Big Deck

by Blake Wilder

  Because I was in love with her.

  And yeah, that was definitely going to fuck everything up.

  I’d stolen his car.

  He wasn’t going to be happy about that.

  But I had the feeling Declan Black was going to be even less happy about me sneaking out.

  Honestly, without the lessons last night, I would have never thought about going out a second-story window and crawling over the roof to climb down on the front porch. I never would have dreamed of picking his lock, sneaking in to grab his keys, and taking his car. His freaking Jag. But, well, he was a great instructor and I was an amazing student. What could I say?

  I pulled up in front of the hotel in the car, grabbed my purse that I’d, thank God, left in the car last night, tossed the keys to the valet, gave him a fake name and room number—I didn’t need the car back—and dashed into the lobby.

  I headed for the elevators. I needed to get to my room and check out and hightail it to another hotel before he came after me.

  As I stood waiting for the elevator to arrive, I noticed a couple of old men with their wives staring at me. I glanced down.

  Oh. Right.

  I was wearing one of Dec’s t-shirts and my thong. And that was it.

  My dress was crumpled on Declan’s bedroom floor and I hadn’t been wearing a bra.

  I could only imagine what my hair looked like. Or my makeup.

  Thankfully, Declan was a lot bigger than me so his shirt was more like a short dress. But it was white and a little see-through. I sighed. Oh well. This was Vegas. They could see a lot more than this just stepping outside and taking a little walk.

  Finally the elevator arrived and I got on with the two couples. I gave them a big smile and then turned my back to them. I shifted back and forth on my bare feet, only just now realizing that I’d left my shoes at Declan’s house too. I hadn’t been thinking of anything but getting the hell out of there without seeing him. Shoes hadn’t even occurred to me.

  But dammit, those had been expensive. As had the dress he’d ruined. He’d said he’d pay me back for that.

  Well, that wasn’t going to happen now. I wasn’t going to see Declan Black again. At least, I hoped I wasn’t.

  I’d overheard enough of his conversation to be panicking anyway. He was a cop. No matter what he’d said about “security” last night.

  Declan was a cop. A cop who knew that I was planning to steal a painting.

  Even more specifically, he was a cop who knew that I was planning to steal a painting from Warren Maxwell.

  All of his words came rushing back to me. They’d been studying the people around Warren Maxwell for months. This would be over in twenty-four hours. Had I been on the list of people connected to him? Was I now? Declan hadn’t said a word when I’d said Maxwell was my ex-stepfather. Because he was keeping tabs on me? Hoping I’d give him some information about Maxwell they didn’t already have?

  After I’d crept to the door to eavesdrop more easily—hey, he was the one who had left the door partially open when he’d answered the phone—it sounded very much like Warren was the target of whatever plan he and whoever was on the phone had going on.

  Did Declan think I might tip Warren off?

  They’d talked about how they were taking bad guys—and girls—down tomorrow night.

  Fuck. Was I now on that bad girls list?

  Finally, the elevator arrived on my floor.

  I ran down the hallway to my room and let myself in, turning the deadbolt the moment the door shut. Would a deadbolt really save me from Declan Black? No, because I had to leave this room eventually. I knew he’d try to find me. I wasn’t even entirely sure it was because he was a cop and I was a sort-of-maybe thief. There was just something about Dec and my connection that made me think he’d come after me anyway.

  Of course, if he wasn’t a cop and I wasn’t a sort-of-maybe thief, I wouldn’t have climbed out of his window and stolen his car.

  I didn’t know what to do. I needed to get lost in Vegas.

  I took a risk and jumped in the shower. I scrubbed everything quickly, not letting myself think about why I had whisker burns on my inner thighs or why my nipples were still sensitive. I dried off and dressed quickly in a pair of capris and a light tee. But as I was zipping my suitcase shut, preparing to get the hell out of this hotel and into a new one, under a new name, somehow, I suddenly had a better idea.

  Declan thought I was still working on my plan. He thought I needed more information to pull off the painting heist.

  Maybe I did. But I was out of time. If I did it now, right away, as soon as possible, Declan wouldn’t be expecting it. He might stake Maxwell’s house out in a couple of days if he couldn’t find me, figuring on catching me in the act, but that meant I had a couple of days to do it before he started watching for me.

  Declan was cocky, that was for sure. It would never occur to him that I might just go ahead with it all now. He’d think that last night had proved I needed more time to plan.

  Well, I probably did. But I wasn’t leaving Vegas without at least trying to get the painting back and I wasn’t going to try to nab the painting without at least trying not to get caught.

  I took the capris and tee off and pulled on my little black dress and heels. The dress showed plenty of leg and plenty of cleavage. It was what I’d planned to wear to lunch with Maxwell.

  That lunch had just been moved up on my calendar. To today.

  I took a risk and spent time curling my hair into soft, sexy waves, and applying makeup. When I stepped back and looked into the full-length mirror, I looked like a woman ready to hit the town and find a sugar daddy rather than a woman meeting her ex-stepfather for lunch. But I was desperate here, and, more importantly, out of time. If Warren thought he could take me back to his house and be that sugar daddy, well…it wasn’t breaking and entering if he let me in, was it?

