If She Were Blind (The After Twelve Series Book 1) by Laney Wylde

Author:Laney Wylde
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Crimson Tree Publishing
Published: 2018-10-21T22:00:00+00:00

18

Estlyn

“You have one hour,” Dean repeats as we step out of the elevator and onto the top floor of the Ritz Carlton. “That’s the longest I can be compelled to carry on a conversation with bland bartender Brooklyn.”

“I might need a little more than that.”

“No, you lose your edge at an hour. You cash in at nine-thirty, okay?”

“Oh, relax. You know it’s my last one.”

“You always say that.”

“Nope, I’m burning this bridge to the ground.” Hopefully I make it to the other side before I catch on fire, too.

I open my clutch for the guard at the door to examine its contents. He takes my coat and Dean’s, then pushes the heavy white-and-gold door open for us. As we do every week, Dean takes a seat at the bar to drink his weight in complimentary cocktails, and I drop ten grand in cash on the runner’s table to get my chips.

There are three open seats at the game table. I take the one with another available next to it.

It’s Texas Hold’em. He’s had a shitty week. This is how he blows off steam. He’ll be here.

He better be.

I’m up four grand when Taylor East finally grants us the privilege of his presence. I make a show of re-crossing my legs and pat, then caress, the open seat next to me. He takes the bait even though I’m closer to his age than he’d prefer. Maybe Linus is right. Maybe I do look nineteen. Taylor’s hand slides down my exposed knee after he sits in the seat I lured him to.

We play two hands like this, his hand playing my thigh like the neck of a violin, begging me to taste his ear as I whisper, “Where’s that good girl tonight?”

He turns to face me, but I don’t lend him my ear. I let him whiff the subtle scent of alcohol on my lips, let him think I’m tipsy enough to open my legs. “She’s not so good, you know.” His lips curl into a smirk as he sits up. “Call,” he says and throws a few chips into the pot.

“Raise a thousand,” I reply, my eyes on his as I toss in my bet. My gaze with Taylor’s doesn’t break until it’s his turn to, hopefully, fold. I’m not confident I hold the cards to beat him and that asshole investment banker two seats over.

But Taylor doesn’t fold. Neither does the asshole.

The dealer flips the river. Taylor and I both check the table to find the fate of our hands. The two pair I had didn’t turn into a full house. It’s just a two pair. There aren’t even any faces in it. I turn back to Taylor and bite my lip to keep from smirking.

“Check,” he says, repeating the asshole’s bet.

“Baby, that’s no fun.” My gaze leaves his just long enough to collect my chips. I toss them and meet his eyes. “A thousand.”

The third player slides his cards toward the pot. Fold.

And then there were two.

“What’s it going

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