Page 58 of When He Plays

“Mutual, buddy, mutual.” There was no think about it. Logan hated the asshole.

Ares shifted his attention to Charlotte. “Does the lady intend to join the games?”

“I’m not betting myself,” she told him. “I won’t be on the table tonight.”

“Then you will be waiting in the study,” Ares informed her. His lips pulled down in disappointment. “Because this room is reserved for players only.”

Ares expected her to leave? “The hell she will.” Logan leapt to his feet.

Ares merely arched an eyebrow. “The invitation was just for you. No guests allowed at the game. Players only. If she doesn’t play, then she waits. But don’t worry, she’ll be perfectly safe in my study. I’ll have fresh champagne brought to her. Because I am a good host, I will even provide her with a lush charcuterie board.”

“She will not leave my sight!” Logan snarled. Screw this shit. They would not be separated. Not under any circumstances. No way, no day. And⁠—

“That’s fine,” Charlotte said, all breezy. “I’ll wait. I find poker a bit tedious anyway.”

“What?” Logan had to haul his jaw off the floor. There was nothing tedious about poker. A powerful hand, with the right or wrong people, could change a life. Make a life one thousand times better. Or a thousand times worse.

She stood in front of him. “Win big, will you? And don’t worry about little old me.” A wink. “I know how to amuse myself.” She curled her hands around his neck, pulled him close, and kissed him. Her tongue darted into his mouth. Sweet. Sensual. Too fast.

Then she pulled away. Walked away.

I know how to amuse myself.

Understanding dawned. She wanted him to be the distraction. Charlotte was only too happy to leave the game because she fully intended to search Ares’s penthouse while Logan kept their host busy.

Fine. He could do that job for her. He sucked in the side of his cheek as he considered the situation. “All right, Ares, what are the initial stakes?”

“Hands start at five hundred thousand.”

Sure, they did. “Game on.”

Chapter Twelve

She could potentially be in a serial killer’s lair.

A very elegant, very expensive lair.

Charlotte let the guard escort her to the study, and with every step, she paid careful attention to her surroundings. She noted doors. She noted windows. She made a mental map of the penthouse.

“In here.” The guard opened the door to the right.

Charlotte slipped inside.

Big study. Shelves lined with leather-bound books. Heavy desk. A massive globe near the desk. Based on its size, she figured that globe probably contained a hidden bar inside it. She’d seen globe bars like that one before.

“I’ve brought you some refreshment.”

She glanced back at the feminine voice.

The woman with the long, sleek mane of black hair walked into the room. The woman who’d stood beside Ares in the dining room. Only she wasn’t alone. A waiter—looked like he was in his early twenties—appeared with her. He carried a champagne bottle and a flute on a silver tray.

“Open the bottle for her,” Evelyn instructed as the waiter put down the tray. She sent Charlotte a wan smile. “Apparently, the individuals in the other room are not very trusting. They want the bottles opened right in front of them. I am assuming you want the same thing?”

“That would be great.” She had zero interest in champagne and one hundred percent interest in searching as much of the penthouse as possible.

The waiter popped the cork. The bubbly flew, and he poured it into her flute with a flourish.

“A fantastic offering,” he said with a grin. “I’m sure you will love it.”