Page 2 of The Alpha's Gamble
I’d thought that if I fit the mold he’d wanted me to cram myself into, he’d do more than give me money and shout at me.
That hadn’t worked out well.
In any case, unlike my father, I was genuinely an alpha. But like him, I’d never had thatje ne sais quoi.
This man had it. In spades.
He had a really nice suit, too. Dark gray Italian wool. And his tie passed muster.
His lip curled as he stared down at me out of cold, hard dark eyes.
Other than that, his face didn’t give anything away.
“Do you know who I am? I demand to contact my lawyer,” I said, the words taking effort to force out through air that felt congealed with tension all of a sudden. “I demand—”
The words died on my lips as the alpha had the gall tolaughat me, chuckling and shaking his head slightly. A lock of his dark brown hair fell onto his forehead with the motion. It should’ve made him look less intimidating.
It didn’t.
“I know who you are. You’re Blake Castelli, and you’re not really in a position to demand much of anything.” His voice matched the rest of him: deep, smooth, and cold, like glacier ice. “You’re lucky the cops aren’t here right now.”
Sweat broke out along my hairline, but I kept my expression neutral through force of will. I could bluff; I did it at the poker table, and this wasn’t any different—except that the stakes were higher. They couldn’t prove I hadn’t believed that check was good. In any case, it should’ve been. In a just world, it would’ve been.
“Counting cards isn’t a crime,” I said, as evenly as I could. And it wasn’t like it’d done me much good, anyway, so they really shouldn’t care. My luck had been shit enough to counterbalance any skill with numbers. Didn’t they want to make money?
I ignored the little voice in the back of my brain that commented, in a dry tone that sounded way too much like my know-it-all brother, that if I couldn’t pay up for the money I’d gambled on credit, they weren’t exactly making a profit off of my losses on paper, now were they?
The middle-management guy cleared his throat, glancing nervously over and up—way up—at the alpha. “No, it’s not a crime,” he said. “But the check you attempted to cash was invalid. That’s fraud.”
“I’ve been a valued guest at this establishment for years!” The best defense was a good offense, after all. And they were being pretty damn offensive themselves. “You comped me and extended my usual line of credit, and now you’re acting like—”
“Like you failed to disclose your changed financial circumstances and defrauded us twice,” the alpha cut in, eyes flashing gold. “Once by taking perks you weren’t entitled to, and twice by playing on credit you couldn’t cover. And an attempted third time, when you tried to pass that rubber check. Anything you’d like to add?”
Shit. I straightened my spine, glaring the alpha straight in the eyes, feeling my own start to light up in response to the challenge, to my anger, to the urge to fight and then flee that rose up so strongly I almost choked on it.
“I’m not responsible for your poor business decisions,” I snarled. “Youcomped me.Youextended the credit. And who the fuck are you, anyway? You have no authority over me.”
If I’d hoped my own alpha display, hands flexing with claws close to the surface and eyes glowing, would make this man back down…well, luckily my hopes hadn’t been all that high.
His lip curled, and he stared down his nose at me like I’d been lying on the floor and whimpering instead of posturing. Fresh sweat broke out along my spine, and the golden light of his eyes seemed to shine right through me.
My father, the fake alpha, had always berated me for being an inadequate one, the hypocritical bastard. I’d seethed, and I’d pretended to submit, and I’d been so damn sure he was wrong. Not wanting to take over the family business, having no interest whatsoever in chaining myself to a desk in fucking Boise and arguing with the board for the rest of my life, didn’t make me inadequate. It meant I had too much common sense to want to play my father’s sick games the way my brother Brook did, to be our father’s alpha proxy in business and everywhere else, too.
Of course, the way I’d gone about avoiding said desk and board of directors had been—in retrospect, because I’d had more time on my hands to be alone in my head lately than ever before, and I’d hated every fucking second of it—childish and cowardly. Alphas were bold, strong, in charge. They confronted their problems head-on.
Maybe it’d taken a shitty alpha to know one all along.
Because facing this guy down…I’d never felt so inadequate in my life.
Whimpering on the floor wasn’t out of the question if he kept looking at me like that.
“Oh, I do indeed have authority over you,” he purred, voice dipping even lower. “Declan MacKenna, at your service. I own this place, darlin’.” Darling? Especially with the droppedg? And now that I noticed, his voice had the very faintest lilt to it. Not quite an Irish accent, but something adjacent, just enough to go with his name.
Still condescending as ever-loving fuck, though, even with a hint of authenticity.
And a hint of familiarity. Had I ever met this man? I’d remember him. I’d definitely remember him, wouldn’t I?
Or maybe I was remembering a Lucky Charms commercial and mixing it up with alpha porn. Who knew. I’d spent a lot of time drunk in my life.
