by Meghan March
“What is that?”
“Something I was going to wait to show you until after dinner, but as your striptease last night indicated, you’re an impatient woman.”
A blush colors her cheeks, and I find it fascinating that she still has the ability. Most women I encounter can’t even fake it. There’s an innocence Ms. India Baptiste tries to downplay, but she can’t hide it from me. Soon, she’ll find out she can’t hide anything from me.
“You blew your chance last night. So unless that’s a check for a million dollars made out to me, I don’t give a single fuck what it is.”
My grin splits as I burst into a low chuckle. “Ah, Ms. Baptiste. No wonder you’re such a good poker player. You see through paper.”
Her blue eyes go wide with shock. “What?”
When her hand reaches out, instead of pulling the check back, I let her snatch it from my fingers. She’s the kind of woman who won’t believe it until she sees it.
She unfolds the paper, and her lush bottom lip drops open far enough that I could slide my cock right into that hot little mouth.
My dick jerks up at the thought, and I push the visual away. All in good time.
“What the hell is this?”
“I believe I just told you, and your capability for reading has confirmed it.”
She lowers the check to her lap. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re offering me a million dollars.”
“Not offering. Giving.”
She swallows, and again, my dick tingles, because there’s nothing more I’d like to do in this very moment than push her to her knees to show me how far she can take it down her throat.
“No one gives someone a million dollars for nothing. What’s the catch?”
“Catch?”
India shoves to her feet, the metal of the chair scraping the concrete patio. “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. Tell me what the hell you want from me, Forge.” She holds the check up in the air so that it flaps in the breeze. “Or I let this fucker fly and the sea can have it.”
“That’d be unfortunate for you, wouldn’t it? Since there’s only one thing I ask in exchange, and it’s something I’m pretty sure you already want to do.”
“If this is your way of telling me you think I want to ride you like a Jet Ski, I don’t give a shit. I need cash, not a fuck buddy.”
And the poker player doesn’t even realize she’s showing her hand.
I lay both palms flat on the table and rise. “I don’t pay for sex, Ms. Baptiste. Never have. Never will. You’re not a whore, and I’m not a john. The only thing I want in return for my million is a promise.”
Her blue eyes narrow. “What kind of promise?”
“An easy one.”
“No promise that merits a million-dollar payment is easy.”
“But what if it were, India? Are you still letting that check go?”
“I don’t understand you,” she says, lowering herself back into her seat as she tucks the check under the plate in front of her, preventing it from blowing away.
“You don’t need to understand me. In fact, you couldn’t. You don’t know what it’s like to have billions of dollars at your disposal. A million is a lot to a millionaire, such as you . . . were. But it’s not shit to a billionaire.”
Her flinch tells me my dig stings, but she stays silent for a moment.
“Tell me about this promise you want me to make, then.” All the skepticism she’s feeling in this moment pervades her words.
“All you have to do is swear you’ll never have contact with Bastien de Vere ever again.”
18
India
“Indy! I almost thought you weren’t going to show.”
Bastien greets me with a smug smile as he strides across the tarmac I shouldn’t be standing on. I should be literally anywhere else but here, especially given the check in my purse.
Bile rises in my throat when I think about what I’m doing, but I inhale slowly and exhale out any concern for playing by someone else’s rules.
Does that make me a bad person? I don’t actually care. People with options are the ones who can have existential crises and soul-searching moments. I have a sister to save, and that’s all that matters right now.
“Bastien? Who’s this?” a gorgeous woman with auburn hair and diamonds at her ears and wrists asks as she clips toward us on Jimmy Choos.
Wait. One. Second.
Did Bastien really propose marriage to me and then bring another woman with him when he figured I wouldn’t come? I don’t even know why I’m surprised. There’s nothing I wouldn’t put past Bastien.
He doesn’t reply to her immediately. Again, not a surprise. How exactly is he going to explain this?
The woman’s haughty stare drops to my feet, making me glad I threw on my Prada pumps and packed all my most expensive couture for Monaco. I may have eaten from trash cans, but this woman won’t make me feel like something less with her condescension that doesn’t even require words.
“Poppy, this is a friend of mine.”
“One of your whores? Really, Bastien?” She huffs out a sound of disgust.
“I’m sorry, if I’m one of his whores, what does that make you?”
Poppy skewers me with her stare. “His sister, you bitch.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Bastien steps between us. “Claws sheathed, ladies. There’s more than enough room on the jet for all of us.”
“I’m not getting on my own damn jet with your slag. She can walk right back to where she came from. Probably back to your bed,” Poppy says with a toss of her mane of what looks like freshly blown-out hair.
“For the record, I haven’t been anywhere near your brother and a bed at the same time in almost a decade.”
Her stare turns from disgusted to razor sharp. What the hell did I say wrong now?
“You.” She steps toward me, bumping into Bastien’s shoulder. “You’re the one who embarrassed our entire family and ruined my debut.”
