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Carter
Ican barely believe it. It’s her. Ella from the bar. Our unforgettable one-night stand, here in person, in the Grand River.
Yesterday, three dealers had called in sick. Today, another two. Denton Mitchell’s handiwork, no doubt. The crooked real estate developer wants to buy Dominic’s casino, and he’s resorting to his typical dirty tricks to get Dominic to sell. I’d been in my office, talking to my friend about countermeasures, when my phone had beeped. It was Linda, one of the floor monitors.
“Carter, I’m sorry to bother you,” she’d said. “But I need an authorization for a player to join the back room. I’ve sent you her details.”
“Okay,” I’d responded, walking over to my laptop.
“Her name is Gabriella Alves,” Linda had continued. “She’s the PR person for Nicky Z. New York license, decent credit.”
“Can she play poker?” I’d asked absently as I pulled up Ms. Alves’ information on the screen.
The back room has the high-stakes tables. We don’t let people play there until we know they can handle the heat. When the blind is more than a thousand dollars, the losses can rack up alarmingly fast. Two years ago, a guy lost fifty grand one night at the New Sun, just down the road from us. He walked outside into the cool night, put a gun to his head, and blew his brains out. Ever since then, no one gets an auto-entry until they’re vetted.
“Yes,” Linda had replied. “She played on the lower tables. Did pretty well.”
I’d pulled up Gabriella Alves’ driver’s license details. Her photo had filled the screen, and I’d sucked in a breath.
Because it was her.
Ella.
It was one night. It was seven months ago. I should have forgotten her, but I haven’t been able to. My memories of Ella are as bright and vivid as they’d been that snowy winter evening. She’d been fiery. Passionate. She’d been open about her desires, and she’d played no games. She’d wanted both of us, and she hadn’t pretended otherwise.
But when we’d woken up in the morning, she was gone. No note. No contact information, and no way to find her again.
She should have been a passing fancy, but I haven’t been able to forget her.
And now she’s standing in my office, an expression of shock on her face. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her curves. Her hair is longer than I remember, the long, loose waves caressing her shoulders. Her lipstick is a bright, bold shade of red.
She looks like my every fantasy come to life.
After the week I’ve had, I don’t even know what to think. It’s like the universe kicks me in the balls, and then hands me a winning lottery ticket.
Dominic recovers his wits faster than I do. “Ella?”
“Dominic?” She sounds as dazed as I feel. “Carter? What are you doing here?”
“I work at the Grand River.”
“Wait, you’re the Head of Security?”
“I am.” My brain is still refusing to work. One and two-word answers is all I seem to be able to manage.
“And you?” She turns to Dominic, an eyebrow raised.
He grimaces. “I own it.”
Her eyes widen. “The casino? The whole thing?”
He nods.
“Oh wow,” she murmurs. “I should have let you buy all the drinks that night.”
Her remark breaks the tension. I laugh out loud. “Come on in,” I invite, gesturing to the couch. “Sit. Do you have time for a drink, or are you on a red-hot streak and want to get back downstairs?” A disconcerting thought strikes me. “You’re not with someone, are you? Linda said you were Nicky Z’s publicist, but that doesn’t mean—”
“I’m not with anyone.” She gives me a faint smile. “And I’d love a drink. Red wine, if you have it?”