  If he ended up duct taped to his headboard while I waltzed out with the painting, that just meant that I’d taken another of Declan Black’s little lessons and used it to my advantage.

  He shouldn’t have been such a good teacher if he didn’t want me to actually do this stuff and pull it off.

  I fluffed my hair once more, repacked all of my toiletries and clothes haphazardly in my bag, grabbed my purse, and headed for the front desk. I was checked out of that hotel, into the next one under my mom’s name—paid for with cash—and in an Uber on my way to Maxwell’s office an hour later.

  Could Declan track the fact that I’d withdrawn money with my credit card at an ATM one block from the hotel where we met? Probably. But then what? How would he track me from there?

  And even if he could in some super-FBI-agent way, it would take him a little while.

  A little while was all I needed.

  “Here we are,” the Uber driver said.

  I started to tap my Uber app to pay him and thought better of it. Dec could probably track my phone. He’d know I ordered an Uber, dammit, and finding out where it had dropped me off wouldn’t be hard. Crap. I hadn’t thought of that. Still, I paid the guy in cash instead of putting the payment on the app. As if that would slow Dec down.

  I really wasn’t cut out for this life of crime.

  For a second my eyes stung. What? Why? Because I’d thought Dec understood me. I thought he’d agreed that I deserved to get that painting back. It had felt good to have someone on my side, someone who got me. It had been a long time since I’d felt like that. I had a few friends in Kansas City, but my mom was really the only person I’d ever confided in, who’d ever really seen me vulnerable and understood how my mind worked.

  God, I missed her.

  I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the huge building in front of me. Warren Maxwell’s building. It gleamed in the bright Nevada sun and I hated everything about it. How big it was. How shiny it was. How impressive it was.

  All threat of tears dissipated and I started for the door. I was going to do whatever I had to
to get that painting back. I didn’t need Declan Black. I didn’t need anybody.

  Eight

  “Excuse me, Mr. Maxwell, but there’s someone here to see you.”

  Warren Maxwell looked up at his assistant with a frown. “I’m in a meeting.”

  Obviously. We’d been shut in his office for the past hour going over details of the party and poker game and what security details we needed to shore up.

  The man was a stickler.

  He was also an asshole.

  This was the first I’d seen him since I’d met Olivia. His ex-stepdaughter. Who wanted only one thing from him. A painting that had cost pennies next to even the one that hung in the lobby of his offices and that couldn’t mean much to him.

  Knowing that he’d made Olivia sad made me want to choke him.

  Or steal a painting that belonged to him.

  “Yes, sir,” his assistant said. “But this woman…she says she’s your daughter.”

  The entire room was completely silent. Eerily silent. I frowned at Maxwell, then glanced at Jordan. He lifted a shoulder, clearly not knowing why Maxwell looked like he’d just taken a bite of rotten meat. It was clear that Maxwell’s assistant was completely uncomfortable and was waiting for something, hovering in the doorway as if she wanted to bolt.

  “What?” Maxwell finally demanded. “What the fuck am I paying you for? You don’t walk in here, in the middle of a meeting with my security team, and tell me that my daughter is here. Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t have a daughter. Pull your head out of your ass. She’s clearly lying to you.”

  His assistant was red in the face by the time his tirade was over and she looked like she was about to cry.

  Now I wanted to steal two paintings from him. And still choke him.

  “Hey, now,” Jordan said, sitting forward. “Let’s just calm down.”

  “I told her that you don’t have a daughter,” his assistant said. “I told her to leave. She sat down, told me to come in here and tell you that Olivia Strong is here, and she wants you to take her to the Gables for lunch.”

  There was a beat of silence and I felt my heart trying to pound out of my chest. I gripped the armrests on my chair. Olivia Strong. That was her name. The name she hadn’t given me.

  “She said her name is Olivia Strong?” Maxwell asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Really.” Maxwell seemed intrigued and he sat back in his chair, clearly pondering something. “And she wants to go to lunch.”

  “That’s what she said. Should I make reservations?”

  Maxwell started to nod slowly.

  I was up and out of my chair in an instant. Olivia was here and planning to see Maxwell? Spend time with him?

  No.

  Jordan gave me a weird look and Maxwell scowled at me.

  “I’ll take care of this, Mr. Maxwell,” I said, covering quickly.

  Oh, I was going to take care of this alright. Olivia was here and there was no way in hell she was leaving this building without me seeing her and explaining very clearly that she was not ditching me.

  The universe seemed to agree. She was here now, attempting to see Warren Maxwell, at the same time I happened to be here meeting with him.

  She was days ahead of schedule. There was no way she was ready to steal the painting and I certainly hadn’t realized she intended to see the man. But hey, I was a pro at thinking on my feet and adjusting to unexpected occurrences.

  “Take care of it?” Maxwell asked.

  “I’ll make sure she’s who she says she is, find out what she really wants.” I was already on my way to the door, so I wished him luck trying to stop me.

  “Fine,” Maxwell said.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Not that Maxwell could have kept me from her either, but it would have been more awkward to explain it if he’d said no.

