Chapter 7
SEVEN
CALEB
Seven is snuggled up against me on the couch while we watch anime. I don’t think this one is particularly good, but Seven seems fascinated by it, so I don’t mind killing a few of my brain cells watching it.
“Why did the villain do that though?” Seven asks after another extremely predictable plot twist. Or maybe it’s not so predictable for somebody who hasn’t watched many shows of this kind.
“In the story? He had the upper hand and wanted to gloat. From the writing perspective? The creators thought it would be interesting,” I answer. My phone buzzes, and I reach for it in annoyance. If there’s some sort of emergency at the casino and the staff can’t handle it…
I scowl when I see the text from Trent.
“Apparently our nice evening is about to be ruined,” I tell Seven.
Seven frowns up at me. “What’s wrong?” he asks, only to let out a sigh. “Work stuff? It’s always work stuff. You need a better manager.”
I suppress a smile at Seven’s comment. “I guess Linda taught you the importance of good management and assistants. ”
He tenses slightly, like he always does when any of us mention Linda, but he only says, “Yeah, and your manager must be shitty.”
Before I can answer, there’s a knock on the suite door. I sigh and move to let Trent in.
He doesn’t even say “hello” before he barges in past me and sits down at the dining table, laptop in arm.
“So, I was thinking—” Trent says.
“Do you know what time it is?” I interrupt.
Trent pauses and looks up at me. “Uh, evening? Does it matter? I had this great idea for the MMA fight. I got in touch with the event promoter, and he’s mostly on board with my plan, so all we need now is to hash out the details.”
I grit my teeth and shut the door. “Trent, I told you, don’t touch that fight. There’s too many eyes on it.”
Seven looks between the two of us, and if he understands the implications of what we’re talking about, he doesn’t show it. I don’t think he does, though. He’s a good liar, for the most part, but he’s not good at keeping things off of his face when he’s relaxed.
Trent shakes his head. “Nah, that’s why we should. There’s so much money involved.” He keeps tapping on his laptop. “You could even—” He trails off and seems to notice Seven for the first time. “Uh, why is he here?”
I let out a bemused snort. “Really? Did you already forget that I introduced him as my boyfriend?”
Seven’s eyes are narrowed, and I can see him trying to put the pieces of our conversation together. “Yeah. The better question is why you are here right now, when Caleb is off of work for once,” he snaps.
“I thought you meant he was like, a fuck buddy or something.” Trent sets his attention back on me. “You don’t actually do boyfriends, right? You’ve never had a boyfriend.”
“I have one now,” I say, biting down anger. “And I don’t even feel the need to tell everybody how much I want to cheat on him.”
“That’s different.” Trent makes a dismissive gesture. “ Alice and I get along, but we both know what our relationship is. Anyway, I bet she’s fucking the new poolboy. Maybe you should do him too.”
I’d be more annoyed on my sister’s behalf if I didn’t know how uninterested she was in Trent. Still, he’s feeling very secure in himself if he’s willing to complain about my sister so openly.
Seven stares at him, and his voice is quiet but savage as he says, “Maybe you should. Maybe you should stop assuming Caleb is a whore just because you are.”
The comment is so unexpected that I burst out laughing.
Trent grins too. “Damn, catty little bitch you got yourself there, Caleb.”
“Apparently.” I walk over to Trent and sit down next to him at the table. The laptop is open to projected earnings for the fight, including the payouts we’d earn from the rigged version.
It’s a decent sum, and I can already see my grandfather’s claws all over it.
“I’m still rejecting the proposal, Trent,” I tell him. “We’ve got the sports betting app set up to push all the notifications for the fight. It’s lucrative enough even without the other crap. Do you know how much we earn from the app alone?”
“Uh, app? What app?” Trent asks. “Grandpa was all on board when I suggested it.”
Because my grandfather has not kept up with technology, and he doesn’t understand how much money we earn with all the highly addictive apps.
“Look, the install base on the app is already half a million, and we only launched it earlier this year. The app is set up to remind people to watch their favorite games—including the MMA match. We have odds for stupid parlay bets that will never pay out,” I explain. When Trent looks at me with confusion, I sigh and explain, “Where they bet on a very specific set of events occuring. The fighter wins with an uppercut in the first round, then gets knocked down via takedown slam, then also gets up before the match is called, etc. The payouts look great but let’s be real, you’d need to be the luckiest bastard in the world to win.”
I glance at Seven, who looks as bewildered as Trent had.
“Uh, okay.” Trent opens up his note app to start writing things down. “So what you’re saying, if we rig it to have those exact specific events, the payouts for us would be astronomical?”
