Chapter 18
Eighteen
John chewed the inside of his cheek.
He was ninety-nine percent sure he wasn’t included in Vivian’s it’s all an act declaration. That one percent sliver of doubt? He was working on it. Until he tweezed it from his heart, his only strategy was to ask open, honest questions.
And hope they didn’t piss her off too badly.
“Bonjour,” the casino host said. “The entry fee is twenty-five euros.”
Vivian nudged him. “Could you pay, sweetie?”
“Yes, babe.” John peeled the appropriate number of bills from his money clip.
“Merci,” the host said. “Et bonne chance!”
On the other side of the door, the volume was instant and intense. Amid the humming crowd, the gaming tables produced clicks, whirs and rustles, while croupiers and dealers called out results. People cheered or groaned, depending on how they’d placed their bets.
“What game should we play?” Vivian asked.
An obvious choice came to mind. “Baccarat.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Nope. Saw it in a Bond movie.”
She laughed and squeezed his biceps. “How about blackjack?”
“Love it, babe. That one?” He gestured to an empty table with a view of the room.
“Perfect,” she said.
The dealer greeted them. “Bonjour! This table is twenty euros per hand, minimum.”
“A bargain.” Vivian slid into the chair John held out for her.
After he helped scoot her under the table, he took the seat next to her. Casually she surveyed the room with her intelligent, information-gathering, beautiful gaze. He palmed her nape, caressing the column of her neck.
How she carried the world on her smooth shoulders was beyond him.
The dealer exchanged their euros for a stack of chips. After they placed their bets, the dealer distributed cards—an ace for Vivian, then a seven on the second round. John received a nine and an eight. The dealer showed a king.
Vivian tapped the table.
Another card? She had eight or eighteen, and the second was a good score. The dealer flipped over a deuce. Now she had twenty, but Vivian tapped for another card.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“Go big or go home,” she said with a gleam in her eye.
The dealer flipped over a card. Another ace. Twenty-one.
“Lucky,” he said.
“Not luck. Fortune favors the bold.”
He waved his hand to signal he didn’t want more cards. They weren’t competing with each other—just the dealer—and his seventeen might be enough to beat the house. The dealer flipped over his second card—a five. He drew another and…seven.
Twenty-two in all, which meant John and Vivian both won.
“Congratulations,” the dealer said as he paid out their winnings.
Vivian placed the ante for the next round. “Thank you.”
As the cards were dealt, Vivian received a pair of jacks, John got a four and a five, and the dealer showed a seven. Vivian added chips to the table adjacent to her first bet, but outside the betting circle. The dealer laid her top jack parallel to the other.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “You have twenty. Take the win.”
“Splitting my pair so I can win bigger.” She tapped the table.
This was her take-no-prisoners game night personality.
“The odds of you winning again are infinitesimally small.”
“I’ve been in tighter spots,” she said.
“I have seen those tight spots,” said a smarmy voice behind them. “Bonsoir, Jane. Two encounters in one week means luck is on my side, no?”
John clocked the slight stiffening of Vivian’s neck, but her smile conveyed joy.
“I’d hoped you’d be here. Let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Jason Jones.”
John turned to find a disarmingly handsome man. The pictures Vivian had shown him didn’t do justice to his chin-length blond waves, aristocratic nose, and full mouth.
Jean-Michel de Gramont.
“Pardonnez-moi,” the dealer interrupted. “Allow us to finish this hand?”
“But of course.” Jean-Michel slid into the seat next to Vivian. “Please, continue.”
The dealer laid down Vivian’s next cards. An ace for one of her piles and a ten for the other, which meant blackjack and twenty, respectively. John tipped his lips up in a smile. The way life worked out for this woman should be studied.
“Mon dieu,” Jean-Michel said. “Truly, they should attach a cooler to you.”
John placed a second chip in the betting circle. He was doubling down on his cards.
“Ah, a man of chance yourself, I see?” Jean-Michel asked.
He lowered his brow. “That’s me, Jason Jones, man of chance.”
“This could go well for you, Jason Jones,” Jean-Michel said. “Unless the dealer is greedy and attempts to best you both.”
The dealer flipped over a six. John’s total was fifteen. Easily beatable by the dealer, who’d just turned over a ten. He’d collect John’s chips if he stood on those cards. Instead, he dealt himself another card and—busted with twenty-six, total.
Vivian had won one hundred thirteen euros. Not bad for ten minutes’ work.
Jean-Michel twisted in his chair. “Tell me, Jane, what brings you to Monte Carlo?”
“Tonight’s charity auction,” she said. “One of my artists has a piece in the show.”
