Night Games

by Lisa Marie Perry

  Tem assessed her critically from her slicked-back bun to her one-shouldered fuchsia satin Lanvin dress to her strappy high heels. “Actually, I doubt it’d take even that much effort. You look sensational.” She sighed as if to say, “More’s the pity.” “Finding men isn’t your problem. You’re your problem. You’re choosy and stubborn—”

  “And not divorced, like Danica. Or obsessed with collecting guys to prove how popular I am, like Martha.” This time it was Charlotte’s turn to sigh. “You act as if my being single is a nail in your coffin when the truth is you want to control what and who I do.”

  “Don’t be crude. I’m not impressed.”

  “No news there. Nothing I’ve ever done has impressed you. Look, all I’m saying is right now I could choose a man to be with and you would hate my choice.” Snap, snap, snap, where’d that come from? Logically she had no right to even think she could choose to be with Nate Franco, though she wanted him for a bazillion reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with bringing him home to meet the ’rents.

  “Who would you choose, Lottie?”

  “Forget it. I’m leaving now, in my car, because even though I’m doing this whole arranged-date thing with Chaz Lakan, I will come and go on my own terms.”

  Tem watched her silently for a long moment. “Give my best to Chaz. His mother’s a friend and she’ll want to know that my daughter is a civil person who doesn’t make a habit of standing up perfectly eligible men. It’s de mauvais goût.”

  “Ma.” Charlotte reached out, grasping Tem’s arm to reassure herself that her mother was still real and not truly as far away as she seemed. “I’m going to slip up now and then. But you have to trust me to make my own choices. And I love you. Pop, too. Okay?”

  Tem smoothly twirled in her designer pastels, disengaging herself. “The builder’s waiting for me to call him back. Fingers crossed, but the house just might be finished before midseason.”

  At least Charlotte had stayed firm. But driving herself to a casino for a date she didn’t want was a small victory compared to her failure to get confirmation that yes, at the end of the day her parents still loved her.

  The DiGorgio was a top-tier black-tie casino. From the chandeliers dangling overhead to the overabundance of leather and crystal in the Mahogany Lounge, the place screamed money. Charlotte considered partaking in a lively blackjack game but wasn’t feeling particularly risky and bypassed the gambling rooms to order a Scotch neat at the tinted mirrored bar.

  When the bartender added a potent shot of flirtation with her drink, Charlotte pretended not to notice and turned on her stool to face the room. Men in suits, women in dresses and jewelry—they all appeared to have come here for a high-stakes experience. There was something about the casino—maybe the lighting or the dark-colored walls or all the opulence swirling in the atmosphere—that encouraged you to be daring.

  Charlotte decided she liked this place. With a silent toast, she nursed her Scotch.

  “He was hitting on you. The bartender.” A blonde in a lower-than-low-cut silver halter dress settled on the stool beside Charlotte and crossed her legs. “In case you didn’t realize that.”

  “Oh, I did,” Charlotte clarified conspiratorially, “but I don’t have the best luck with bartenders.”

  “Too bad.” The woman subtly glanced back at the man, then faced forward as Charlotte had done. “He’s attractive. They say once you’re engaged, you’re technically not allowed to notice other men, but this ring wasn’t quite sparkly enough to take away my eyesight. Not to mention my fiancé’s too preoccupied high-rolling in the VIP room to notice I left. So, what are you in for?”

  “Waiting for a date. Journalists are said to value punctuality, but he’s late…which actually doesn’t surprise me.” According to her mother, Charlotte had stood Chaz up. That he might return the favor wasn’t too far-fetched. Yet she was curious to find out if he’d called, and she unzipped her handbag to root around in the dark for her phone.

  “This might help,” the woman said, retrieving a pink pig key chain from her own purse. With a press of a button, the thing oinked and flashed a beam of light.

  When it aided Charlotte in locating her phone, which had slipped to the bottom of her bag, the woman insisted she keep it.

  “I won’t miss it. I have one in every purse. Now…where’d that good-looking bartender go? I’m in need of a whiskey sour.” After she ordered and claimed her drink, the woman lifted her glass for a toast. “To women who wait around for men even in the twenty-first century.”

