Authors: Scarlet Risqué
She was wearing a black leather corset, a velvet choker, and black leather cuffs. I imagined her strung up like a marionette, controlled by an elusive puppet master hiding in the shadows. I shook my head to get the puppet image out of my mind.
We walked down five stairs into the main room. The exclusive club had red velvet furniture and crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in a soft, golden glow. People were sitting around card tables with green felt tops and tuxedoed croupiers. Waitresses in skimpy, skintight uniforms were serving cocktails.
Conan led me to a private room. His bodyguards flanked the door as we went inside.
The small card room was masculine and subdued, but it still had the feel of a stately European parlor. There was a round table with four leather armchairs, and the only light was from a tiny baroque lamp.
I put my clutch bag on a chair and sat across from Conan, folding my arms. He took a leather briefcase out from under the table. It contained two decks of cards and red poker chips. He divvied out the chips and put the decks on the table. I unfolded my arms and placed my hands on top of each other on the table, like a cat.
“Conan, if you don’t mind, can you remind how to play?”
“It’s simple.” His deep voice filled the room. “Everyone gets two cards that stay face down. Those are the hole cards. We bet, and then three cards are placed face up on the table. Those are the community cards. We bet again and another card is laid on the table and so on until there are five community cards. You make your five-card hand using a combination of hole cards and community cards. Stronger hands win, weaker hands lose. If players fold, the last player in the game wins.”
“Ah yes. It’s all coming back to me now.” When I was at the Academy we had to watch the James Bond film
Casino Royale.
I recalled a line from it: … in poker you never play your hand. You play the man across from you.
“Let the games begin,” Conan said as he dealt the cards with his long, slender fingers.
I was able to bluff my way to victory in a good few games and the chips were piling up in front of me.
My Mr. Cheap Poker mission is serving me well
.
I was dealing a hand and the river left the possibility of a flush or a straight flush on the table. About a quarter of all the chips were in the pot, and I was close to winning everything.
“Are you willing to risk it all to even things up?” I asked. I began playing with my tall stacks, lifting them and letting the chips fall onto each other one by one. I hoped the clicking would distract him.
“All in,” he said as he pushed his remaining chips to the middle of the table.
It was my turn to call or fold. His bold move excited me and my little girl started screaming for attention … his attention. I shifted in my seat and slightly shook my head. I looked at him, searching for a tell, but all I could see were his chiseled features. He focused his gray eyes on mine without changing his expression. I couldn’t read his handsome poker face.
“Are you willing to bet that I’m bluffing?” he asked.
“Perhaps.” I tilted my head and smiled as I traced the scar on my abdomen with my left index finger. My little girl was trying to take control. Or was he in control of her?
Pay attention to the game
.
“Scarlet, are you trying to entice me?” he asked, looking at my neck.
“Are you enticed?” I played with a lock of my hair. “If you’re bluffing, you’re a very nasty boy.” I wanted to rip the tiny buttons off his white shirt and strip him bare.
“I may be a nasty boy, but I never bluff.” He put a long, slender finger to his lips and eyed me.
“You win.” I pushed my cards toward him face down.
Why did I do that
?
What’s wrong with me
?
“I usually do.” Conan grinned as he swept up the pot and counted his chips.
He shuffled the deck and I put my hands on the table, palms down. This man was causing me to make stupid decisions. I hated losing and I wanted to teach him a lesson. A vision of my stepfather’s bloody corpse flashed through my mind.
“Do you play poker with other women?” I asked.
“No, only the boys at work. My last secretary didn’t know how to play.”
“Why didn’t you teach her?”
“She wasn’t interested. Bet.”
I threw a big blind into the pot, hoping for an easy steal. Conan dealt the cards and I raised my bet every time. He matched me until the turn. I smiled to myself when he folded.
I haven’t lost my touch
.
“Why don’t we raise the stakes?” he suggested. “Triple blind to start?”
“Fine.”
Conan put out a triple blind and I dealt. I got two black aces, the strongest pair. He raised on the preflop and so did I. The flop left a pair of kings and a queen on the table. Conan raised again and I knew he had a strong hand.
