by Mariah Dietz
“I didn’t realize the hotels have been open since nineteen-thirty.”
His chin tilts with surprise, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. It sounds like I Googled him again.
“I read about the Banks Resort and Luxury Hotels while we were in New Orleans. There was a book in the living room.”
He smiles, the usual glint of aversion missing. “My great grandad founded the company. He had no money, but he had a small farm, and so he paid men by giving their families food so they could build the first hotel, which was made exclusively for women and children as a shelter for the first decade. People could stay if they helped each other—watched the children, taught them to read, write, and cook.”
“That’s amazing.”
He nods. “It was important to him to give back because he’d grown up as an orphan, and he wanted somewhere for them to stay that was safe. That site is still an orphanage, but my great granddad was so impressed with his crew that he hired them to build a second location and turned it into a hotel. He'd planned on selling it, and splitting the profits with his men and letting someone else run the hotel because he hadn't the first clue, but then people started staying there, and he began turning a profit. One of the guys who’d helped build the two locations suggested he keep it to employ more people, and he did, writing the dozen men and their families into the ownership with him.”
“Do they still own it?”
Tyler shakes his head. “No, by the time he opened a second hotel, he was drowning in debt, and the others all jumped ship, assuming he’d sink.”
“Wow.”
He nods. “He gambled everything and nearly lost it all, but he made it.”
“That’s quite the history.”
“It’s a part of our family—a big part. I grew up in the hotels, and for a while, I thought maybe I wanted to do my own thing—be my own person—but in reality, the legacy of these hotels is what I want to continue. I want to be able to continue giving back and finding new ways our foundation can help families and children all around the world.”
And just like that, Tyler Banks confirms what I’ve known all along and have worked to avoid: that aside from his broody and rough exterior, he’s good in a way few are—all the way down to his soul.
16
Tyler
We’ve walked the full length of the Strip on one side, stopping in each casino along the way. We’ve played slots, watched the little free shows, and have posed in front of far too many landmarks by the time my patience thins beyond the point of ignoring it.
Chloe has been mostly quiet, making a point to walk ahead or behind me like she has for the past two years, but today something is different. There’s a change in her, a lack of enthusiasm and humor and vibrancy that has me feeling restless.
“You guys want to go explore, and we’ll meet up with you?” I extend the offer to Cooper, uncertain what his reaction will be.
“Are you sure? You won’t ditch Chloe, right? I mean, don’t tell her this, but I don’t want her wandering around alone.” He eyes another guy who openly checks her out.
“Yeah, no. I figured you and Vanessa might want some time to hang out. I can take Chloe to play poker with me.”
“You’re sure?” He doesn’t voice it, but I can see the hesitancy in his gaze, questioning if this is a good idea because before this trip, Chloe and I have never spent time together without him.
“Positive.”
He grins, turning back to the girls. “Hey, Vanessa. You want to go for a gondola ride?”
Her smile is enough of an answer, but she looks at Chloe, a silent question to ensure she’s okay with it.
Chloe grins, a subtle nod of her head. “Go. Have fun.”
Vanessa spins around, her smile impossibly wide as she and Coop head in the opposite direction.
“Come on,” I say to Chloe.
“What?”
“I’ve got a poker game, and you’re playing.”
Shock has her lips parting. “I wasn’t kidding. I’m not a poker player.”
I shrug. “It’s just for fun. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose.”
Her green eyes pinch with uncertainty. “I don’t think we’re going to play at the same tables.”
Understanding dawns on me: money. “The game’s on me. I already bought your seat.”
She looks like my classmates when a professor announces there’s going to be a pop quiz.
“Chloe, you went out into New Orleans alone, did a ghost hunt, and then got lost in the fucking desert. This is going to be a walk in the park. Hell, I’ll throw in cake.”
She scoffs. “I feel like I should apologize now for losing your money.”
“That’s all right because I plan on winning it back.”
She rolls her eyes, making me smile. This is the side of her that’s been missing all day. “Which casino are we going to?”
“We’ll drive.”
“Is it downtown? My dad said they have a cool light show.”
I shake my head. “It’s a private event.”
Her green eyes narrow. “A private event? Do I want to know?”
“Probably not, but it’s too late now.”
When we pull up to the industrial building once used to make and process sand, Chloe’s looking at the place like the graveyard we toured on the ghost tour. “This is it?”
I nod.
“Is this a joke?” Reluctance tugs her lips into a frown.
Another car pulls up beside us; an Aston Martin.
“People get paranoid hosting high stakes games at their houses,” I explain. “This place has been operating for several years, though. They’re legit, and you’re safe. I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t know that.”
Two women get out of the Aston Martin and head toward the building.
Chloe reaches for the door handle. “Why does this feel like a really bad idea?”
We cross the parking lot, our shoes crunching against the gravel lot to a service lift that the women enter without hesitation. Chloe follows them, her gaze meeting mine when she turns around. There’s that same gleam of excitement and nerves I’m starting to feel an addiction to in her eyes.
