The Side Deal (All In #1)

Chapter 1

I fake a laugh at Senator Miller’s tired joke. It’s the same one he told at last year’s gala. When I take a sip of my champagne, it tastes like expensive disappointment, just like everything else at the Wellington Foundation Gala.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, slipping away before he launches into his standard speech about tax incentives.

Three hundred people in designer evening wear fill the ballroom, their voices creating a hum of practiced enthusiasm. I weave between clusters of Seattle’s elite, nodding at familiar faces without making eye contact long enough to invite conversation.

Catherine Wellington appears beside me, her diamond earrings catching the light from the massive chandelier overhead. Her fingers brush my bare shoulder. “Shannon, darling! You look absolutely radiant tonight.”

I curve my lips upward—the same angle I’ve perfected through fifteen years as Mrs. Robert Matthews. “Thank you, Catherine. The event is lovely, as always.”

Her gaze darts past me, scanning the crowd. “Where is Robert hiding? I simply must discuss the new wing funding with him.”

Of course she must. Everyone wants to discuss something with my husband. Robert Matthews, partner at Blackstone & Associates, the man who can make million-dollar decisions over cocktails and somehow make it look effortless.

I gesture toward the far side of the room. “He’s near the silent auction tables.” At least I think he is. I haven’t seen him in—I check the time on my phone—forty-seven minutes, not since he whispered something about municipal bonds before drifting away.

As Catherine leaves, I sip my drink and spot Robert across the room.

Oops, guess he’s not by the silent auction tables anymore.

He’s standing with three men in identical tuxedos, hands animated as he speaks.

The chandelier light catches his silver hair.

He’s sexier and more fit at forty-eight than when we got married.

I set my glass on a passing server’s tray and smooth my hands over my scarlet dress. The familiar weight of expectation settles across my shoulders as I prepare to endure another evening of meaningless small talk.

Carol Price’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Shannon!” Her heels click-clack across the marble as she approaches, clutching her champagne flute like a microphone. “You’re just the woman I was looking for. We need someone to chair the spring benefit planning committee.”

I straighten my spine. “Of course. I’d be happy to help.”

Carol explains venues and catering options, and I nod while my eyes glaze over.

This morning, I stood in my walk-in closet, touching silk blouses and tailored slacks I wore when I used to work.

My old marketing portfolio sits in a box on the top shelf, untouched for a decade.

The last campaign I designed won an industry award, and now the trophy collects dust in our guest room.

“...so if you could have the preliminary budget ready by next week, that would be great.”

“Absolutely.” I have no idea what I just agreed to. I’ll email her tomorrow and tell her I was tipsy and need the information again.

She squeezes my arm and disappears. I grab a champagne flute from a passing server, not because I want it but to occupy my hands.

Robert materializes by my side. “There you are. Having a good time?”

I adjust his crooked bow tie and lie. “Yes, I was just talking to Carol about another committee.”

He nods and shifts his gaze toward the bar. “James wants to discuss something with me. I’ll be a while.”

“Of course, love. Take your time.”

His lips brush my cheek, and then he’s gone, cutting through the crowd, stopping twice to shake hands before reaching James.

I stand motionless as conversations swirl around me. The room feels too warm and too loud. In ten years, I’ll be in this exact spot, in a different designer dress, having this same conversation.

My chest tightens. I need to get out of here. I walk toward the ladies’ room.

The bathroom’s soft lighting flatters even the harshest features. I stare at my reflection. My brown hair is styled in loose waves, and my makeup enhances my features without being obvious. The velvet dress cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

I look exactly like what I am. A bored trophy wife.

I reapply my lipstick and return to the ballroom. Robert’s holding court near the bar, gesturing with his whiskey glass. I don’t think James is getting much time to talk to him.

The second champagne glass empties too quickly. I set it down and check my phone. At least another hour until I can leave without drawing attention.

When Robert finds me again, I’ve memorized the floor pattern.

“James wants to go for drinks to talk more.” He checks his watch. “If you want to leave, he said he’ll take me home.”

My shoulders loosen. “Okay, love. I’m tired and will probably be asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

He kisses my cheek again, this time even more briefly, and walks towards James without glancing back.

Eight years ago, we would have raced home from these events and torn our clothes off of each other before we were barely in the door. Now we coordinate separate rides and pretend not to notice the time when the other slips into bed.

I retrieve my wrap and clutch from the coat check and step outside. The valet brings my car around, and I slide into the driver’s seat.