I groan and shake my head. “Can you drop it for tonight? I was in the middle of something.”
What I really want is time to figure out how to divert his attention, but knowing Trent, this has only made him more determined—especially since he seems to have my grandfather’s blessing.
Trent’s gaze goes back to Seven, and the TV where the anime is still blasting. “Is that um, that show. The one Lori is watching and won’t shut up about?”
“No,” I tell him flatly. “It’s a different anime.”
“Eh, one cartoon is the same as any other.” Trent closes the laptop and sits back in his chair. “Fine, no work. You gonna offer me a beer, at least?”
“No,” Seven says, finally pausing the show.
I had no intention of it, but I also realize this might be a good opportunity to find out exactly what my grandfather has asked of Trent.
“You don’t have beer at home?” I ask Trent as I move to the fridge. “I won’t cover for you if Alice asks where you are.”
“Eh. She’s at some gala right now.” Trent pokes at his phone. “Yeah, a fundraiser for some homeless shelter or something. Why is your sister such a bleeding heart? Where does she get it from?”
“Not our parents, that’s for sure.” I grab several bottles of beer and set them on the table. “Seven, you want to join us?”
“No, I don’t want to drink piss,” he says, deadpan, and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the beer.
“I can assure you, this is a high-grade imported beer,” I say, my lips twitching. “You don’t have to drink the beer, though.” An idea occurs to me. “Actually, why don’t you grab the cards, and we’ll play a few rounds of poker with Trent?”
Seven perks up, finally looking interested. “Yeah, I can do that.” He gets up and heads into his bedroom to find the cards.
Trent watches him leave. Once Seven is out of sight, he asks, in a low voice, “This is the guy you got into hot water over, right?”
“I wouldn’t call it hot water,” I answer mildly. “A tepid bath, really.”
Trent chuckles in amusement, but Seven returns with the cards in hand before he can say anything.
Seven takes the long way around so he doesn’t have to pass by Trent, then hands me the cards before plopping down into a seat at the table. He pulls it closer to me, his gaze steady on Trent.
“Seven is a beginner, so don’t go too hard on him.” I start shuffling the cards, then hand them to Trent so he can cut the deck. “What should we wager for?”
“Start at fifty?” Trent pushes the cards back to me and pulls out his wallet. “I’ve got three hundred cash. That’s pennies, I know. We can do IOU’s if you want to go higher.”
“Fifty is fine. It’s just a friendly game,” I answer. I reach for my own wallet, where I’ve only got two hundred and thirty dollars. I pass fifty to Seven and add fifty to my own pile, then I start dealing.
Seven hasn’t spent any time at the poker tables, so I know his grasp on the rules is still shaky. He makes a good show of it, though, and to all appearances, he seems confident in his hand.
I wonder with amusement how bad it is, though, because I can read him better than he thinks I can.
“So this thing between you two, it’s long-term?” Trent asks as he scrutinizes his cards.
“I couldn’t leave if I wanted to,” Seven says, as deadpan as he’d been earlier. This is a side of him I haven’t really seen, and I’m not sure if it’s because he dislikes Trent or because he’s growing more the longer he’s here .
“That makes Caleb your ball-and-chain, then,” Trent says with a laugh. “That’s legal now. You could get officially married.”
I raise my brows. “I am aware, yes. It’s been legal for over a decade.” I select cards to discard and replace. The new cards net me three-of-a-kind, but nothing particularly exciting.
“I only meant, if you’re keeping him around.” Trent places his bet. “Alice would be happy for you.”
She’d probably be the only one. I’m aware that my parents only tolerate my sexual preferences and that my grandfather would disown me if I was even more overt than I already am.
“We’ll see how things turn out,” I say lightly. “Anyway, who’s folding?”
Seven’s brows are furrowed as he stares at his cards. “I’m not,” he says, and to anyone else, he probably sounds confident.
He definitely has a bad hand.
“Oh, sounds like you got a good one,” Trent says, grinning wildly. “You can’t beat me, though. I raise.”
My eyes flit between the two. If Seven has a bad hand, and Trent has a mediocre hand… I guess I might as well take my chance.
“Call,” I respond.
We all show our hands, and after a few moments, Trent groans loudly.
My three-of-a-kind wins, by nature of being a set of three eights, while he has three sevens. Seven only has a pair of aces.
“I could’ve told you sevens were unlucky,” Seven informs him with a shrug. “Here, let me see the cards. I’ll shuffle.” He’s not good at it, but he’s been practicing, and I’m proud of him for making the attempt in front of someone else.
