In Spades (The Beaufort Poker Club #4)

1. Kristin

1

KRISTIN

O verdue. A thick stack of unpaid bills loomed over me from their spot on the second-hand particle board end table near my feet. I glared at them and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

The familiar hum of worry filled my mind, and I groaned to drown out the sound of my thoughts before they could spiral. That little dance with anxiety was the extent of my morning routine. It was unpleasant, but I was used to it.

My whole damn life was overdue.

I snuggled my blanket tightly. The fabric snagged against the prickly cactuses that were my legs. A thorough shave was beyond overdue. Hopefully, my ninety-nine cent razor would last another week.

My stomach growled like an angry beast waiting to be fed.

A green vegetable or two in my diet was probably overdue, too. But carbs were cheaper and more filling. At night, I would force a bag of microwave broccoli down the kids’ throats. Whenever they questioned why I didn’t have to eat any, I would lie and say I ate at work .

The little white lies didn’t bother me much. I was protecting their innocence, and that was priceless.

I rolled over on the couch and closed my eyes again, savoring the last few peaceful moments before the chaos inevitably erupted.

Kylie would wake up first, followed shortly by Hunter. She’d lock herself in the bathroom; he’d pitch a fit for ten minutes about needing to pee. Those two going at it like cats and dogs would wake Zoey. She’d wander out, alarmed by the ruckus.

Logan was a different story. He could sleep through Armageddon and not stir. I’d have to yell at him just to get his butt out of bed in time for the bus. Of course, he would argue that he should be allowed to drive himself to school.

He knew we couldn’t afford another vehicle, so my response was always some version of cars don’t grow on trees.

That never failed to earn a laugh from Zoey. Logan would just roll his eyes and grumble.

Honestly, my life would have been so much easier if Logan had a car. But replacing mine was going to be hard enough. That was seriously overdue.

I couldn’t even comprehend buying a second vehicle. My clunker was already on its last pitiful legs, and I needed to use every mile it had left just to eke out a living.

My promotion to head housekeeper at the Taylor Creek Inn came with a decent pay bump, which helped. Unfortunately, one modest income barely cut it with five mouths to feed.

Weekdays weren’t bad. The kids ate lunch at school and were occupied most of the day. Paying for babysitters and extra groceries in the summer nearly sent me into a tailspin.

I massaged my temples and listened as the shit storm began to brew. Mornings like this made me wonder if I was in over my head.

Did I do the right thing, taking custody of my four younger siblings when our parents went to jail? Would a foster family have been able to provide for them better than I could? What did I know about raising kids?

One day I was a senior in college with a steady boyfriend and a life of my own. The next, I was changing diapers, going to parent-teacher conferences, and living in a rickety single-wide with four children.

At least Logan, Kylie, Hunter, and Zoey were together, I reminded myself.

It wasn’t all bad, though.

Poker night was tonight, which put a smile on my face. It was always a much-needed reprieve from the responsibility of adulthood and semi-parenthood. Mel would be my designated driver, and I fully intended to return home less than sober.

Logan would bitch and moan about having to make dinner. His protests didn’t carry much weight considering that a store-brand frozen pizza was what was on the menu. A seventeen-year-old could turn on a damn oven and stick a pre-made pizza in for twenty minutes.

I needed to leave a note to remind him to take it off the cardboard first…

By an act of God, I got all four kids out the door on time. The bus driver got in a warning honk, wordlessly threatening to leave them behind if they didn’t hurry the hell up. Asshole.

I watched from the front door as the bus pulled away, allowing myself a moment to breathe. My day hadn’t even started yet, and I was already tired. Sleeping on a couch had that effect.

Tomorrow, I’d do it all over. Another day of outward smiles and inward screams.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

“Come on, baby,” I pleaded with my car as it sputtered and kicked its way toward Beaufort. This thing practically ran on willpower, and it was a guzzler.

So help me God. If I had to ask Steve to fix this piece of shit one more time, I was going to dig a shallow grave and hop in.

