1047 P.M.
WINSLOW
“I fold. I’ve got nothing.” Actually, Winslow had a ten and a jack—both hearts, which meant he had a straight flush to the queen.
He would most definitely win with that hand.
But that wasn’t the point of the evening, and he knew it.
The game was to feed the bottomless ego of Travis Bishop.
And after a horrific day of fishing with the man the day before, he wasn’t about to wind up staying up until noon tomorrow only to let Bishop emerge victorious.
Besides, Miguel had really stepped in shit by siding with Mercy about getting their child tested.
He could see Travis’s mood shift the same way it had on that rickety boat the day before.
Ted, who seemed to have the worst luck in the world, had lost all his chips over half an hour ago, and now sat back with a lazy arm over Antonia’s chair.
The truth was, none of it mattered. Not the game, not the fishing, not whatever ridiculous chest-beating challenge Travis would set up for them tomorrow.
Well, there wouldn’t be any more challenges for him if he went through with his plan.
Or for anyone else for that matter. There would be the coast guard and news crews and crying.
Lots of crying. But he wouldn’t think about those things.
If he did, he’d back out. And there was no way he was going to do that.
Strange how he was spending his last night on the planet.
These last precious moments caught up in some awful stranger’s nonsense, Winslow’s mind only half here at the table.
Maybe less. The rest was split between the failure that was his marriage and the failure that was his career.
The day’s events were still raw. It had been too much too fast for Winslow, an onslaught of gut-wrenching, anxiety-inducing hits to both his heart and his ego.
The fact that he was managing to sit there at that table at all, pretending to be enjoying a game of cards, was like a miniature miracle in itself. Not that he believed in miracles.
The call from his risk officer, Alec, was a death blow to what had been a long, distinguished career.
He had utterly screwed up at the end of January, leaving the fund without insurance to cover them for a market loss.
It was the most important thing he had to do each quarter, and somehow, it slipped his mind.
Gone. As if his brain had temporarily left his body, flown all the way to the end of the solar system, and when it returned, it was too bloody late.
Because the crash had happened in the only seven-day period in which they had ever been exposed.
He’d been trying to cover for it ever since.
He’d presented the expected losses in place of the actual losses, waiting with his stomach clenched every day for the value to climb back up without anyone asking any questions.
And he had almost managed it. Another 0.
7% and he would have tipped things back in the black again.
The fact that they’d recovered so quickly was a second miracle.
An even bigger one than his ability to sit there at the moment with a smile, acting as though he was engrossed in Ted’s bragging about his daughter, the gifted writer who would one day soon wow the world with her literary talents.
One more miracle and he could apply for sainthood. But he didn’t believe in saints.
Beautiful, young Charlotte finally emerged from her room.
Winslow watched as she took a plate and added a few small bits of food before taking the empty chair at the table.
Her face looked puffy and she had too much concealer on.
Worse yet, it must have matched her face without a tan, which meant it was too pale.
She must have felt him staring and she attempted to smile, but missed, landing on a wobbly, sad, haunted look that made him forget about his own troubles for a moment.
What could someone so young and gorgeous have to be upset about?
She had the world at her feet, her entire life ahead of her, instead of almost entirely behind, like him.
Antonia must have noticed too, because she leaned across her husband and asked Charlotte if she was all right.
“Fine. I got everything done.”
“Thank you.”
“There she is,” Travis said to her. “I think Ted here is working you too hard, little miss. You should come work for me instead.”
She offered him a polite chuckle. “I already do work for you.”
“But I meant directly under me. You’d like it.” He picked up his glass and used it to gesture to her. Smirking at Ted, he said, “You’ve got yourself a smart one there.”
Ted looked like he might just spring out of his chair and choke Bishop, and there was really only one reason for him to be that angry.
He was most definitely screwing Charlotte.
Antonia, smooth as ever, interjected, “You have a real eye for talent, Travis. I’m guessing it’s one of the many secrets to your success. ”
“That is correct, Antonia. You gotta surround yourself with winners or you wind up being a loser.” He pointed to Oliver with his thumb.
“Like this guy. He’s a winner and I knew it the first time I saw him working at the MGM Grand.
I offered him a job before the end of his shift.
Set him up with this cushy gig, and I’ve never regretted it.
Well, until he screwed up the A/C today.
Otherwise, he’s been a stellar choice on my part.
” He slapped Oliver on the shoulder. “I’m just kidding, Ollie.
But…also, you better get the fucking air conditioning going before I wake up tomorrow.
