Chapter 2
I push open the door to the casino, and a security guard nods politely. He doesn’t know who I am or who I’m married to. He doesn’t care about the Wellington Foundation Gala or which charity boards I sit on. The anonymity is intoxicating.
The carpet is garish and the lighting harsh. The air reeks of cheap perfume and desperation. People hunch over gaming tables scattered across the floor, but the poker room is behind glass walls at the back, an aquarium for serious players. I haven’t played since college, but I’m still drawn to it.
The host at the poker room entrance smiles in greeting. “Haven’t seen you here before.”
“It’s my first time. I’d like to play.”
“What’s your game?”
“Texas Hold’em.”
She nods toward a table with five players. “Buy-in is fifty minimum. You want to start there?”
I scan the table. They all look to be working-class regulars and late-night gamblers. Suddenly, my dress feels like a costume. So what if I don’t fit in.
“Sure.” I pull cash from my purse and hand it to her.
When I sit down and get dealt in, the cards feel familiar in my hands. I have a pair of eights—not bad for a starting hand.
The first few hands pass quickly. I fold most of them and use the time to study the other players.
An older man in a work shirt touches his wedding ring when he’s nervous.
A young woman with piercings taps her fingers when she’s bluffing.
A guy in his mid-30s watches everyone else more than his cards.
I win a small pot, lose one, then win another. The rhythm returns, like muscle memory. For the first time in months, I’m not thinking about tomorrow’s schedule or the next charity obligation. I’m just present.
That’s when everything shifts.
All at once, the poker room goes quiet. Conversations die mid-sentence. Even the dealer’s hands freeze above the felt.
I turn in my seat.
The man walking toward our table doesn’t announce his authority.
He wears it. Dark hair with distinguished silver at the temples frames sharp features.
His black polo stretches across broad shoulders, and an expensive watch gleams on his wrist. But it’s his eyes that catch me.
He’s assessing me like I’m prey he’s decided is worth the hunt, and arousal hits me like a physical force.
When our eyes lock, I grip the table edge. I should look away. I don’t.
“Evening, folks.” His voice carries easily across the poker room. Not loud but commanding enough to make everyone listen.
The other players straighten. The dealer nods with clear respect.
He stops beside our table. His dark eyes are fixed on me. “Rough night?”
I gesture at my modest chip stack. “Actually, I’m doing okay.”
His mouth curves, but it’s not quite a smile. “The night’s young, and the cards can turn on you.” He extends his hand. “I’m Tony.” When I take it, his palm is warm and slightly rough. Working hands, despite the expensive watch and his polished exterior. “I manage this place.”
“Shannon.” My name feels different, stripped of all the Mrs. Robert Matthews associations.
“Shannon.” He repeats it slowly. “It’s your first time here. I would’ve remembered you.”
My heart is racing, and I try to hide how he’s turning me on. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”
“Depends on how much you like taking risks.”
Before I can respond, Tony nods to the dealer. The dealer immediately shifts, creating space at the table. When Tony settles into the chair next to me, the other players become background noise.
“Mind if I watch a few rounds?” I don’t reply because we both know my answer doesn’t matter. Why do I find that so sexy?
The game resumes, but everything has changed. When I lean forward, my dress clings to my curves. I can feel Tony’s gaze on me.
I pick up my next hand and struggle to focus on the cards. The other players make their bets carefully, fold more often, and avoid drawing Tony’s attention.
The flop shows ten of spades, jack of clubs, queen of diamonds. I have a king and an ace—a straight draw, and I need a nine or an ace to complete it.
I push chips forward. “Two hundred.”
The turn card is a four of hearts. No help, but I’m pot-committed now. Tony’s forearms flex when he shifts position, and I notice a thin scar on his left hand.
The river brings a six of diamonds. Nothing. I have ace-high and a prayer. The bet is risky.
The pierced woman studies me for a moment, then folds. I win the pot, but Tony’s expression suggests he knows I was bluffing.
“Not bad. But when you’re playing with fire, eventually, you’ll get burned.”
Something low in my stomach tightens. I force myself to look at my cards. We play three more hands. I win one and lose two. Tony’s attention never wavers, and my bets grow reckless.
When I go all-in on a pair of jacks and get called by three of a kind, my stack of chips shrinks to almost nothing.
“Luck’s turning,” Tony’s tone is almost sympathetic.
I buy another hundred dollars’ worth of chips.
And another.
When my stack dwindles again, I signal the dealer. “Another hundred.”
The dealer glances at my remaining chips, then at me. “Cash or card?”
“I’ll settle up at the end.” The words come out smoothly, like I’ve said them before.
The dealer hesitates and his eyes flick toward Tony.
Tony gives a single, almost imperceptible nod. The dealer slides a fresh stack of chips across the felt without another word. No questions. No payment required. Just Tony’s silent approval, and suddenly the rules don’t apply to me.
The power of it sends a thrill down my spine.
Tony leans back in his chair. “You sure you can afford those bets? I’ve seen your type here before. People who look wealthy but can’t cover their losses.”
He thinks I’m pretending to be wealthy. I could laugh and tell him I can cover this table’s cost ten times over. But he’s being a condescending prick, and god help me, I’m turned on.
Instead, I smile coyly over at him. “Just trying my luck.”
Tony’s smile sharpens. “Let’s see how lucky you are.”
Lucky. The word echoes in my head, but I’m not thinking about the cards in my hand. I’m thinking about his hands. About getting lucky in a way that has nothing to do with poker.
The next hour blurs by. I miss obvious tells while stealing glances at Tony. I make poor bets, too distracted by possibility. I chase losses with reckless plays, wondering what other risks I might take tonight.
When the older man across from me lays down a full house that destroys my flush, my chips have nearly vanished.
“How much am I down?”
The dealer replies. “Fifteen hundred.”
Fifteen hundred dollars. Less than I spent on shoes last month. I could pay this with my credit card right now.
I eye Tony out of the corner of my eye, and pretend to be disappointed. “Fuck. I didn’t expect to lose that much.”
Tony stands slowly, and the grace of his movement reminds me of a big cat. “That’s how it works. The house always wins.” He pauses, his eyes traveling down my body and back up. “We should talk about this. Privately. My office.”
My heart pounds as I stand. I can feel the other players’ awareness as they carefully avoid looking at us.
I should tell Tony right now that I have the money to settle this debt immediately. That fifteen hundred dollars is pocket change.
But I stay quiet and follow him out of the poker room.
Robert told me to explore. To go for it if I saw something interesting.
I have no idea what I’m doing. But as Tony’s hand brushes the small of my back, guiding me toward an elevator, I realize I don’t want to stop and figure it out.