“As heavy as you want to hit me,” I hesitated before continuing, “Big stakes, big risk and big reward.”
“You might need to go out of state for that; will that be a problem and am I booking for one or two?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I thought you and GG were joined at the hip, is this a weekend getaway or is it solo?”
“Absolutely fucking solo and she doesn’t need to know about it.”
Jarryd left me hanging in silence before I rushed an explanation, “Look, life’s gotten a little complicated at work. My going away has nothing to do with GG, I just need something to take my mind off work.”
“So, if she asks can I tell her that?”
“She won’t ask.”
“If she doesn’t, it’ll be the first time. Look mate it’s not any of my business, but I’m just saying, she’s got it bad for you.”
“Not my problem.” First Darius and now Jarryd? Since when did my so call friends and frenemies decide to take an interest in my non-existent love life.
“It will be if she doesn’t want to come to my games because you make her feel uncomfortable.”
“It’s not up to me to make her feel good, bad, or indifferent. I’ve got some work stuff messing with my head at the moment it’s a simple and as complicated as you want to make it.”
Less than an hour later, I was heading straight to the airport. Jarryd had gotten me a seat at a table in Melbourne.
Exactly what I needed. A new city. New players and a new opportunity to see what life could possibly have in mind if I walked away from Sydney, Softli and GG.
Luckily, I had a credit card and last time I checked; I could pick up a new suit at Melbourne airport.
Fuck Sydney.
Flush
“Mr. Alexander, can I collect your luggage?”
“Mr. Alexander, can I have room service prepare a meal for your arrival?”
“Certainly, Mr. Alexander, we can have a selection of casual attire sent to your room.”
Jarryd’s friends knew how to treat a guest.
Firstly, a limousine was waiting for me at the airport. The driver hadn’t been fazed by my detour via the shops. Yes, I had rock-climbing clothes, but I needed something more appropriate for the high roller room.
Then the offers came thick and fast.
The casino staff went out of their way to treat me like a rockstar. My room was fully stocked with top shelf spirits and world class wines. A rack of clothes was waiting for my selection. Anything to keep me in the casino with nothing on my mind other than spending money. Cross that, losing money.
After demolishing the medium rare steak in truffle oil with a hint of garlic and basil and the side of thrice cooked potatoes and steamed asparagus, I showered, changed and got my game face ready.
One last look in the mirror and I gave myself a well-needed pep talk.
I’m Scott Alexander, the kick ass CFO from Australia’s kick ass tech darling.
I’m Scott Alexander and I’m about to take on the best of Melbourne and leave them in fucking tears.
“Scott Alexander, I’m here for the card games?”
I held myself like a champion, announcing my arrival to the concierge. Poker was as much about presence as presence of mind.
Except, this wasn’t a normal game, and this wasn’t Sydney.
Within seconds, I’d been patted down by a burly security guard and escorted up to the 27th floor.
The normal game day butterflies were upscaled to jumping crickets in my stomach. Everything screamed serious, but that’s what I’d asked for. That’s why Jarryd had to vouch for me and that’s why I’d already been asked to front a hefty deposit.
Even though I could probably make a reasonable living from cards, I wasn’t a professional.
I stayed in my zone. Sydney and private games.
Tonight, everything screamed serious.
I’d played in more games than I could count, but it felt strange not recognizing even one face. No friendly acknowledgement and no respect.
The only people who took any notice of my arrival were a dozen of what I assumed to be Polynesian ex-rugby players dressed head to toe in black. Whoever they were, I wasn’t about to mess with them. Rather than be intimidated, I tried to take at least a little bit of comfort in knowing that if security was tight, players were safe.
“Mr. Alexander!”
Just my luck, another good looking Mediterranean thirty-something year-old male greeted me with an open hand and smooth smile.
Fuck.
Did guys like Darius learn how to charm before they learned how to walk?
The dude was built. Could have been security with his broad shoulders and cut features, but he approached me as if we’d be comparing bank balances rather than cocks.
“Mr. Alexander. So very good to meet you.” He oozed old-world charm, greeting me as if his next breath depended on my satisfaction.
“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” I took his hand. Firm without alpha-asshole pressure. A man who knew he didn’t need to start off in a pissing competition.
“Basilio Calibri, my good friend Jarryd Bennett suggested I look out for you.”
“Jarryd looks after his friends.”
Personally, I was grateful to get my hand back with the same number of fingers. Even my self-destruct button wanted to go back into hiding. This scene was more intense than I expected.
Luckily, I’d stood down enough angry board members and scared shareholders to be intimidated for long.
“Mr. Calibri, it’s good to mee you. Thank you for inviting me at such short notice.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I understand you enjoy a game of cards.”
“I do and can’t wait to get started. So, tell me about the game that you run here.”
“What are you used to?”
“Texas Hold-em. Money is on the table at the beginning of the night and you play until you walk away.”