If he’s holding a king and queen he has a full house. That beats two pairs
. There were still two more chances for me to win and I matched his bet.
I dealt the turn and it was a useless six. He raised and I was beginning to doubt my odds. I’d usually fold if I knew I had a weaker hand, but I didn’t want to give in to him.
“Check,” I said.
“No bet? Getting twitchy are we?” He smirked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
If he only has a queen I still have a chance to win
.
“I’ll know soon enough. Deal.”
An ace of hearts appeared on the river.
Bingo
! The community cards were a pair of kings, a queen, a six, and the ace.
There’s my full house, three aces and two kings
. Conan was watching me intently, looking for a tell. I was feeling pretty confident, but I remained still and kept my poker face.
“Are you leaving it to chance?” I entwined my fingers.
Please let him fold
.
“I never leave anything to chance. I decide the outcome.” He glanced at his cards again. “All in.” He pushed all his chips to the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair. “Now Ms. Walters, are you happy to let chance dictate your fate?”
The only chips not in the pot were mine. I had to go all in or fold.
“I try to control my destiny, but I accept fate for what it is. All in. Showdown,” I said, nudging my stacks forward.
“Don’t make me wait to see those cards.”
“Full house,” I said, laying my cards on the table.
“My dear lady, I told you I don’t leave anything to chance. Four of a kind,” he said as he slowly placed his two kings with the pair of kings on the table. “Not only is this a winning combination, it’s a rare one.”
I gasped. I never suspected that he had two kings. I’d miscalculated and lost everything. I was vexed.
I can’t be falling into his trap instead of him falling into mine
.
L’Atelier
“
Bonjour
Scarlet,” said Christophe as he walked up to my desk.
“
Bonjour
,” I said. “You look sort of … stressed. Is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure. Conan just told me to see him immediately.”
“Oh. I’ll let him know you’re here.” I pressed the intercom button on the phone. “Conan, Christophe’s here.”
“Send him in.”
“Good luck,” I whispered as Christophe went into the office and closed the door.
I heard a loud thump and raised voices. Conan was barely letting Christophe get a word in. It quickly escalated into a shouting match, but I couldn’t tell what they were arguing about.
Christophe looked defeated as he left Conan’s office.
“Hey moron! You forgot the goddamn file!” Conan screamed as he followed Christophe.
The worker rats were peering over their cubicles as Conan threw a heavy-duty three-ring binder at Christophe’s chest. It landed on the floor with a thud.
“That better be back on my desk with EVERYTHING I NEED before you leave tonight. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow otherwise,” said Conan as he slammed his door.
“He’s Mr. Hyde today,” Christophe said as he picked up the file.
Conan emerged from his office an hour later. He towered over me and put his fist on my desk.
Oh hell, am I going to get it now
?
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” said Conan. “The kid has a bright future, but he’s been making a lot of stupid mistakes lately. I don’t want to have to fire him, so I figured it was time to play bad cop … to whip him into shape.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t worry, Kelvin’s taking him out for a nice lunch to smooth things over. Anyway, I need you to go somewhere with me tonight … strictly business of course.”
“Where?”
“I have to inspect the first floor of one our premises, but I don’t want the guys on-site to know I’m doing an inspection. Most of the floor is taken up by a restaurant, so we’re going to pretend that we’re just there to have dinner. Don’t go home after work. I’ll be back later. Understood?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t looking forward to it after the way he savaged Christophe, but I couldn’t say no.
* * *
The office was empty and I looked at my watch. It was almost seven.
When Conan finally returned he was wearing a smart dinner jacket.
He’s dashing day and night
…
and I’m obviously underdressed
.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Just a minute.” I got a whiff of his musky cologne and I accidentally pushed a few files to the floor as I was tidying my desk. “Oops.”
“You’re clumsy tonight.” Conan bent over to pick up the files.
I wanted to run my fingers through his neatly combed dark-brown hair, and I couldn’t help but imagine the feel of his naked body against mine.
Snap out of it
!
