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

by Crescent, Tara

  Vincent Strauss rises to his feet, giving my mother a disapproving look as he does so. My mother, who is practiced at ignoring these slights, doesn’t react. Inside me, something hardens. If I prevail today, I’m going to clean house. Cyrus needs to go, and so does half this board. These guys are here because of their connections, not because of their ability. In the last few years, they’ve been more an obstacle than a help as I’ve grown Hartman, but I’ve held off from making any waves because of some misplaced sense of family obligation.

  Cyrus did something important when he betrayed me. He made me realize that I’m not required to protect these people. They are going to regret pissing me off.

  “Shall we get going?” he asks in his paper-dry voice. “I’d like to open by making a statement.”

  Vincent is the Chairman of the Board, and there’s no dissent around the room. He clears his throat. “Daniel Hartman,” he addresses me with a definite tone of disapproval. “This board has kept silent as time and time again, you’ve dragged the good name of this company through the tabloids. But this latest episode,” he emphasizes that word with disfavor, “has cost us an important deal. Cyrus has made me aware that Ryan Communications rejected Hartman’s offer last night. It is my considered opinion that your appearance in the paper yesterday was the direct cause. I’m going to recommend to my colleagues,” he nods at his cronies around the table, “that we seek your resignation, and continue forward under more stable leadership.” His gaze rests on Cyrus.

  It’s time to go on the attack. I rise to my feet. “Thank you, Vincent,” I gesture for him to sit, a deliberate and patronizing gesture. I have no desire to be conciliatory, not anymore. I don’t get angry easily, but my blood boils as I survey all of them. “It is customary,” I continue, “to be allowed a chance to defend myself. Let’s start with the picture in the Post, shall we?”

  I press a button and the photo of Bailey, Sebastian and I fills the screen that covers one wall of the boardroom. “When I saw the photo, I was furious. Then I realized something that made me even angrier.” I glance around the table, holding each of their eyes in my gaze. “This photo was taken in my home.”

  A couple of people sit up at that. Everyone in this room is united in their need for public discretion. But a man’s home is still his castle, and I’m not the only one unwilling to put my personal life under a microscope.

  “I didn’t put that camera there, I assure you,” I continue. “And if I didn’t, who did?”

  “I don’t see how this matters, Danny,” Cyrus interrupts, his voice tense. “The reality is that the damage has been done. We have to find a way today to move forward.”

  “Indeed.” My agreement surprises him. “We do have to move forward, and more importantly, we have to clean house. Hartman has a long and prestigious reputation. Our company does not need to be tabloid fodder, right?”

  My mother looks at me with narrowed eyes. She probably thinks I should be highlighting the results that I’ve delivered as CEO, and without Stone’s evidence, that’s exactly what I would have done. However, the documents he’s uncovered for me offer a better way.

  “That’s right,” another gray-haired member of the board says, leaning forward. “Am I to understand, Daniel, that this means you are offering us your resignation?”

  “Oh no,” I reply, my tone steely. “No, it isn’t my resignation that’s going to be on the table today.” I reach forward and punch in Sophie’s extension. “Sophie, can you ask Juliette Kincaid to come into the boardroom, please?” I take note of Cyrus’ sudden paleness with grim satisfaction.

  Let the bloodbath begin.

  44

  No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time.

  Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

  Bailey:

  “Then what happened?” I lean forward, totally engrossed by Daniel’s recounting of the day’s events.

  “The board voted unanimously to ask for Cyrus’ resignation,” Daniel replies.

  “And Juliette?”

  He gives me a sidelong look. “I was going to talk to you about that,” he says. “She offered to quit the team.”

  “She can’t,” I exclaim. “Or you’ll lose your bet.”

  Sebastian rolls his eyes at that. “Yes,” he says dryly. “Daniel Hartman is going to notice losing fifty grand in a bet.”