Seattle transforms into a constellation of lit windows against dark buildings. The car’s GPS says forty-two minutes to home, but a restlessness claws at me. I can’t face our sterile house yet. I’ll just lie awake staring at the ceiling for hours.

As I drive, Robert’s words from three nights ago pop into my head.

“If you ever wanted to explore being with someone else, I’d be into that.

As long as you tell me every detail.” He whispered it against my neck in the dark, and I laughed it off at the time.

Now, driving through the sleeping city, his suggestion makes me wonder.

Where would I even meet a guy? I wouldn’t fuck anyone we know.

But the fact that I’m even thinking about this makes me realize I need a change.

My discontent builds until I’m yanking the wheel toward the next freeway exit. I don’t know what I plan to do. I drive through parts of Greater Seattle I never visit, where the buildings are older and the neon signs promise things my neighborhood doesn’t offer.

When I’m stopped at a red light, the windows of an all-night diner catch my eye. Coffee might be good. Across the street from the diner, the Goldpoint Casino’s sign blinks red and gold, beckoning. Casinos have coffee, right?

The light turns green, and I should drive straight home. I should go to bed like the good wife I am and wake up tomorrow to the same empty routine.

I turn left into the casino parking lot.

I park and watch people enter and exit through glass doors. They’re wearing jeans and t-shirts and laughing loudly. They all look to be having a better time than I had at the gala.

When I flip down the visor mirror, the woman looking back at me belongs in the Wellington Foundation Gala, not here. Yeah, that needs to change.

I dig through my clutch and pull out my makeup. Using the mirror, I darken my eyeshadow into a smoky haze. I layer mascara until my lashes are thick and dark. The pink lipstick disappears under deep crimson.

My hair completes the transformation. I drag my fingers through it until it falls in messy, wild waves. The woman in the mirror now looks like she’s capable of things the charity gala version would never dream of.

What am I even doing? I don’t gamble anymore, and I definitely don’t visit casinos in questionable neighborhoods. I’m Shannon Matthews, member of the country club and three different charity boards. I don’t do spontaneity.

But maybe that’s exactly the problem.

The casino parking lot stretches before me like a border between worlds. I grab my phone, intending to slide it into my clutch, but the reality of what I’m about to do hits me. A woman alone at a casino at night—Robert should know. I text him.

SHANNON:

Hey, I stopped at a casino on the way home. Don’t worry, I’m just grabbing coffee. Maybe I’ll play a hand of poker if they have a table.

His response is quicker than expected.

ROBERT:

A casino? Which one?

SHANNON:

Goldpoint. Not our usual scene.

ROBERT:

Are you all right? I thought you were going home to bed.

SHANNON:

Yeah, I just needed to do something outside the routine.

Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. When his message comes through, my stomach tightens.

ROBERT:

You should do more spontaneous things. How do you look? Still in your gala dress?

I catch my reflection in the mirror and smile.

SHANNON:

Same dress, but I did some creative makeup work in the car.

ROBERT:

Show me.

The command sends an unexpected jolt of desire through me. I like it when he takes control. I angle the phone, ensuring the lighting captures my transformed appearance, and snap a selfie. I look like a sluttier version of myself.

Before I second-guess myself, I hit send.

ROBERT:

Holy fuck. You look incredible, babe. Like someone I’d want to take home.

SHANNON:

That’s the point.

ROBERT:

If you see someone you like in there, go for it. You have my permission to have fun. Enjoy yourself.

I read the message twice, recalling our conversation three nights ago. Seeing it in text makes it real.

SHANNON:

You’re serious?

ROBERT:

Yes. Your pleasure is the sexiest thing in the world to me. All of it. Even the parts with someone else. Just tell me everything afterwards.

His response warms me.

SHANNON:

You might regret saying that.

ROBERT:

No way. Go explore. Come home and tell me everything. I’ll be waiting.

The messages remind me of our flirting when we first met. I send him a kissy emoji, then pause as I’m about to drop the phone into my purse.

The streetlamp catches my wedding ring—three carats of flawless diamond surrounded by smaller stones.

Without analyzing the decision, I twist it off my finger.

The band leaves a pale indent on my skin.

I stare at the naked finger, then drop both phone and ring into my purse with a decisive snap of the clasp.

I know I’m not going to find someone to fuck at the casino. That’s just not me. But this impulsive stop has already spiced things up for us, and I haven’t even gotten out of the car.

Now it’s time to see what a little gambling does for me.