“That’s nice and clean, but sometimes my friends like to start small and add to their bankroll as the night goes on.” Basilio threw out the offer, testing my appetite for risk.
Jarryd knew I’d always avoided those sorts of games. Too easy to get caught up in the moment and lose more than my budget. Still the beginning of the night was the time to act with common sense, because a couple of Scotches later and with the thrill of the games, I might not be making the same decisions.
“If I’ve come to the wrong game, I’m sure you could recommend another place?”
“Not at all Mr. Alexander,” Basilio gripped my hand again. Yeah, he wasn’t going to let my wallet walk out the door without the opportunity to lighten it. “I like to make sure all of my customers get exactly what they need.”
Feeling more like trapped prey than honored guest, I followed my host past a large table of intense faces to a smaller table at the back of the room. Two security guards followed; close enough to prevent me from running, but giving me enough space not to call them out.
“I think you’ll find this to your taste.” Basilio’s mere presence at the table stopped conversation. “Gentleman and lady, this is Scott Alexander who comes to us from Sydney. His deposit his cleared and he is ready to play.”
Basilio’s eyes bore into mine. Challenging me to look away. Too bad I’d already played and won occasionally with Darius. Unwilling to accept defeat, Basilio forced a laugh before warning, “You are very welcome to any of my games, until you do something that makes you unwelcome. Do I make myself clear?”
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
Displaying manners never hurt. It didn’t mean I’d show mercy with my opponents.
Call me cautious or sensible, but I started the night by playing tight. I had time to sit back and observe the first few hands. Being the new guy in town, I wanted to get a feel for the pecking order at the table while making a mental note of the body language and banter between the other players. It seemed I was
the only newcomer, something that could work in my favor—but only if I played smart.
Not offering up an obvious target and patiently waiting for the right cards, my strategy worked. Once the first two players dropped off the table, my stack was relatively unchallenged.
“What was your name again?”
The blonde guy to my right who had the unfortunate habit of making the right call on the wrong cards offered his hand, “I’m Matt, Matt Hargraves.”
“Scott Alexander, good to meet you.”
“Play often?”
“Not as much as I’d like, what about you?” Not that I either cared or wanted to make conversation.
“Thought I could make a living playing professionally, but it’s harder to keep backing up night after night.”
Sitting next to each other, I hadn’t paid attention. But now, I could see his black eyes were from stress or lack of sleep, not the result of an unfortunate conversation with fists. Matt’s relative youth and tanned blonde looks should have been attracting the female groupies, but it was as if the women smelled failure. With three busty females clamoring for the attention of four players, I gratefully assumed they wanted to see how I played and tipped before becoming their target.
It would save us all time if they came out and asked. Then I could point them in the direction of the large table. I already had one woman in my life who was destroying my reason to stay sober.
“Where did you say you came from?”
Matt refused to shut the fuck up between hands. After being ignored as irrelevant by the rest of the players, I was his new toy.
“Chatty little character, aren’t you?”
I ignored him while we played out the next hand. Matt wasn’t having the luck of any of the cards tonight; this time backing himself into a hole with too much ego to walk away. I’d seen players like Matt come and go; they didn’t have the patience play with the big boys, and for someone young and wanting to play professionally, Matt was quickly losing some serious juice.
The guy needed to learn when to walk away and when to run.
Tonight, he needed to sprint, run, and lock away his wallet.
“I asked you a polite question!” Out of the blue, Matt slammed the table throwing me all the frustration better focused on his cards. “I asked you where the fuck you came from.”
Before Matt finished his outburst, two security guards magically appeared. One to each side. Only menacing if you were the guy who’d swiped his glass to the floor; standing instead of sitting, delaying the ability for the rest of us to play a civilized game.
While the rest of the table watched the scene playing out next to me, I watched the dealer and the other players. Who’d get flustered and who was calm enough to take advantage?
The soft scrape of a chair across the carpet signaled Matt had decided to retake his seat. “It’s all right fellas, I’m just getting to know my new friend here.”
Basilio joined our onlookers. Standing in my direct line of sight, he stood like a general surveying his troops. Feet shoulder width apart, arms clasped behind his back. He dismissed his security team with a blink and declined a credit request with another.
I took advantage of the rattled players, winning the hands with clear calls. Avoiding any emotion that could attract additional attention.
This was off the planet intense. The type of game I could play once or twice a year just to keep the blood flowing. Not enough to become addicted to the rush. One look at Matt reminded me of what I could easily become.
“Take a break,” Basilio instructed the dealer, before waving his hand, a silent invitation for me to walk with him.
“Is there a problem?” I tried to stay calm. My earlier mantra turned to shit. Who cared if I was the hotshot CFO of some company? Here, I was a nobody. A stranger in a strange city, surrounded by security guards and assholes.
“Mr. Hargraves is a regular customer at my table,” Basilio snorted. “The money he plays with is not necessarily his own.”
“Since I’m new in town, can you please explain what that means?”
