Page 1 of Just The Way You Aren't

CHAPTER 1

DAMIEN

“Read ‘em and weep, gentlemen.”

I scowl at my friend’s cards as he lays them on the table. “It’s damn impolite to gloat, Finn.”

The group of us are gathered at our private poker room at the Retreat, one of New York City’s most exclusive social clubs—one that caters solely to members of a certain financial status, like me and the five other billionaires at the table. Tonight in particular, the Retreat lives up to its name. It’s one of the few places left where I can escape the constant pressure of running Langley Enterprises and dealing with an increasingly hostile board.

Finn Bardot smirks, leaning back in the leather chair as he tilts a glass of single malt Scotch to his lips. “Can’t a man be excited about winning?”

“Damien’s right. Gloating is rude,” Alec Beckett says. A small smile brings out his dimples, even as he folds. “Besides, you haven’t won yet. What’ve you got, Wyatt?”

Wyatt Reed lays his cards down and we all raise our eyebrows at his royal flush. “Pleasure doing business withyou, boys,” he says in a smooth drawl. His black, wavy hair and come-hither smile make his brown eyes sparkle, clearly pegging him as the Casanova of our group.

“I don’t even know why I come here,” Bradford Hayes grumbles, tossing his cards so they scatter across the table. “Reed has the devil’s luck.”

Wyatt grins. “At least this time you didn’t accuse me of cheating.”

“Night’s not over yet,” Gabriel Sinclair says. Quiet and mysterious as always, he simply raises an eyebrow at all of us and takes a measured sip of scotch. His intense gray eyes miss nothing, however.

I’ve been playing with the same five men since we met at a Harvard question-and-answer session about ‘successful people.’ It was a tedious, terrible experience for all of us, and we’d gone out drinking afterward. We bonded over twelve-year-old scotch and made the decision to keep things going. It was Finn who suggested playing poker at The Retreat. We all agreed, got memberships, and years later, still meet up every week.

Until recently, there had been a seventh member at our weekly gathering. That is, until Mason “The Machine” Steele went off and fell in love with his temporary assistant. Whatever magic sweet Lucy Pembroke wielded on him had rendered Mason utterly insane.

Not only had the couple run out and eloped, but Mason had come back from their tropical escape a completely changed man. Sold his company and all of his considerable assets, then retired from the business world he used to dominate in favor of living in the Turks and Caicos where he was currently making babies with Lucy.

Total madness.I shake my head as I recall how ridiculouslyhappy Mason had looked when he came to the Retreat to tell us. God forbid I, or any of the rest of us, ever end up like that poor sap.

“Another game?” I ask, eager to think about something else. I glance at Finn. “Unless you need to lick your wounds while the rest of us play?”

He grins and flips me off. “It was only a few hundred thousand lost. Pocket change, am I right?”

We all murmur our agreement. To six billionaires, a few hundred thousand dollars is a fart in the wind. But we aren’t really playing for money. We’re playing for bragging rights.

And, as usual, Wyatt has garnered most of those. He rakes in the pot of chips to add to his growing mountain and holds his hand out for our cards. “It’s my deal, no?”

“About damn time,” Brad says. “At least you can’t possibly win while you’re dealing.”

Gabe scoops up Brad’s scattered cards and passes them and his own to Wyatt, who takes ours and the rest of the deck and begins shuffling like a Vegas dealer.

“Show-off,” Alec mutters.

Finn laughs. “Hey now. If you keep talking like an old bag with rheumatism, we might start to mistake you for Damien.”

“I do not talk like an old bag with rheumatism,” I reply impatiently.

The other five look at me and I get the strong impression they all agree with Finn’s assessment.

“It’s just the work, that’s all. I’m sure we can all agree we have high-stress jobs,” I point out. “Being a CEO isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Brad chuckles. “You’d have to take time for a walk in the park.”

“Is it on his schedule?” Alec asks.

“Doubt it,” Wyatt says, starting to deal the cards.

“That means it’s never going to happen,” Alec says. “Speaking of which, Damien, I’ve switched my usual Wednesday golf game to Tuesday so we can all make it this time.”

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