by Ava Miles
“Every professional needs a chip protector,” he said. “And I thought this would do. It’s of Artemis, the Roman goddess of the hunt. The image is a bit faded, but she’s depicted with her bow and arrows and her faithful hound. It seems like it was made for you.”
God, she couldn’t cry, but the sweetness of the gesture flashed through her like a shooting star. “Thank you, Rhett. That’s just—”
“Enough of this blather, or I’m going to start bawling, and that won’t do. Now you go play your heart out. Jane, you love this game. Play from that place, and no one can stop you.”
Her heart expanded with that reminder.
“I’ll see you all later,” she said. And after giving Annie a final pat and Matt a parting glance, she took off.
The first day she held her own. Rhett was right. A number of unseasoned players busted out in the early games, staring more at her than their cards. With ten thousand as the entry fee, it was an expensive mistake. Mac was also right. A few players who’d started drinking way too early and too much—not serious ones at all—made some off-color comments about her being a woman or a slut. Some received warnings, and when a man grabbed her ass as she reached her fifth table, he was immediately thrown out.
Word spread.
She was not to be messed with. And she decided to be grateful for Mac’s intervention rather than looking a gift horse in the mouth.
The skills she’d learned while working for Rhett came through beautifully. She bluffed a few hands and won, dragged in a few small pots, even went heads up against another player on a hand that fizzled out on the River card.
After the first day, she was still alive. Had a good percentage of chips. And was starting to find her own.
Rhett congratulated her grandly, holding Annie above his head as he gave that shrill whistle of his. She told him to save his congratulations for tomorrow.
Then she went home and slept like a baby.
When Sunday morning rolled around, she cracked her knuckles and shimmied into her red flapper dress. This one was decorated with fringe instead of sequins, which gave the dress movement. She loved it.
Poker babes from behind the crowd line shot her dirty looks when she arrived, flanked by her own entourage. Funny how she hadn’t noticed them yesterday. Some of the women she’d stood next to for years, cheering on their respective players, clearly felt betrayed.
Well, that was too bad. She wouldn’t let herself be held back by what anyone thought of her.
Tuning out Matt and his family was easier on the second day. She fell into the moment, tracing the corners of her cards, fingering her Roman coin, rubbing the green felt of the table, studying the faces of her fellow players.
Inside she was as cool as a meat locker, and it felt good to discover that inner sanctum all serious players talked about. She played one hand at a time, gathering more chips as she went. The number of players around her continued to dwindle as the day progressed. The remaining players were the usual suspects. She had a file on each of them.
They were poker royalty.
She took the chip lead by winning a monster hand with two other players. All three of them had gone all in, and she’d won by playing a hand most people wouldn’t have raised on, demonstrating her boldness even further.
When Cincinnati Kilkelly, the Master of Ceremonies, announced the final table, she was one of the nine players whose name was called. And for the first time all day, a smile crested over her face.
Rhett had taught her to savor every victory, and making the final table was a heck of a victory. She punched the air and did a happy dance in the bathroom stall during the break.
Of course, Mac was at the final table, along with seven other long-time players, including Lance Jenkins, who had won the World Series of Poker two years ago. But she was going to play to win, even if she was in the big leagues now.
Before the final table started, she walked over to the viewing area where the crowd was cordoned off. Rhett swung her up and spun them around in a circle. “I am so proud of you. Jane, you’re playing like you always do when you whip my ass in online poker.”
When he set her down, Elizabeth rushed her next. “My God, you look fierce. I think Rhett has you pegged. You are Artemis personified, just like on that coin.”
“I rather like that idea. A goddess.”
“I’m pretty fond of Jane Wilcox,” Matt said, stepping forward. “Is she still around?”
Her mouth quirked. “I think she’s still in here somewhere.”
“God, babe, you are incredible,” Matt said, giving her a giant smacker. “I can’t believe you’ve never played professionally. You’re a natural.”
She took a deep breath. “Thank you. I’m playing one hand at a time.”
“Can my family congratulate you or will that break your concentration?” Matt asked.
“Let’s save it for later,” she said. “I…well, I’m in the zone now.”
Rhett snorted out a laugh. “You sure are, darlin’. Now go kick Mac Maven’s butt. I love that boy, but if I can’t beat him today, I want you to do it for me.”
She shook her head. Mac was as cool as they came at the table and one of the hardest to read, which was saying something when it came to professional poker players.
“I need to get back. I want to be already sitting at the table when the other players return.”
“Good strategy. Stare them all down like you’re going to spit in their eye,” Rhett said.
With that colloquialism, she took off.
After smoothing down her red fringe dress, she settled into her prescribed seat at the table and asked for another sparkling water with lime. The final table was magical, with sleek lines of mahogany, custom drink holders, and cushioned armrests to offset hours of grueling play. The time was nearing four p.m., and the sun was already descending in the sky toward the mountains through the hotel’s windows. The crowd was humming, eager for the finals to begin. She tuned it out and smiled when Lance Jenkins swaggered toward the table.
He was a known womanizer and had made overtures to Raven more times than she could count.