You’re on a mission. This is NOT a date
!
What is this man doing to me
?
“Thank you,” I said as I grabbed my handbag.
“My driver’s downstairs. Let’s go.”
A long black limo was waiting at the main entrance.
“After you,” said Conan as he opened the car door. “L’Atelier,” he instructed the driver.
There were two armed men in the limo. Conan’s bodyguards weren’t in the car with us when we went to the poker club.
With this sort of security, it’s a good thing the White Queen doesn’t expect me to kill him
.
“What type of restaurant are we going to?” I asked.
“French. It has three Michelin stars.”
“I see.” I stared out the window as we buzzed through traffic, passing flashing billboards and neon signs.
The limo pulled into the curved driveway in front of an art nouveau building. Conan’s bodyguards got out and checked the area before opening the rear door. They walked on either side of us and I felt like some sort of cosseted possession.
Conan glanced around at the security cameras in the granite lobby as he greeted the guards. He excused himself to go to the restroom, but I knew he was checking the emergency exits.
“Sorry to keep you waiting Scarlet. Let’s get dinner,” said Conan.
Conan shooed away his bodyguards as we walked into the restaurant. They stood at the entrance like a pair of crows.
The maître d’ knew Conan by name. We were seated at a window table that overlooked an inner courtyard with a lighted fountain. “
Madame
,
monsieur
,” said the maître d’ as he handed us menus.
“
Bonsoir
. May I bring you something to drink?” asked a waiter with a heavy French accent.
“A bottle of Dom Pérignon,” said Conan.
“
Oui monsieur
, right away.”
“Scarlet, I think we should have the tasting menu.”
“Sounds good.” I smiled.
The waiter was soon back with the bubbly. He filled our glasses and placed the bottle in a sterling silver ice bucket on a stand next to the table. “May I take your order?”
“We’ll both have the three-course degustation
menu,” Conan said.
“
Merci
,” replied the waiter as he took our menus and scampered to the kitchen.
“To my secretary who’s gorgeous even when she’s not dressed for the occasion,” said Conan, tapping his crystal champagne flute to mine.
“Thanks, I think.” I took of sip of the perfectly chilled champagne.
“There’s a dress code here to keep out the rabble. They wouldn’t have let you in tonight if you weren’t with me. You’ll have to dress appropriately next time.”
“Maybe you should’ve mentioned that there’s a dress code. I’ll leave some
more
appropriate
clothes at work tomorrow.”
He set me up for this
.
Does this snob get off on humiliating people
?
“Not
more
appropriate
clothes. An evening dress.” He opened his wallet and took out a store card for the Lawrence Boutique. “Here. Get some elegant dresses and put them on my charge account.”
“If you insist,” I said, slipping the card into my bag.
Maybe
bimbo Scarlet Walters will get a nice wardrobe out of this. It could be worse.
“I think you’d look splendid in a skin-tight evening dress with diamonds draped around your neck.”
“I don’t like diamonds. I prefer red rubies … and food.”
“I enjoy food too, although I’m a picky eater.”
I wanted to tell him that I’d noticed, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Here’s the waiter,” Conan said, putting the linen napkin in his lap.
“
Excusez-moi
. For the first course we have caviar, seared scallops, and smoked trout. Bon appétit,” said the waiter as he laid the large plates with tiny portions on the table.
When we were finished with the first course, Conan strolled around the courtyard and restaurant, continuing his sneaky inspection.
I stared down at the shining silverware—salad fork, dinner fork, dinner knife, and a steak knife. I touched the steak knife’s serrated blade. It was sharp, suited for slicing meat. I resisted the urge to stroke it.
The waiter brought the second course and refilled our champagne glasses just as Conan came back to the table. I poked the tiny piece of veal on my plate with my dinner fork.
“How did you first hear about Wilmar?” Conan asked as he took a bite of duck.
“Wilmar’s all over the news these days. I was looking for work with a good company and I checked the careers page” I knew some bosses liked to interrogate their staff outside work, so I was careful not to say too much. “How about you? Why did you join Wilmar?”