  “Jordan and Lance can finish going over these details,” I tossed out. “They’ll bring me up to speed.”

  Maxwell’s assistant was still hovering in the doorway, looking like she wanted to bolt, or throw up. I took her elbow and turned her out of the room. She chose to work here, so I couldn’t save her entirely, but I could escort her back to her desk.

  She gave me a shaky smile. “I know I shouldn’t have interrupted him, but she was very confident and said that he’d definitely want to know she was here.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s true,” I said, through gritted teeth.

  What was Olivia’s plan here? We’d had a plan last night. I’d thought, anyway. Then she’d gone out my window, stolen my car, and showed up here.

  Well, there was no way Olivia knew I was here right now and I was going to use the element of surprise to my advantage this time.

  “It didn’t occur to me that she might be lying,” Maxwell’s assistant went on. “She seemed so sure of herself.”

  I knew exactly what the woman was talking about. I’d sat across a poker table from Olivia after all. I knew exactly what a good bluffer she was.

  I’d also stripped her down and made her come hard multiple times. So, I knew what she looked like when she was completely honest and open too.

  Of course there was a chance that she’d been faking the orgasms…

  No. No, there wasn’t. Those might have been the only honest things she’d given me, but those had been real as fuck.

  I pushed the frosted glass door that opened into the reception area of Maxwell’s office suite. His assistant stepped through first with me right behind her.

  My eyes immediately found Olivia.

  Yep, she was real alright.

  And she looked absolutely shocked to see me.

  Her face drained of color, her spine went ramrod straight, and for a second I thought maybe she was going to faint.

  Good.

  “Ms. Strong,” I said, emphasizing the name she’d kept from me. “Right this way.”

  Olivia pulled herself together—or pretended to—and rose from her seat. She crossed to the receptionist’s desk. “I need to see Mr. Maxwell. Not one of his flunkies.”

  I fought a grin. She was not going to get the upper hand here.

  But it was going to be a lot of fun having her try.

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Maxwell is in a meeting. He asked Mr. Black to speak to you.”

  Olivia looked up at me, meeting my gaze directly. “But I don’t have anything to say to Mr. Black.”

  “That’s okay,” I told her, stepping back and gesturing for her to step through that same frosted glass door. “I have plenty of things to say to you.”

  She hesitated and licked her lips.

  I could almost read her thoughts.

  Should she voluntarily step into the lion’s den?

  I was going to enjoy having her a little off-kilter. I needed some fucking answers and if she didn’t have time to gather her thoughts and her armor, I might get a few.

  “Do you need a hand?” I asked, purposefully dropping my voice to a huskier timbre.

  Did I want to yell at her? Definitely. Demand some answers? Absolutely. Fuck her on the table in the first conference room? More than anything. After the yelling and answers. Or during. I wasn’t picky.

  She looked at the hand I had held out, swallowed, hopefully thought about all the things that hand had done to her last night, hopefully realized that I would fucking throw her over my shoulder and take her into the conference room, and then straightened her spine, and stepped past me.

  “First door on the left,” I told her simply.

  She walked the short hallway to the first conference room and stepped inside.

  I followed, shutting the door, and locking it, behind me.

  The room was floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, solid walls with AV equipment built in on either end, with a frosted glass wall between the room and hallway. No one would be able to see fully inside the room through that glass wall, but people would know we were in here.

  I didn’t care.

&n
bsp; I stalked across the carpet to where she stood, getting into her personal space.

  “What the hell, Olivia?” I demanded.

  She didn’t step back or even look nervous. She scowled at me. “What the hell?” she repeated. “How about, what the hell, Declan?”

  “Okay,” I said. “We can do it this way. What do you want to know?”

  “You fucked me all night and then came straight over here this morning to fuck me some more?” she asked.

  My gaze flickered to the wide conference table behind her. It would definitely work.

  But I didn’t think that’s what she meant.

  “What do you think is going on here?” I asked, honestly curious.

  “You came running to Maxwell to tell him about my plan?” she said. “And now you have me locked in a conference room. Waiting for your buddies to show up to arrest me?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You’re a cop!” she exclaimed. “I heard you on the phone with your partner! You have something going on with Warren Maxwell and now you know about me and why I’m here and…” She pressed her lips together and pulled a breath in through her nose. “Did you know who I was last night?” she asked. “When you sat down at the poker table with me? Did you already know? Did you come over to my table because of Maxwell?”

  There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, a vulnerability, and it tore at my heart. She thought that the entire night had been a setup. That I’d targeted her and had been keeping her close.

  Fuck.

  “No.” I said it firmly, cupping her face in my hands. “Definitely not.”

  “Then why did you come over?”

  I gave her a small smile. “Honestly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your ass in that dress.”

  Heat flickered in her eyes before she could cover it. “You know that’s hard to believe.”

  “Your ass is amazing and in that dress…” I realized that she was in no mood to joke when her eyes narrowed. “It’s hard to believe I’d be drawn to you?”

  “It’s a huge coincidence that you happened to sit down across from the woman who is planning to steal something from a guy that you’re…working for. Or with.” She frowned. “Or whatever you’re doing.”