I cut the deck and let Seven deal out to everybody. The game continues to flow while Trent chitchats about useless things. The money keeps going around, nobody coming out as a clear winner—although I do make sure to let Seven win a few times to keep his pool of money viable.
Several hours later, Trent is on his fifth beer and Seven’s chair has inched closer and closer to mine, so that any movement from Seven gives me a peek of his cards.
“You really should let me handle all the fights,” Trent mumbles. He glares at his cards, then at the cash pool. “Aww, fuck it, all in. Let’s end this.”
I scoff. “I can’t match you, Trent. If we go all in and I lose, I can’t pay you.”
Trent rolls his eyes. “Okay, how about this. If I win, you give me control of the MMA matches.”
I purse my lips, thinking about it. “That’s worth a lot more than a paltry three hundred dollars. I’d want something equal if I win.”
Trent glances at Seven, then shrugs. “Fine. What do you want?”
“If I win… I want you to answer a question of mine. Work related,” I answer with a smile. I squeeze Seven’s thigh underneath the table, then I tap his thigh three times.
“What about me?” Seven complains, fidgeting in his seat. “What do I get if I win?”
“Six hundred bucks?” Trent points out. “I don’t know, what do you want?”
Seven taps his cards against his chin, like he’s thinking about it. “You give Caleb a full day off. No texts, no emails, nothing. He gets a whole day of rest.”
Under the table, Seven hands me a card, and I pass my errant king of diamonds to him.
I laugh at his comment though. “Pet, I’m the boss. He can’t control when I work.” The card Seven gave me is the three of spades—and now I’ve got a straight flush in my hand.
“I’m really betting against the both of you, though,” Seven counters. “So if I win, you make the arrangements, and he leaves you alone instead of showing up at your place to bitch about fixing some fights.”
“Fine, fine,” Trent says, rolling his eyes. “Reveal the cards already.”
We all set them down, and this time Trent groans when he sees my straight flush, ace through five of spades.
He’s got four nines, while Seven ended up with a pair of kings.
“How the fuck are you so lucky?” Trent asks, rubbing his brows. He pushes all of his earnings over to me, while Seven does the same.
“The house always wins,” I answer mysteriously. Then, more seriously, I say, “All right. My real prize. Seriously, what are you doing at my casino?”
Trent freezes, his eyes darting to Seven. “I got the general manager job.”
“No. Pay up, properly,” I press. “You were doing fine before. There was no reason to take this job. So why .”
If not for the five beers, or the late hour, I don’t think he would have answered.
Seven has gone still, like he expects me to send him from the room at any moment. But he’s watching Trent curiously, too.
He groans and slumps back in his chair. “You’re not the only one standing in dogshit, Caleb. Earl’s finances are worse than he’ll admit. He begged your grandfather for support, and… well, I’m supposed to help him with that.”
The insistence on rigging the fights makes sense now—it’s a way for Uncle Earl to earn money from the casino, without interacting with me directly. No wonder I hadn’t heard from Earl in a while.
I should be grateful my grandfather didn’t insist on putting Earl in the general manager role.
“Why doesn’t he pay off the debts himself?” I ask, resisting the urge to grind my teeth. “Grandfather has enough money for that.”
Trent laughs. “That’s two questions. But you really don’t know how badly in the hole Earl is.”
I shouldn’t have missed this. I should have been paying more attention—but I’ve been busy with Seven, with wrangling Trent, with keeping an eye on the Lockwoods, and with managing the casino operations.
I add Earl to my list of problems.
“Okay. Thanks.” I glance at the cash in front of me. “You want your three hundred bucks back? ”
“Nah, keep it.” Trent stands up, swaying a bit. “Crap. Alice will be pissed again. Whatever. Call down to the reception and tell them I need a cab.”
I make the call while Trent stumbles out of the suite.
“So… Is any of this supposed to make sense to me, or are you going to keep me in the dark?” Seven finally asks once the door has closed behind him.
I wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. “It barely makes sense to me. I guess Vortex will need to start making inquiries.” I kiss the top of Seven’s head. “Let’s go to bed.”
I can tell Seven wants to ask more questions, but he nods and lets me help him to his feet. Together, we return to my room and get ready for the night. Seven curls up against me while the cats join us.
“Good night,” Seven murmurs sleepily.
“Good night,” I respond.
I wish I could sleep easily, but the endless list of problems is spiraling in front of my eyes.
Only negotiate from a position a power, I always tell Seven.
Unfortunately, I feel like I’m at the bottom now, and my grandfather is holding all the cards.