Chapter 32
MORGAN
Under any other circumstances, Jamie’s epiphany would be enough for me to head straight back to the hotel and start making calls. To message Gia and run the idea by her, at minimum.
But Jamie remains… distracting. The epiphany can wait. To be entirely honest, I was only half-listening anyway, wondering how someone can be so brilliant and yet so… dumb.
And equally wondering how I can find that so charming.
Jamie meets me at the front of the restaurant, flustered as ever. God, I love seeing him like that: the pink in his cheeks under his freckles, the flutter of his pulse in his neck, the loose strands of hair that go un-tamed.
I lead him outside to the waiting black car, and as we climb in, he’s quiet.
With the windows down and the moonroof open, I enjoy watching the breeze ruffle his copper hair, dragging at the strands along his neck where I want my tongue to be.
The car slows to a stop, and he finally turns towards me.
“Thank you for… for tonight. This was really great. S-sorry I got quiet, I’m just… um… awkward.” And then he looks out the window and sees where we are. “This isn’t the hotel,” he says flatly.
“No, it’s not.” I step around the car and open his door, take his hand, and help him out.
He blushes again.
God as my witness, I am going to devour this omega. Eventually.
His eyes glitter as he takes in the building. “It’s like a palace…”
“It used to be.”
“What is it now?”
“A casino.”
“Why are we at a casino?”
“Because you dressed too pretty to take you home yet,” I croon, relishing the shiver that runs through him. “And because I like to gamble.”
Jamie hesitates. “What about… HR?”
“I’ll deal with HR.”
Jamie’s eyes narrow, but a whisper of a smile pulls at his perfect lips. “Why does that sound vaguely threatening?”
A flash a grin that shows off my pointed canines. “Because it is. Now, c’mon.” I loop his arm through mine and pull him inside, and I receive no further complaints.
My plan has two main pillars. The first is taking what Gia described as a ‘fatally irresponsible’ dose of suppressants—though not a whole bottle this time—and the second is minimizing exposure to Jamie’s scent, which is what triggers me like nothing else.
The cliff-side restaurant had a stiff sea breeze and a competing scent of its own, which is why I could risk being so close to him.
And though it’s indoors, casino air circulation is nearly as good. The cigar a staff member places in my hand a minute later helps too. They know me on sight—I nod, and they deliver the chips in my usual quantity.
Jamie’s eyes are wide as I lead him through the casino.
“I thought this was only a thing in James Bond,” he murmurs.
I chuckle. “You’re cute.”
A gorgeous waitress comes up and asks for our drink orders.
“Lagavulin, neat.” It’s a good night for scotch.
Jamie freezes.
“He’ll take a cocktail,” I say. “Balanced, but on the sweet side. Gin. Bonus points for floral notes.”
The waitress nods and steps away.
“Isn’t there like… a menu?” he mutters.
I shrug. “I’m sure there is, somewhere.”
“What if you order something they don’t have?”
I chuckle. “Then they’ll get it. And if they can’t, they should be smart enough to apologize profusely.”
Jamie half-rolls his eyes. “So what, I could just be like, ‘Bring me McDonalds’ and some poor soul has to—”
I raise my hand to flag down a waiter.
Jamie’s eyes widen, and he jumps up and pries my arm down. “No!”
God, I know I shouldn’t tease him so much, but it’s just so fun.
“What’s the matter?” I nudge. “It’s their job.”
“It’s insane.”
“You think it doesn’t happen all the time? I’m sure that would be one of the easier requests they’ve fielded. And I tip well, so it’s practically a gift.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“You wouldn’t pocket five hundred dollars for spending fifteen minutes picking up some fast food?”
Jamie’s eyes widen. “That’s what they make?”
“That’s what I tip.”
I watch the gears grind in Jamie’s head. Finally, he says, “I don’t think anyone should have that much power. It doesn’t seem healthy.”
“Neither is fast food,” I counter.
“I have to be careful what I wish for around you,” he grumbles. “You’re like a sadistic genie.”
I laugh. I think I’ve laughed more in Jamie’s presence these few weeks than in the past year. Two years, even.