He’d help with the car if I asked him. Hell, he’d probably be stern and scold me for not coming to him sooner. Still, I hated asking my friends for favors. It didn’t help that they were all well aware I couldn’t afford to take it to an actual mechanic.

It had been five years since my scumbag parents turned my life upside down. I wasn’t even old enough to drink when I got a call from Logan’s phone. But it wasn’t Logan’s voice I heard on the call that night. The officer on the other end of the line informed me that the police had raided our parents' home—a two-story brick house in the middle-class neighborhood I grew up in.

Zoey wasn’t even a year old when it happened. That was the day I met Detectives Steve Pelham and Chase Brannan.

Steve had been sitting with the older three, talking to them and keeping them calm. My sweet baby sister was curled up, sleeping in Chase’s arms while they waited for the social worker and me to show up. Chase had just perp-walked my parents to separate squad cars, and he was standing there, rocking a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world.

There were other officers there that night who could have taken over so the two of them could go home, but they refused. Steve and Chase stayed long after I got there and helped me work through all the immediate decisions I needed to make.

Zoey would never have any memories of our parents. Call it cruel, but I had to make a choice: paint her world with a toxic brush and wreck her innocence or cut off any and all communication.

After a while, the collect calls from the federal prison in Butner and the womens’ prison in Raleigh stopped coming .

I wouldn’t give in if I never answered the phone. There weren’t many things I was great at, but if holding grudges was an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. The chip on my shoulder could win a world record.

My car heaved a sigh of relief, rattling as I crept into the staff parking lot behind the Taylor Creek Inn. I killed the ignition.

Like the little engine that could, my clunker made it once again.

“You look like you need caffeine,” Hannah Jane called out as she swung her legs out of her car and grabbed her pocketbook. In her perfectly manicured hands was a cardboard drink carrier with two large iced coffees nestled inside.

My car door creaked as I stepped out and shut it. I winced, bracing for it to fall off the hinges.

Hannah Jane plucked one of the coffees out of the carrier and handed it over. I snatched it up like the greedy caffeine gremlin that I was.

“If things don’t work out with Isaac, I’ll marry you,” I said. “You keep me caffeinated, and I’ll scrub your floors with a toothbrush.”

Hannah laughed and strutted inside with me. We couldn’t have looked more different if we tried. She was all dolled up in designer duds, ready to impress potential clients, and I had my uniform on.

At least it was clean .

I managed to get a load of laundry in at the General Store between shifts when I pulled a double over the weekend.

The housekeeping uniforms couldn’t have been less flattering. The ill-fitting white polo shirt made me look like a twelve-year-old boy. Then again, so did my wilted ponytail and complete lack of makeup.

Hannah Jane had a coy smile on her lips. “We talked about rings over the weekend.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s exciting. You think he’ll propose soon? ”

I still couldn’t believe Hannah Jane lived with her sworn enemy-turned-boyfriend.

I could barely look Isaac in the eye when he would come over for poker night. He was just so pretty. I mean, Luca was too. God knows I embarrassed the hell out of myself the first time I met him at Maddie’s.

One by one, it seemed like the poker club was settling down. First, it was Maddie when she met Luca in California, and then again when he bought Revanche—the restaurant next door to the inn.

Then it was Steve and Erica. Fate, angels, and pixie dust had to have played a role in that. As much as Steve fought it, they were each other’s second happily ever after.

Then came Hannah Jane and Isaac. Lord have mercy, I thought she was going to kill him before they got the chance to see if the fuck in hate-fuck was worth it.

Apparently, all it took was a little champagne.

The security camera recordings of Hannah trying to sneak through the inn lived rent-free in my mind. It was better entertainment than Maddie’s Netflix login that suspiciously showed up and never left when she babysat one night

If I had to guess, Bridget and Kyle Kingsley would be next. They had been dating longer than anyone else, and had been living together for quite a while.

