Page 34 of Gambler's Fallacy

I scoff. “I can’t match you, Trent. If we go all in and I lose, I can’t pay you.”

Trent rolls his eyes. “Okay, how about this. If I win, you give me control of the MMA matches.”

I purse my lips, thinking about it. “That’s worth a lot more than a paltry three hundred dollars. I’d want something equal if I win.”

Trent glances at Seven, then shrugs. “Fine. What do you want?”

“If I win… I want you to answer a question of mine. Work related,” I answer with a smile. I squeeze Seven’s thigh underneath the table, then I tap his thigh three times.

“What about me?” Seven complains, fidgeting in his seat. “What do I get if I win?”

“Six hundred bucks?” Trent points out. “I don’t know, what do you want?”

Seven taps his cards against his chin, like he’s thinking about it. “You give Caleb a full day off. No texts, no emails, nothing. He gets a whole day of rest.”

Under the table, Seven hands me a card, and I pass my errant king of diamonds to him.

I laugh at his comment though. “Pet, I’m the boss. He can’t control when I work.” The card Seven gave me is the three of spades—and now I’ve got a straight flush in my hand.

“I’m really betting against the both of you, though,” Seven counters. “So if I win, you make the arrangements, and he leaves you alone instead of showing up at your place to bitch about fixing some fights.”

“Fine, fine,” Trent says, rolling his eyes. “Reveal the cards already.”

We all set them down, and this time Trent groans when he sees my straight flush, ace through fiveof spades.

He’s got four nines, while Seven ended up with a pair of kings.

“How the fuck are you so lucky?” Trent asks, rubbing his brows. He pushes all of his earnings over to me, while Seven does the same.

“The house always wins,” I answer mysteriously. Then, more seriously, I say, “All right. My real prize. Seriously, what are you doing at my casino?”

Trent freezes, his eyes darting to Seven. “I got the general manager job.”

“No. Pay up, properly,” I press. “You were doing fine before. There was no reason to take this job. Sowhy.”

If not for the five beers, or the late hour, I don’t think he would have answered.

Seven has gone still, like he expects me to send him from the room at any moment. But he’s watching Trent curiously, too.

He groans and slumps back in his chair. “You’re not the only one standing in dogshit, Caleb. Earl’s finances are worse than he’ll admit. He begged your grandfather for support, and… well, I’m supposed to help him with that.”

The insistence on rigging the fights makes sense now—it’s a way for Uncle Earl to earn money from the casino, without interacting with me directly. No wonder I hadn’t heard from Earl in a while.

I should be grateful my grandfather didn’t insist on putting Earl in the general manager role.

“Why doesn’t he pay off the debts himself?” I ask, resisting the urge to grind my teeth. “Grandfather has enough money for that.”

Trent laughs. “That’s two questions. But you really don’t know how badly in the hole Earl is.”

I shouldn’t have missed this. I should have been paying more attention—but I’ve been busy with Seven, with wrangling Trent, with keeping an eye on the Lockwoods, and with managing the casino operations.

I add Earl to my list of problems.

“Okay. Thanks.” I glance at the cash in front of me. “You want your three hundred bucks back?”

“Nah, keep it.” Trent stands up, swaying a bit. “Crap. Alice will be pissed again. Whatever. Call down to the reception and tell them I need a cab.”

I make the call while Trent stumbles out of the suite.

---