Daniel’s lost none of his confidence, but his luck is off to a shaky start.
I wince as he loses a quarter of his holdings in a couple of hands. The next one returns some of his money, but I can tell from the tension in his spine that his cards are not coming the way he would like.
Instead of dialing back on his wagers, he grows bolder. Reckless.
I watch in shock as the game quickly devours all but a couple thousand dollars’ worth of Daniel’s chips.
“Ah, well. Easy come, easy go,” he jokes after the final card is turned.
His quip earns a few chuckles and some shared commiseration from his fellow players. But Daniel’s humor is a front. I know him well enough to understand that.
After downing the shot of bourbon he’s been nursing in the crystal glass in front of him, he glances back at me with an unconvincing wink. Then he signals to the floor manager who introduced himself to us simply as Gibson when we arrived.
“How may I assist, Mr. Hathaway?” the older gentleman asks in a discreet tone.
I hope Daniel’s going to say he’d like to exit the game and take me home before he ends up losing even the last two grand of the twenty-five thousand dollars he put up at the start of the night.
But that’s not what he does.
“Would it be possible to extend my credit a bit tonight?”
The older man inclines his silver head. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem, sir. How much would you require?”
Daniel considers for less than a second. “Fifty.”
Holy shit. It’s all I can do not to gape.
“Of course, sir.” Gibson’s expression doesn’t even flicker in reaction. “I’ll go see to it at once.”
As soon as the man has left us, I pull Daniel away from the table. Panic is drumming inside me, rising into a growing sense of dread. “Let’s go now. Please.”
“Go?” He looks at me as if I’m the crazy one. “Sweetheart, I’m in the middle of a game.”
I shake my head. “You’ve already played. You’ve already lost a lot of money. Now you’re talking about risking even more. Seventy-five thousand dollars, Daniel?”
“I can win it back. I just need the means to try.” Where my hushed voice sounds strangled, his low tones are measured and resolute. He cups my face, drops a reassuring kiss on the tense line of my mouth. “Everything’s under control. Trust me.”
Trust him. He doesn’t know how much he’s asking of me. How hard it is for me to surrender my trust to anyone, particularly a man.
But I do trust Daniel. In three months, he has never given me the slightest reason to doubt him. He’s never let me down, not even once.
Gibson returns with a tray containing five rows of chips. With a nod at Daniel, he sets the additional stacks down on the table for him.
“Come on, now. Give me another kiss for good luck.”
I comply half-heartedly, tilting my face up to meet his lips. “Good luck.”
He resumes his place at the table and the new game begins. I don’t have the stomach to watch anymore. My chest feels as if it’s got a swarm of bees buzzing inside it. My skin feels flushed and tight, crawling with prickles of anxiety.
I have to get out of this room.
What I really want to do is call an Uber and go straight home, but I can’t abandon Daniel. I never would, but especially not when the stakes are suddenly so high.
But if I don’t move my legs and get a little air, I just might pass out.
With the game underway, I approach Gibson where he stands near the bar. “Is there a restroom somewhere I could use?”
“Of course.” He walks me out of the salon and gestures down the hallway. “Third door on the left, miss.”
“Thank you.”
The door is locked when I get there. I decide to wait the several minutes it takes before the ornately carved panel swings open and a pair of model-thin, beautiful women about my age stumble out together. I recognize them from the salon, the much-younger companions of a couple of the middle-aged men playing cards with Daniel.
They giggle as they step past me in their body-hugging sheaths and designer shoes. I don’t miss the dismissive flick of their gazes as they take in my simple black A-line dress and kitten heels. I’d felt pretty when Daniel picked me up for dinner tonight. Now, I may as well be wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
“Excuse us,” one of the women says after a moment.
Her friend just giggles, brushing her fingertips under her nose and wiping away the traces of cocaine that dusted her nostrils when they emerged from the bathroom.
I step inside the powder room and lock the door behind me. Even this room is luxurious. Whorled-wood millwork and gleaming brass fixtures. Warm golden light softens the tension I see in my reflection in the large mirror.
I don’t know how long I linger there, letting the cold water run into the marble sink as I stare sightlessly into the glass and wonder what the hell I’m doing.
Not only tonight, but with my life.
I don’t belong here.
Not in this place. Not among any of these people.
And neither does Daniel.
I want to go home. Right now. If he doesn’t want to leave with me, then he’ll have to understand that I’ll be leaving without him.
I head back into the salon and find Daniel speaking privately with Gibson. His face is ashen, his posture hunched . . . defeated.
“Is everything all right?” I ask as I approach, even though it’s clear that nothing is even close to all right.
Beyond Daniel’s slumped shoulders, the poker game continues—minus him and a couple of other players who seem to have left the gathering.
My heart sinks. I don’t have to ask him if he won back the twenty-five thousand. Or the extra fifty he borrowed on credit to keep playing.
“Oh, my God.
