Another car pulls up beside us; an Aston Martin.
“People get paranoid hosting high stakes games at their houses,” I explain. “This place has been operating for several years, though. They’re legit, and you’re safe. I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t know that.”
Two women get out of the Aston Martin and head toward the building.
Chloe reaches for the door handle. “Why does this feel like a really bad idea?”
We cross the parking lot, our shoes crunching against the gravel lot to a service lift that the women enter without hesitation. Chloe follows them, her gaze meeting mine when she turns around. There’s that same gleam of excitement and nerves I’m starting to feel an addiction to in her eyes.
The lift sways as it hits the top floor, and Chloe remains back to allow the other two off first. I move toward her, my hand at her waist. “Stay next to me. If anyone asks, we’re together. These guys think their money entitles them to everything and everyone.”
Her steps falter, and her gaze becomes accusatory. “Like human trafficking level or whore level?”
I shake my head. “People are impressed by money. They don’t have to buy women. Women fall for them because of what they can get. Everyone can be bought.”
Her brow furrows. “That’s not me. I’m not—”
“I know,” I tell her, my grip at her waist tightening. “But you’re an anomaly.”
She shakes her head as I lead her out to the hallway. “Cooper isn’t your friend because you have money.”
I stop, turning to face her. “Why haven’t you told him?”
She shifts her attention from looking around the building to me, her brows pinched. “Told him what?”
“What an arsehole I’ve been to you?”
Chloe’s confidence wanes as she looks away, her lips rolling together.
“He’d hate me if he knew,” I tell her.
Her green stare hits me like a brick, fast and hard. “I know. But it would hurt him. Coop’s had enough loss in his life, and you not liking me shouldn’t be a price he has to pay. Aside from me and Ness, he’s never had many friends—people hold onto expectations even tighter than they hold on to memories. They think Cooper will be just like his dad, and he’s had to live in that shadow forever. Brighton gave him a way out—you gave him a way out.”
“You think I don’t like you?”
A dozen emotions flash in her green eyes. “Sometimes.” Her answer sounds like a question. “I never know what you’re thinking.”
“Tyler,” Jericho greets me with a smile, interrupting our conversation. “Good to see you. It’s been too long.” He offers his hand.
I steal a look at Chloe, who takes a breath, a cross between relief and annoyance in her slightly crooked smile. My grip tightens at her waist before I release her to shake Jericho’s hand. “Thanks for the invite.”
He nods. “You’re always welcome.” His attention shifts to Chloe. “This is your plus one?” He extends his hand to her, and without waiting for a beat, she takes it.
“Chloe,” she says, earning his full attention with the simple gesture. He hates demure women.
“Welcome, Chloe. Please, follow me.”
We pass by a couple of men who are here as muscle in case someone tries to steal or cause problems. I tell Chloe this, making sure Jericho hears me because the reminder serves as much as an assurance as a threat. Jericho’s games are private—invite only—and would come to a hard stop if rumors were to start about him or one of his guests strong-arming in any way.
Jericho nods. “My friends say I’m paranoid. I prefer the term careful.” He smiles, walking us past Avery, his surprise visible as he does a second and third look in our direction. “If you’d like anything to drink, we have a full bar. Please, just let us know your preferences.” He taps his wrist where a large gold watch sits. “We’ll get started in five minutes.”
We stop at the cashier, and I pull the envelope from my wallet. The woman opens it, counting through the stack of Benjamins. “Thank you, sir, ma’am.” She nods. “We’ll be drawing for seats in just a moment.”
“I can’t play,” Chloe hisses as I place my hand on her back again and direct her toward the table where ten cards lie face down.
“Why?”
“You just gave her enough money to buy a car.”
“It wouldn’t be a very nice car.”
Her eyes narrow. “I can’t lose that much money.”
“Yes, you can.”
She shakes her head. “Ty, I literally can’t. Go refund this. When you said poker, this is not what I had in mind.”
Behind her, Avery starts to move toward us. “If you’re scared, you’re going to lose. It’s when you play like it doesn’t matter that you win.”
Her brow knits. “That type of reverse psychology has never made any sense, for the record.”
“It’s five grand. We blew more than that at the club last night.”
Her eyes grow round with alarm. “Are you serious?”
“Fear is crippling. If you’re not afraid, you’ll have fun, and hell, you might show us all up and end up being the shark.”
She closes her eyes, a subtle shake of her head as she works to process my words.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please come select your seat,” Jericho says.
“What does that mean?” Chloe asks.
“You’re going to draw a card, and it’s going to say where you sit. This way, it makes it fair. Hopefully, you’re on my right.”
“Are you ever not confident?”
I grin. “See, you knew being on my left would mean you’d lose. You understand more about poker than you’re letting on.”
“Fractionally.”
My smile grows. “Draw your seat.”
“Mr. Banks, Ms. Robinson, what a surprise,” Avery says as he approaches us, drawing the card at the far end.
Chloe’s back goes straight, her muscles tensing, drawing my attention to her face, which is set with a defensive edge, her lips flattened, eyes narrowed.
“Small world,” I lie. I knew he would be here—it’s the only reason I’m here because as much as I love to play poker, Texas hold ‘em bores me, and it’s the only game Jericho ever runs.
“Welcome, again,” Jericho says. “If you’ll all please take your seats, we’ll get started. I want to introduce you all to Joseph, our dealer for tonight.” A man with tire tracks tattooed down half his face nods, his hands folded in front of him.
I glance at our drawn cards and frown when I notice she’s right beside Avery. “You okay sitting next to him?”
She looks at her seat at the table that’s between Avery and a man wearing a cowboy hat and a tan suit. “Yeah.” She slowly releases her breath as she moves toward the chair. I follow her, my intentions clear—I’m letting them all know she’s here with me, which will hopefully prevent attempts to intimidate her if she’s as novice of a player as she’s claiming.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Joseph says as trays filled with chips are delivered to each of us. “Please feel welcome to place your drink orders at any point. If you need a waitress, please be sure to hold a finger up, and they’ll get to you right away. Also, as a reminder, the blinds are twenty-five, fifty.”