“Good to see you in the finals, Jane,” he said smoothly, taking his seat. “Can’t say I’m not surprised by your transformation. I hope you’ll forgive a good ol’ boy for ever treating you a tad improper.”
“No hard feelings, Lance,” she said.
Mac joined them, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Of the nine players who were left, she and Mac were the only ones who were dressed for an elegant dinner party. Everyone else looked like they were attending a NASCAR race, clad in jeans and T-shirts—some with their sponsors’ names slathered over them. A few were even wearing ball caps. But the one who gave her most pause was Kentucky Prattling, a short and stocky player who topped off his casual ensemble with yellow-tinted skeet shooting goggles. He was known for being one of the most aggressive players out there, and she made sure to meet his gaze when he sat down.
When they resumed play, she dug deep. Played her heart out.
After five grueling hours of play and one hundred and forty-four hands of poker, five players had busted out. She was part of the Final Four, along with Mac, Lance, and Kentucky. When Elizabeth approached her during the fifteen-minute bathroom break, she waved her off, not wanting to talk to anyone. She needed to stay in her zone.
When they began again, she was in second place with twenty-five percent of the chips needed to win it all. Mac was in first, with thirty-five, and Lance and Kentucky were tied with twenty.
She won the first hand with an ace-king, a terrific starting hand. But she had the worst position at the table, which meant she had to make her move before knowing how the others would bet. They tripled the blinds again, and she became the aggressor, using Kentucky’s playbook against him, and went all in. She forced him to fold, proving she could stand up to him. His goggles fogged up then, forcing him to wipe them off with a handkerchief.
In the next hand, she played queen-jack. Mac w
as sitting to her left and had the best position at the table this time, since he could see everyone act first. There was a lot of raising as they went around the table. At one point, Mac called immediately, alerting her to him having a pretty good hand. When the cards came around again, the Flop card was queen-jack-five. Lance and Kentucky checked. With the two pair, she decided to go aggressive and bet half the pot. Mac called, but he didn’t re-raise.
Did he have a queen or middle pair? she asked herself, studying him. But Mac didn’t look at her. Just kept gazing off in the distance, tuning everyone out. Lance and Kentucky folded.
Then Mac met her eyes, his gaze unblinking. Was she up for a head-to-head with him?
Yeah, she thought. You bet I am.
The Turn card was a seven—a card that helped no one. She eyed the cards, certain she had the best hand. She bet half the pot again. When Mac put on a Hollywood spectacle, spending nearly five minutes thinking before making his move, she started to lose her cool. The wait was killing her. She was in this pot deep, having put a significant portion of her chips on the line. Then Mac called.
She let her breath out slowly, careful not to show that she’d been holding it.
The River card was a two and wouldn’t help Mac if she was right about what he had.
The hand she was staring at was about the best she could hope for, so she bet half the pot again. Mac’s mouth turned up then. He re-raised her and went all in.
In that moment, she started to suspect it was a trap. Was he just bluffing, or did he have a better hand? If so, she was going to lose most of her chips if she kept going.
She thought about it forever and took her time while running through the hand. Had she missed something?
Kentucky called the clock on her, startling her. Had she taken that long?
The floor manager came over then and told her she had one minute to act or her hand would be folded.
What to do?
“You have ten seconds,” the floor manager finally announced. “Nine. Eight. Seven.”
“I fold,” she announced, showing her cards, her gut cramping as though she had a bad case of flu.
“Oh my God,” Kentucky cried out. “How could you have folded with that hand?”
Then Mac turned his cards over, showing a set of fives. “That was a good fold.”
Sure enough, he’d trapped her. He had the better hand.
When she felt the anger rise at her own naiveté, she forced it back. No, folding was a strategic retreat. She’d saved herself.
And when she looked up, Mac’s gaze was on her. In his eyes, she saw a new speculation, one she’d seen the best poker players give Rhett.
They played another thirteen hands, Jane ignoring the piercing pain in her belly from nerves. Kentucky and Lance grew low on chips, confirming her earlier fold, which had kept her from being in the same position. She hit a big score on two consecutive hands, her chip pile growing again. Jane forced Lance and Kentucky to go all in, and in one hand, she busted them out, taking the chip lead with seventy percent to Mac’s thirty.
It was just the two of them now, and a sliver of ice went down her spine when they received a new deck of cards for the table.
This was it.
With the next hand, she was dealt another ten-nine, and since it was the hand that had put her at the final table, she took it as a lucky sign. The pain in her belly receded, and she imagined herself walking in the park at sunset, dreaming about winning a big game like this. She could almost feel the cold winter wind on her cheeks. Imagine Matt’s warm hand in her own.
This was her time.
So she turned Mac’s strategy on him and trapped him this time.
He didn’t see it coming until it was too late.
She made him think she didn’t have a strong hand, biting her lip just once for an Oscar-winning effect, letting him think the pressure had become too much for her. She even shifted a fraction of an inch in her chair, being careful not to overplay it. God knew, she’d been sitting for enough hours today for her butt to truly hurt.
