy. Ed is an alcoholic. He isn’t drinking now, but if he relapses…” His voice trails away.
“You said you needed a favor from me,” I murmur. “What do you want me to do?”
“Ed is working as a dealer in an underground poker hall,” Carter responds. “When he isn’t doing that, he acts as a shill in a different room. A shill is hired—”
“I know what a shill is.”
Dominic speaks up. “Both rooms are run by a man called Denton Mitchell. Mitchell is currently trying to buy my casino. Carter and I can’t go anywhere near his poker halls.”
I’ve been wondering what on Earth Carter wants me to do, and now it all becomes clear. “But I can.”
Carter nods. “I’ll pay you for your time. You already know how to play. I’ll cover your losses, and of course, you can keep your winnings. All you need to do is watch Wagner. If he’s drinking again, let me know.”
Carter’s completely glossing over the fact that he’s ignoring a judge’s orders. Do I really want to get dragged into this mess? Do I really want to dive in the middle of a custody dispute?
I don’t know what to do.
“If I find out he’s drinking, then what?”
“I call my lawyer. I get the courts involved.” He takes another breath and looks at me, stress and worry etched into his face. “Noah’s only six, Gabriella. He’s just a kid.”
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 27