Kyle was nice enough. Sometimes I would catch a ride home from poker night when he picked up Bridget since I didn’t live too far from him and Bee.

“No, I don’t think Isaac will propose for a while,” Hannah said as we hurried into the inn and cut through the labyrinth of hallways to the conference room. “I mean, I want him to. But life’s just a little crazy at the moment. He’s gone a lot, and wedding season is kicking my ass. I don’t want us to spend our engagement apart, you know? ”

I nodded and scurried into the back of the conference room for the staff meeting. We snuck in five minutes late and were met with a scowl from Richard Davidson, the general manager of the inn.

He harrumphed and thumbed through his notes. “As I was saying, punctuality is of the utmost importance. Beginning today, anyone clocking in more than two minutes past the beginning of their scheduled shift will receive a warning. Three strikes, and you’ll find yourself sitting in my office, discussing the status of your employment.” There was an undeniable undertone of glee in his voice—as if he just couldn’t wait to fire people.

“Dick is in a mood today,” Hannah Jane said between sips of coffee.

I snorted behind my cup.

“What was that, Miss Hayes?” Dick— er —Richard snapped from the front of the room.

Hannah raised a threatening eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure spreading bullshit around is considered littering, Rich. Mind getting to the point before you get slapped with a misdemeanor?”

No one dared cross Hannah Jane. I wasn’t sure if they were just plain old scared, or if she had a secret file full of damning blackmail in her office. Probably both.

He scowled, causing his no-neck to disappear further into his ugly pinstripe suit. “Moving on. If you read the announcement in the employee email, you saw the news that the inn is changing hands. Allegiant Holdings has already taken over. In a few weeks, they’ll be sending a rep to observe our operations.”

Of course, we all heard the news. Hell, the minute I heard Hannah Jane and Isaac discussing it at poker night, my world began to crumble.

The bombshell that the Taylor Creek Inn had been sold was the only thing that could get the entire staff here for a Monday morning meeting.

Hands shot up all over the room. Employees fired off question after question about whether we would be let go, if there would be an interruption in pay, or if they would bring in their own upper management.

Staffing decisions hadn’t been made. It was unknown if there would be a delay in the next month’s pay. And good Lord, I hoped they would take a wrecking ball to the upper management.

Rich the Dick, to be exact.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hannah said softly as she elbowed me in the side. Easy for her to say. She could take every single one of her clients with her and do just fine going into business for herself. That didn’t even touch the fact that she had a billionaire in her bed.

As much as I needed to prepare myself for the worst, I didn’t have any energy to spend on thoughts of what if . I needed to put my head down and get to work.

“Thanks for this,” I said to Hannah as I lifted the coffee and sucked down the last drops.

She waved it off dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Hey, I have a leftover vendor meal from Sunday night’s wedding in the fridge in my office. Help yourself to it. It’ll go bad, and I’m heading out to run errands before poker night.”

I knew the leftover part of that was a lie. It was probably dinner from Revanche that she packaged in a styrofoam clamshell, but I wasn’t about to call her out on that. It was either play dumb or be stuck with the granola bar I stuffed in my pocket for lunch.

Everyone always had leftovers and hand-me-downs. It was both thoughtful and utterly infuriating. I was sick and tired of being a charity case. But, like wishing on stars and winning the lottery, hoping for anything different was a long shot at best. I tugged my ponytail tighter, blew the wispy strands out of my face, and went to work.

It took forty-two minutes to clean a checkout room and turn it over for the next guest. A stay-over room only took twenty minutes. Heavy checkout days like Sunday sucked ass, but I didn’t mind. I liked the satisfaction of seeing how fast I could go. When two of us paired up, we would race and see who could finish first.

Being a housekeeper wasn’t the riveting career path I had envisioned, but it would have to do for now.

I wasn’t stuck in a rut. I had simply decided that rather than trying to get out of the rut, I would add some dollar store decorations and call it home.

