Betting on Bailey (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing For Love Book 1)

by Crescent, Tara

  I don’t care a shit about the pool league. I’m here strictly for relaxation purposes. My father died from heart disease and hypertension when he was only fifty-five, brought on by many years of stressful work heading up the family firm. The family firm is now listed on the Dow Jones, and I’m the CEO. The pressure is constant and unrelenting and to mitigate its effects, my doctor has mandated recreational activity. So I make it a point to hang out with Sebastian at least once a week, and we shoot some pool and drink some beer.

  But I’d be damned if I’m going to listen to Clark’s bitching and moaning all night long, especially after listening to Uncle Cyrus all day long. Life is far too short for that.

  “I found a fifth player,” he says smugly, ignoring my threat. “There’s this hot piece of ass that works with me, and she said one of her friends wants to play. One of her girlfriends.” He smirks. “I can’t wait.”

  Seriously, who talks like this? This guy sounds like a dickwad that reads The Game and boasts about his imaginary conquests. Before I give in to my urge to punch him, Sebastian walks over. “I was going to the bar to grab a beer, Daniel,” he says with an amused grin. “Then I remembered you’re buying today.”

  I laugh. “Of course,” I agree. “We cannot expect Manhattan’s newest star chef to pay for his own drink, can we?”

  We walk away from Clark. “Thanks for the rescue,” I tell him. “Was it that obvious I wanted to hit him?”

  “Not to everyone. What was Clark being a dick about tonight?”

  “Some woman who’s joining our team.” I grimace in distaste. “He’s hoping she is, and I’m using his words, a hot piece of ass.”

  Sebastian shakes his head. “Classy guy, Clark. Still, punching him isn’t going to do either of us any favors.”

  “Sad but true.” I turn around to look at Ellis, who is shaking the hand of some young guy, his chest thrown out. No doubt he’s now introducing himself as the team captain. Good for him.

  The bartender brings us a couple of bottles of beer without being prompted. We take a seat at the bar as Juliette steps forward to play the first match. “I'm glad you came out tonight,” Sebastian says. “For the last three weeks, I've just had Clark and Juliette for company. It’s been rough.”

  I laugh. Sebastian has a very conflicted relationship with his business adviser. She’s relentless about making sure he’s in the public eye, and at heart, Sebastian’s a low-key guy. “Juliette's not that bad.”

  “She's really gung-ho about this franchise idea,” he says. “What about you? How's the takeover going?”

  I frown. “If they weren’t strategically important to us, I’d be tempted to just walk away. They’ve been consuming all my time in the last month. Each conference call produces some bullshit objection. Now, it looks like their board is going to fight.” I pour half the bottle of beer down my throat. “And do you know why? Because they don’t want to be exposed to New York values. Those were their actual words.”

  “What are New York values? Paying too much money for real estate? Ordering takeout more than five times a week?” Sebastian asks dryly. “Is Cyrus riding your ass, then? Telling you to stay out of the tabloids?”

  Sebastian knows my family dynamics well. I’m about to confirm his guess when I’m distracted by the sight of a woman walking toward Clark.

  She’s not Clark’s type, that’s for sure. Her figure’s more generous than Clark typically prefers, and her black dress wouldn’t be out of place at a nunnery. She’s wearing sensible flats and her red hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

  Though she’s sending out absolutely no signals, there’s something about her. I can’t tear my eyes away. The primness of her dress can’t hide her body’s curves. Her breasts are round and lush, and I can’t wait to see her ass as she bends over a table.

  At that image, my cock stirs. Pavlov would have been proud of me. Bend a woman over a table, and I either want to spank her or fuck her, or both.

  “That’s the woman Clark was talking about?” Sebastian’s eyes are glued on her as well. “She is a hot piece of ass. Let’s go over and say hello.”

  When we reach them, Sebastian sticks out his hand. “Hi,” he says smoothly. “I’m Sebastian.”

  “This is our newest teammate,” Clark interjects. “Bailey Moore, meet Sebastian and Daniel.”

