Page 7 of The Grandest Game
Grayson did not vamoose. “I have something for you.” He reached inside the jacket of his Armani suit and produced a black gift box: an inch tall and maybe twice the length of a Pop-Tart. “From Avery.”
Gigi stared at the box. As Grayson removed the lid, all shecould think, over the sound of the roaring beat of her own heart, was:Seven golden tickets—three to players of Avery’s choosing.
“It’s yours if you want it.” Grayson’s voice was softer now. He wasn’t a soft person, and that told Gigi that this gift wasn’t just a lark. This was Avery trying to make up for—
Don’t think about it. Just keep smiling.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Gigi said, a traitorous lump rising in her throat. “Avery knows that, right?”
Grayson brought his eyes to hers. “She knows.”
Gigi took a deep breath and a step back. “Tell Avery thank you—but no.” Gigi didn’t want anyone’s guilt. She didn’t want their pity. She didn’t want Grayson to think for even a second that she wasn’t strong enough. That she was worth pitying.
“If you don’t take it,” Grayson said, “I have instructions to give this ticket to Savannah.”
“Savannah’s busy,” Gigi replied immediately. “With college. And basketball. And world domination.” Gigi’s twin didn’t know THE SECRET. Savannah was the smart twin, the pretty twin, the strong one. She was focused, determined, thriving in college.
And Gigi was… here.
She looked back to the writing on her arm, banishing Grayson’s presence from her mind. She could do this—all of it.
Keep THE SECRET.
Protect Savannah.
Break the code and obtain a ticket of her own.
And prove, for once in her life, that she had what it took to win.
Chapter 5
ROHAN
If I had a tenner, Rohan thought,for every time someone pointed a gun at the back of my head…
“Hand it over.” The fool with the gun had no idea how much his voice betrayed him.
“Hand what over?” Rohan turned, displaying his empty hands. Granted, they hadn’t been empty the second before.
“The ticket.” The man shook his gun in Rohan’s face. “Give it to me! There are only two wild cards left in the game.”
“Point of fact,” Rohan said lazily, “there are none.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.”
Rohan smiled. “My mistake.” He saw the exact instant his opponent realized: Rohan didn’t make mistakes. He’d found his first wild card ticket in Las Vegas and a second one here in Atlanta, at which point, he’d moved on to the next phase of his plan.
This rooftop provided an excellent vantage point from which to observe the courtyard below.
“You have the last two tickets? Both of them?” The man lowered his gun and took a step forward—mistakes, both. “Give me one.Please.”
“I’m gratified to see your manners are improving, but as it happens, I prefer to choose my competition.” Rohan turned his back on the man—and the gun—and angled his gaze toward the courtyard below. “She’ll do.”
Four stories down, a young woman with hair the color of chocolate and a gravity-defying bounce in her step was investigating a statue.
“It’s possible,” Rohan said, a pleasant hum in his voice, “that the ticket I found up here is now residing down there.”
After a split second, the man with the gun bolted for the stairs—for the courtyard below.For the girl.
