Page 107 of Dating Goals
“If you’re listening, Wilde,” I whisper to the tiny device. “Mission accomplished. I successfully planted the device on Griffin. One bug down, one to go.”
22
GRIFFIN
The poker table blurs around me as my mind drifts back to last night’s elevator encounter. Her lips on mine. Her taste, her touch, the way she pressed against me. The soft sounds she made when I kissed her neck. Then abruptly shoving me out into the hallway, leaving me aching and confused.
The climb up six more flights of stairs afterward hadn’t been my idea of a romantic ending. Neither was getting jumped by one of Malcolm Chase’s goons on the twenty-first floor landing.
I’m still puzzling over the whole situation when Chase clears his throat. “Your bet, McGregor. Unless you’re folding?”
I snap back to reality, where four grim-faced players watch me like hawks circling prey. My chip stack sits pathetically small compared to the mountains in front of Chase and the Korean player, Mr. Song. There are only five of us left in the game, down from ten players. Me, Chase, Mr. Song, the Texan, and that smug-faced Brit, Durand. If that’s even his real name.
“Counting your losses already?” Chase smirks, tapping the table near my dwindling chips.
“Counting the ways I’ll spend your money,” I reply, forcing a confident smile despite the dire odds.
Victor, the professional poker player in my ear keeps assuring me I can still win this, but I’m starting to wonder if he’s been day-drinking.
“I raise,” announces Mr. Song, his shiny manicured fingers pushing forward a small mountain of chips. His social media followers would eat this moment up.
“Rough night, McGregor?” Malcolm smirks across the table. “That’s quite a cut you’ve got there. Stairs can be treacherous, no?”
I touch the fresh gash above my eyebrow, courtesy of his stairwell goon. “Walked into a door.”
Malcolm’s eyes glitter with cold amusement. He knows. Of course he knows. His henchman probably called him right after I left the guy half-unconscious sprawled across the emergency exit landing.
“Must’ve been quite a door,” Malcolm murmurs, turning a chip over and over again at his fingertips.
I force a smile. The memory flashes vivid. Stumbling up the stairs, still dizzy from Anika’s kiss. When a shadow detached from the wall. The glint of steel. My hockey reflexes kicking in as I ducked, the knife missing my eye by millimeters.
“A straight draw,” whispers Victor in my ear. “Play it cool.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not sitting across from his boss, who sent an assassin to attack his star goalie.
Chase leans back, his expensive suit jacket unbuttoning to reveal a tacky green silk vest underneath. The man dresses like a cartoon villain, complete with a pocket square matching his tie. How have I not noticed that before?
He catches me looking and smiles like that shark inFinding Nemo. “Are we playing cards or having a staring contest, McGregor?”
Fish are friends. Not food.
I stare at my cards. Not spectacular, but not terrible either.
The flop reveals a Queen of Spades, Ten of Hearts, and King of Spades. My pulse quickens. I might actually have something here.
“What’s it gonna be, boy?” The Texan taps his thick fingers on the felt. “We don’t have all night.”
My earpiece crackles. “Stay in. Song is bluffing. He’s got nothing but air and overconfidence.”
I glance at Mr. Song, who’s busy taking selfies.
“I’ll see your bet,” I tell Song, pushing forward a matching stack of chips. “And raise you another fifty thousand.”
I glance across at Elodie, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
“You want to dance, Canadian?” Song asks, peeking over his phone. “Let’s dance.” He actually dances in his chair, singing a K-pop song to himself, and shoves forward his remaining chips.
Durand studies his chips, his face unreadable. His eyes flick toward the bar where Anika stands. My stomach clenches. Why does he keep looking at her? Something’s off about that guy. He’s not who he says he is.