  “Welcome to the team.” I smile at her. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Thank you, but it’s probably not a good idea before I play.” Her voice is soft. Pretty. She makes a face. “I’m already terrible at pool.” She looks at Clark. “Gabby warned you, right? But I’d really like to learn.”

  The sincere, fervent need in her voice startles me. She wants this. Though she’s doing a good job hiding it, she’s nervous. I can feel the tension emanate in waves from her, and I wonder why. It’s just a stupid pool game.

  Clark nods ungraciously. “Juliette’s almost done,” he says. “Why don’t you go up next so I can see what you can do?”

  “Okay.” She bites her lip, and desire clenches through my groin as I see her straight white teeth indent her tender pink flesh. A sideways look at Sebastian reveals that she’s having the same effect on him. Clark’s the only one who is immune. Fool.

  * * *

  She’s as dreadful as she said she’d be.

  Clark’s set her up to play a game opposite a woman on the other team. Pool players are ranked based on skill level. Bailey’s been marked as a three - the default skill level assigned to a new woman player until the league figures out how to rank her. Her opponent is a two. Technically, less skilled. It’s still slaughter.

  Clark shakes his head next to me as he watches. “Great.” He sounds pissed. “She’s a dog, and she can’t play. Fucking perfect.”

  “Come on, man,” I say, a little shocked. Seriously, that crosses a line. I guess no one ever told him that women exist for more reasons than to look pretty for him. “Don’t be a prick. Besides, we need newbies on our team. Aren’t we skating close to twenty-three right now?”

  The league mandates that the total skill level of the entire team is less than or equal to twenty-three. I’m a seven. Sebastian’s a six. Juliette’s a solid three, and Clark is a wobbly four. This week, Bailey’s playing as a three, though she’ll drop a level for next week after today’s scores have been tabulated.

  Long story short, Clark shouldn’t be bitching. We need Bailey to be terrible.

  “What’s going on?” Sebastian’s at my side again. He’s got a great nose for trouble, and my clenched expression must have given me away. I’m not going to hit Clark. That’ll make the headlines of every tabloid in the city. But it doesn’t mean I’m not tempted.

  “What do you think?” Clark points to Bailey. “Hot or not?”

  Sebastian shakes his head. “She’s not a piece of meat, jackass,” he says in disgust. “She’s a person.”

  “Hot or not?” Clark repeats. There’s a note of rancor in his voice. I’m really hoping he’s had too much to drink tonight, not that alcohol is any justification for acting like a douchebag. “You guys. You want to act like you are above it all, don’t you? Daniel with his billions, Sebastian and the bad boy chef routine. You can’t stand admitting that you look at women and think, I’d tap that.”

  Sebastian stiffens next to me. I might not be willing to get into a fight, but I know Sebastian, and if Clark doesn’t stop talking, he’s going to get hit. I’m about to say something to try and diffuse the tension, when Bailey bends over to make a shot, and her breasts graze the table.

  Fuck yes, I’d tap that in a heartbeat.

  “Oh, she’s hot, alright,” Sebastian says next to me. His voice sounds hoarse. It’s not just me that’s feeling the effect of her curves. “She just doesn’t know it.”

  Clark grits his teeth when Bailey misses an easy shot. She has absolutely no confidence in herself, her hands shake when they grip the cue stick, and she takes each shot in some kind of weird hunch over the table, but she doesn’t
give up, and she doesn’t leave.

  When her opponent wins her final game, Clark goes up to Bailey. “Well,” he says, his voice patronizing, “you have plenty of room for improvement.”

  Her face whitens, and she whirls on her heel, looking for the closest exit. When she spots it, she makes a beeline for it. I want to follow her, and I will, in a moment. But Clark needs to be dealt with. I walk up to him, murder in my eyes. “Did you just make her cry?”

  “Fuck off, Hartman,” he snaps. “You saw her. She’s terrible and she’s inconsistent. I want a two who can win a game or two, not just act as a sacrifice.”

