Page 36 of The Devil Wears Orange
Favreau turns to the unit and twirls his hand in the air to indicate they speed things up. He calls for the female officer to put the case away and follow him out. As a member of the team, Jack follows them into the hotel corridor where curious onlookers remain. Favreau spins around and places his hand on Jack’s chest to stop him.
“Not you, Professor. We are done here,” says Favreau crisply before he leads the female officer down the corridor towards the elevators. Favreau and the female officer disappear into the lift. Jack looks back into the hotel room at the team of uniformed officers collecting evidence. He had thought he was in control, felt guilty about pressuring Charlotte to partake in his scheme, yet, and he can say this with certainty, it was Charlotte who made a fool out of him. Now he’s more determined to find her and the painting. Somehow he must persuade Favreau he’s worth another chance. He may have been imperfect in the way he has helped Interpol in the past to retrieve stolen pieces, but he has never been incompetent. This time, he thought with the wrong head.
How could he have got it so wrong? And just what happened to Charlotte?
Chapter 18
Hours earlier…
“All in,” I sayand push forward my entire winnings with a gesture meant to display my confidence in my hand. Perhaps my cockiness is unnerving Rashid, knocking him down to a mid-level Bond arch-nemesis. I’m stunned when he mimics me by pushing all his winnings forward. I had expected him to fold.
“Show your cards,” the dealer instructs.
I’m the first to reveal my Quad Aces of spades and clubs. A gasp circulates throughout the crowd. I’ve won the second hand, too, and can barely restrain myself from jumping up on the table.
Rashid clasps his hands together, leans forward, and rests his chin on the peak of his fingers. No doubt, my hand surpriseshim, yet there’s something odd in the way he looks at me. He shifts in his chair; his back straightens, and he flips his cards.
The crowd explodes in dismay.
My mouth drops open.
A perfect and inconceivable Royal Flush beats a nearly perfect and unbelievable hand of Quad Aces.
Rashid’s cards eviscerate me. They chop me down to a fraction of the forceful persona I envisioned earlier in the evening and suck me into a vortex where the gasps and applause from on-lookers sound muffled and distant. Each detail is recalled; collected into a part of my brain to take things into account, dissect every move. No matter the numerous times I scrutinize the scenario, there’s no way I could have anticipated a hand like the one Rashid had. My only mistake was to believe that I, Charlotte Milton, is capable of deceiving a presumed art thief. I imagined myself as James Bond when Austin Powers aptly describes me.
“I’ve lost everything,” I whisper. I had promised Jack his 2,500 Euros were safe in my hands, but I let foolishness and arrogance drive me. I forgot all about our plan, all because I needed a win.
Eyes hard on Rashid, I say, “The least you can do is buy me a drink, Your Highness.”
Anguished, I cut through the crowd to the bar, and order a Scotch, holding up three fingers. The bartender pours a triple. I look back at the table where Rashid remains.Damn,I thought he’d follow me to the bar.Now what?I should see if Jack has finally made his way into the charity event, but at this point, I wonder why bother? If I do see Jack, embarrassment will prevent me from speaking. What would I say to him, anyway?“Hi, there, Jack. Hope you weren’t expecting that money back because it’s gone! Ha ha! Just like my career and reputation.”
I itch to glance over. Surely, Rashid has abandoned the table and he’s approaching right now, isn’t he? I spin a bowl of nutson the bar, pretending it has my attention then I take a quick peek. Rashid is no longer at the table or anywhere I can see. I bite down on my lower lip. Should I rush the entrance in case he tries to escape? Peering over my shoulder, I don’t see him at the front door either. It was bad enough that Jack didn’t show, but now I’ve lost Rashid.
I was hopeful in Ville de Loire when Jack first relayed his plans, but it wasn’t until we were on the train that I felt bullish about getting my life back. I envisioned a reunion with friends, a restored reputation, and a promotion at Papineau Publishing, making my already unhealthy attachment to work more detrimental. Now, I feel like a divorcee whose ex got the fabulous New York apartment, investments, and all the cool friends, while I end up with the debt.
“I could offer an apology though I don’t think it’s warranted.”
I turn. Rashid is at my side, his bodyguard behind him. He took longer to follow me than I anticipated. “Have you come to gloat or buy me that drink?” I say and point to the barstool next to me.
Sitting, he says, “I don’t relish in what transpired.”
Gulping back a mouthful of Scotch, I wince and say, “Another please.”
“Perrier,” Rashid tells the bartender, who nods and turns away. “I play to win, Ms. Milton but took no pleasure in beating you. If it’s any consolation, I donated all my winnings to the charity.”
“Of course, you did,” I mumble and swig down the remainder of my drink. I can’t escape the intensity of his gaze on me.
“Astonishing,” he says.
Me?
“Very astonishing that you should be here.”
“It’s not a coincidence.”
“Really? Well, I certainly look forward to hearing more,” he says. Casually leaning one arm on the bar, he swivels his chair towards me, so his knees graze my leg. His hand creeps to his knee, rests so close to my thigh that I wonder if this insouciant gesture is his signature move.
God how I want him to touch me. His eyes captivate me, and he has me feel like I’m the only one in the room. It’s a trick many celebrities use when they’re in promotion mode, and I’m immune to it. At least I was. I pull back when the bartender interrupts with Rashid’s drink and frees me from the hypnotic state.
