She pulled away. That was a bad comparison to make. She wasn’t going to end up in any man’s arms.
“It’s good, it’s good.” Todd grabbed his comb from his back pocket and ran it through his hair. “But I need to make some, ah, arrangements with my money guy.”
His money guy? Todd wasn’t doing as well as she’d thought lately if he had to scramble to come up with the hundred grand. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” he rushed. “But you know guys like this. They upped the stakes a little, made it clear this is a private game. They’re part of a rough crowd, Natalie. A man has to be able to handle himself.”
He really was nervous. “You’ll be great, doll,” she said, her tone low and soothing. “As long as you have me with you, there’s nothing to be worried about. Those guys are like brothers to me.”
For the first time since she’d forced their meeting, Todd looked at her with wariness. Gone was the greedy glint in his eyes. Nowhere to be seen were those initial throes of lust. He looked kind of like that little boy who was still working so hard to impress his mother.
Bam. There was her con guilt again. These jobs were always so much easier when her marks didn’t let those rare glimpses of humanity through.
So she did the only thing she could in a situation like this—closed her eyes and thought of Grandma Jean. Almost as much as she wished she’d been able to say good-bye to the old woman, Poppy wanted to know why she’d trusted a man like Todd with her money.
She had a few guesses as to her grandmother’s motivations, not the least of which was the promise of a quick payout. Like grandmother, like granddaughter. They were the type of people who always looked for a shortcut, always wanted to get more for less. Bargain shoppers with criminal intentions.
Not at all like Asprey. Of all the information thrown at her over the past few days, Poppy could process only one thing: he wasn’t really a thief. Those fleeting, criminal ties that bound the two of them existed only in her imagination.
The glitz and glamour of his high-brow life, the art museum in his name and the trips to Bali—that was his world. Not the art and jewelry thefts. Not the underworld poker. He righted the world’s wrongs, made up for Winston’s criminal activities, gave people their money back because it was the right thing to do.
He’s one of the good guys.
And Poppy, who in all this time was only out to get her own money back from Todd, was not.
“I can call them right now and cancel.” She looked at Todd, her guilt still in place but with a firm set to her jaw all the same. She’d already invested the time and energy and heartbreak. Once a thief, always a thief. “Don’t you worry, I can take care of this for you. Those boys won’t think any less of you for having a change of heart. I’ll make sure of it.”
As expected, Todd’s pride shot straight up his spine, and he loomed close. “I can take care of this myself,” he muttered. “I don’t need you getting in there and messing things up.”
“Sure thing,” she cooed. Whatever it was going to take. Less than twenty-four hours and she’d be done with this man for good. “Why don’t I go get myself freshened up for this evening and let you handle your business?”
“Yes. Good.” Todd had moved on and checked a text on his phone. He waved his hand in a negligent farewell. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She was grateful to leave. If she was going to spend the rest of the evening facing Asprey, feigning indifference and keeping her focus, she needed food, a nap and eighty thousand dollars.
In that order.
Graff moved Louis into the back room at Bouncing Booty, setting the chair up at the head of the poker table as though reenacting a scene out of the Godfather.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Asprey asked, shaking his head. His brother was really getting into the second leg of this plan. “You sleep with that chair next to your bed at night, and don’t think I didn’t notice when you sent it away for cleaning last month. You timed it exactly for your weekend trip so the chair wouldn’t be left alone with me. Yet you’ll slum it up enough to bring it to the poker game?”
“I thought it added a nice touch.”
“You’re obsessed.”
Graff ran his hand over the carved woodwork with its original stain worn but intact. “This chair has been in the Charles family for centuries.”
“I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m actually a part of the Charles family,” Asprey pointed out. “In fact, I’ve heard it mentioned once or twice that we might be brothers.”
“Ha-ha.” Graff’s tone lacked its usual bite. “I know you and Tiff think I’m ridiculous, but Louis is the only thing I have left of Dad’s. It’s one of the few items that Winston didn’t sell when he took over the company.”