  “Cheers,” Charlotte said, though she probably couldn’t be heard over the ruckus at the end of the bar. A group in coordinating-colored formalwear was jeering and downing shots. “I’m Charlotte.”

  “Bindi.” On the verge of saying more, she was interrupted with the arrival of Chaz Lakan, a suave-looking man who wore a pinstriped suit and oozed a practiced charisma. As he offered to buy Charlotte a drink, Bindi hastened to stop him with a grip on his arm. “No, that won’t do! Ladies don’t like to get all gussied up only to be kept waiting. Fortunately, I know a way you can make it up to her.”

  Frowning at the stranger who had the nerve to put a hand on him, Chaz replied, “You are…?”

  “The woman who can get you into the Titanium Club.”

  Chaz’s expression transformed from irritated to intrigued, which heightened Charlotte’s skepticism about the offer. Furthermore, who exactly was Bindi to have the authority or desire to pull strings at a five-star casino for a pair she’d literally just met? “Isn’t entry to the Titanium Club by invitation only?” Charlotte asked.

  “Yes, and I’ve invited you. My fiancé and his family are hosting a celebration there. No one but absolute VIPs are welcome. Come up and get your luck on.”

  “Then we shouldn’t intrude. It was nice of you to invite us, but—”

  “Show us the way,” Chaz cut in. To Charlotte he said, “Getting my luck on in the Titanium Club? There’s no better place to be tonight.”

  Charlotte could think of several alternatives, none of which included an elite gambling room or Chaz Lakan, who now seemed more interested in admiring Bindi’s short hemline than the woman he’d come to the casino to meet. To arrive late and straightaway jump at a stranger’s invitation spoke his message loud and clear—he had as little interest in this setup date as she did.

  But to keep her word to her mother, Charlotte joined him as he followed Bindi, who shimmered under the building’s extravagant lighting in her silver dress and tall shoes. In the elevator he talked and bragged and boasted about his career, hobbies and accomplishments. Charlotte was so focused on tuning him out that she hardly noticed when the doors opened to an elegant top-floor corridor that ushered them into the Titanium Club.

  Charlotte didn’t plan to stick around long but didn’t mind losing herself just for a while in the luxury of the high-limit gambling enclave: Art Deco style, enticing table games crowded with ritzy guests, polished servers moving soundlessly over the plush glittering carpet, the scent of liquor and cigar smoke and risk in the air.

  “What’s the celebration?” Charlotte asked Bindi as Chaz strutted off toward the poker table. They went to the bar, where Bindi requested a fresh whiskey sour along with a server attentive enough to make sure her glass didn’t turn up empty tonight.

  “A birthday in the family.” The woman drank with relish.

  A familiar figure moved into Charlotte’s line of vision. He hung back, observing the two women even while the one who’d accompanied him tried to snare his attention. Again Charlotte felt a shudder of attraction at merely seeing Nate. How he seemed able to coax an intimate reaction without actually touching her at all was beyond comprehension.

  Bindi followed her gaze. “You’re staring at that guy.”

  “Um.” She squared her shoulders, determined to keep Nate where he belonged—in the category of coworker. “I work with him.”

  “I see.” Bindi wiggled her fingers at Nate, and Charlotte w
anted to shrink, hoping he wouldn’t come up to them and play yet another round of “Guess Who I Am Today.” One minute he was with her, the next, against her—and not in a good, hot way.

  Nate’s response was to take his date’s arm and stride off to the roulette wheel, which was whirring as fast as Charlotte’s thoughts. Even when she wasn’t looking to find him, the man continued to make appearances in her life.

  Discreetly she searched for him in the crowd and spotted him now fully occupied with three different women—one of whom was an Emmy Award–winning actress.

  “Meet my fiancé,” Bindi suggested, crooking her finger at someone.

  Charlotte almost choked to see Alessandro Franco coming toward them. He was the woman’s fiancé? Charlotte must’ve overlooked that nugget of information when she’d surfed the web for information about Nate, but uneasiness colored her shock. Why hadn’t Bindi mentioned that she also knew him?