“It means, sir, that Mr. Hargraves plays under an enormous pressure that can sometimes lead to unfortunate outbursts.”
“I didn’t take any offence.”
“Mr. Hargraves’ wife recently left him and moved to Sydney—it could be that when I said you come from that fair city; it triggered a nerve.”
“So, his wife leaves him, and he wants to blame a man that he’s never met before.”
“A man who plays with other people’s money is not necessarily of sound mind,” Basilio offered smoothly. “I am not making excuses for him but hope that you can be understanding and not judge all my games by one man.”
“Why do you allow him to keep playing?”
“Because it’s good business.”
If the earlier hands were hard-core, it seemed that every player stepped up a gear after the break. The calls were faster the banter gone. Within half an hour six players had become three and Matt Hargraves had been escorted from the room.
“Gentleman,” the dealer announced, nodding to Basilio who joined us. “At any time you want to leave with your stake, please feel free to do so.”
“Of course, you may wish to transfer your good fortune to my larger table and continue to play for some serious money,” Basilio added.
Talk about upselling. I had to admire the smooth way Basilio cultivated the player’s egos, making them believe greater riches were just around the corner. I wanted to grab the other players by the balls and remind them of the reasons they’d walked past the large table hours ago.
Insanity was thinking you could walk out of here with your bank balance and balls untouched. Sitting back, I watched Basilio play to the egos and pride. Hoping my game would continue. Hoping no one would fall for the guise—yet his remaining two opponents did just that.
“Would you like to join them, sir?” the dealer asked me after a nod from Basilio.
“Not tonight, but is there a game on again tomorrow night?”
“Of course, would you like us to hold your chips for you, sir?”
Another smooth transition from a one-night stand to a regular. Not a fucking chance. As much as I wanted to say, yes, and probably would be back tomorrow night, I didn’t want to feel obliged to come back to get my own money.
“If it’s all the same to you I may be called back to work at a moment’s notice. I would hate to have to come back and be a bother.”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll arrange the electronic transfer for you before you leave.”
By the end of the week, I was on first name terms with most of the small table players and had watched enough of the large table to know that it wasn’t for me.
Yes, I wanted to be good enough.
I probably had the depth of pockets to sustain a week or two.
But the more I watched, the more I learned.
The Matt Hargraves character kept turning up and even I had to admit the guy could play. Unfortunately, he didn’t know when to walk away and the fourth night losses would have wiped out the previous three nights of gains.
“Mr. Calibri would like a word with you.”
I held back a flinch until the burly hand wrapped around Matt’s shoulder instead of mine. We all pretended not to notice Matt disappear behind a door camouflaged amongst wood paneling.
GG: Winning is no fun without you.
GG: I’m not good at this dating or relationship thing. If we’re over, then can you just let me know? If you’re ghosting me, then there’s an emoji for that.
Melbourne had been fun, until it wasn’t.
I could only assume the sort of discussions Basilio’s security were having with Matt. The law of averages said that if I kept playing with fire, one day I’d get burnt.
I sighed. Men like Basilio wouldn’t just want their money back from someone like me. He’d use my position at Softli as leverage.
No.
My time in Melbourne was over.
/>
Sydney.
GG.
Maybe it was time to give us another go. After all, it hadn’t been her logo on the report on Mason’s desk.
GG
“Scott another no-show?” I asked Jarryd as the regular Thursday night game was about to start. My GG disguise on full display, while Jarryd once again looked like the perfect distraction. His dark brown hair a little longer than usual, and his black on black shirt and suit only serving to make him more attractive—if I’d been in the market for a new man.
I could only wish.
Scott, however, had made me monogamous without the side benefit of a relationship.
“He asked me to set him up with some friends.”
“You have other games in Sydney?”
“No, nothing like that,” Jarryd laughed, “He went rock-climbing last weekend, got injured and asked me to set something up for him. He’s on an adrenalin high looking for big stakes with big money.”
The foreboding premonition didn’t need confirmation to have my heart doing palpitations. The world was small and there were thousands of tables out there, just waiting for Scott. “Sounds fun, can I ask where you sent him?”
“Your old stomping ground, Melbourne, but don’t worry he’ll be back.”
No. Please no.
“One of Norman Hastings’ games?”
Let it be Norman. He’ll protect me. Scott will never know.
“He didn’t have anything going, so I set him up with someone different. You probably don’t know him, Basilio Calibri.”
No. No. No.
I needed to get away from Jarryd before my inside head voice became a scream loud enough to summon the dead. Or send me straight to my grave.
“I hope he had fun.” Shoulders straight, breathing regular. Jarryd could never know what he’d possibly set in train.
“I just hope he didn’t bite off more than he could chew, then again Scott has survived far worse than a game of cards.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to leave you any time soon.”
Jarryd accepted my hug before releasing me to the table.
“And that, my dear friends, is how it’s done!”
Reckless Gamble: a billionaire high stakes suspense romance (City Sinners Book 4) Page 16