“Poppy, it’s not the same—”
I shouldn’t even be surprised when Bastien tries to lie, but his sister clearly doesn’t believe him.
“Yes, it is. I remember Mother showing me her picture from the investigator. She looks exactly the same, just older.”
“Guilty as charged. Older and wiser, one would hope.”
Poppy’s auburn-tinted eyebrows wing upward. “Clearly not wiser, if you’re here. What did Bastien promise you? A luxe holiday so you could feel like that hooker in Pretty Woman?”
Bastien takes a step toward me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Watch your fucking mouth, Poppy, and pretend you’re a lady. India is the future Mrs. de Vere, and one day, the Countess of Carlisle.”
Just hearing the words out of his mouth are almost enough to make me toss up the few bites of toast I managed to force myself to eat before I left my flat.
All the color drains from his sister’s face as she stares at us both.
This is going to be a fabulous flight.
19
Forge
“Mr. Federov, you have the ability to build the ships I need without going to China like my competitors, and I have the money to buy them. Why are we still discussing whether or not you’re going to take my money?”
I’m losing patience with my discussions with Grigory Federov, a Russian oligarch who refuses to negotiate like a reasonable person, or even a rational unreasonable person. I’m close to dropping the efforts completely, but I don’t want Chinese steel. I want Russian steel, and I always fucking get what I want.
Holding the phone, I stare out at the blue expanse of ocean beyond the glass separating my office from the outside as I wait for his response.
“Mr. Forge, I don’t think you understand my position. I’m an old man. Business is good, but what I want can’t be bought.”
“Then tell me what else you want in addition to money to make this deal happen?”
As per usual, the Russian remains cagey
. “Information.”
“What kind of information do you want?” Glancing at the clock, I wonder how long this is going to take and if I should cut my losses now.
“First . . . let me tell you a story, and then we can discuss terms.”
When I hang up with Federov, my life has taken an unexpected and more complicated turn. I stare out the window, working through the deal he offered as I watch the yachts and sailboats glide along the water that’s more home to me than this piece of rock.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
I don’t know why I bother asking myself the question. There’s only one outcome I will accept.
I hit a button on my phone and wait two minutes for a knock to come at my office door. “Enter.”
Koba pushes open the door and steps inside. “Information from the airport just came in. Another passenger was added to the manifest of de Vere’s flight to Monaco before it departed, just like you said.”
That traitorous bitch. She did exactly what I thought she would.
“Call the pilot. Fuel the jet.”
“We’re going to Monaco, sir?”
“Yes.” I lean back in my chair and steeple my fingers as I stare out at the sea. “It’s time to retrieve my property.”
20
India
“What do you mean, it’s been declined? This is an unlimited card. Do you know what that means? It’s literally impossible for it to be declined.” Bastien speaks to the clerk at the Casino de Monte Carlo like he’s an idiot.
“I suggest you call your bank, sir. Perhaps they can explain the mistake I’ve surely made.”
The clerk is trying to allow Bastien to save face, but Bastien isn’t taking the lifeline. Instead, he snatches the card out of the man’s hand and stalks away, passing me as he leaves the private office.
“So sorry for the inconvenience, madam,” the clerk says to me.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. I’m sure there’s some kind of red tape. I mean, how often does someone try to get $2 million as a cash advance on a credit card?”
The clerk’s shrug gives me the impression that this might not be such an unusual request, even though he doesn’t voice it. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. We’re in one of most exclusive casinos in the entire world. Citizens of Monaco aren’t even allowed in the door of the Casino de Monte Carlo, with its overload of gilt and crystal decor.
I leave the office and search for Bastien, wondering if I’ve made a horrible error in judgment by coming here.
Beggars can’t be choosers. Even when they’re playing both sides of the game.
I find Bastien on his phone as he paces the lobby, and spot his sister off to the side, glass of champagne in hand, watching with a catlike smile on her face.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out his little sister is extremely satisfied with the current state of affairs. Bastien is the black sheep of the de Vere family, but somehow that never stopped his ever-flowing fount of money before, which makes me wonder why now . . .
Fuck.
Me.
That’s why now.
She turns her gaze on me and the mirth doubles. “How do you like him now that he’s a pauper? Gold diggers like you are all the same. You’ll be out that door faster than he can find out that he’s been disowned. Don’t worry, I already made sure to tell the casino manager. He’s doted on me since I was a little girl.”
The knot that’s been my companion since the moment I got the call about Summer twists in the pit of my stomach.
This bitch has no idea what she just did. Because if Bastien doesn’t have a stake to sit the game, then there is no game for me either. Even with my reputation from the poker tour and the million-dollar stake I got from Forge, no one will give me a seat at a table in Monte Carlo with a pot big enough to win what I need. I don’t belong to the old boys’ club of the rich and powerful. I don’t have Bastien’s connections.
And now, he doesn’t have his connections anymore either.