  “I don’t like losing,” Daniel reminds him mildly. “Although in this case, I’m more concerned about what Bailey thinks.” He looks at me. “It’s your call,” he says. “The way the brackets are set up, if we win, we’ll meet Trevor’s team in the finals. If Juliette quits the team, we can’t replace her, and we might not make the finals.”

  “Oh no,” I tell him grimly. “You tell her to show up tomorrow night and play her heart out. Fuck, I’ll tell her to show up. She owes me. I need to beat Trevor.”

  Both Sebastian and Daniel chuckle. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” Daniel grins. “She’ll be there.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Remind me never to piss you off, Bailey.”

  “And the restaurant?” I turn to Sebastian. “When can you re-open?”

  He grimaces. “Six weeks, as predicted,” he says. “Still, the damage wasn’t as bad as I’d feared.” He shrugs. “It’s not a terrible thing for the team to take a break,” he adds. “We’ve been working our fingers to the bone to get the second star.”

  “They’ll still get paid?”

  He nods. “I’d be crazy to do anything else,” he replies. “My competitors were salivating at the idea of my team being out of work.” He snorts. “They were hoping to poach my staff. Not going to happen.”

  “And Ben’s pulling through?”

  He nods, though this time his expression holds sadness. “His hands are damaged,” he says quietly. “His career as a chef is over.” He sighs. “It’s probably for the best. It takes skill and temperament to cut it in a kitchen. Ben had the skill, but he couldn’t cope with the stress.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I’m paying for rehab,” Daniel cuts in. “Then, after that, if he’s better, we’ll find him a job.”

  They are both such good people. I feel really lucky that they are mine.

  “You still have to tell us about your review meeting,” Sebastian points out. “Your ‘I didn’t get fired’ text message was a little short on the details.”

  I make a face as I think about the meeting. “I was a bit anti-climactic,” I tell them. “I had a speech rehearsed about ethics and morality and all that stuff, but I didn’t get a chance to use it. They just told me I wasn’t getting fired, and that was it.”

  “What are they going to do about the plagiarism?” Sebastian asks. “Are they going to fire Landrieu? Or reprimand him?”

  “Who can tell?” I’m a little disillusioned. “Does the university have enough balls to create a hue and cry about Landrieu’s work? I doubt it. They were transparently grateful that I was going to spend the next semester on leave in Argentina, and there was no mention of my tenure window.”

  “You don’t think they’ll offer tenure?” Daniel’s voice is sharp.

  I shake my head. “Don’t interfere,” I warn him. “Not this year they won’t. They’ll need to wait for this to fade away.” I grimace. “Still, I didn’t get fired today. That’s a win, right? You take what you get. I was disappointed during the meeting, but I got over it.” I grin at them. “I have other, more interesting things to distract me.”

  “Do you?” Daniel’s voice is amused. “You mean things like pool practice? Stone has assured me that the game room is free of any recording equipment. Want to play?”

  I bound up. “I love games,” I say eagerly. “Let’s go.”

  45

  I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.

  Thomas Jefferson

  Bailey:

  July, the day of the tournament…

  During the regul
ar season, pool league is a fun, social activity for all except Clark Ellis, who really takes it far too seriously. Team captains match beginner against beginner, and expert against expert. Everyone stays challenged that way, and people can hone their game against equally skilled opponents.

  The rules are different when it’s tournament time. Now, the objective is to win at all costs. As a result, when your opponent is a seven, the highest skill rank attainable in the American Poolplayers Association, the strategic response is to counter with a two or a three. Because of the handicapping system, the player who is a seven needs to win six games to win the match, and the lower-ranked player needs to just win two games to prevail.

  I’m a three now. Trevor’s still a seven. I just have to win two games.

  Juliette had come up to me the Wednesday after the great tabloid debacle, and she’d apologized quietly. After that, she’s stayed away from us, merely showing up, playing without saying a word and leaving. I feel a little sorry for her, to be honest, and I’m tempted to tell Daniel and Sebastian that it’s time we all buried the hatchet.

