Page 6 of The Billionaire's Accidental Legacy

She put her hand on his forearm. “Thanks. So much.”

She wiggled away from him, unable to take large steps in the very tight dress.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t get in any trouble. But the exchange had been brief enough. She had not been placed in the West Wing. But she managed to talk her way past the door, and get a seat set up, all by giggling and claiming it was because of her little crush.

Her fingers tingled. She felt alive right now. She was so good at this.

She was...

She was done.

After this she was done. They’d agreed.

If she won tonight, she’d won the whole game. She had to remember that.

At the end of this she would have a whole new life. So much money. And she would never gamble any of it again.

This was the game they’d been planning for two years now. Win, invest. Win, invest. In clothes, and access to the right rooms. In the ability to have enough money to buy their way into the games in the first place.

But this was the thing with gambling. So Maren reminded her. Eventually, you had to call it good. Had to call it a day. And you had to walk away.

Especially when you gambled the way they did.

Her father was brilliant. He could’ve used his brain for anything. But the problem was, he was more than a narcissist. He was a sociopath, and he enjoyed testing people. He needed to do it. He was smarter than everyone else and he was desperate to prove it.

They weren’t the same.

She was nearly certain.

Sure, she got satisfaction out of winning, but she didn’t need to do it. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to be comfortable.

She wanted to befree.

And if she felt a tug of sadness over losing this...

The thrill of a mark. The thrill of the chase...

Well, she wouldn’t dwell on it.

This wasn’t a charity game, and no one here was playing for any reason other than that they could. They treated their wealth lightly, and they treated the lives of others as if they were nothing.

Ewan Kincaid was a fantastic example of that. His family name was old, respected, and he dragged it through the mud.

His industry was debauchery.

Bars and party yachts and exclusive clubs where the very rich could act out their wildest fantasies.

Everything about him was a scourge on respectability.

If she had come from a family like his, she would’ve treated it with some care. He respected nothing, including his fortune. Which he now slung hither and yon with as much care as his penis.

Nonewhatsoever.

He was not discerning.

She reminded herself of that when his face presented itself clearly in her mind’s eye. He was a rake.

It shouldn’t excite her.

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