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“I don’t know, but I’m assuming this is why the security has been so tight tonight.”

Carlos snaps his fingers into the air. The dealer steps onto the platform, wearing a tuxedo with a red bowtie. Four others follow, all men wearing tailored suits, luxury watches, and designer wingtips. They look like replicas of Carlos himself. Then the area is roped off from us peasants below.

Astor takes a seat across from Carlos, facing me.

Our eyes meet like a clash of thunder. Goose bumps race up my arms, and my stomach flutters with a burst of butterflies.

He looks away, but then quickly back as if he needed just one more peek. This time, his gaze bores into me, shrewd and assessing. My heart stutters, followed by a rush of heat through my body. A visceral reaction.

The dealer momentarily steps into our line of sight, yet when he moves aside, Astor’s gaze is still on mine. The intensity of it takes my breath away.

I swallow hard.

The dealer kneels beside Astor, demanding his attention. After a bit of back and forth, the dealer offers Astor a tablet, allowing him to transfer his buy-in into an assigned account so that he can join the game. Once satisfied, the dealer stands and addresses the table.

“The game is no-limit Texas Hold’em Poker. Each player at the table has deposited a five-hundred-thousand dollar buy-in. When the game is over, the winner will receive the pot via electronic transfer. During the game, please don’t hesitate to raise your hand if you need anything, at any time. Our gracious host, Carlos Leone, has reserved a table barman and multiple waitresses who are at our disposal for the evening. We will take breaks every ninety minutes. If you leave the room, you will require a new passcode to get back inside. Are we all ready to begin?”

Carlos flicks his hand into the air. Though he’s addressing the players, his focus is on Astor.

“In addition to the money,” Carlos holds up what appears to be a hotel room keycard, “the winner gets what’s being held in this room.”

Astor doesn’t react, his expression remains cold and stoic—but the tension in the room is stifling.

The game begins.

An hour passes quickly. Drinks have been served to the players, along with appetizers including shrimp, caviar, and baked brie with figs. Very fancy.

Carlos empties his plate, while Astor doesn’t indulge in a single bite. His appetite appears to be fixed on something else—me. Our eyes have met countless times over the hour. So much so that I haven’t moved from my spot for fear it will stop once I do.

I know the look, the linger. Astor wants me to know he’s looking at me—and only me. And he also wants everyone in the room to know he’s looking at me.

Remember what I said about the men who frequent this bar and their inflated sense of ownership, especially when it comes to the women? This is a perfect example. Astor is all but claiming me, the equivalent of a dog peeing on a tree.

But this time, this brazen egomaniacal advance doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s making me hot as hell. So hot that my panties are damp under my dress.

Carlos has played carelessly, thereby losing many hands, spurring him into a pissy disposition that has required a new Scotch every half hour. Soon, I’ll demand that the waitress cut him off. Astor, on the other hand, is an exceptional player.

The room, including myself, has been transfixed by the competition between the two men. Everyone else at the table appears to be a prop.

By the second break, I’ve had three glasses of champagne, which has given me a heady buzz. The game is down to three players—Carlos, Astor, and another gentleman. If Carlos keeps playing like he is, he’s going to lose all his money, which means it’s time for me to step in and do my job.

I grab my purse, cross-body it, and with confidence fueled by alcohol, diamond-studded fuck-me heels, and Astor Stone’s ceaseless attention, I sashay across the room and onto the platform.

Astor’s gaze follows me like a magnet.

I round the table, moving behind Carlos. Still watching Astor, I lean into Carlos’s ear, and in no uncertain terms tell him to straighten the hell up.

Carlos swats away my hand.

Astor straightens, the muscles in his neck tightening.

When I begin to walk away, Carlos snaps his fingers to regain my attention. “Get me another drink.”

I turn and cock a brow. “I will the moment you begin making better decisions.”

Shocked and embarrassed, he surges from his chair. Astor does the same, sending his chair flipping back and tumbling off the platform, taking the red rope along with it and knocking down several pillars and a tray of appetizers.

The crowd gasps. A woman screams.

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