The VIP Doubles Down (Wager of Hearts Book 3)

by Nancy Herkness

  ALSO BY NANCY HERKNESS

  Wager of Hearts Series

  The CEO Buys In

  The All-Star Antes Up

  The Irishman’s Christmas Gamble (novella)

  Whisper Horse Novels

  Take Me Home

  Country Roads

  The Place I Belong

  A Down-Home Country Christmas (novella)

  Stand-Alone Novels

  A Bridge to Love

  Shower of Stars

  Music of the Night

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright 2017 Nancy Herkness

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477824030

  ISBN-10: 1477824030

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  To my treasured critique group: Miriam Allenson, Lisa Verge Higgins, and Jennifer Wilck, all wonderful writers, terrific critical readers, and great friends. You understand Gavin so well.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT NANCY HERKNESS

  Chapter 1

  Gavin Miller walked into the paneled bar of the ultra-exclusive Bellwether Club, rolling his neck in a vain attempt to ease the jabbing muscle spasms. Spasms that came from staring at a computer screen for hours at a time without typing a single word of the novel that was now eight months overdue. He hoped a stiff drink would offer some relief.

  His friend Luke Archer had persuaded him to venture out on a sleety late February evening. Luke was the New York Empire’s Super Bowl–winning machine of a quarterback. Former quarterback, as of a few days ago. Which was why Gavin was suspicious of the invitation, since he would expect Luke to be home celebrating his retirement with his new wife.

  “What the . . . ?” he snapped as he spotted Luke sitting with Nathan Trainor, the CEO of Trainor Electronics. Nathan was also a friend, as well as the third participant in a drunken wager they’d made five months before. A wager on love.

  Luke was dressed casually in khaki trousers and a blue-and-white-striped shirt, but the CEO was wearing a navy suit, as though he’d come directly from a business meeting. The fact that Luke had brought reinforcements increased Gavin’s wariness. Stalking over to the brass-topped table, he scowled at the two men. “I didn’t know we were having a convention.”

  “Sit down, Miller,” Nathan said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he waved his cut-glass tumbler toward an empty leather chair. “And stop being so charming. We’re just three friends having a drink together.”

  Gavin slouched into the chair, shifting as pain ripped through his neck and shoulders. He forced himself not to wince.

  The CEO nudged a glass of amber-colored liquid toward Gavin. “Bourbon. Maybe it will mellow you.”

  Gavin seized the glass and took a gulp, praying the liquor would dull the pain. “Mellow is not a word found in any of our vocabularies.”

  The Bellwether Club accepted only those who had made their ten-figure fortunes for themselves with no help from family trust funds. So its membership was not a group that was known for kicking back and relaxing.

  Nathan took a sip of what Gavin assumed was single-malt scotch, his usual drink. “Speak for yourself.” A smile played around the CEO’s lips, and Gavin knew the man was thinking of his fiancée, Chloe. The wedding was scheduled for October at Camp Lejeune, in honor of Nathan’s Marine father. Gavin was a groomsman, much to his public dismay and secret enjoyment.

  He lifted his glass toward the quarterback, careful not to move too quickly. “Congratulations, Archer. You went out in a blaze of glory by retiring after your fifth Super Bowl victory. I salute you for knowing how to make an exit. I swear several of those sports reporters were wiping away tears because their golden boy will no longer be around to give ratings-boosting interviews.”

  “I appreciate the good wishes, Miller.” The ex-quarterback’s Texas twang held the edge of sarcasm Gavin took such pleasure in provoking, since Luke’s usual persona was that of a laconic, unflappable jock.

  “Are we gathered here to celebrate the end of your football career?” Gavin needled.

  “You can really turn an innocuous phrase into something awful,” Luke said.

  “That’s what makes me a great writer.” Trading insults with Luke was easing Gavin’s tension.

  “When do you take the Series 7 exam?” Nathan asked.

  “Series 7, Series 6, Series 66.” Luke listed an impressive battery of tests required to qualify as an investment adviser. “I start the process in two months. Miranda’s helping me study.” As he spoke his wife’s name, Luke’s eyes warmed in a way that made Gavin envious.

  “And you intend to ace them all.” Gavin started to shake his head but thought better of it. “Every brokerage firm in the country is clamoring to hire you without a single test to your name, but you have to pile on the qualifications from the get-go. Take a break. Stop competing for a day or two.”

  Luke lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “If I’m going to tell people what to do with their money, I want to make sure my advice is sound.”

  His insistence on all the tests was ironic, considering that Luke had made most of his fortune not by playing football but by funding a start-up that had hit big.

  “Always the quarterback, aren’t you, boyo?” Gavin said. “Calling the plays.”

  Luke flashed a grin that brought out his famous dimple. “I’ve been doing it since I was eight years old. Hard to break that kind of habit.”