To some extent, I enjoyed the monotony. After a while, muscle memory kicked in, and I didn’t have to focus so much on crisp bed sheet corners, and I could let my mind rest. Work was a reprieve. It was the only time during the day I got a smidgen of quiet.

The worst rooms to clean were the ones with guests in them. Especially the kind of people who didn’t know how to take a hint and wander around the inn for half an hour while I changed the sheets and vacuumed up their crumbs.

There was nothing more awkward than picking up used condoms and empty liquor bottles in front of the half-dressed guilty party.

What was even more unnerving was when they were chatty, or worse—when they stayed in the room and said nothing at all. They just sat there and watched me like a hawk.

The last guest to do that was a balding geriatric. His robe hung open, exposing his stained tighty-whities and saggy man-boobs. That guest from hell lingered near the window as I raced through my tasks. In my haste, I stripped the bed sheets a little too fast. My stomach lurched as the linens sent fungal toenails flying like confetti. Apparently, the top of the bed was the best place to clip those.

What a lovely memory.

For most people, Mondays were the worst. If I had to return to a boring gray cubicle each week, I would have agreed. For me, Mondays signaled a break from all the weekend havoc .

As one of the quieter days at the inn, I wasn’t rushed as I checked on stay-over rooms and turned over checkouts. Sure, I’d still be spent by the end of the day. My lower back would ache and my ankles would throb, but it would be the sort of exhaustion that came after a good day of work.

I glanced at the gold number 328 on the door, then looked at my chart. It was a stay-over room, so I rapped my knuckles on the glossy wood door and said, “Housekeeping!” in a cheerful voice. I waited a moment and then slid the master key into the card reader and unlocked the door.

It was lunchtime, so the guest was most likely in town for a bite.

The key card snapped back into the badge reel against my waist with a click . I let myself inside and took an immediate left into the bathroom.

Trash and towels were the first to go. I tossed the plastic bag into the bin in my cleaning cart and dropped a bath towel and washcloth in the laundry bag. I grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and sprayed everything down. There was no need for a deep scrub until they checked out, but being in a clean space was one of the most relaxing parts of staying at a hotel.

Not that I ever really had that experience. The concept of a vacation wasn’t even a daydream. It was a pipe dream.

Maybe when Zoey turned eighteen…

Hell, I’d be almost forty. God, that was a depressing thought.

I didn’t need a luxurious stay somewhere exotic; I just needed a fucking nap.

I dumped the spray bottles back on the cart and grabbed the caddy I kept filled with coffee pods, tea packets, and mini toiletries. I dropped a new bar of soap and mini shampoo in the bathroom and headed into the bedroom to check on the minibar.

“What the?—”

“Oh!” I shrieked, jumping back like I'd seen a ghost .

A man was sitting at the desk. He yanked a set of noise-canceling headphones off his ears and left them hanging around his neck. He scrubbed his hand down a thin layer of scruff and chuckled. “Sorry, I, uh, I must not have heard you knock.”

Loud music filtered through the headphones into the room. Lucky for him, the fire alarms had flashing lights, because he would have been clueless in a real emergency.

I pressed my hand to my chest and forced a smile as my hummingbird heart rate slowed. “I am so sorry, sir! I can come back if now’s not a convenient time to freshen up your room.”

“No, no, no,” he said, slamming his laptop shut. He pushed himself away from the desk and stood. “It’s probably the universe’s way of telling me I need to take a break.”

Oh my damn.

The guy was tall and lean, wearing jeans that looked soft and worn, and a half-zippered navy pull-over.

Must be necessary since he had the air conditioning cranked to arctic.

His light-brown hair was the sexy kind of messy—as if he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. The wire-rimmed glasses didn’t hide his gold-flecked hazel eyes.

I took a tentative step back. I hated feeling towered over, and he was a solid foot taller than me. At five-foot-five, I wasn’t small, but I wasn’t exactly eye-to-eye with the rest of the world either.