Page 95 of Dating Goals
“Breathe, McGregor,” Showalter says. “We’ve got your back.”
Once all the players have entered their passwords, the dealer announces, “The game will commence momentarily.”
“Remember,” Elodie whispers in my ear, her breath warm against my skin. “Everyone has a tell. Find it.”
“The man to your right is Cletus Beauregard,” Showalter informs me through the earpiece. “A Texan business mogul known for aggressive betting when he has middle pairs.”
I glance at the stern-faced man with a Stetson cowboy hat, who nods curtly.
Then the dealer begins to shuffle.
“Blinds, please,” the dealer announces. “Small blind, five thousand. Big blind, ten thousand.”
I glance down at my chips, stacked in neat columns.
“Don’t worry,” Showalter says. “We’ve got eyes on everyone’s cards. Just follow our lead.”
The dealer slides two cards face down in front of me.
“Good luck, gentlemen,” Chase says, raising his glass of scotch. “May the best man…or woman…win.”
Or the man with the best surveillance equipment, I think.
“Play conservatively,” Victor, the poker expert instructs. “Fold early. We’re establishing your pattern.”
I peek at my cards: seven of clubs, two of diamonds. Garbage.
“Fold,” Victor confirms.
I toss my cards face down before the betting even reaches me. Durand studies me briefly, then returns his attention to his own hand.
The next hand brings me a queen and a jack, both hearts.
“Call the big blind, nothing more,” Victor says through the earpiece.
I push forward chips worth one hundred thousand euros. The flop comes: Ten of hearts, Ace of spades, Three of diamonds.
“Check and fold if there’s a raise.”
I check. Katarina bets two hundred thousand. I fold, even though I had a potential straight draw. The woman smiles thinly at me.
“Good,” whispers Victor. “Let them think you’re cautious.”
The dealer shuffles the cards and deals again.
I lift the corner of my cards just enough to see an Ace of hearts and a King of diamonds.
“Big slick,” whispers Victor in my ear. “Raise three times the big blind.”
I push forward a stack of chips. “Thirty thousand.”
Malcolm’s eyes flicker to mine, assessing. The Russian heiress folds immediately. The Middle Eastern man calls. Malcolm raises to fifty thousand.
“Call,” the voice instructs. “Don’t show too much strength yet.”
I match Malcolm’s bet, and we watch as the dealer lays down the flop: Queen of hearts, Jack of hearts, Seven of clubs.
“You’ve got a straight draw and a flush draw,” Victor says. “Check and see what Chase does.”
