Maybe Yes (5 page)

I’m only twenty-one. That’s nowhere near thirty. And I can’t focus on anything right now, except my father being gone.
 

“Oh, sweetie, you can.”
 

I incredulously stare up at him. I don’t know how he can focus on anything, except his son being gone, right now, but I guess the company comes first. It always comes first.
 

“I…I don’t think so.” My eyes beg for him to change his mind, to understand that I’m not ready to get married. I don’t even know who I am yet or what I want in life.
 

“I’m sorry. I know we all wanted to wait until you were older, but it’s time. I’m not getting any younger. I need to know that the company is in the right hands before I go.”
 

I tuck my long strands behind my ear. I can’t believe he is talking about his own death right now. I nervously run my hands through my hair over and over.
 

“I’m not ready,” I say without meeting his eyes. I can’t face disappointing him again.
 

“Yes, you are. You’re beautiful. You were born to marry a man who can run the Felton empire. Once you are married, you will see it was the right thing to do. You will feel taken care of. You will finally feel like you have found your place in this world.”
 

I let my eyes glance up at him for just a second. I see honesty. His eyes are filled with honesty.
 

“Maybe,” I say weakly.
 

His face brightens. “Yes,” he says.
 

“Yes,” I repeat on autopilot.
 

“The meeting is tomorrow at eleven a.m. at the Felton Grand on the strip.”
 

“Yes,” I say again. I stand up without looking him in the eyes. I walk out of the door without looking back.
 

I walk back to the basement, back to my haven. This time, when I slump into the chair, I don’t feel an ounce of comfort. In fact, I feel nothing. Sitting here, watching movies the rest of the day, isn’t going to help anymore. I won’t be able to zone out of them again. I just promised my grandfather that I would marry a complete stranger in six months. I’ve never broken a promise before, and I don’t plan on starting now.
 

I just don’t know what I want.
 

I think of everything I’ve been told I want—money, clothes, a modeling career, an acting career, and an intelligent husband who will run the company in order to give me even more money. But not one of those things has ever made me happy. I try to think about things that have made me happy—my family and Scarlett. But that leaves me with fewer answers.
 

I know what I don’t want.
 

I don’t want a modeling career.
 

I don’t want an acting career.
 

I don’t want to marry a complete stranger.
 

I try to think of my happiest memory with my dad. It was on my eighteenth birthday. It coincided with my high school graduation. He took me to a casino in California, one I could legally gamble at. He taught me how to play blackjack and how to count cards. We won—a lot. It wasn’t the winning that made it fun. It was learning something from my father. It was the confidence he displayed in me when he gave me high amounts of money to place a bet that I would win because I was capable. It was one of the only times I felt he was proud of me for something other than my looks.

The line I will never forget my father saying to me is, “No one would ever suspect you of counting cards. You’re too pretty.”
 

It was that day that I learned that my beauty was a weapon that could be used to my advantage. I just have never learned how to harness it.
 

I head to my room to grab my shoes and purse to head to a casino, to find a happy memory…because, tomorrow, I’ll meet the man I’m going to marry. Tomorrow, I’ll have to face the fact that I don’t get to decide my own future, but I don’t have to today. I still have a chance to make today better. I was wrong. Today isn’t the worst day of my life. Tomorrow probably will be, so I’m going to make the most of my last night of freedom.

I place five hundred dollars’ worth in chips on the table—my maximum bid. The true count is up to plus-six, so I need to bet high since a positive true count tells me I have an advantage over the dealer. I watch as the dealer deals out the cards. In my head, I silently keep track of the cards being laid out. I look at my cards—a jack and a ten. I smile at the twenty, just one short of twenty-one. The number I want to match without going over. The dealer turns to me on my turn, and I signal that I want to stand.
 

I watch the dealer flop an additional card to add to his fifteen. It’s a king. He’s busted at twenty-five. I smile as he hands me a thousand dollars in additional chips bringing my winnings up to five thousand for the night.
 

I should stop soon. Not stopping is always the chance you take when you play against the house. The house always has the advantage, even when you count cards, even when you know the odds. There is always a chance that you will lose, that you will lose track of the count, that you will get cocky and bet too much.
 

But I didn’t come here to win. Although winning feels good, I came here to escape. So, I’ll keep playing, no matter what.
 

“You’re good. You should teach this old man to play. I’m having terrible luck,” an older gentleman sitting next to me says.
 

I smile at the sweet old man. He’s been sitting next to me for over an hour now, and I don’t think he’s won more than a couple of hands. He is down well over a thousand dollars.
 

I bid my maximum five hundred again. I keep my eyes on the cards as the dealer deals. I silently keep up the running count while still giving attention to the older gentleman.
 

“It’s just beginner’s luck. I haven’t played in years.”
 

The man smiles at me. “It looks like more than luck to me.”
 

I shake my head as I smile back. I watch as the man takes his turn. He has seventeen. He should stand. If he hits, there is a good chance he will bust. He hits, and he busts. I knowingly shake my head.
 

It’s my turn. I get a blackjack. I smile as the dealer pushes more chips my way.
 

The old man sitting next to me shakes his head in disbelief that I won again. I try to act innocent by twirling my long hair with my fingers. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I’m counting cards, not that anyone would expect a beautiful young woman to be counting cards. But if security does catch on, I know enough about casinos to know that I’ll be kicked out.
 

I silently divide the running count by the decks left in the shoe. I get negative four indicating I’m at a disadvantage. I place a low bet this time, expecting to lose. I do.
 