  Trevor’s team walks over. These guys - and they are all men, there’s not a single woman among them - have a definite swagger as they approach. Trevor gives me a snide look. “I’m surprised your team got this far, Bailey,” he calls over, his voice cutting through the noise. “But it ends here.”

  His team fist-bumps each other and exchanges high-fives, while I exchange a dry glance with Daniel and Sebastian. It ends here. Seriously, who talks like that? Do they think they are in a Quentin Tarantino movie? We are in Yonkers, for crying out aloud, in a sports bar located in a strip mall. Glamorous, this isn’t.

  I would normally be a bundle of nerves by this point, but Daniel and Sebastian have taken steps to prevent it. And by steps, I mean a butt plug buried in my ass, and a vibrator nestled against my clitoris. Then there’s the red lace bra and panties they’ve made me wear under my black dress. The sexy lingerie and the toys, not to mention the multiple orgasms I had in the car on my way over here, have all left me too blissed out to be nervous. Tense? Not me. I’m a deep pool of relaxation.

  Clark goes up first, and Trevor puts up Peter, the only guy on their team who isn’t a complete jerk. Even though I should be rooting for my own team, I’m secretly not too heartbroken when Peter beats Clark. Clark’s a jerk. I’m never going to want him to win.

  Next up is a player from Trevor’s team called Frankie. He’s listed as a five, but that’s a garbage rank. I’ve seen Frankie play, and he’s almost as good as Trevor. I whisper my disbelief to Daniel and Sebastian, and Daniel nods, unsurprised. “I’ve heard Trevor’s team does this,” he says. “They win as many games as it takes to qualify for the tournament, and then they start throwing games to lower their rank.”

  “That’s cheating,” I say indignantly.

  He doesn’t look concerned. “We can take them, Bailey. I have complete confidence in you.”

  Juliette is selected to play against Frankie. She’s a four. Sebastian walks up to her to warn her about Frankie’s true skill level, and I turn to Daniel. “Are they talking again?” I ask him, indicating Sebastian and Juliette.

  He shakes his head. “Not really.”

  “Well, they should. His cookbook is still a New York Times bestseller. That was all Juliette’s doing.”

  “She involved you,” he responds with a half-smile. “Neither Sebastian nor I find forgiveness easy.”

  I think both of them are wrong, and it’s time to let this go, but for the moment, I hold my peace and watch Juliette play. She’s on fire today. She’s hitting the ball cleanly, she’s making smart, strategic decisions, and best of all, she’s in Frankie’s head. He thought he was playing against a girl, and it would be an easy win. Juliette’s proving him wrong.

  I cheer loudly as she wins her first game. “Go Juliette,” I yell, drawing a glare from Trevor. I refrain with difficulty from flipping him off, and instead do a fist-bump of solidarity with Juliette. She looks surprised, but grateful. “Thanks, Bailey,” she says. “One game down, three to go, right?”

  “You’ve got this. Frankie’s spooked, and he gets worse when threatened, not better.”

  Sure enough, Frankie’s level of play drops off in the second game, much to Trevor’s disgust, and Juliette wins again. Frankie manages to hold on in the third game, but then he drops the next two. Juliette’s won her match.

  One-one.

  I’m somewhat relieved and somewhat disappointed. Both Daniel and Sebastian rarely lose, and they will win their games. It won’t matter whether I win or lose after that. It’ll matter to Clark, obviously, because of the bet, but it won’t matter in the scheme of the tournament.

  Sure enough, Daniel makes quick work of his opponent. And then something unexpected happens.

  Sebastian loses his match by a hair.

  It’s all up to me now. And the butterflies in my stomach are back in full flutter.

  * * *

  The theme song from ‘Chariots of Fire’ plays in my head as I walk to the center of the room, under the spotlight. Trevor walks forward, almost in slow motion. The coin toss to determine who breaks seems to take an eternity, then the quarter lands face up on the felt. Heads. I’m breaking.

  “You’ve got this.” Sebastian’s voice is low and certain next to me.

