Her lashes fluttered. “I know. It’s a lot to ask, especially given all my lies. I’m not lying about this, though.”
The way she so matter-of-factly owned up to her lies really pierced the bubble of self-righteous anger he’d gathered around himself. It was a tiny piercing, but it was an annoying one, releasing some of his anger like a tea kettle letting out steam.
He opened his mouth, but they were out of time to discuss. He fell silent as they entered the living room again. Ralph cleared his throat. “The lady wishes to pay her friend’s debt.”
One of the men at the table looked over at them with little interest. He wore suspenders, a bow tie, and black horn-rimmed glasses. “With her body or money? If it’s the body, no thanks.”
“It’s money,” Mira said crisply. “But I appreciate your input.”
The man in black raised his hand. The other people at the table and in the room quieted. Naveen had clocked him, this mysterious X, as the leader of the group immediately. And the one they needed to watch.
“I’m listening.”
Mira cleared her throat. “Let me play. I’ll cover Emi’s losses out of anything I win.”
X snorted. “Why would I let you do that? You probably have a camera or something up your sleeve, like your useless friend.”
“I don’t. No earpieces, no cameras. No tricks.”
X leaned forward, the light falling on his slick hair. There were deep wrinkles around his mouth and forehead, and Naveen was going to guess they weren’t from smiling too much. He didn’t look like he smiled at all. “Prove it.”
“How do you want me to prove it?”
“Take off your shirt.”
Like hell he’d let them ogle Mira. They may have their issues, but that wasn’t right. “Uh, wait a minute.” Naveen stepped forward. “No one is taking their shirt off—”
“It’s fine.” Mira shrugged off her coat, handed it to Naveen, then loosened the buttons of her shirt with brisk efficiency. She spread her shirt open, revealing a lacy black bra.
He didn’t know this bra, exactly, but he did remember her penchant for frothy, peek-a-boo underwear, a far cry from her usually modest clothes.
One glance, and he fixed his gaze firmly on her face. He nearly growled when he realized every other person in the room wasn’t averting their eyes.
Not because he was jealous. It was simply common decency. She wasn’t a piece of meat, and he wasn’t thinking about the way her sweet curves had pressed up against him in that elevator.
He mentally shook his head. Not now.
Shirt still unbuttoned, Mira turned her head this way and that. “See? Nothing. No cameras, no listening devices.”
The man with the eyeglasses adjusted them. “I retract what I said about not taking your body.”
The lone woman at the table sat back. She was in her fifties and dressed in a sequined black dress that was about a size too small for her, like she’d borrowed it from someone. Her makeup was thick and heavy. Her hair was bleached platinum blond and pulled up high on her head in an updo. “That’s not the kind of game I signed up for.”
The last man at the table, a skinny Black man, piped up. “Same. I’m here to win everyone’s money, and that’s it.”
Mira buttoned up her shirt, and tucked it in neatly. “I’m happy to let you try.”
X tapped his fingers on the table. “You have the buy-in?”
“Not in cash. I have gold.” Mira undid her earrings.
“That’s not enough.”
Mira faltered. Naveen couldn’t resist trying to sway the gamblers to an easier way to recoup their losses. “Listen, I can pay back Emi’s debt, and we can go on our way. Venmo? Is Venmo good?”
The woman tapped her fingers on her glass. “You think we want you to Venmo us the winnings from an illegal poker game?”
He gritted his teeth. “I’ll put it on private mode. Or I can wire transfer it.”
“You have twenty-five thousand dollars on you?”
He cast Emi a narrow glance. “You said ten.”
For the first time, Emi appeared mildly ashamed. “I may have lost count.”
At one time, twenty-five grand would have been pocket change for Naveen, but he didn’t work at Miller-Lane anymore, and he was often, as his mom had noted, paid in biryani.
He was rich in family, and his family was rich, however. “I don’t have it, but—”
“Who are you, anyway?” X asked.
“I’m her . . .” He exhaled and tilted his head at Mira. “I’m her attorney.” Kind of.
“Her attorney,” said the woman, with a hearty chuckle. “Hey, Ryder, you know the difference between me and an attorney?”
The Black man raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I only screw one person at a time.”
Naveen rolled his shoulders. He hated to admit it, but that was a good one.
“Looks like you have a nice Rolex there, lawyer. Add that to the earrings, and we can give your client a chance.”
Fuck. He cradled the watch protectively. His parents had given the piece to him when he’d passed the bar.
He’d grown up with the knowledge that his family expected their younger son to have some prestigious job where he regularly collected watches that cost five or six figures. But his father had pulled him aside that night at the party they’d thrown for him. They’d both been tipsy, as was usually the case at family parties. Fancy things can’t bring you happiness, son. Wear it, but remember that it’s nothing but metal. Metal can be melted down and broken, a good life cannot be.
He’d clung to those words and the watch when he’d burned out and left his old life behind, using them to remind himself that his father would have valued his mental health over money.
Bartering the ring had been oddly painless. He didn’t want to lose this piece of his dad.
Naveen made the mistake of looking down at Mira. Her eyes were huge. Trust me, they screamed.
After a long moment, she turned to X. “He’s not a part of this.”
Wasn’t he, though?
It was his life and his family at stake, too. The reasoning he’d given her before for why he couldn’t walk away from this endeavor still stood. It’s nothing but metal.
He undid the watch strap. “Fine,” he muttered.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mira’s surprise. “I will get it back,” she whispered, and the fierceness in her voice convinced him she believed she could. Whether she really would, though, wasn’t entirely up to her, was it?
Ralph took their valuables from them and X smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “If everyone’s on board, I’m game to have an extra chair filled. We are a man down.” X looked around the table and was met with nods or shrugs. “Ralph, pat Ms. . . . what’s your name?”
“Amira,” she supplied. Her fake name. Funny, how, in the course of a few hours, he’d gotten used to thinking of her as Mira.
“Great. Pat her down more thoroughly. I’m not dealing with any electronics again. You can call me X, and this gentleman is Ryder, and Claudette.” He nodded at the bespectacled man, who was still leering at Mira, much to Naveen’s annoyance. The man looked like a sweaty, horny weasel dressed like an old-timey bartender. “This is Charles.”