Asprey was acutely aware of the chair’s successive lines of ownership. He had fond memories of their father sitting in the chair, pushed up to an equally ornate desk that had once belonged to an obscure nineteenth-century German philosopher. Even though the family business had shifted by then, as much about insuring jewelry and art as it was about appraising the items, Manchester Charles had held fast to the ideologies that founded the company. Beauty and preservation, true appreciation for the artistic capabilities of mankind.
There was even a picture of their grandfather in that chair floating around somewhere. Asprey remembered him grinning at the camera with three pairs of glasses pushed up on top of his head, holding an enormous champagne diamond up to one eye.
“I’m just surprised you’re willing to sacrifice Louis to this scheme, that’s all,” Asprey said, giving voice to none of the memories he was sure Graff shared in that moment. “Seeing as how it’s for Poppy’s benefit rather than ours.”
“It’s symbolic, Asp.” Graff avoided him, adjusting the chair one last time before stepping back to survey the scene. “Leave it alone.”
He didn’t, of course. Asprey launched himself into the chair, dangling his legs over one of the arms. “Poppy’s starting to grow on you, huh? You’re such a softie, Graff, always happy to help a lady in distress.”
Graff smacked Asprey on the back of the head and hefted him out of the chair. “I don’t like this Todd guy, that’s all. We’ll take care of him tonight.”
Asprey laughed. “You make it sound like we’re going to force him to sleep with the fishes.”
Graff examined a seam in the chair with intense interest.
“Graff?” Asprey asked, inserting himself into his brother’s line of vision. A sudden empty buzzing filled his head. When Graff got all quiet and vigilante, Asprey’s life had a way of getting turned upside down. “What do you mean, take care of him? We have a plan all worked out. Deal the cards. Cheat. Look intimidating. Repeat as needed.”
“Don’t worry about it, Asp. I’ve got it taken care of.”
Don’t worry. Like all it took for Asprey to slap on a smile and move forward was a cursory command. He gripped his brother’s arm, forcing him to look up. “What did you do?”
“I had Tiff look a little bit more into Todd’s financial records, that’s all,” Graff said. “I wanted to make sure Poppy was telling us the truth about him scamming all those people.”
“And?”
Graff’s lips thinned in a tight grimace. “And she was.”
Instinct warned him that the dark glimmer in Graff’s eye was incentive enough to pull the plug on the entire evening’s plan, but the familiar knock on the door sounded at that moment. Asprey had no choice but to shake himself off, loosening his limbs and falling into his role as Rufio.
“And don’t do anything stupid,” Graff said, almost cheerful as Asprey pulled open the door to reveal Poppy and Todd, arm in arm. This time, Todd had dressed to rival them all in a dark suit layered over a red silk shirt, once again in sunglasses designed to shade his eyes.
But it would have been ridiculous to pretend that it was Todd who caught the eye first—or that he even existed in a world that Poppy shared. She wore
the barest scraps of white fabric with strategic cutaway parts, not so much a dress as a shrine to her sexual energy. Hips, waist, shoulders—her flashes of skin were blinding, God playing tricks with mirrors and light. Asprey forced himself to appear unmoved and greet Poppy with the same Euro-kiss from before, but it was difficult, not only because she looked incredible but because he felt an overwhelming urge to protect her from whatever crap Graff had planned.
Then he remembered. Poppy didn’t want protecting. She didn’t need protecting. She’d made it very clear what kind of a role he was allowed to play in her life. In her eyes, he was just a pretty toy.
“Be careful,” she whispered, her words barely more than a breath against his cheek. “He’s packing.”
Asprey pulled away, smiling and ebullient on the outside, his stomach like molten rock on the inside. This had better be part of Graff’s master plan or they were all in trouble.
“It’s wonderful to see you again so soon,” he said and meant it. He turned to Todd, all feelings turned off. “And you, of course.”