“There are a lot of reasons to be careful around me,” I croon. While Jamie is still shivering, I ask, “What’s your birthday?”
“February first… why?”
I lead him over to the roulette table and put a stack each on one and two.
“Oh, don’t do that,” Jamie murmurs.
“Why?”
“Because then it’s my fault when you lose.”
I crack a smile as the wheel spins. I have a good feeling about tonight. It’s a win-win for me. Either I blow Jamie’s mind, or I have something to tease him about for hours. Days, even.
The ball slows, spiraling towards the center.
Jamie holds his breath.
The ball settles on two.
“Or,” I counter, sweeping up the pile of chips from the dealer. “You’re my good-luck charm. You just made me sixty thousand dollars.”
Jamie chokes. “Those chips are worth that much?”
“Here,” I say, handing him two. “Pick anything. Except red or black, that’s a cop out.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“August twenty-second.”
“Oh, it’s coming up.”
“Mhm.”
Jamie returns the favor, betting on eight and twenty-two. The ball soars wide and lands in the black thirteen slot.
Jamie frowns. “I was going to bet black,” he sulks.
“Guess I’m bad luck for you.” My smile pulls a fraction wider.
Jamie’s green eyes flick towards me, and I can see just how bad he wants his luck to get. Not every omega is a masochist, but Jamie clearly is. Even if he seems disinclined to admit it to himself.
Jamie blinks away the expression, staring at the table. “I just realized I could have cashed those in for, what, a thousand dollars?”
“Ten thousand.”
Jamie gulps. “I just wasted…”
“I have more,” I say, brow raised. “Don’t overthink it. We’re here to have fun.”
“Very expensive fun,” he mutters.
I shrug. “Easy come, easy go.” His mind keeps turning. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars if it’ll make you feel better.”
He looks at me with wide eyes. “That’s insane. You’re insane.”
“Just relax,” I say with a laugh. “This is my gift to you. And you wouldn’t reject my gift, would you? That would hurt my feelings.”
Jamie’s eyes slowly widen, and I know I’ve got him. “Really?”
“Wouldn’t it hurt your feelings?”
His eyes narrow. “I think you’re playing mind games with me, but fine. Just… tell me it’s Monopoly money.”
“It’s Monopoly money.”
“Cool. Okay. Great. I need a drink.”
Like clockwork, our alcohol arrives—my scotch and Jamie’s cocktail, complete with edible hibiscus flower.
It’s a different waiter than took our orders, and he starts to hand the cocktail to me.
I raise my brow, about to ask him if Jamie looks like he drinks scotch, when Jamie apologetically offers, “Oh, that’s mine.”
The waiter instantly corrects and hands me my scotch.
“Sorry,” Jamie says as the waiter retreats.
“Why are you sorry?”
“That I drink… uh… I don’t know, such…”
“Girly things?” I offer.
Jamie winces.
I shrug. “I don’t care. Not about what you like.
I just don’t take kindly to certain… assumptions.
The number of things people assume about me because I have tits is…
well, probably comparable to the number of things people assume about you because you have a dick.
That’s another thing I like about having money.
Those assumptions get… dangerous. Having the first thing people see when they look at me be money and not breasts is…
an upgrade. Granted, breasts remain the second thing. ”
Jamie blushes like mad, eyes along the floor, as if he’s just been caught red-handed.
“Not that I mind when people notice,” I add.
Jamie’s blush brightens another two shades. God, he’s fun.
“C’mon,” I say, letting him off the hook for now. “Where else do you want to spend our… Monopoly money?”
“Blackjack?” he offers, starting to get excited.
“Sure.” I lead him over to a table with two other players, and he hovers over my shoulder. I trade chips for a hand.
“Can you count cards?” he whispers in my ear, though it’s loud enough for the dealer to raise an eyebrow at us.
“We don’t discuss that in polite company,” I say, and the dealer cracks a smile. “And we won’t be here long enough for me to.”
I can tell the dealer wants to whisper to Jamie that I’m on the watch list, but she remains discreet as she flips over the next card.
It only takes a few rounds for Jamie to get into it, and I let him make the calls.
“You’re very conservative,” I say with a laugh as he declares his intention to stand on a jack and a seven.