  In person Alessandro Franco appeared almost gaunt, but he commanded attention, dominating the room as he greeted Bindi with a nibble on her neck.

  “You doing good over there, Al?” Bindi said, turning fully into his embrace.

  “Molto bene.”

  “Winning’s put you in a fantastic mood. Imagine if you got lucky every night.”

  Unsure what to say to that, Charlotte kept her mouth shut until Al released his fiancée and inquired, “Who’s this bella donna?”

  “Charlotte Blue,” Charlotte answered, watching for his reaction. He slid Bindi a sidelong glance—was that disbelief? Disapproval?—but when neither he nor Bindi commented, she continued, “Now that you know who I am—who my parents are—will you have security escort me out?”

  “That would be cruel, considering what measures you must’ve taken to get into the club to speak to me.”

  “Actually, I was downstairs waiting for a date and Bindi invited us up. Now that the opportunity to speak to you has come up, yes, I’d like to, Mr. Franco.”

  “Call me Al. It’s my firstborn’s birthday. Drink in his honor, won’t you?” Without pausing to let Charlotte decide, the man ordered port for the three of them—though Bindi made a show of nudging aside the port and favoring her whiskey.

  “Port for you, bella Charlotte.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve acquired the taste for it.” But she accepted the glass anyway. Could she possibly reach Nate via his father? On the surface Al seemed reasonable, if reserved and a tad on edge. Nate needed to know that his father had willingly initiated the sale of the Slayers franchise to her parents. Okay, so perhaps this wasn’t the opportune time or place, but— “Can we talk?”

  “Please do.”

  “I meant privately.” Maybe it was a moot point to ask for privacy, particularly since his fiancée had been the one to extend the invitation to her in the first place, but there was a hungry, predatory air about Bindi as she secured her hold on Al and watched Charlotte with a neutral expression. Even if Charlotte did ask, it wasn’t likely that Bindi would leave Al’s side. Whatever else she had to say to Al Franco, she’d have to say it in front of his fiancée.

  “Is there any chance of the Blues and Francos getting along?” Gently she added, “Your sons have the idea that my parents—my father—coerced you into selling the team.”

  When he simply stared at her, unblinking, much as her mother had earlier, Charlotte felt frustration surge through her system. “Whatever my father said to you has been misunderstood. Marshall Blue’s a big guy, and yes, he can be intense. Everyone knows that. Some people find it charming. But he’d never put himself on the line by threatening a beat-down just to buy your football team.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I’m looking to move forward,” she replied. “Maybe to start I ought to find my date and leave.”

  “Stay. I insist.”

  “Al, my family doesn’t want any trouble…. My parents are both good people—”

  “Charlotte Blue,” Al interrupted, untangling himself from Bindi and preparing to walk off with his port. Not bella Charlotte. Just Charlotte Blue. “A word of wisdom. You’re only as good as the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

  *

  “Why is she here, Bindi?” Nate had earlier downplayed his surprise at spotting Charlotte in the DiGorgio Royal Casino’s private gambling den—decorating the bar with Bindi Paxton, of all folks—but as he pretended interest in the roulette game, he watched his father join them for a drink and soon after saw Charlotte abandoned by Al and Bindi.

  Bindi, who appeared to be in a celebratory mood despite the little detail that it was the birthday of a man she despised, had worked the room in her silver look-at-me dress and had eventually made her way to the roulette table. Picking up one of his chips, she muttered, “Know thy enemy.”

  Nate turned to spy Charlotte in the recesses of the room, sitting at the poker table with her date, a man in a pinstriped suit. Bindi dropped his chip, upping his bet, which was promptly lost to yet another house victory. “Don’t try your luck with my chips, Bindi.”

  “Sorry.” But her eye roll contradicted any contrition. “I recognized Charlotte in the lounge and had to get her up here with Al. Just like I thought, she started right in on pressuring him to tell you and Santino that the sale is legit. All she cares about is her agenda.”