The lift sways as it hits the top floor, and Chloe remains back to allow the other two off first. I move toward her, my hand at her waist. “Stay next to me. If anyone asks, we’re together. These guys think their money entitles them to everything and everyone.”
Her steps falter, and her gaze becomes accusatory. “Like human trafficking level or whore level?”
I shake my head. “People are impressed by money. They don’t have to buy women. Women fall for them because of what they can get. Everyone can be bought.”
Her brow furrows. “That’s not me. I’m not—”
“I know,” I tell her, my grip at her waist tightening. “But you’re an anomaly.”
She shakes her head as I lead her out to the hallway. “Cooper isn’t your friend because you have money.”
I stop, turning to face her. “Why haven’t you told him?”
She shifts her attention from looking around the building to me, her brows pinched. “Told him what?”
“What an arsehole I’ve been to you?”
Chloe’s confidence wanes as she looks away, her lips rolling together.
“He’d hate me if he knew,” I tell her.
Her green stare hits me like a brick, fast and hard. “I know. But it would hurt him. Coop’s had enough loss in his life, and you not liking me shouldn’t be a price he has to pay. Aside from me and Ness, he’s never had many friends—people hold onto expectations even tighter than they hold on to memories. They think Cooper will be just like his dad, and he’s had to live in that shadow forever. Brighton gave him a way out—you gave him a way out.”
“You think I don’t like you?”
A dozen emotions flash in her green eyes. “Sometimes.” Her answer sounds like a question. “I never know what you’re thinking.”
�
�Tyler,” Jericho greets me with a smile, interrupting our conversation. “Good to see you. It’s been too long.” He offers his hand.
I steal a look at Chloe, who takes a breath, a cross between relief and annoyance in her slightly crooked smile. My grip tightens at her waist before I release her to shake Jericho’s hand. “Thanks for the invite.”
He nods. “You’re always welcome.” His attention shifts to Chloe. “This is your plus one?” He extends his hand to her, and without waiting for a beat, she takes it.
“Chloe,” she says, earning his full attention with the simple gesture. He hates demure women.
“Welcome, Chloe. Please, follow me.”
We pass by a couple of men who are here as muscle in case someone tries to steal or cause problems. I tell Chloe this, making sure Jericho hears me because the reminder serves as much as an assurance as a threat. Jericho’s games are private—invite only—and would come to a hard stop if rumors were to start about him or one of his guests strong-arming in any way.
Jericho nods. “My friends say I’m paranoid. I prefer the term careful.” He smiles, walking us past Avery, his surprise visible as he does a second and third look in our direction. “If you’d like anything to drink, we have a full bar. Please, just let us know your preferences.” He taps his wrist where a large gold watch sits. “We’ll get started in five minutes.”
We stop at the cashier, and I pull the envelope from my wallet. The woman opens it, counting through the stack of Benjamins. “Thank you, sir, ma’am.” She nods. “We’ll be drawing for seats in just a moment.”
“I can’t play,” Chloe hisses as I place my hand on her back again and direct her toward the table where ten cards lie face down.
“Why?”
“You just gave her enough money to buy a car.”
“It wouldn’t be a very nice car.”
Her eyes narrow. “I can’t lose that much money.”
“Yes, you can.”
She shakes her head. “Ty, I literally can’t. Go refund this. When you said poker, this is not what I had in mind.”
Behind her, Avery starts to move toward us. “If you’re scared, you’re going to lose. It’s when you play like it doesn’t matter that you win.”
Her brow knits. “That type of reverse psychology has never made any sense, for the record.”
“It’s five grand. We blew more than that at the club last night.”
Her eyes grow round with alarm. “Are you serious?”
“Fear is crippling. If you’re not afraid, you’ll have fun, and hell, you might show us all up and end up being the shark.”
She closes her eyes, a subtle shake of her head as she works to process my words.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please come select your seat,” Jericho says.
“What does that mean?” Chloe asks.
“You’re going to draw a card, and it’s going to say where you sit. This way, it makes it fair. Hopefully, you’re on my right.”
“Are you ever not confident?”
I grin. “See, you knew being on my left would mean you’d lose. You understand more about poker than you’re letting on.”
“Fractionally.”
My smile grows. “Draw your seat.”
“Mr. Banks, Ms. Robinson, what a surprise,” Avery says as he approaches us, drawing the card at the far end.
Chloe’s back goes straight, her muscles tensing, drawing my attention to her face, which is set with a defensive edge, her lips flattened, eyes narrowed.
“Small world,” I lie. I knew he would be here—it’s the only reason I’m here because as much as I love to play poker, Texas hold ‘em bores me, and it’s the only game Jericho ever runs.
“Welcome, again,” Jericho says. “If you’ll all please take your seats, we’ll get started. I want to introduce you all to Joseph, our dealer for tonight.” A man with tire tracks tattooed down half his face nods, his hands folded in front of him.
I glance at our drawn cards and frown when I notice she’s right beside Avery. “You okay sitting next to him?”