  Clark’s obsessed with winning the tournament and going to Vegas, and he’s forgotten to be kind. “She’ll win more than a game or two,” I tell him. “I guarantee it.”

  “She’s dreadful and she’s ugly,” he says viciously.

  Next to me, Sebastian’s temper is one thread away from snapping. “Listen to me, asshole,” he growls, his voice thick with menace. “I will get her good enough that she’ll win at the end of the season.”

  “Bullshit,” Clark says. “She’ll be a two next week, and in July, I’ll sacrifice her to draw out a seven. She doesn’t have a chance. In fact, I might not even play her. It’ll be easier to take a forfeit.”

  “You’ll play her,” I say. “Let’s bet on it. You play her in July and she’ll win her match.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty.”

  “Fifty dollars?” he sneers. “Fuck off, Hartman.”

  “Fifty grand.”

  From the look on Clark’s face, I know we’ve got him.

  6

  We know what we are, but not what we may be.

  William Shakespeare, Hamlet

  Bailey:

  You have plenty of room for improvement. The words themselves weren’t cruel, but the tone was scathing. Clark, who looks exactly like the comic book Clark Kent, right down to the square black nerd glasses, didn’t bother to gentle his voice and listening to him, I had a bad flashback to Trevor’s cutting words.

  As I stand in the alleyway behind the bar, I twist my turquoise ring round my little finger, trying hard to calm myself. Right now, I wish I were more like my friends. Gabby, whose temper erupts hot and fiery when she’s enraged, would have never let Clark speak to her the way he had just done to me. Wendy, who can turn icy when provoked, would have come up with a cutting response. Piper would have given him a contemptuous look and walked away. Me? I ran away and I’m fighting back tears behind the club. Great job, Bailey, I tell myself. I wish I’d grabbed my bag before fleeing. I don’t want to go back in there and feel the eyes of the entire team on me. A team that includes two of the hottest men I’ve ever met. Daniel and Sebastian.

  The door opens, and as if thinking about them can actually conjure them from thin air, the two of them come out into the alleyway. And when I see them so close to me that I can reach out and touch them, all thought flees my brain, and I forget to breathe.

  * * *

  “What did Clark say to you?” the big dark-haired man who had introduced himself as Sebastian growls. There’s a hint of stubble on his face and his ocean-blue eyes are clouded with concern. His fists are clenched, his arms are thickly muscled, and his biceps are tattooed, though his t-shirt sleeves obscure the images. For some strange reason, he looks vaguely familiar.

  “Just that I need improvement,” I mutter. “No biggie.”

  “He upset you,” Daniel, the leaner of the two says.

  I shrug uncomfortably. These guys are perfect strangers - I’m not sure what I’m expected to say to them. Am I supposed to pour my heart out and tell them my insecurities? “It’s okay,” I say quietly. “He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I’m not sure I’m going to come back anyway.”

  “Why not?” Sebastian comes closer, so close that I can see each hair on his chin glimmer under the outdoor light in the alley. A sudden yearning to reach out and touch his face fills me, and I back away until my shoulders hit the wall. “You played two games,” he says. “The woman on the other team kicked your butt, but you didn’t quit. I liked that.” His eyes hold mine captive. “Why quit now?”

  Daniel is watching our interaction. His nostrils flare, and his breathing is ever so slightly quicker. Under his intent gaze, I feel very exposed, but I like it. I feel like I am tap-dancing at the knife edge of danger.

  I drag my wandering mind back to our conversation. Back to the humiliating scene at the pool table. “Did you see me in there?” My voice rises with frustration. To my horror, I can hear the tears just under. One word will crack the fragile barrier and release them.

  “Everyone starts somewhere.” Daniel’s voice is deliberately reassuring, as if he’s soothing a cornered animal. “Everyone’s a beginner once.”

  “I’ve been trying to learn to play for eleven months.” Ever since I met Trevor. Almost a year, and what I have to show for it is less than nothing.