  Couldn’t the same be said for Bindi…and him? Nate shook off the thought. He was only hunting for a solution to a problem, righting a wrong. Thankfully, Santino, the guest of honor, was in the club dining room with his date—not that even an elaborate meal prepared by a celebrity chef could fully distract him from the truth that he was another year older but no closer to recovering from the loss of his career in the NFL and his birthright.

  Nate had asked his college friend Elaine, who’d graciously agreed to be Santino’s companion on his birthday, to be extra patient. Sometimes having friends as close as family came in handy. Elaine, and their friends Vaughn and Jayda, had been happy to join the Francos tonight. Science geeks in college, the four were so tight that they’d kept in touch after graduation despite the fact that Nate had declined a lucrative offer to study in a prestigious PhD program in order to pursue a career with his family’s pro football team. It had been his opportunity to impress, to prove he was no ordinary nerd. Vaughn and Jayda had paired off and gotten hitched, but Nate didn’t have any designs on Elaine.

  Nate was dateless tonight, having been more concerned with ensuring his brother had a good time. Besides, he got more than enough female attention on a regular basis and was comfortable with that reality. Or he had been before he’d crossed paths with Charlotte.

  She was his worst temptation. Being around her every day at camp was glorious torture. She made him feel like a naive boy, and he was anything but. He wanted to prove that he was stronger than basic lust, needed to resist the impulse to protect her.

  She was bad for him. Just as Bindi said, Charlotte had her own agenda and wasn’t afraid to put it first. At camp he’d observed with his own eyes her assertiveness…how she acted as if she believed “It’s me against the world” yet could be vulnerable if caught off guard. During that staff basketball game, when the wide-receivers coach had knocked her to the ground, Nate had seen that flash of vulnerability cross her face. And when she’d let him help her up, he’d felt glad that she trusted him truly for just those brief few moments.

  Man, did he have it bad. What he needed was to clear his head, maybe let one of the perfumed beauties in the Titanium Club distract him from his ultimate distraction.

  After all, Charlotte had clearly moved on to someone else.

  “Who’s the man she’s with?” Nate asked Bindi.

  “Chaz Lakan, a journalist from la-la land.”

  “You brought a journalist here without clearing it with the owner?”

  “Hey,” she said defensively, “the only reason Charlotte is even up here is because the guy was all for it. Just tell DiGorgio to keep his high rollers on their best behavior if he’s worried
about bad press. What’s the problem, anyway? This is a casino. People gamble and drink and smoke and hook up. Big deal.”

  Nate didn’t want to make waves in the casino. He’d wager the Girard-Perregaux wristwatch he wore tonight that his godfather, Gian DiGorgio, wouldn’t like the idea of media infiltrating his private, excessively guarded gambling den. Everyone here tonight, from A-listers to politicians, had an understanding. Gamble dirty, socialize freely, and nothing leaves the club. Oh, and, of course, no unauthorized media allowed.

  That Bindi had broken a rule, had disrespected the casino owner’s wishes just for the chance to toy with Charlotte, showed Bindi’s desperation—and made Nate just a tad unsettled.

  “The outcome is all that matters,” Bindi said, reaching for another chip from his stack. “If we can take away Charlotte’s power, remove her as a threat and show her parents that we aren’t kidding around, then we’re pretty much guaranteed to get back what belongs to us.”

  Pretending to lean down to examine his chips, Nate said carefully, “Bindi, the team’s not yours. Never was.”

  “I don’t know what you and Santino think I’m after, and frankly I don’t care. Your father made a promise to me. He can’t honor it without reclaiming the team.”

  “What if he gets what he wants but still reneges on that promise? What then?”

  Bindi handed him back the chip, her eyes flat. “I’m in this, Nate. Are you? Because if you are, you can’t question me at every turn.”

  Nate glanced to where Charlotte and her date sat at the poker table. His imagination conjured visions of her claiming the head trainer position—he’d already witnessed her in conferences with their superiors on the training staff and coaching staff regarding her push to bring yoga into the Slayers’ training regimen.

  Then his memory interfered, adding images of her hard at work with the players and arming herself with confidence in the face of disrespect. Simultaneously she was a threat to be defeated and a prize to be won.