“Guess my winning streak can’t last forever.”

The older gentleman chuckles. “Maybe your luck has passed to me.”
 

I glance up from the table when I see them—the most intense eyes I have ever seen. I can’t believe I haven’t noticed him before. I’ve been sitting at this table for over an hour. In that time, many people have come and gone. None of them were the least bit intriguing.
 

There is something about the way this man is looking at me that sends goose bumps all over my body. I’m not sure what the look actually is.
Is it lust? Interest? Anger? Frustration?
I don’t know. All I can feel is the intensity of his eyes. And they are staring at me. His eyes don’t leave me as the dealer begins dealing.
 

I glance back at the table to continue counting the cards, but I still feel his eyes burning into me. I lose track of the count, not really caring anymore. I hit even though I’m at nineteen, and it doesn’t make sense to. I bust.
 

“I think I’ve pushed my luck too far at this table. Good luck,” I say, winking at the older gentleman next to me. I stand from the table, taking my chips with me.
 

I make it a point to avoid looking at the man, but I still feel his eyes on me. I’m not ready to leave yet. As soon as I leave, my world will no longer be in my control—not that it ever was in my control. But I need more of a distraction.
 

I walk to the bar in the center of the casino and take a seat. I relax as my butt hits the cushion of the barstool. I know I can’t sit here for long without ordering a drink, which is the last thing I want. Maybe I’ll try my hand at pushing the buttons on the slots. I know I’ll end up losing all the money I just won, but I don’t care.
 

“So, you’re a pro.”
 

“What?” I turn left, toward the direction of the voice.
 

That’s when I see them—the same intense eyes. It’s the same man who was watching me at the blackjack table.
 

I flip the chips over in my hands at the bar.

“A pro card counter,” he says as he takes a seat next to me.
 

Shit. I’m about to get thrown out of here.
 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn back to the bar. I try to get the attention of one of the scantily clad bartenders, but the closest one to me is busy flirting with a gentleman.
 

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the man from the blackjack table as he raises his hand, and the bartender immediately smiles and begins walking over to us.
 

“Yes, you do. Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn you in.”
 

I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. “Do you work here?”
 

“No.”
 

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. I have no idea why this complete stranger followed me. It’s not like the other night at the bar where I was dressed to pick up a guy. Tonight, I look like death. Nobody is attracted to that. So, it can’t be that. He’s not here to kick me out. That leaves…I have no idea.
 

“What can I getcha?” The woman leans over the bar, pushing her cleavage closer to the man’s face.

I watch his lips move, but I don’t register what he is saying. He doesn’t ask me what I want. He just speaks to the bartender, while keeping his eyes on me.
 

I know all of this because, when the bartender came over, I took the opportunity to check him out, assuming he would be looking at the boobs in front of him. I was wrong.
 

Now, I can’t take my eyes off of him even though my cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. I notice his suit that conforms to his body, making it obvious that he doesn’t work here. His dark brown hair spikes slightly to one side, and I think there is a little red in it, if I look closely. He has a hint of a five o’clock shadow outlining below his downturned lips that seem just as intense as his eyes.
 

The whole time I’m taking him in, he doesn’t move. His expression never changes. I’m used to men at least smiling at me, but he doesn’t.
 

He’s older. I know that much. He has lines around his eyes that hint at him being older than me. I have no idea how much older though—maybe ten years, if I had to guess.
 

He’s intimidating.
 

His eyes don’t shift from mine until the bartender returns with our drinks, and he reaches into his pocket to hand the woman his credit card.
 

I glance at the bar and see two glasses of wine sitting in front of us.

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods and takes a sip of his wine. I do the same. As soon as the liquid touches my lips, my whole attitude toward this stranger changes. The liquid is amazing. No, it’s better than amazing. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. It puts the Cosmo I had the other night to shame.
 

“This is delicious.” I hold up the wine to my lips and take another sip.
 

“Good,” he says, seeming satisfied with my response.
 

I curiously look at him. “Why are you here?”
 

“Because I’m like every other person on the planet who likes to drink and occasionally gamble his money away while looking at boobs.”
 

I smile bashfully when he says boobs even though he isn’t talking about mine. Mine are completely covered up, if you can even call what I have boobs.
 

He, on the other hand, still hasn’t cracked a smile.
 

“I meant…” I shake my head. I’m not going to ask.
 

“I’m intrigued by you. You’re beautiful, yet I detect a bit of insecurity in you for reasons that don’t make sense. You are obviously intelligent, if you are able to count cards, but you are used to your beauty helping you to cover up that intelligence, just like you did with your card counting. You seem sad, yet you’ve chosen to come to one of the most alive places on the planet. You have every reason to be confident, yet you act like a scared, innocent little girl. I’m just trying to figure out what you are doing here.”
 

I narrow my eyes at his rude comments.
How could he have formed such a strong opinion of me in such a short amount of time?
“Thank you for the drink,” I say as I stand. I’m not going to sit here and listen to a stranger insult me, not tonight.
 

He grabs my arm as I get up. “I didn’t mean that as criticism.”

“Seems like it to me,” I say cautiously as I stare where he is still holding my arm. I feel the heat transfer from his body to mine where he is touching me. It feels overpowering, like everything else coming from this man.

“Let’s try again. I’m Killian. You seem like a nice girl. I would love to hear over another drink how you became so good at blackjack and hopefully get some tips because I sucked back there.” This time, after he speaks, his lips curl up slightly.