  “Like standing at attention when your father walks in the room,” Nathan agreed. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

  Gavin scowled at his glass. Whenever his father had walked into a room, he’d hidden whatever book he was reading. Otherwise, his father would give him a list of chores that needed doing, and they were usually the dirtiest ones.

  Now his father was gone.

  “Hey, Miller.” Luke nudged Gavin’s polished black loafer with the toe of his cowboy boot. “Where’s your mind wandering?”

  “I was just considering whether we should thank or berate our fathers for making us what we are.”

  “We’re getting into deep waters now,” Nathan said. “Freudian and Oedipal.”


  “Oedipus was all about his mother,” Luke interjected.

  “Yet again the jock surprises us with his intellect,” Gavin snarked.

  Luke leveled a bland stare at him. “I had to take three gut courses a semester to play college ball. When I got bored, I listened to the professor.”

  Gavin snorted. Luke Archer was famous for memorizing his team’s playbook. He had a mind like a steel trap, which was why Gavin had no doubt he would earn the highest possible score on every financial test.

  “I’m fortunate,” Nathan said. “I’ve been able to make my peace with my father, thanks to Chloe. But you never got the chance, Miller. That’s a damn shame.”

  Gavin’s father had died suddenly, struck down by a massive heart attack as he carried a bag of horse feed out of the stockroom of the family store. Gavin had met Nathan and Luke for the first time in this very bar right after Gavin returned from the funeral. They’d gotten drunk together and made the ridiculous wager. A wager two of them had won well before the one-year deadline they’d set. Gavin was the only one whose stakes were still at risk.

  “I’m not sure there was any peace to be made with my father.” Gavin’s mother had bolted when he was a child, unable to bear the isolation of the rural Illinois town and the joylessness of her older husband. He remembered her turning on the radio and dancing around the living room, her brightly printed cotton skirt swirling around her bare calves while the heart-shaped locket at her throat threw out glints of light. Every couple of songs, she would try to tug his father to his feet to join her. But his dour father just shook his head and sat in his lounge chair, pretending to watch television. Gavin wasn’t fooled, though. His father’s eyes followed his mother’s graceful, swaying figure through every dip and turn.

  When she abandoned her small family, she’d left the jeweled locket on Gavin’s dresser with a tiny strip of paper folded into it that read, Love you, lightning bug. Always have, always will. XO, Mommy. He’d never heard another word from her.

  Luke cleared his throat, yanking Gavin back to the present. “We know you’re still having a problem with writer’s block.”

  He jerked, and his back muscles protested with a jab of torment. “Has my agent been talking to you?” Gavin injected a warning note.

  “Only about writing my autobiography now that I’m retired.” Luke’s tone was a mix of amusement and exasperation.

  “You told us yourself,” Nathan pointed out.

  “Because there’s no point in keeping it secret when all my readers know the publication date has been pushed back yet again.” Gavin took another swig of bourbon, trying to wash away the bitter taste of failure.

  “So we want to take some pressure off you,” Luke said. “We want to cancel the bet.”

  A boil of anger flushed sweat out on Gavin’s forehead. They thought he was so pathetic that he would back out of a wager of honor made between gentlemen. The edge in his voice was razor sharp as he said, “I don’t renege on my bets.”

  “We’re not suggesting you renege,” Nathan said. “We’re withdrawing from the wager.”

  “You can’t withdraw. You’ve won, both of you.” Gavin could feel the rage tightening his already rigid shoulders. “Frankie has confirmed that you found women who genuinely love you, although God knows why.”

  “It was a ridiculous bet,” Nathan said. “We’d had too much to drink.”

  “And we were in dark places,” Luke added. “A bad combination.”

  “Don’t insult me,” Gavin said. “I proposed the bet.”

  “No, I did,” Luke said. “You challenged us to find a woman who loved us for ourselves, not our money. I forced the stakes on you, both the secret ones and the charitable donation. And set the one-year time limit.”

  “You’re really pissing me off, Archer,” Gavin said. “I am capable of finding the right woman and putting an engagement ring on her finger before this October. Writer’s block doesn’t interfere with that.”

  “Simmer down,” Nathan said. “Neither of us knew what you’d just been through or we never would have agreed to the bet.”

  Somewhere in the rational part of his brain, Gavin acknowledged that was probably true, but dark clouds of temper were overwhelming his better judgment. “You’d just found out that a woman you loved had lied from the moment you met her, Trainor,” he pointed out before leveling his gaze on Luke. “And your best friend had just retired from football, leaving you staring at your future retirement with profound depression. My father’s death was no more serious.”

  “We’re your friends, man, so we know it was more than that,” Luke said, shifting in his chair.

  “Really?” Gavin gave the two men a cold smile. “Tell me what you think you know.”

  “Your ex-fiancée showed up at the funeral,” Nathan said. “To use you for her career.”