Todd flipped off his sunglasses and stuffed them in his pocket, where a red silk handkerchief that matched his tie rested. He dropped a briefcase fairly bulging with the promise of money at his feet and shook Asprey’s hand. The appendage was cold and clammy. He’s nervous. “Always a pleasure.”
“I hope the higher stakes aren’t a problem,” Graff said, pushing himself forward and flashing his teeth. “I fear Rufio doesn’t take losing well, and he’s fairly keen on recouping his losses.”
Todd cast a wary glance Asprey’s way, and he remembered just in time to straighten and look intimidating. Mustering those feelings was difficult when all he really wanted to do was to grab Poppy by the hand, pull her out the door and never look back.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Todd replied. “Although I will say your request was highly unorthodox—at least in my experience with this sort of thing.”
Graff flashed his teeth again. “If my game is too much for you, you are welcome to go. We hold no man against his will.”
Asprey turned to look at Poppy. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, just enough to signal that she was as clueless as him as to what kind of requests and conversations had passed between the two men.
“I think we could all use a drink.” Asprey strove to stay neutral as the men settled around the card table. “Natalie—will you oblige us?”
“None for me, thanks,” Todd said, accepting the pile of chips Graff pushed across the table. “Too much smoke and liquor make it hard to concentrate.”
Asprey made a quick, furtive motion to his hip in what he hoped was a readable gesture that Todd had taken a few security measures this time around, but it was hard to tell if Graff saw. His brother was tense and taut, power practically thrumming around him.
“I begin to like our guest.” Graff dealt the cards with a deft and sure hand. “He understands that when men meet to play cards, they aren’t just matching skills—they match wits. Dealer takes two. Rufio?”
“Um…three,” Asprey blustered. Graff’s eyes glittered as he tossed the cards down. Damn. He’d somehow missed the signal to only take one.
The situation coursed downhill from there.
It didn’t take long for Graff to notice Asprey’s inattention, and he began dealing him mostly number cards and failing to bother with cues at all. Nothing Asprey could have done would have allowed him to stay in the game for long, and his chips continued to dwindle until he had no choice but to go all-in on a pair of jacks.
He lost, of course, to Todd, whose own pile of chips grew steadily in front of him, far surpassing the original dollar amount they’d agreed upon—they were now talking hundreds of thousands of dollars, not tens. Something was off.
“What is Graff doing?” Poppy hissed when Asprey took a seat next to her, their backs against the wall, their eyes never straying from Todd’s hands. “At this rate, he’s going to let Todd walk away a very rich man.”
“I don’t know,” Asprey returned, watching his brother for any clues. Always a close, unreadable man, Graff was a virtual stone wall now—and that scared him. Since Asprey was out of the game, they couldn’t rely on whipsawing to trap Todd between the two of them, making the opportunities to rig the outcome that much scarcer.
“We can’t afford to let Todd walk away again.” Poppy played with the hem of her dress nervously. “He’s already losing interest in me—I doubt I can wrap him around my finger anymore. I don’t like where Graff is going with this. I don’t like not knowing what comes next.”
“We can trust him,” Asprey assured her, though he failed to convince himself. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“He better.”
“I begin to see your strategy, my friend,” Graff murmured after Todd took a spectacularly dazzling win with a full house of aces over queens. “I commend you on your gameplay.”
Todd took out his handkerchief and wiped along his brow, which beaded with the sweat of exertion. “Thank you. I was fortunate to pull the ace of spades at the last minute.”
“Yes,” Graff replied, smiling widely. “You were.”
Asprey was missing something. He had to be.
Neither he nor Poppy moved much as they continued watching the two men play, and Asprey had lost track of the time when he felt warm fingers slip into his. His heart picked up at the sudden contact, but he didn’t dare look over at Poppy for fear he’d do something to ruin the whole thing. He squeezed.
“Oh no.” Poppy dropped his hand. “I know what Graff is doing.”
Asprey watched as Todd took another big win, stacking his chips slowly and with a furrow in the middle of his brow. For the first time, he looked his age. For the first time, he looked scared.