” Travis slammed back his drink, then said, “Let’s change things up. Five card draw.”
“Very good, sir,” Oliver answered, and Winslow could picture him standing at a poker table at the MGM Grand surrounded by high rollers and wannabes. He watched him shuffle, marveling at his fast hands, and then at his own ability to distract himself from the train-wreck that was his life.
Travis held his glass up in the air and clinked the ice cubes. Immediately, Indira stopped what she was doing and hurried over to refill it. Travis sat back in his chair and gave the pile of chips in front of Miguel a long, cold look. “I think I’ll take you out next, Mrs. Taggart.”
Winslow clenched his jaw. “You can do better than that, Bishop. That joke was beneath us all.”
“Aww, I’m just kidding around. You boys can take a joke, can’t you?”
“Of course. My objection wasn’t to the implication, but to the lackadaisical delivery.”
Travis let out a loud laugh. “You English fellas crack me up.” He picked up his cards, quickly arranged them in his hand, then sniffed. “What to do, what to do…”
He took four stacks of chips and slid them into the middle. “How about we start with a cool five thousand?”
Winslow had a pair of kings but folded anyway. Miguel, who was clearly trying his best to look nonchalant, shrugged one shoulder. “Meh…all right. What the hell? You only live once, right?”
Antonia shook her head at Oliver. “I’m out.”
Travis grinned. “Smart move, Doc.”
Oliver turned to him with the deck ready. Travis smiled up at him. “I’ll take two. And make ‘em nice.”
Nodding, Oliver deftly removed two cards from the deck and placed them in front of his boss. Travis picked them up, then lifted the right side of his mouth. Looking over at Miguel, he said, “How many you need there?”
“Zero.”
“Ooooh! Someone’s sure of himself,” Travis said, slurring a little.
Miguel let a smug grin escape his lips. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m full of shit. There’s only one way to find out.”
Under the table, the sound of phones buzzing could be heard. Antonia, Ted, and Charlotte all picked up their cell phones and read what was on their screens. Antonia looked back at their host. “Sorry. Just a silly work thing.”
But it wasn’t just a silly work thing because Charlotte had gone pale while Ted’s face was turning bright red. Travis laughed. “I don’t know, Antonia. Your husband looks like he might blow a fuse. As the man who owns y’all, is there something I need to know about?”
She chuckled, looking as calm and collected as always. “My goodness, no. It’s the most inconsequential thing in the world. Just a notification from the IT department. I can show it to you if you like.”
Travis shook his head. “Hell, no. Now, put those phones away, ‘cause I’m about to make history here.”
Winslow felt sweat trickle down his back, and it wasn’t just from the hot, still air.
He didn’t like Miguel’s chances. Not against someone like Bishop, who traveled with his own dealer.
He stared at Oliver, whose gaze was set on the table.
Clearly things weren’t above board. Not that he expected them to be.
Travis sat back and sucked his teeth, staring at Miguel. “Now, I could add more chips to the pot, but that would be boring, wouldn’t it, Charlotte?”
She seemed to snap out of whatever trance she was in. Turning to Travis, she said, “I’m sorry?”
“You should be. You’re about to miss a hell of a show,” Travis told her. “How about this? If Miguel here wins, I let him move the production to London.” He smiled at Miguel. “You pick the property. Even that haunted pile of rubble you seem to be so fond of.”
Miguel gasped, his face lighting up for the first time since they got on this God-forsaken yacht. Well, after the truffles. Winslow folded his arms. “And if he loses?”
Travis shrugged. “Nothin’. Just the chips already in the pot. Well, and he has to admit I’m the best poker player in the world.”
“Absolutely! I’ll get you a plaque!” Miguel answered, giddy with excitement.
Travis sat back. “All right, I call. Whatcha got, Mr. Fancy Pants?”
Miguel flipped over his cards with the flare of a car show model. Three queens and two jacks.
Travis let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a tough one to beat.” He shook his head. “I bet you’re pretty damned excited right about now, aren’t you?”
Miguel nodded, grabbing Winslow’s forearm and giving it a squeeze. Winslow bit his cheek to stop himself from falling apart at his husband’s touch. It was the very best thing he’d ever known, and he was about to give it up forever.
“And why wouldn’t you be? I mean you’re about to get the only thing you need to save your marriage and live out your dreams. And the chances that I’ve got you beat are slim to none.
” He flipped over his cards. He had four kings and the last queen.
“But sometimes miracles happen.” Smiling broadly, he said, “You best buy yourself a pair of those thick Sorel winter boots because you’re off to Ontario. ”