Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“I think I’ll have a drink instead,” Ollie says, putting his cards down. “No offense, Dylan, but your bar is more fun than your poker table. And it has been much, much more friendly to me tonight.”
“None taken,” I assure Ollie as he gets up and goes over to the bar. “If I can make a recommendation, the DiBaldo saffron gin goes down very well. It’s the golden bottle.”
“Thank you,” Ollie says, finding the bottle. He swirls it around, studying the contents before selecting an appropriate glass from the rack. “You know, I should be upset with you for snatching young Miss Hill from underneath me.”
He says it conversationally, but there’s a bigger question there. I went out of my way to bring Raven to the fundraiser, made a show of her on my arm, introduced her to Ollie as a prime prospect, and then hired her before he got back from his trip to Wyoming. It’s bad form but was also a complete necessity, something he understands. Business is business, even between friends.
“Why do you think my bar is open for you?” I joke, and the guys laugh. And though Ollie smiles good-naturedly and was appreciative for the replacement prospects I sent his way, there’s a shrewdness in his eye as he holds up his tumbler of golden liquor, toasting me. He’s been in this game a long time and knows all the plays and players, and I’m not talking poker. I’m sure he’s heard the rumor about Raven and me by now, and he probably received a call from Evan as well since Raven had an interview scheduled at Ollie’s firm. His raised glass is a friendly warning as much as an appreciation for the drink.
I dip my chin in acknowledgement.
But even the mention of Raven reminds me that it’s been too long since I’ve seen her. In truth, by the clock, it’s been barely over twenty-four hours, but those hours have been hell. I ended up staying late at the office last night, forcing myself to work well into the evening, and then slept like hell.
Today has been worse. I ‘celebrated’ the shitty anniversary by starting with a punishing workout, getting out as much aggression as I could by beating on a heavy bag, imagining it was Evan’s face. Later, a soak in the hot tub, meditation in the sauna, and a cold shower did nothing to improve my mood.
This game has been a welcome distraction, though. And tomorrow, Raven’s mother will return home. I should wait until Monday morning to see Raven again. That would be the reasonable thing to do, but honestly, I’m not sure my sanity can take not seeing her that long. My greedier nature hopes Mrs. Hill has had a lovely visit, takes a morning train, and then I can get Raven to my penthouse on Sunday for a private ‘business’ lesson.
Teddy lays down the last card, an ace of clubs. A little thrill goes through me, and I check, sending the onus to Austin, who also checks. It’s a showdown, a test of wills and mathematics. The money isn’t important.
“Okay, boys, show ’em,” Teddy says, and I flip over my cards, the ace of hearts and the ace of spades. “Three aces.”
Austin’s brows slam down as his eyes fall to my cards. “Shit,” he utters, turning his own hand. He’s got a pocket pair of kings to go with the one from the flop. No wonder he’s been cocky as fuck. He’s known the whole game that his hand was a near-winner.
Until that ace in the river. Now, we both have a three of a kind, but mine’s a higher rank.
I grin, victorious.
Everyone laughs, and as the chips get sorted out and Teddy feeds the cards into the machine to reshuffle them into the shoe, I go and get my own drink. Noah joins me.
“Thanks for the invite tonight,” he says, looking over what’s on offer and selecting a bottle of Neustra Soledad mezcal. “It’s good to get to know everyone.”
That’s the other side of our poker game. Business is discussed here, connections made, and intel shared across the table.
I pluck my favorite tumbler off the shelf. “You’re relatively new in town, right?”
“Just over a year,” Noah answers, pouring his drink.
“Noah’s mostly into real estate,” Austin offers as he joins us and selects a bottle of his favorite, Japanese sake. “Although be careful, Dylan. I hear he’s looking at getting into the restaurant game too.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, and Noah nods. “Good luck. Truth is, I don’t own Lionfish for the profits.”
“Ah, your secret information source,” Noah says, and I give him a sharp look. He shrugs, not meaning to offend. “Don’t worry, Dylan, I think it’s genius. I had a similar setup back home, with a club. Turned a good profit on the books, but the real value was in the club members.”