Page 93 of Heir

Ugh!

A few heads turned my way as I entered the room with the big, green felt table set up. I nodded at those who waved my way and said hello, but I didn’t stop to speak to anyone. I headed straight for Marty, the cashier. “How’s it going, Marty?”

“No complaints, Omaera. How are you?”

“Been a wild three days.”

His brows hitched up. “Oh, yeah?”

“Probably not as wild as yours, seeing as you’ve got brand new twins at home. How are Alyssa and the boys doing?”

He smiled sweetly at the mention of his wife and twin sons. “Rio has decided he doesn’t like sleeping at night. And Sam screams if anybody but Alyssa holds him.”

“So you’re exhausted and yet you’re still here?”

He sighed. “Day job doesn’t pay enough. Alyssa’s job has no maternity leave and she can’t bear to leave the kids in daycare.”

I frowned and reached into my purse. “Well, I just remembered that I never got you guys a baby gift, so as a belated gift—and if you say no, I’ll kick you in the shins—here is a small bump. Hire a nanny or something. Just get some sleep, okay?” I handed him five hundred dollars.

“Omaera, I ca—”

“I said ‘I’ll kick you in the shins’ and I meant it.”

He accepted the cash as tears welled up in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Cross your fingers I win big tonight and there’ll be more where that came from.” I handed him my buy-in, and he exchanged the cash for chips. Then I casually wandered through the crowd to an empty seat at the table.

“Omaera,” Cane, the dealer said, purring my name. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too. How are you, Cane? How’s your mother?”

His amber eyes twinkled and crinkled at the corners, creating deep lines in his tan, weathered face. “She’s better, thanks. She was on the waitlist for a new hip. They said it would be a year or more, but the fall she took the other day was a blessing in disguise. They got her in right away, gave her a new hip, and she’s already up and walking.”

“Oh, wow. That is a blessing in disguise. I’m so happy to hear she’s doing better. Send her my best, please.”

Cane grinned. “Well, she’s still a cranky old thing, but she’s less cranky now that she’s not in pain anymore.”

I chuckled. “Less cranky is always better.”

The seats beside me filled up with other players, and the bell to announce that the game would start in five minutes, chimed.

“Ms. Playfair, can I get you something to drink?” asked Cherise, one of the servers. “Your usual?”

“Please,” I said to her.

“Club soda with a splash of blueberry syrup and a wedge of lemon coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

She brought my drink in record time, and I tipped her handsomely.

“You’re a celebrity,” came a gravelly voice to my left. “Everybody knows you by name. The help even knows your drink order.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “No. I just play the local circuit and I get to know the staff at the events. They’re people too, you know.” Lifting my gaze and taking a sip of my drink, I came face to face with an older gentleman. His hair was a deep, rusty red, and that included his thick, bushy mustache. He was probably old enough to be my father—even though my real father was centuries old. And his belly was large and barrel shaped. His eyes were a pale green, almost gray, and the capillaries on his nose had burst, creating red spiderweb like veins. I glanced at the drink in his hand to find it a double of some amber spirit. Probably a very expensive scotch.

His suit was expensive. Dark. And he smelled faintly of peppermint.

He wasn’t the cigar smoking jerk I was waiting to see.

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