AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER ONE
Abby
When I was clinging to the bottom rungs of the social ladder in high school and college, I didn’t envision a future that would include playing poker with senators, titans of industry, and criminals.
Yet here I am…swimming in the deep end of the pool in all my card shark glory.
At least, that’s what I think is happening.
The high-end private club oozing with sophistication sure suggests it’s possible since it’s the sort of place where folks don’t breathe without a formal invitation. I study the glossy black doors through the tinted windows of the town car and still can’t believe they welcome me with open arms. “One more time,” I whisper to myself, fixing my posture as I step out of the car. “And maybe one more after that.”
I stride toward the entrance and tip my chin to the man guarding it. “Sammy, it’s a lovely evening.”
“It is indeed, Ms. Mercer.” He opens the door with a flourish. “Good luck tonight.”
“Thank you.” I sashay into the club like Cinderella despite the fact I have no interest in finding Prince Charming.
I’m hunting for something much more interesting…a pot of gold and a game where the stakes are so high they’d give the Eiffel Tower a run for its money.
More than half the patrons stare as I move into the room. Is my figure-hugging black dress, sky-high heels, and cascading blond curls grabbing their attention, or has my reputation finally preceded me?
Could be a bit of both, considering my winning streak shows no signs of slowing down, and my trusty double Spanx are working overtime to keep things in check.
Taking a moment to soak in the club’s opulence, I take a slow breath. Shiny marble floors, sparkling chandeliers, and men in suits so sharp they could slice a tomato. Chump change isn’t being exchanged here. No ma’am. This is the kind of room where deals are made, and fortunes change hands with the flip of a card.
“Ms. Mercer,” the maître d’ greets me with a stiff bow. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“How lovely,” I reply breezily, taking in the high-stakes games unfolding before me.
The tension in the room is palpable, making it feel like an electrical current is crackling through the air. The players at the tables are not relying on bluffs or empty posturing; they are playing for keeps.
“Shall I get you a drink?” the maître d’ asks as we stop before a bar featuring every libation known to man. The bottles gleam against a mirror framed in gold, and I momentarily wonder if anyone has ever dared to order a light beer in the well-appointed room.
“Thank you, but I’ll pass.
“Very well.” He nods, and I flash a tight smile as he leads me to a table at the far end of the room.
I take my seat and feel the other players’ eyes. They are sizing me up, wondering if my reputation is well-deserved or just empty hype. Accepting the stack of chips the floor manager delivers, I let my fingers dance lightly over them, enjoying the satisfying weight and texture.
“Deal me in.” I meet each player’s gaze in turn. As the cards are shuffled and dealt, I feel a familiar thrill course through me – part anticipation, part adrenaline.
This is my favorite place to be.
The first few hands pass in a blur as I find my rhythm. The other players are skilled, but their tells are obvious. A subtle shift in posture, the flicker of an eyelid that betrays uncertainty or overconfidence. It’s all there, and it’s up to me to catalog every one.
“Raise,” I say coolly, tossing a stack of chips into the pot. My opponent hesitates, sweat beading on his brow as he considers his options. Thirty seconds pass, and he folds faster than origami in a typhoon.
Just like I expected, he would.
I scoop up my winnings and then signal to the waiter for a glass of sparkling water.
“Looks like Lady Luck is on your side tonight, Ms. Mercer,” a smooth baritone voice says over my left shoulder. I glance up, meeting the piercing gaze of Senator Richard Carmichael – a high-ranking politician known for his love of high-stakes poker games and ruthless ambition. He sits on the opposite side of the table, and I try to remember what my friend said about poking bears with big appetites.
“Perhaps,” I reply, my tone light but guarded. “But I’ve always been more partial to skill than luck.”
A ghost of a smile flits across his lips, and I can tell he’s intrigued. He may know my reputation, but he doesn’t know my motivation, so no matter what assumptions he’s made, he will never be able to predict my next move.
A new hand is dealt, and I study my cards carefully, weighing my options. “Call,” I announce, matching the senator’s bet. He raises an eyebrow, the tension at the table ratchets up a notch, and I feel the weight of expectation bearing down on me.