I just took the biggest risk of my life getting on Bastien’s jet—defying Forge’s direct order—and it was for nothing.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I thought I was being so smart by playing them both. Taking Forge’s money and using Bastien’s contacts to get in the game so I could save Summer.
Visions of my sister being bought by some man with more money than morals crash through my brain, sending more stabbing pains into my stomach.
I’m so sorry, Summer. I’m going to find a way. I promise. I’ll play a smaller-stakes table here and gamble until I find someone who knows how to get me into a private game nearby. Yes. That’ll work. I will find a fucking way, Summer. I swear it.
“You can’t cut me off! Not because of this!” Bastien’s hair stands up on end as he yells into his phone, creating a scene for the gathering crowd. I want to melt into it and disappear.
I take one step back when a deep rumble of laughter echoes in the lobby. I whip my head around to face the source of the sound.
No. Not possible.
How in the hell did Forge find us so quickly?
The percussion of his slow clap draws the attention of the onlookers who have assembled near Bastien.
“This is fucking priceless. The family finally cut you off and derailed the gravy train.”
Bastien lowers his phone and bares his teeth before rushing forward and launching himself at Forge. Poppy screams as the two men collide in a flurry of fists and black-and-white formal wear.
I walk toward her slowly, my Prada pumps clicking against the floor. I knew I shouldn’t have worn them. They’re still carrying the bad luck from my game at La Reina.
When I stop in front of Poppy, her hand covers her red lips as she gasps. “Someone has to stop them. Now. Right now. He’s going to hurt him.”
“I thought that was your goal? Hurt your brother in any way possible?”
She jerks her attention to my face. “I just didn’t want him marrying the same slut who ruined his wedding before.”
“For your information, your brother arranged that scene all by himself. I didn’t know he was engaged. In fact, I’m pretty sure someone drugged me that night, and I don’t remember a goddamned thing. I don’t even know if he slept in the same bed as me.”
Poppy’s eyes bulge, but a loud smack of flesh on flesh drags our attention back to the fight. Security bears down on both men.
Oh shit. No. No. No.
This can’t be happening. If they get kicked out . . . there won’t even be a small-stakes game for me to play, and my silent promise to my sister will be completely worthless.
My breathing turns shallow as my body trembles so hard, my hands shake.
I can’t lose this chance. I can’t lose this chance.
I back away slowly, attempting to fade into the crowd, but Poppy wraps her hand around my arm and calls out to security.
“She’s with them too. Don’t forget to throw her out!”
That fucking cunt.
One of the security guards comes toward me as Forge shoves Bastien off him and straightens the lapels of his tux before his gaze sweeps over the gawkers. Looking for me.
The security guard motions for me to leave, and I consider bolting to avoid both Forge and Bastien, and maybe even have a shot at disappearing into a game before anyone can catch me. It won’t be any use, though. They’ll tackle me to the floor and then throw me out.
If I have to go down, I’m not going alone.
I grab Poppy and give her wrist a hard yank. “She’s with them too.”
At the sound of my voice, Forge’s dark gaze locks onto my face.
Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s fucking pissed. A wave of apprehension sweeps over me as he surveys me from head to toe.
I knew this was a risk. I took it willingly. But the risk seemed inconsequential compared to the immediacy of needing to save Summer. Now . . . the risk is staring me right in the face with gray eyes promising retribution.
I glance over my shoulder, again calculating my odds of disappearing into the casino.
It’ll never work.
“Ms. Baptiste.” Forge’s voice cracks like a whip. “I believe we have matters to discuss.”
He’s wrong. We don’t have a damn thing to discuss, because I just lost my next best chance to save my sister.
“All of you, please leave the premises immediately.” More security guards have joined the first responders, attempting to disburse the crowd as both Forge and Bastien walk toward the door.
Salt-tinged air hits my face as I’m shown outside the casino, and my entire body trembles with the reality of my situation. I have to get back inside. I can’t lose this chance. Alanna is going to be devastated.
Spinning around, I dart back toward the building, but a large hand clamps over my wrist, stopping me before I take two steps.
“You’re not—” Forge says, but I fucking lose it.
With a jerk of my wrist, I scream, “Let me go! I have to get back inside! I have to play!”
My entire body shakes, but his grip holds firm. With what little energy I have left, I swing around to slap at his arm with my purse.
“Let me go! You don’t understand!”
21
Forge
Tears spill down India’s cheeks, and her screams turn piercing. For a moment, I think she’s pretending, but the tremors rippling through her body tell me otherwise. Unless she’s a great actress, India Baptiste is coming unhinged.
She smacks me with her hand before tugging at my grip again and lashing out with her clutch. It narrowly misses the mirror of my Bugatti that’s parked by the valet.
“India, stop,” I tell her, but she’s unable to be reasoned with as she dissolves into sobs. Her hair tangles in front of her face and her knees bend, on the verge of giving out.
Her arm whips out again, and I release her wrist. She starts to crumple before I wrap my arms around her from behind and pick her up off her feet.