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Another player was the last thing Aleksander wanted, but when he caught the look in Kozlov’s gaze he wondered whether it might present a distraction for the Russian.
‘Our deal would not change?’ he asked.
‘The winner retains the loser’s membership,’ Kozlov confirmed, his gaze flicking between Aleksander, the concierge and the third player.
‘And the new player?’ he demanded, unwilling to break eye contact with the Russian.
‘Plays only what’s on the table,’ Kozlov replied, meaning they wouldn’t have to offer an equal stake to the agreement regarding the membership. After a quick calculation Aleksander agreed. It wasn’t as if this new player would pose any kind of threat, he was confident in his skills.
The thought burned to dust when he saw the player take their seat. He snapped his jaw shut before an expletive could escape and betray him. With a buy-in of five hundred thousand he couldn’t fathom how Henna had made it to the private table.
CHAPTER NINE
SHEWASBLAMINGher audacity on the dress.Andthat she only had a short time left in Aleksander’s employ.Andthe fact that she hated the idea of him confronting Kozlov alone. He’d explained enough about the man for her to not want Aleksander anywhere near him and she hadn’t liked the look of the bodyguards the Russian had placed either side of the entrance to the private tables. It was unexplainable and, probably for Aleksander, inexcusable, but Henna simply knew that she had to be in here.
‘Kozlov,’ the Russian said by way of introduction.
‘Olin,’ she replied in kind. The oligarch narrowed his eyes and she could have sworn she felt Aleksander still dangerously, as if he were watching every single move.
‘As in Technologies?’ Kozlov asked.
Henna inclined her head in acknowledgement, even though Olin Tech was no longer owned by her family.
‘I met your father once. He was...ferociously intelligent.’
‘He was,’ she said, refusing to let her dislike for the Russian colour her reply. Even had Aleksander not told her about the man, he made her skin crawl, though she couldn’t have said why. While Kozlov’s attention was on her, Aleksander’s fury was clear in his eyes, but the moment the Russian returned his gaze to the table it was masked.
‘Your Highness,’ she addressed him.
‘You two know each other?’ the heavily accented question split the table.
‘Everyone knows the King of Svardia,’ she dismissed easily. She was aware that Aleksander thought her in need of protection, but she’d meant what she said back in Öström:sheknew bullies. She also knew cards. At first when she’d been very young, her father had taught her how to count quickly, with a simple game. He would turn over a series of cards and she would have to add them up. Then he taught her games like whist, and rummy, and vingt-et-un, and when he’d been stuck in the hospital they would play poker. It had been her father’s favourite and had quickly become hers.
‘The ante is ten thousand,’ Aleksander warned, and she inclined her head, realising that he had no idea of her financial situation. It might have seemed strange to some that Henna would continue to work whilst she had a not so small fortune in her bank account. Her father had been a billionaire in his own right and while he’d married Marcella and given her the estate and a monthly income upon his death, Henna had received the larger part of his considerable wealth.
Henna placed her chips on the table, realising that she enjoyed surprising Aleksander. He, who seemed to know all and see all. It made her proud—as if she’d accomplished something that very few people did.
The dealer looked to each of them and started to deal. The first few hands were played in silence, each of the players getting used to the new dynamic. Henna surfed the rise and fall in her adrenaline levels and the mental agility required to mask her responses from two intelligent and very different opponents, while looking for tells that would betray their cards. Occasionally the statuesque blonde would appear at Kozlov’s side, pout and require some money before she disappeared, but for the most part the focus was on the hands.
She’d just folded a mediocre hand when Kozlov said, ‘I don’t think you have played here before, Miss Olin. I’m sure that I would have recognised you.’
She locked her gaze with the Russian’s, rather than meet Aleksander’s piercing glare.
‘It has been some time since I played,’ she admitted, while feigning interest in a possible pair.
‘Well, I have had the pleasure of playing the King of Svardia quite recently, and I must admit he won a considerable stake from me. I have not forgiven him.’
‘If you lost your hand, Mr Kozlov, the fault lies not with him.’
‘My intent is simply to warn you that he often has another agenda,’ replied the Russian, his gaze boring into hers. ‘He’s always thinking two steps ahead.’
Henna willed everything in her not to tense, the way her stomach had. She couldn’t give the game away. But there was something in his warning, something that she felt she should not so easily disregard.
‘Stop pontificating, Kozlov, and play your hand,’ Aleksander growled, glaring at Kozlov.
Kozlov threw another ten thousand into the pot without taking his eyes from Henna. ‘He has no patience,’ he mocked.
That Kozlov was taunting Aleksander was unsurprising to Henna. That he was using her was either spite or he somehow knew that Henna worked for the royal family. The bet was to her and she chose to raise, drawing a glimmer of attention from both men, before the dealer revealed the turn.