“A masterpiece, no doubt.” Jean-Michel dropped a black hundred-euro chip on the table. “For this next hand of cards, shall we enter a side bet?”
“I’d be delighted.” She placed four twenty-five-euro chips atop Jean-Michel’s. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how did things work out after the piece self-destructed last weekend?”
“I admit, I was worried the buyer would be angry.”
The dealer laid out their cards.
“Who was the buyer, again?” she asked.
“Undisclosed. Come now, I taught you better than to ask those questions. But suffice it to say, they were happy the painting’s value increased significantly.”
John would love to punch the smarm off Jean-Michel’s face for the way he talked to Vivian. Like she was a dunce and he was an indulgent teacher.
He obviously had no sense of self-preservation. Vivian would rip him to shreds.
She lightly touched Jean-Michel’s wrist. “Congratulations. I’d hoped it would.”
John flared his nostrils. What the fuck?
“I understand you’re responsible for the Rocksy in tonight’s auction?” Vivian asked.
“A last-minute addition, yes. I convinced a client to part with it. With a starting bid of five million euros, it should fetch quite the fortune for the princess’s charity.”
“That’s wonderful, Jean-Michel. Only you could pull something like that off.”
The dealer finished distributing their cards. Vivian showed fourteen, John sixteen and Jean-Michel seven. Against the dealer’s eight, Vivian hit, then stayed at nineteen. John stayed. Jean-Michel hit twice before busting with twenty-three.
“Merde,” Jean-Michel said.
John covered his grin with his palm.
“How are your business dealings, Jane?” Jean-Michel asked. “Ending our arrangement and striking out on your own was naive. I won’t be surprised if you’re struggling and would like to return to my enterprise.”
She grinned like Jean-Michel complimented her. “Things are not exactly where I’d like them to be, but my client list is growing. And Rocksy authentications keep me busy.”
That’s not how she talked about her clients at home, but he kept that info to himself.
The dealer’s hand totaled twenty-two, which meant he lost to John and Vivian.
Definitely not this guy’s night.
“It’s just as well we parted ways.” Jean-Michel beckoned to someone. “It opened up the opportunity to mentor an incredible creature with lucrative connections.”
Vivian placed her hand on his thigh, and John looked up from his cards. Lola Vorlicek sauntered behind Jean-Michel and set her hands on his shoulders. The crystals on her gunmetal-gray dress shimmered under the chandeliers.
“You needed me, mon beau?”
“Meet your predecessor. Jane Davis, this is Lola Vorlicek.” Jean-Michel lifted Lola’s palm and kissed it. “Lola shares your taste for new artists but purchases their work directly rather than through broker sales. Artists often prefer cash in hand.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Vivian said. “It was lovely to run into you. I assume we’ll see you at the auction?”
Jean-Michel nodded. “You will.”
John rose to ease her chair from under the table, then deposited most of their winnings into the purse Vivian held open for him.
“Before you go,” Lola said. “I understand you’re personally acquainted with Rocksy?”
Vivian had never mentioned that to him.
With a Mona Lisa smile, Vivian said, “It was good to meet you, Lola.”
She squeezed John’s hand three times.
* * *
Vivian knew a face-to-face with Jean-Michel would rile John up. As they walked to the cashier line, he said nothing. He eyed her bunches, though, as though he didn’t know what to make of her.
Through a smile, she murmured, “I told you flirting might be required to gain intel.”
“It wasn’t the flirting.” John folded his arms. “And we didn’t learn anything.”
“Untrue,” she said. “He bragged that he convinced a client to donate the Smoking Hon Rocksy painting and that he expects it to bring in an amount similar to the sale price of Boy Playing Trombone. Now we know which painting to check first. And he doesn’t know I know the provenance.
It’s been sold once, directly from the artist, so I know who donated it.
Might not be the person we’re ultimately after, but it’s a lead. ”
John leaned in. “Back up. Do you actually know Rocksy?”
Jean-Michel wasn’t the only one slipping up.
“Well?” John pressed.
“Bonjour!” the cashier called to them.
Oh, thank God.
She advanced to the cashier’s booth. “We’d like to exchange these for euros, please.”
The cashier nodded, counted the chips, then handed over a receipt and a slim stack of colorful notes. Vivian slipped them into her clutch.
As they left the cashier’s counter, John asked, “So, what about Rocksy?”
She veered toward the hotel’s lobby. “I can’t talk about it here.”
“We can circle back to your ambiguously employed ex, if you prefer?” John riffled his hair, which only made him hotter.
She dragged him behind a potted plant. “Out with it. We were fine upstairs. What changed between the suite and the lobby?”