“We’re going to have to have a discussion about privacy, and crashing shows, and—” She looked up, her attention locked on his kilt.
“Why are you wearing that?”
Broch grinned.
Chapter Three
“Queens over nines.”
Tyler Bash smiled, revealing his cards. He’d been on a losing streak. The worst losing streak since he lost almost five thousand dollars to his college roommate a few years previously.
Five thousand didn’t seem like much now. He wished he was down five thousand. He’d done the quick math in his head after the last hand and between last week and now, he owed the house nearly eighty thousand dollars.
Just saying the number in his head had knocked the wind out of him.
But queens and nines will pull me from the brink.
This would be the hand that reversed his luck. After he’d won the cherry role of Ionic, the boy superhero, in Parasol Pictures comic book franchise movie, he swore he’d never be broke again. When he received his first check, he knew he’d never be broke again.
He’d never seen so many zeros.
He’d spend most of his first check on his new Hollywood Hills mansion. He’d paid off his college loans too, to prove to his mom he could be trusted with his own money.
Right.
Feeling flush with what was left, he’d gone a little crazy with his poker-betting. Unfortunately, that flush feeling never reproduced itself in his cards.
He needed this win.
Act like you’ve been there.
Nope. Can’t. Maybe it was the bourbon, or maybe he wasn’t that good of an actor, but he felt too giddy to hide his recently whitened teeth. He reached for the pot.
“Just a second there, new blood.”
Robert Williams, star of stage and screen, sat across from him, his cards still hidden, resting against his chest.
Tyler felt the blood drain from his cheeks.
No.
The old man unfurled a grin of his own. The tips of his gray mustache were tinged with yellow from cigarettes, but his teeth were as white and fake as his own.
Robert Williams looked like a cagey old lion about to steal dinner from the young cub.
No. No, no no...
Tyler felt bile rise in his throat. His arms remained outstretched, his hands flanking the pot.
Please no.
The old man laid down his cards.
“Kings over threes.”
There they were. Three kings lording over his Queens.
The other players, all of them movie stars in their own rights, erupted into jeers.
“That’s going to hurt,” said Fiona Duffy, pushing her own cards towards the center of the table. She’d been the one to introduce Tyler to the room. He’d said he liked to play poker and she’d told him about the celebrity game. He’d been so excited to play...how had things changed so quickly?
Tyler tried to move but his body wouldn’t listen. Robert had to push his hands aside, the big, gaudy ring on the old man’s right hand scraping against Tyler’s sweaty palms.
“I’ll take that.”
Robert scooped the chips from between Tyler’s hands and, with a wink, began stacking them.
“Sorry, kid.”
No. No, no, no.
It took a moment, but Tyler found the ability to move again. He tried to blow off his loss with a joke, but his mouth felt too dry—he coughed trying to speak. Leaning back, he dragged his frozen arms with him until he found a way to bend them at the elbows and put them in his lap.
Again, he did the math in his head.
One hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars.
That’s how much he owed the house.
I don’t have one hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars.
Technically, he’d been in debt before he even walked into the celebrity game, but the group knew the part he’d won. Comic book movie money was nothing to sneeze at. Fiona had cleared the way for him with the regulars.
I was so excited...
He glanced at Fiona now and she shrugged, her lips pressed tight, head dipping sideways-right towards her bobbing shoulder. How she’d managed to say sucks to be you—maybe next time, idiot with a gesture of her body he wasn’t sure, but he’d heard it as loud as if she’d screamed it in his face.
One hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars is nothing to these people.
Tyler’s attention roamed the table from the sitcom star to his left to the sports hero on his right, taking in every Hollywood icon in between.
What was I thinking?
He didn’t belong with these people—people he’d grown up watching on television.
Who do I think I am?
A brief flash of nerves chilled his skin as he realized the stars sitting at the table with him weren’t even the scariest things in the room.
His gaze rolled in the direction of the people sitting on the outskirts of the room. A big man with slicked-back black hair and spider’s web tattoos sat next to Dez, a petite woman with a hard expression. Next to them sat a tall, gaunt man with cheeks hollow as a corpse’s. He wore a black glove on his right hand. Tyler had no idea why.
The ghoul’s ice blue eyes stared back at him.
Tyler looked away.
He’d thought blue-eyed Skeletor had arrived with Fiona, but the way he stared—now he felt certain the ghoul had to be security for Alain, the Frenchman who owned the game.
There was one good thing about all three heavies sitting in the room with them.
They’re all in the same place.
Tyler tapped the edge of the table with his fingertips, trying to look as casual as possible.
“Deal me out of this one, I’m going to hit the little boy’s room.”
He flashed his most charming smile and caught Dez watching him.
Distract her.
“Can I get a vodka rocks when I get back?”
Sans smile, Dez nodded.
Smooth. That was a