She looks at her seat at the table that’s between Avery and a man wearing a cowboy hat and a tan suit. “Yeah.” She slowly releases her breath as she moves toward the chair. I follow her, my intentions clear—I’m letting them all know she’s here with me, which will hopefully prevent attempts to intimidate her if she’s as novice of a player as she’s claiming.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Joseph says as trays filled with chips are delivered to each of us. “Please feel welcome to place your drink orders at any point. If you need a waitress, please be sure to hold a finger up, and they’ll get to you right away. Also, as a reminder, the blinds are twenty-five, fifty.”
Chloe presses her lips together, but aside from that, she hides her shock far better than she did when she walked into the first Banks Resort.
The first deal begins, and rather than look at my cards, I briefly study everyone at the table, working to memorize their expressions because while everyone claims to have a poker face, few do. Minor details often reveal their relief or concern, and at least half of this crowd is here simply because they don’t want to deal with being recognized at a casino, believing their money makes them a celebrity. The other half is here knowing these guys are easy money.
Chloe folds consistently for the first ninety minutes. I can tell she’s nervous, see it in the way she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek, and declines getting anything to drink. It’s her turn to be on the button, giving her the best position because she’s the last to act.
I fold pre-flop, and when a waitress walks by, I raise my hand to catch her attention. “Two Sazeracs.” I point to Chloe to let the waitress know one goes to her.
Chloe’s green eyes slide to me, and I nod.
“Call,” she says.
“Was wonderin’ if you were gonna play or just sit there and tease me.” The guy in the tan suit laughs, taking a drink before he looks at me. “Don’t worry, I know she’s hands-off.”
“She’s fucking eyes and thoughts off, too,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “Can’t blame you.” He leans back in his chair. “Call.”
The driver from the Aston Martin with black painted eyelids chuckles as she calls.
Joseph flips over an ace of spades, eight of spades, and a ten of hearts.
“Check,” Cowboy says.
“Check,” the woman beside him echoes.
“Bet,” the woman beside me with crazy long fingernails says, sliding a short stack of chips forward. If I had to place a bet on it, I’d say she’s the best player here.
A man beside her, wearing a tired expression and more diamonds than sense, folds.
I take a drink as I watch Avery smile—all confidence and bullshit. He pushes a tall stack of chips forward.
Chloe takes a drink. “Call.” She matches the bet.
Cowboy folds. Beside him, the woman with dark eyeshadow folds as well. Crazy-ass fingernail lady stares at Avery, running her nails silently over the felt table. “Call.”
I turn to watch Joseph flip over an ace of diamonds on the turn.
The pair of aces on the table has everyone excited as we turn to crazy fingernails to hear her play. “Check,” she says.
Avery grins, a sadistic glint in his eyes as he watches the unease in Chloe’s expression and posture that has every one of my muscles growing strained with a restless tension. “Bet. Eight hundred.” He counts out the chips and slides them forward.
Chloe blinks, staring at her cards for a long moment before setting them face down. “Call.” She takes a drink.
The lady beside me shakes her head and folds.
I glance at the pot that’s nearly three grand, hoping that if Chloe loses, she doesn’t take it hard. The river comes as a seven of spades.
Chloe takes another drink, ignoring Avery as he attempts to make eye contact with her.
I clear my throat, ready to give him a similar warning that I gave to Co
wboy, but Chloe looks at me and shakes her head once, smiling as she does.
“Bet. Twelve hundred,” Avery says.
Chloe licks her lips and finishes her drink with one pull. “All in.”
Avery chuckles. “Call.”
I drain my glass.
Chloe’s eyes flare, and regret slides through my gut. The money is nothing, but convincing her of that fact is going to take effort if she doesn’t win this hand.
Cowboy whistles. “This is gonna be good.”
Avery drops his cards to the table: pocket eights, giving him a full house. Cowboy shouts out a cheer, and then Chloe flips her cards over, revealing pocket aces, giving her four of a fucking kind. My chest swells with excitement and pride and something that sits too fucking close to my damn heart as I look at her, noting the gentle smile her lips are curved into as Joseph announces her the winner.
We play for six hours, and though Chloe loses a few hands, she wins far more.
“So glad you came,” Jericho says as we leave with our winnings. “Make sure you bring her again next time.”
I give a polite nod, leading Chloe to the lift.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
Her green eyes meet mine, bright with the adrenaline from winning. “I think I’m shaking,” she admits.
I laugh. “Now we have to go celebrate.”
A smile spreads across her face. “That was crazy.”
“You fucking wiped the floor.”
“I got lucky,” she says.
I scoff.
The lift doors part to a darkened parking lot. Two more security guys meet us, one of them following us to where we’re parked.
“There’s something slightly unsettling about needing someone to walk us to the car,” she says as we fasten our seat belts.
“It’s more to make Jericho look good rather than because there are any potential threats.”
“Is it weird that Mr. Avery was here?” she asks. “I mean, what are the odds?”
I glance at her seconds before the dimmers fall and the interior of the Tesla goes dark. “I knew he’d be here.”
She’s silent.
“I have some suspicions, and I knew he liked to play because his ex-wife is now married to the GM of the San Francisco site. He hates Avery and is happy to tell me all about it, so, I asked Jericho to invite him.”