“Stop him, Asprey. Stop your brother.”
“I can’t.” It was one of the many things that fell outside Asprey’s area of expertise. If it were possible to make Graff focus on anything outside of his own obsessions, the person responsible for such a thing had yet to make an appearance. Most of what Asprey did anymore was damage control. “Let him finish. He’ll turn the game around.”
“He won’t.” Poppy’s voice rose, and she had to clamp her lips shut to stop from making a scene. “He has no intention of making Todd lose,” she added with a hiss.
Poppy’s prediction came to fruition much sooner than either of them anticipated. With a crash, Graff stood and knocked Louis to the ground—a move that meant a lot more to Asprey than it did to Poppy. He loomed over the head of the table, intimidating even to Asprey as he placed either hand on the surface and leaned down, carefully and with infinite control.
“Show me your hand,” Graff growled.
“Ex…excuse me?” Todd also rose to his feet, but clumsily, his face growing red.
“Show me your hand!” Graff pounded the table with his fist. Chips flew and clattered to the ground, a few rolling until they reached Asprey’s feet.
Without thinking, he rose and placed a restraining hand on Poppy’s arm. None of his thoughts were coherent or even recognizable beyond the overwhelming urge to keep her from getting hurt.
Poppy took one look at Asprey’s arm and stilled. They both knew she could throw him off, that she could aim one of those long, perfect ninja legs at his head and be freed to go wherever she wanted. But she remained seated.
“I want to see your cards,” Graff repeated. He reached across the table and grabbed Todd by the tie, pulling him closer. “And I want to see up your sleeves.”
The insult hit home. Todd turned an alarming shade of red, probably unable to breathe because Graff pulled his tie so tight. Understanding hit Asprey at the same time.
Graff isn’t just going to win the hundred grand from Todd. He’s setting him up so he can walk away with the entire briefcase.
“Are you calling me a cheat?” Todd managed, his words croaked and hoarse.
Graff pulled tighter. “It’s been bothering me for days—how you managed to
win so much in a single night’s game. I even sat up a few evenings, replaying the hands, watching you with my mind’s eye. It’s very detailed, that eye.”
Todd regained some of his breath then, and if Asprey hadn’t seen the slight motion of the man’s hand to his hip, he might have called it heroic. “I don’t take being called a cheat very lightly.”
“And I don’t take cheating very lightly. How many kings are in your hand?”
“That’s not the kind of game I play,” Todd spat out.
Todd and Graff made a kind of stilled portrait as they sized each other up, neither one willing to back down. Graff finally turned to acknowledge Asprey standing there. He was alert and ready and still holding Poppy from tackling the lot of them.
“Oh, I know exactly what kind of game you play.” That was Graff’s voice. His real voice—his hurt voice. “I’ll start. I have two kings. Hearts and diamonds.”
Todd made a strange choking sound.
“Rufio? Please have the courtesy of flipping our guest’s cards.” His voice rumbled a warning. “Now, Rufio.”
Asprey flipped the cards one by one, trying not to be dramatic but finding it difficult to be anything else in that moment. The cards hit the felt in a slow, almost otherworldly succession—three kings and a pair of deuces.
“No!” Todd cried, the syllable drawn out like he was shouting at a horror movie whose denouement was already written across the floors in fake blood.
“You dare to cheat Drago?” Graff roared.
The gun came out. Asprey hurtled forward to get to it in time, but he was knocked off his feet by Poppy, who had sprung into action the moment Todd’s hand moved for his hip. Instead of moving toward Todd, as Asprey expected, she moved in front of Graff, her hands raised in supplication.
“That’s enough. Both of you stop.”
The twin clicks of two guns cocking filled the air, both of them pointed right at Poppy. Graff’s gun was one Asprey had never seen before, a high-tech Glock-22 that he’d pulled from a shoulder holster. Todd’s was a wood-handled revolver, which looked more like a showpiece than anything the least bit functional.
Confidence Tricks Page 23