Page 87 of Dating Goals
“The amuse-bouche features local Alpine cheese with honey glaze and black truffle,” the concierge explains, which is fancy-speak for tiny portion, enormous price tag.
I thank him, wondering if my bespoke suit hides the homegrown Canadian hockey kid in me.
Once he’s gone, Elodie leans forward, her décolletage strategically visible. “You seem tense, Griffin,” she says, setting down her glass. “Relax. Enjoy the journey.”
“I’m fine,” I hiss, lowering my voice to a harsh whisper. “It’s not like TEN MILLION FREAKING EUROS were just wired to my bank account or anything.”
“Trust me,” she cuts me off with a dismissive wave. “By the weekend, you’ll be a hero. The money isn’t real to these people anyway. It’s just chips in their game.”
“And I just have to…win?” I take another gulp of champagne.
“Let’s go over the plan again,” Elodie says, delicately selecting a slice of cheese. “When we arrive in St. Moritz, we’ll check into separate rooms at the Palace Hotel. At nine, we meet our contact in the casino lobby.”
“And they’ll give me the…ear thing?”
She smiles indulgently. “The communication device, yes. It’s virtually undetectable. Our surveillance team will have eyes on all cards at the table via hidden cameras. They’ll feed you information through the earpiece.”
“So I’m cheating,” I say flatly.
Elodie’s perfect eyebrows arch. “You’re evening the playing field. Chase has been cheating for years. He’s stolen pensions, life savings, children’s college funds. Your hockey teammates’ investments. Think of all the families who lost their savings.”
I nod reluctantly. She’s not wrong. But that thought still doesn’t settle the churning in my stomach. How do secret agents sleep at night? I can barely get to sleep after a rough hockey game.
Elodie dabs her mouth with a napkin. “The FIS has been tracking Chase’s financial movements for months,” she explains. “This tournament is his attempt to recoup losses from his offshore accounts that are beginning to collapse.”
The train curves around a mountain, revealing a valley so perfect it looks photoshopped. I should be enjoying this view. It’s literally world-famous. But all I can think about is Anika. The way she looked at me before getting on that helicopter. The way she’s been avoiding me since.
“Tell me about the tournament structure,” I say, forcing my mind back to the mission.
“Texas hold ’em. Ten players. Ten million buy-in.” Elodie’s voice is all business now. “The final hand wins the whole pot.”
I blow out a whistle. “That’s…a hundred million euros.”
“Indeed.” She smiles thinly. “Chase has invited only his top investors. People who have the most to lose if his scheme is exposed.”
“And what happens after I win?” I ask. “Assuming I do.”
“You’ll transfer the winnings to an account we provide. The FIS will have what they need to bring down Chase’s entire operation and force him to cooperate in exchange for leniency.”
I nod, but something still feels off. Probably just nerves. I can’t even win at Jass.
“When this is over,” she continues, “The money recovered will be returned to the investors.”
“And my role will remain confidential?”
“Completely. You’ll return to your hockey career, your cabin in Grächen, and your…bartender.”
The way she says “bartender” makes my jaw clench. I think about Anika again. Her strength, her wit, the way she punched me after our almost-kiss. The memory makes me smile despite everything.
“Something amusing?” Elodie asks.
“Just thinking about home,” I reply.
The train begins to slow as we approach another scenic stop. Outside, a postcard-perfect Swiss village nestles against the mountainside.
“We arrive in St. Moritz in two hours,” Elodie says, checking her phone. “Any questions before we get there?”
Oh, I have SO many questions, but most of them aren’t productive.