When Mac went all in immediately after the River card, she knew the game was hers. She instantly called and was elated to watch his eyes narrow a fraction. If she hadn’t studied his face for hours, known it for years, she might not have noticed. Certainly no one else would have.
Then he sat back, his mouth quirking up. Yeah, he knew she had him.
“I have the nuts,” she said in honor of Rhett, who delighted in using that catch phrase to describe the best hand possible.
The crowd went wild.
“A nut straight,” Mac murmured as the cheers buffeted them, showing his lesser hand.
She’d won.
She’d actually won!
Mac stood and extended his hand, which she shook. “Well played, Jane. I expect big things of you.” Then he walked off, head high as always.
She sat there for a minute, her ears buzzing, and then she put her hands to her face. Every ounce of strength she’d exerted to keep her poker face intact evaporated. The trembling started. The fatigue kicked in. And the euphoria.
She’d done it. By God, she’d actually done it!
Big arms plucked her out of the chair and tossed her up in the air. She knew it was Rhett, so she turned and grabbed for his shoulders.
“Holy hell, girl. You trapped the Maverick. I’m so proud of you!” And Rhett being Rhett, he squeezed the life out of her before thrusting her at Matt. “Sorry, man. I just had to grab my girl.”
“I get it,” Matt said, his eyes shining. “I don’t even know what to say right now. Jane, you won!”
Her head started to work again, and the reality slowly sunk in. “I did, didn’t I? I just won three million dollars by beating Mac freaking Maven.”
“You sure did!” Elizabeth shouted, pulling her into a hug next. “You were incredible! I can’t wait to watch it on tape. I chewed my fingernails off.”
Her friend never did that.
“I almost threw up,” Jane admitted.
“But you didn’t,” Rhett said. “You held your own. Girl, you are going to be a player to contend with.”
Her eyes sought his. “I can’t be your scout anymore,” she admitted.
The truth had come to her earlier that day, but she’d forced it back, not wanting to acknowledge it yet.
“I know it. It’s time for you to be your own player. I’m so proud of you, Jane.”
Tears burned in her eyes. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Now, stop that. I’m going to bawl like a girl. You’re my sister and my friend. Nothing changes that. Even when we play against each other. Heck, even when you beat me, which I expect you will.” He tipped his hat to her. “Of course, I’m still going to do my best to beat you. Mac and I’ve managed it for years. You and I will too.”
She sniffed and gave Annie a good rub under her ears. The dog wiggled in Elizabeth’s arms.
“Now it’s time to party,” Jane announced. “I have some pretty special Dom Perignon waiting at the house.”
Abbie had been hanging back, letting them have their moment, but now she stepped forward. “No need to wait.”
“What?” she asked as Abbie handed Rhett a full bottle.
He grinned, taking off the wrapping and the wire. “Don’t you remember what we did when I won my first big tourney?”
As he shook the bottle, she edged back, running into the solid wall of muscle behind her. Matt was smiling when she tipped her head up to look at him. “But Mac’s hotel,” she sputtered, trying to get out of the way. Rhett was going to soak her.
Matt held her in place, laughing now.
“I told him I’d pay for it.”
Then he popped the cork, the sound exploding like a shot, and showered her with champagne.
Abbie and Elizabeth cried out and ran away when he tried to get them next. He was laughing like the demented man he was, and Matt was no better. He held her in place as champagne
covered her short hair and dripped down her face and her dress. By the time they were finished, she was soaked.
But laughing.
God, there was something about Rhett.
She turned in the arms of the man who was holding her. “You think this is funny?”
“I think this is awesome! Jane, I love you. I’m so proud of you.” Then he pulled her against him. “How about a kiss for your favorite poker babe?”
“We need more champagne,” Rhett mused. “I’m outta ammunition.”
Still sailing on her euphoria, she climbed on top of the chair she’d been playing in for hours and wrapped her arms around Matt’s neck. “This is better. Now I don’t have to lean up on my tiptoes to reach you.”
He grabbed her wet dress in his hands. “Did I mention how much I love a woman on top?”
Leaning close to his face, she caressed his wet nape. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.” And she put her lips to his and gave him a long, drugging kiss, not caring that his family was probably still watching and a whole heck of a lot of other spectators with camera phones.
“I love you,” she finally whispered. “So how does it feel to be involved with a professional poker player?”
“I think we’re going to make a formidable match. Now, let’s go celebrate with my family. They’re all so proud of you. Even Uncle Arthur cheered when you beat Mac.”
“God, I love that old man.”
“Me too. And I think you’ve proven to anyone who cares a flying flip that there’s more to Raven than meets the eye.”
Still standing on the chair, she surveyed the room. She waved at Matt’s family, who waved back wildly and finally headed toward them.
“And do you know what?” she told Matt. “I finally feel like I know the full Jane Wilcox. There might be a lot of facets to her, but that’s what I like about her. She’s unique.”
“You can say that again and more,” he murmured, tracing the drops of champagne on her face.
And as his family arrived, and Rhett rushed back with more champagne—which Tanner immediately wrestled away from him—she felt like she finally knew who she truly was and what she was made of.