  “And your stepmother wouldn’t let you sit with the family,” Luke added. “That’s heavy stuff on top of losing your dad.”

  All the anguish Gavin had crammed firmly into the far recesses of his memory flooded out, sending a burn of black ice through his veins. “My friendship with you two was an unfortunate mistake,” he said, before polishing off the last of his drink.

  “Oh, stuff it, Miller.” Luke’s pale blue eyes sparked with irritation. “Friends cut each other slack when they need it.”

  Gavin didn’t want slack. He wanted something to clear away the gray fog that seemed to hang over the world around him, muting sound and color and feeling. Strangling his ability to write. Truthfully, he welcomed the burst of anger his friends’ offer had ignited. “No favors,” he said. “In fact, I’m going to double the amount I have to donate to charity if I lose the bet.”

  Nathan shook his head. “I won’t agree to that. Archer set that number high to make sure we took the wager seriously. None of us were thinking straight that night.”

  “Donal,” Gavin called over to the bartender, “I need your boss for a little business transaction. And a pen and paper.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Luke said. “We didn’t record the donation amount with Frankie the first time. Only our personal stakes. She doesn’t need to be involved.”

  “I want to make it official,” Gavin said, “so you won’t be tempted to cut me some slack later on.” He put heavy emphasis on the words Luke had used. He knew he was being obnoxious, but he couldn’t tolerate pity, even from his closest friends.

  Nathan and Luke exchanged a look that he couldn’t quite read, and he didn’t like the hidden communication. He poured another drink, gingerly nodding his thanks as the bartender placed a couple of sheets of heavy vellum and a Montblanc pen on the table.

  “Cheers,” Gavin said, knocking back half the bourbon in one gulp.

  Luke blew out a breath of exasperation. “Look, Gavin, you helped me out by convincing Miranda not to give up on me. I’m trying to return the favor.”

  Recollections of that day at Miranda’s family farm breathed some remembered contentment into Gavin. Luke had rounded up a few football players to help out with stacking hay bales. Gavin had tagged along, partly out of curiosity as to why the superstar quarterback was dragging them all up to Nowhere, New York, but mostly because he couldn’t bear to stare at his blank computer screen another day. Luke had quickly melded them into a team, and Gavin had found pleasure in the physical labor and the easy camaraderie. Of course, that was before every muscle in his back decided to clench itself into a throbbing fist.

  He had also observed the vibrating tension between Luke and Miranda. So he’d offered Miranda a little pep talk, just enough to persuade her to share her true feelings with the quarterback. When Luke threw them back in her face, Gavin had told Luke what an idiot he was.

  “I hope you never give me reason to regret my intervention with Miranda,” Gavin said.

  Luke’s icy gaze dropped to glacial temperature. Gavin held up his hand in silent apology.

  The big mahogany bar door swung open, and the club’s founder, Fran
kie Hogan, strode in, clad in one of her signature tailored pantsuits. This one was dark gray, which made her smooth silver hair glint brightly in contrast. “It’s déjà vu all over again,” she said as she walked up to their table.

  The three men stood, their height dwarfing the Irishwoman physically but not in spirit. Gavin admired Frankie for thumbing her nose at all the exclusive clubs that had rejected her and her new money. She’d founded the Bellwether Club, a place of stratospheric exclusivity that had nothing to do with your birth, only your success. Of course, now membership in Frankie’s club had become highly sought after.

  “You’re looking lovely this evening,” Gavin said, ignoring the shriek of his shoulders as he held a chair for her.

  He was surprised when a slight blush added to the glow in her face. “Fresh air and exercise,” she said, her voice holding both the rasp of whiskey and the lilt of Ireland. “They cure whatever ails you.” Her gaze fell on the paper and pen, and she lifted an eyebrow at them. “Am I to be witness to another wager, gentlemen?”

  “An amendment to the original wager,” Gavin said. “You hold the sealed envelopes with the stakes that are of personal significance to us. However, we also had an extra side bet that wasn’t recorded, a purely financial donation to charity. I’m sweetening the pot by doubling the amount I’m betting.”

  He picked up the pen and wrote twice the amount Luke had originally proposed before signing his name with a flourish.

  Frankie gave a low, musical whistle. “That’s a hell of a lot of money, even for one of my members.”

  Before Gavin could hand the paper to her, Luke grabbed it and ripped it in half.

  Nathan nodded his approval, saying, “An amendment requires the agreement of all parties to the contract. Archer and I do not accept Miller’s addition.”

  “I see.” Frankie crossed her arms and turned to Gavin. “We seem to have a difference of opinion.”

  He should have been furious, but the sense that even here he had failed swamped any anger. He shrugged. “No one can stop me from making the donation in the event that I lose the bet.”

  Luke reached over to grip Gavin’s shoulder with one of his big, powerful hands, making Gavin wince. “You’re not going to lose.”