  “Did you throw your game?” I demand. “Did you set this up?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he says blandly, watching Daniel rack the balls for me. “Why does Trevor look so pleased about the coin toss?”

  “He thinks I can’t break,” I chuckle. “He’s about to find out he’s wrong.”

  The vibrator buzzes against my clitoris right then, and I almost drop the chalk I’m holding in my hand. I glare around, trying to decide which one of them is the culprit. One of them has the remote. When I find out which one…

  The buzzing stops. “Go on,” Sebastian smiles wickedly. “It’s time to show Trevor what you can do.”

  Can a girl who just started playing pool a few months back beat an expert? Not every day. Not even most days. Some days, however, the planets line up just so.

  Trevor underestimates me. I can see him laughing with Frankie, rolling his eyes as I bend down to break. At the right angle, you can see my bra. From the way Trevor suddenly swallows, I know he’s caught a glimpse of red lace.

  You called my breasts cow-like, asshole, I think, and the resulting surge of anger powers my break. I hit the cue ball with a resounding thwack, and it speeds toward the rack. Balls scatter everywhere, and two balls roll into two pockets. “I’m playing solid,” I call out calmly as I walk around the table, chalking my cue. Trevor gapes at me, and behind him, his team falls silent. They’ve seen me play before. They thought the tournament was theirs.

  Not just yet. Not if I have anything to do with it.

  My best chance is to win quickly. I have to be careful not to give Trevor an open shot, because then he’s capable of running the table. My shot selection needs to be strategic. If I’m not sure I’m going to sink a ball, I need to position the cue ball in such a way that Trevor can’t, either.

  I’ve been practicing. Interspersed with hot sex and even hotter spankings, I’ve been working hard on improving my game. I’ve never been as good as I am in this moment. I’ve never felt as confident.

  “Go on Bailey,” a familiar voice yells out. “You show them, girl.”

  I turn around, and a huge grin covers my face. Not only do I have Daniel and Sebastian rooting for me to succeed, but I also have my own personal cheering squad. The Thursday Night Drinking Pack - or the four of them that live in New York - Katie, Gabby, Piper and Wendy - have all made the trek to Yonkers to watch me play. “Miki sends her apologies,” Wendy tells me. “She was going to try for a flight, but bad weather derailed her plans.”

  “She was going to fly out to New York for this?”

  “What could be more important than watching you win?” Gabby asks matte
r-of-factly.

  Tears form in my eyes. I’m about to answer and thank them all for their constant, unwavering support, when Trevor interrupts with an impatient look on his face. “If the peanut gallery is done, Bailey, perhaps you can get on with it.”

  You want to get on with it, you jackass? Let’s get on with it.

  I’m on fire as I play. My focus is completely on the table. I’m seeing the balls more clearly. It feels like time has slowed down and my awareness has tunneled to this game. Even the feel of the butt plug and the vibrator can’t distract me from my mission.

  Today, I’m going to win on the behalf of all long-suffering women who put up with men that don’t treat them right. Today, I’m going to pay Clark back for his disdain by making sure he loses his bet. I’m going to reward Daniel and Sebastian for their steadfast faith in me.

  It takes five games. I win the first. Trevor fights back and wins the next three, but by the time the fifth game begins, he’s become cocky and complacent, and he makes a mistake.

  And I pounce. I run the table. I win the match.

  There’s noise in the background. Wendy, Gabby, Katie and Piper are throwing back shots and cheering loudly in celebration. Clark’s looking ashen at the thought of paying Daniel fifty grand. Trevor is stunned, and his palm, when he shakes my hand, is cold and clammy. Behind him, his team looks disappointed, and Frankie’s just punched his fist into the table. Ouch. That looks painful.

  That’s the background. In the foreground, Daniel and Sebastian are beaming, and I can tell how proud they are of me. I walk up to them and draw them in for a hug. “Tell me,” I whisper so that only they can hear me. “What kind of games should we play next?”

  Sebastian’s hand runs over my butt in a possessive gesture. Daniel’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t know,” he says. “Let’s go home and find out.”