  “Your teachers are not very good at their task,” he says. Sebastian’s the one watching me now, and he’s so close I can almost feel him. There’s a weird energy that’s humming between the three of us, some kind of undercurrent of attraction that zings under the surface of our conversation, peppering each word with a heated spice. “We’ll be better.”

  “You?”

  “Sebastian and I can teach you.” There’s a pause in the conversation. “If you want.”

  They are way, way above my league, but I’m attracted to these men. I want them. I want to be sandwiched between them. I want to feel suffocated by their hard weight pressing against me. “You’ll teach me how to play pool?” I stammer, in an effort to calm my raging hormones.

  They both look amused. “Yes Bailey,” Sebastian confirms. “We’ll teach you how to play.”

  “Next Wednesday,” Daniel says. “Get here an hour early.” He fishes a business card from his wallet and hands it to me. “My address and personal phone number is on the back. Call me if something changes.”

  My brain cannot seem to string together enough words to form a sentence. I’m so caught up in their spell. An observer of this scene must think that it must be laughably easy to earn a PhD.

  A full-blown grin covers Sebastian’s face. “We’re going to enjoy coaching you, Bailey. Don’t be late.”

  Unless I’m imagining things, there’s a gleam in Sebastian’s eyes, a subtle emphasis on the word coaching. They aren’t coming on to me, are they?

  7

  To receive guests is to take charge of their happiness during the entire time they are under your roof.

  Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

  Sebastian:

  For every good, there is a bad. I learned this the painful way. The day after I got my first Michelin star, my dog Buddy died. He’d been ailing for many months, and his death was only a matter of time, but I still can’t think back to that day without sorrow. Such is life.

  So I’m not entirely unprepared when I’m sent an absolutely brutal Yelp review of Seb II Thursday morning.

  This place sucks big hairy eyeballs.

  Sebastian Ardalan might have two fucking Michelin stars, but if the food we ate last night was any indication, the people that hand out these stars have no taste buds.

  First, my girlfriend ordered steak, well done. The snotty waiter looked down his nose at us for that. Apparently, when you are paying over a hundred dollars for meat, the only option is rare. Eating raw meat is not an option for her — she’s pregnant. And hey, douchebag waiter, if you are reading this? I’d prefer to tell our family that we are having a baby first, before letting you know.

  Then the meat comes out, and of course it’s still bloody. We send it back to be cooked. Comes back thirty minutes (!) later, cold and bloody. I point out how long we’ve been waiting for our food, and the waiter shrugs.

  Absolutely terrible experience. We ended up eating at Taco Bell, where some cheerful minimum wage workers made us a delicious steak burrito, and yes, they made sure t
he steak was well-done without the attitude.

  And those two Michelin stars? The chef can stuff it up his ass.

  Damn it. If this were a one-time thing, I could ignore it. Sometimes, customers get disgruntled, but this is starting to feel like a pattern. I’ve seen many reviews in the last three months talk about slow service, snotty waiters and more. I need to head down to Seb II right away, and I’m long overdue a conversation with the staff there. I don’t like to go Gordon Ramsey on their asses, but after this review, it seems necessary.

  * * *

  “What the absolute fuck?” I wave my phone, with the offending Yelp review visible on the screen, in the small office space in Seb II. Crammed in there are the sous-chef Ben and the restaurant manager Mina, who is in charge of the front.

  Mina looks uncomfortable, but she doesn’t say anything. Ben starts to roll his eyes, then catches a sight of my face and thinks better of it. “Look, Sebastian,” he says. “I wouldn’t get too bent out of shape. They were just tourists.”

  “They were just tourists.” My voice is dangerous and my blood pressure is rising. “That’s your response to this? They were just tourists? Do you know how much money tourists bring to Seb II? Do you think our business is all investment bankers and Wall Street analysts? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?”

  Ben quails, but I’m not done yelling. “Is this review fair?”

  Mina finally speaks up. “Yes Chef,” she mumbles. “It’s true. They did send back their steak, and they did wait more than thirty minutes for a refire.” She shoots Ben an irritated look. “I was told the kitchen didn’t feel that tending to the steak was a priority.”