He chews his lip. I could watch that for hours. “But the odds are against us. I think.” He glances over at the hands of the other two players, who both hit and both went over twenty-one, meaning they’re out of the round. It’s just us and the dealer left.
I catch the dealer’s eye, and she waits for our final decision.
“How would it make you feel to hit anyway?”
“Terrified,” he mutters.
“Good,” I say, and I nod to the dealer.
She turns over another card.
Jamie’s close enough for me to hear his heart accelerate as he holds his breath.
A three joins our row of cards, bringing us to twenty total. Not twenty one, but not a bust.
With a starting hand of a nine and a seven, the dealer turns over a king for a total of twenty six.
Jamie grips my arm. “We… we did it! We won!”
“I’ve heard it’s good to quit while you’re ahead,” the dealer says, a reminder that I’m approaching my hand limit.
“Yes,” Jamie says with an effusive nod. “Definitely.”
I let him hold the chips.
“I kinda thought you’d be more of a poker type than a card-counting type,” Jamie says.
I press a finger to my lips in reminder, mostly because I like the way Jamie winces and squirms. I’m not actually concerned—this casino wouldn’t dream of kicking me out.
“Who says I’m not a poker type?” I say.
“Are you?”
“Under normal circumstances, if I wanted to make millions off of intellectually challenged men who underestimate me, I’d work my day job.”
Jamie almost spits out a mouthful of his cocktail.
“But…” I continue. “I never turn down an excuse to show off. This way.”
#
JAMIE
This private room is all wood lacquer and gorgeous velvet, and I perch in a chair by a high-top, watching the game unfold at the green felted table nearby.
I only kind of understand how poker works, but as I see the men at the table get angrier and angrier, I know that Morgan is doing well. Really well.
She is… eviscerating them.
And it’s hot. Really hot.
The waiters keep bringing me drinks, and I vaguely remember they’re free because this is a casino. I might be drunk again.
A whim bubbles in my mind, and without thinking, I indulge. When the waitress stops by to pick up my empty glass, I ask, “Can I get a gin and tonic with… with your most expensive gin?”
“Of course,” she nods, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“W-wait, s-sorry,” I stammer, second-guessing myself. “Y-you don’t have to—I didn’t really mean—”
“It is a very delicious gin,” she assures me. “Strong floral and juniper notes.” Seeing my panicked expression, she seems to take pity on me. “It can be an acquired taste. Our second most expensive, however, is a lovely citrus-forward option, small batch and local.”
“T-that sounds great,” I say, and the waitress is gone.
At the poker table, one of the men throws down his cards, and Morgan pulls a pile of chips towards herself.
“It’s fine, you can buy back in,” Morgan says. “Oh, wait… are you out of chips?”
The man grumbles.
“Didn’t you just get a new yacht?” Morgan goads.
The man stiffens, grunts, fishes a key fob out of his pocket, and slams it on the table.
The waitress returns with my drink.
“What do you think?” she asks as I take the first sip.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“I’m glad,” she says with a grin. “It’s nice to have some… younger clientele. You’re with the woman?”
I nod.
“She’s a force,” the waitress says.
“She really is.”
“Wish her luck from me. I like to see the blue bloods lose.” She winks, and then she’s gone again.
It’s sort of comforting to be clocked as not-really-belonging-here but still feel welcome.
And this gin is really good.
The game continues until just Morgan and the man with the yacht are left. It’s time for them to show their hands. I know that this is the important part.
The man flips his cards first. “Nice bluff,” he says. “I almost believed you.”
With a smug grin, Morgan lays her hand across the table. The man swears and stomps out while the rest of the men at the table exchange wary glances.
“Anyone up for round two?” Morgan asks as she plucks the key fob off the top of the pile of chips.
They all seem to think it’s getting too late to continue, and they disperse.
Morgan stands and saunters over to me, and I smell scotch and cedar and cigar as she grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me into a deep kiss.
I melt into her, into the taste and the heat of her, until she pushes me back. I’m dizzy, reeling.
“You really are my good luck charm,” she says, dangling the keys in front of my face. “It’s been ages since I won a yacht. Want to go check it out?”