Page 5 of The Billionaire's Buy-In

“A bet?" she scoffs disbelievingly. "Against a professional gambler?” She's still embarrassed, but looking at me now. “Do I look like a dumbass?”

“Not at all. But you are a risk-taker, someone that, despite your protests, enjoys playing games.”

I pull my lucky coin from my pocket. “The bet is simple, really. A coin toss.” Flipping the coin high in the air, I catch it. “Heads, I win. Tails, you win.”

“Whatexactlydo I win?” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. Abbie isn’t a fool. She’s going to make me work for this.

“You, firecracker, win your freedom. No police, no charges. You can walk out these doors.” Then, I add the icing on the cake, the temptation she won’t be able to resist. “I’ll also grant you an interview and access to my nightclub for your article. No holds barred.”

She’s silent for a moment. “Wait, how did you know there’s an article?” She asks, confused.

“I know everything about you, little girl. Never doubt how far my reach extends.” That’s all I say because she can never know about my internet stalking and monitoring of her devices. I’ll keep those secrets to myself.

Her expression turns wary. “What doyouget if you win?” She knows there’s a catch.

“You,” I state matter-of-factly. “I get you.”

Chapter 4

Abbie

“Me?”Ishriekloudly.I’m pretty sure anyone within the walls of the entire resort can hear me. I’m that loud. And that pissed off.

Chord continues to lean against the wall, showing no signs of being flustered. Me, on the other hand, I’m turning into a complete basket case. Likely because I’m still recovering from our heavy make-out session and the fact I let the man give me my first real orgasm. With. His. Mouth.

My face flames in embarrassment at my wanton behavior. Apparently, my vagina has a mind of her own. She really is a traitorous bitch, but I'm trying to play it cool.

“To clarify, you will be mine for the weekend,” he says smoothly and with the confidence of a man who’s pleased with himself. “In exchange, I won’t press any criminal charges for what took place tonight.”

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” I screech, angry at his arrogance.

I’m amazed that he’s serious. Is he actually crazy? Did his parents have him tested? Doubtful, since I’m sure the whole family has a touch of crazy considering their background.

“Are you saying that if I don’t agree to your little fucked up ‘bet'," I use air quotes, "you’ll send me to jail?”

I’m past the point of being pissed off. I was pissed when he made me wait in this horrible room that looks like it was ripped out of an episode ofLaw and Order.I was pissed when he backed me against the table and manhandled me (okay, I may have secretly liked that part), but now I’m furious. How dare he?

“That’s exactly what I’m proposing,” he says, “In addition, If I win, I’ll compensate you for your time. I’m guessing you have bills to pay, your grandmother to take care of, and an article to write?” He smiles patiently, as if dealing with a temperamental child.

How can he know about my article? Everyone has bills to pay, but he also knows about my NiNi? Unbelievable.

“You are a damn sicko!” I point my finger at him. “You can’t force me to stay here, then pay me like a common hooker! I am not a whore, Chord Gallo.”

He goes stiff, and his expression darkens.

“First off, firecracker, your language is atrocious,” he says, visibly angry and disapproving. “Second, you need a damnkeeperto keep you out of trouble,” he grinds out the last word between his teeth, pointing his own finger in my direction. Chord has lost his usual, composed demeanor, but his words have a sobering effect. It’s as if he knows how messed up and out of control my life is at the moment. Of course he does. He knows everything about me, I remind myself.

“No one appointed you as my keeper! I’ve lived this long without one and been just fine,” I say, determined to not let him see how close he hit home with his remarks.

“How successful have you been?” he asks sarcastically. “You have lived to the ripe old age of twenty with exactly fifty dollars and seventy cents in your checking account, despite busting your ass at two jobs. You don’t have any savings, and you’re currently in danger of getting evicted from your apartment by the end of the month.” Not waiting for my response or expecting one, he continues, “In addition, your grandmother has nursing home fees to pay, and you have college tuition due.”

Tears gather in my eyes, threatening to spill over with his last statement. After a long, pregnant pause, I take a deep breath, fighting for self-control. He willnotsee me cry.

As I try to gain my composure, my fists are clenched tightly, nails digging into my skin. I take a deep, calming breath before looking up at him. “Are you done?” I ask in a low, soft voice, attempting to keep my emotions in check.

He smiles slowly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at my discomfort. It's as if he knows he's won. “Not quite,” he replies, his voice mocking. “You need to decide if you are going to accept my bet. The clock is ticking. My offer will expire in a few minutes.”

I close my eyes so he can’t see the emotion and indecision. I can’t accept this bet. No one makes a bet with Chord Gallo. No intelligent person, that is. The man is a professional gambler and a mobster to boot.

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