Page 10 of Royal Shark
I cross to him, and he gives me a once-over as I walk, taking in my outfit, lingering on my calves. My legs are bare. Guess he’s a leg man.
I smile brightly. “I’m sure you’ll be winning again in the very next game. You’re the best player.” One of the best.
“Let’s talk,” he says, indicating a pair of wooden chairs with blue cushioned seats in front of the fireplace. Not good. I don’t want to talk. I want the money he owes me.
I take a seat and cross my legs. “What would you like to talk about?”
He angles his chair so he’s facing me. “We haven’t had much time just the two of us.”
I paste on a smile. He’s interested in me. No, thanks. “True, but I’m here now. I know it’s not fun, but I do have a lot more stops to make, so if you could just give me what I came for, I’d be most appreciative.”
His voice turns husky. “You’re a beautiful woman. Have I ever told you that?”
“Thank you,” I say evenly. “I appreciate that. I need to go; others are expecting me. I could accept a check if that’s easier.”
His dark eyes are soft, his voice low. “Would you like to have dinner tonight?”
I look down and away, playing flattered. “Sergei, that’s such a nice invitation.” I meet his eyes, wait a beat as if I’m considering it, and then say in a regretful tone, “I need to decline. I don’t date players. It would make the others suspicious if they thought I favored one player over another. I like to keep the game professional for all concerned.”
This is true, but it’s not just because he’s a player and this is business for me. I don’t do relationships, period. My sister is the only real tie I will keep until the day I die. I’d rather be alone than go through the pain of losing someone again. I don’t need a therapist to tell me why. It is what it is. Most people are a bad bet anyway.
He leans his elbows on his knees, bringing his face down to my level, uncomfortably close. “No one would have to know. I wouldn’t tell. You could keep a little secret, no?”
I push my chair back and stand. “I’m afraid not. I would like to keep our friendship as is.”
He slowly stands and closes the distance, a predatory stealth to his movements. My heart pounds. I consider my options—knee in the balls, turn and run, scream. Wait. I have pepper spray in my purse.
He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Such a pretty little thing.”
I swallow hard, my hand sliding to the zipper of my purse. “I heard Vic Sobol has been asking about our game. He’s that—”
He stills. “I know who he is. He runs that hedge fund. You can get him?”
“I’m meeting with him later. I can get him from curious to itching to play. Definitely.” This is a total bluff. I’ve been putting out feelers for Vic and haven’t heard back. I’ll worry about that later.
His eyes narrow. “You play us all, don’t you?”
My hand dives into my purse, frantically searching for the pepper spray. “My job is to run a fair game with the best players. Like you.” I’ve got it, my finger on the nozzle. I debate whipping out the pepper spray. If I do it prematurely, I’ve cut this player forever. He was one of the first players in my game when it was only five men, and he’s brought some great players with him. We’ve got ten men now with loads to gamble. They may all take his side, leaving me without a decent game. “You understand this is my job, right? Run the game; keep everyone even. I’m putting my little sister through college. I’m all she has. We’re orphans.” I ignore the sharp jab of pain over my parents and remain focused on the task at hand.
He turns to his desk across the room, and I nearly collapse with relief, releasing my hold on the pepper spray. I watch as he pulls open a drawer and produces a checkbook.
“I lost my mother young,” he says as he writes out a check. He hands it to me. “Your sister is lucky to have you.”
I take the check, glance at the amount to be sure he didn’t stiff me, and tuck it into my purse. “Thank you. I’ll see you Tuesday night with the new fish.” Fish means a bad player, which is a lot of fun for skilled players like him to play with. I’m implying the hedge fund guy will be bad at poker, though we both know he’s not. Keeping it light and fun.
He shakes his head. “That would be ideal. Not likely that Vic will be a fish.”
I back toward the door. “I value our friendship greatly, Sergei. And I’m a bad bet anyway. I don’t do relationships.”
He smirks. “Who said anything about a relationship?”
I shake my finger at him. “I don’t do that with my players either. Have a good day!”
And then I’m gone, walking at a brisk pace out of what I’m calling a successful collection visit. Only four more to go. Then I get to do the fun part, bringing the money to the winners. Everyone loves those visits. I’m like Robin Hood, except I take from the rich and make the rich richer. Maybe I’m more like a fairy godmother. All I know is I fucking love this job.
By the time I get home to my studio apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood of Brooklyn, far from the Park Slope richies, I’m flying high. All of my players are paid, everyone’s eager for Tuesday, and the world is a golden place. I toss my purse on my dark green futon and go to the galley kitchen, pulling the safe from the oven. My favorite pastime, counting my money. It’s not like I’m Miss Greedy. I really am putting my sister through college and hopefully medical school too. Our parents died in an accident when I was thirteen. My chest aches, and I realize I’m holding my breath. I remind myself to breathe normally as the memory washes over me.Breathe in, breathe out. Panic attacks do not control me anymore.
They’d gone out for a date night, walking to a restaurant not far from our Manhattan apartment. They were trying to work things out after many heated arguments over my dad wanting to quit his job in favor of starting a new business as a consultant. A drunk truck driver veered off the road and plowed into them on the sidewalk. I like to think they were trying to make peace and not fighting in their last moments.
