But I squinted my eyes, trying to look closer. I couldn't make out the man's exact features from this distance, but from what I could see, he looked gorgeous. If my own vision hadn't told me, the gaggle of women-now including Lindsey-vying for his attention, preening and prancing around him despite the woman at his side, would have clued me in. And the woman at his side, although she wasn't touching him, she was clearly possessive, turning her shoulder toward women who got too close, flipping her hair in what looked like annoyance.
"Daisy," I asked distractedly, "do you know who that man is?" I inclined my head toward him and Daisy followed my nod, watching him for a moment.
"No, but he's something to look at, isn't he?" We were both quiet as we stared. "I don't think I've ever seen him before. Should we head on down and introduce ourselves?" She winked at me.
I shook my head, biting my lip, the same strange feeling swirling in my belly. "No," I said, looking back to where he stood. "He has a date. Anyway, I think he's leaving." The brunette at his side had just leaned in and whispered something in his ear, and he'd nodded and started shaking hands with those around him. Daisy and I watched as he strode off, the woman at his side. There was something in the man's walk, too. A familiar movement. I frowned, confused again. Shaking my head slightly, I took a big drink of champagne, dismissing the strange feeling. It just couldn't be.
Just as the couple were about to exit through the gate that led to the steps at the edge of the garden, the man looked back and up, and I swore our eyes met. I jolted slightly, frowning again, a shiver moving down my spine.
Later, after having both successfully drunk too much champagne and avoided my stepmother and any more run-ins with old high school friends, I said a quick goodbye to the hosts and made my getaway with Daisy in her chauffeured car. We hung out at her house, laughing and talking for a few hours until her husband arrived home and I'd sobered up. Daisy's driver took me to my car, and I made the trip back to my apartment in New York.
As I approached the door to my building, I got the strangest feeling I was being watched. Shivering in the warm early-summer air, I paused and turned around, looking up and down the tree-lined street but not noticing anything unusual. After a moment, I dismissed it as nothing more than the sun and champagne-drenched mind of someone who'd had a long day. Shaking my head and laughing softly at myself, I opened the door and went inside.
CHAPTER TWO
Brogan
The underground, high-stakes poker room was the height of lavish opulence, decorated in shades of black, gold, and red, the materials rich and sumptuous, ornate crystal chandeliers causing light to bounce off the mirrors surrounding the upper portions of the walls. Quiet, classical music drifted through speakers mounted somewhere in the ceiling.
This moment had been a long time coming. I was going to savor it.
The man across from me pulled at his collar as he turned over the card he'd just been dealt. I could smell the tang of his sweat even from the other side of the table. Even if I hadn't been counting the cards, I'd know he believed he had a good hand by the slight widening of his eyes, the way he glanced around quickly to see if anyone else had noticed his reaction. His knee bounced. He had a good hand, but he wasn't entirely sure it was enough. And it wasn't. The king of diamonds I needed to make four of a kind was at the top of the pile. I placed two cards on the table and signaled the dealer, who dealt me two more. Ten of hearts, king of diamonds. I kept my face expressionless, bringing my glass to my lips. I tipped the bartender here exorbitantly well to make sure every other drink I ordered was free of alcohol. This particular round was the real deal. I took a sip, letting the brandy slide over my tongue. At first fiery and sharp, smoothing into soft toasted marshmallow, vanilla custard, a dash of pepper, and then transforming into a nutty oak flavor as it slid down my throat.
Savor, enjoy.
The man across from me had long ago passed savor and had moved on to slurp. He signaled the waiter for another. Of course, he was too foolish to know that drinking and gambling didn't mix. Or too weak to resist any and all vices offered to him and then to mix them haphazardly, just as he was doing now. And he was about to go down. Hard. A boot to the face. Metaphorically, of course. I resisted the wolfish grin that wanted to spread across my face.
He suddenly looked up at me, meeting my eyes through my glasses, narrowing his. "Have we met before?" he asked. I casually signaled the dealer for a cigarette and leaned forward as he lit it, letting the smoke waft in front of my face, tamping down my senses violently, working not to become overwhelmed, not to grimace. I hated the smell of cigarette smoke, detested it. The man across from me watched the smoke rise, as if in a trance, immediately distracted by the swirling vapors.
"I don't believe so," I said, slurring my words slightly, making sure there was no hint of an accent. I'd worked long and hard to do away with it. He looked back at his cards, pulling at the collar of his tux again.
The other player at the table-a tall, blond man-folded. I caught his eye so briefly; it was only a bare flicker of the lids. An acknowledgment only he would see, much less understand. A sign only two people who had spent years on the streets together, surviving, cheating, looking out for each other, becoming brothers in the truest sense of the word, would recognize. Fionn. He turned and walked out of the room. He had done his job-he'd driven up the stakes.
The security detail wandered by, his hands clasped behind his back, eyeing our table. This establishment knew enough to watch me, knew enough to suspect me of something they'd never prove. I wouldn't let them. Counting cards was no effort on my part anyway. I did it without even thinking, without even concentrating. So it was unlikely I'd ever be suspected if I handled myself appropriately and discreetly. And I rarely played now anyway-I certainly didn't need the funds, and my vices were few, gambling not being one of them. I hadn't played in years. That is, until he started playing here. And now it was only the two of us sitting at this table in this high stakes room.
Savor, enjoy.
The man was intently focused on his cards, considering doing something very, very stupid. Do it. Do something stupid. I knew very well he needed to win-he needed to win desperately. His company was suffering, and badly. I knew because I'd made it my business to know. But I didn't think anyone else knew what dire straits he was in. Not even his family. But I moved that thought aside quickly-I needed to concentrate.
"Let's make this interesting," I said, adding a slight slur and a hiccup to the end of my statement. "What do you say we up the stakes here?"
The man's eyes flashed to mine. I could see the desperation in them as clear as day. God, he was a bloody shite poker player. I'd almost feel sorry for him if I wasn't savoring his impending downfall so much.
"What are you thinking exactly?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the note of anxious excitement out of his voice.
"I'm in for five million," I said, downing my drink.
The pulse jumped in his throat and he stared at his cards for a beat. Do it, do it. "I'm sorry to say I don't have that kind of capital available," he said.
I lowered my lids and shrugged. "Well, it's been fun." I signaled to the man at the door for my tux jacket.
"Wait, wait." Sweat had broken out on his forehead. "I own a company and I'll sign it over to you if you win." He glanced at his hand again, obviously trying to provide himself confidence in his own ridiculous offer.
I laughed. "What would I want with some unknown company?" I signaled the man by the door again.
"It's worth ten times what you're putting in." He was lying. It was barely worth five million at this point. But I didn't care how much it was worth. I wasn't trying to make a profit-not a financial profit anyway. A personal profit? Well, that was a different story. I narrowed my eyes, holding my hand up to the man walking my way with my jacket. He nodded his head and turned.
I looked down at my hand, allowing a miniscule frown to crease my brow. I swayed to the left slightly, caught myself, and shrugged. "Oh, what the hell! Right, André?" I forced out a loud, obnoxious laugh. The beefy security detail with the earpiece walking slowly past nodded at me, his expression cold and removed.