Conceal

“I’ve been too busy to hear anything, and Grayson has too big of a stick up his ass to play poker.”

At that, Trent laughs. “I’m telling you, man, I’ve picked up half of my best clients here.”

“Oh . . .” I lift an eyebrow in speculation. “You’re working again?”

“Believe it or not, I am. Not as much as you, but now and then, I go into the office, and when I do, if it’s after a game, I have an extra mil to put into the fund.” He sounds all smug and proud. If he could pull out his dick, I’m sure he’d do that too.

If what Trent says is true, and he is, in fact, working, then the amount of money here is probably Trent’s wet dream. I’m sure chumming up to some of these guys has made him the highest earner.

“Sorry, man, if you invited me to get my business, Grayson handles that.”

“Nah. I just missed your ass.” He chuckles.

“I’ll try not to stay away again.” This will not be my last time here, not after knowing the waitress stole my money or that she might be here again.

I’m not sure what about her intrigues me, but it does.

After I finish my drink, I see that most of the players have arrived. I stand and head over to the table. Cyrus isn’t present, and I imagine he probably doesn’t play at all. It’s the smart move. Gather intel and clients, but keep yourself above reproach.

Smart.

Yet, as smart as he is, there is still something shady as fuck about him.

From the corner of my eye, I see the game is about to begin. Trent settles in beside me, but I don’t know the rest of the guys at the table.

With a few more minutes before we start, I turn my gaze away from them. These men aren’t my focus.

No, my focus is on a certain thief.

I find her in the crowd, and then lift my hand to signal for her to approach me.

She glances around the room, and it appears she is looking for another server to help me. I want to laugh out loud as she tries to pawn me off on someone else. But, unfortunately for her, there is no one else here. I let my lips split into a grin as I shake my head.

Her shoulders rise and fall as she inhales deeply before she squares them and heads in my direction.

She takes each step as if it’s her last. As if she is in the French Revolution and I’m the guillotine ready to chop off her head.

Which, in fact, is the truth right now. To her, I am. One word from me, and she’ll probably lose her job here. Fuck, I could press charges. She can be arrested. I don’t have proof, but that would be easy to find. All I would have to do is check out the video surveillance cameras at the gas station and show her pocketing my money.

I’m not sure why she stole it, though, and the mystery of that keeps me from doing any of these things.

I always need to know the why.

Does she need the money? Or was it her way of paying me back for being a dick? I study her face as she comes closer. The way her jaw is tight and her cheek is pinched in. It’s her eyes that haunt me, though. As if she is concealing a world of pain.

I’m not sure what plagues her, but I have every intention of finding out.

Chapter Six

Willow

Only me.

This would only happen to me.

He would be here. The first time I borrow—okay, steal—money from a stranger, and he’s here.

The worst part is he can ruin this.

A million scenarios play through my mind, starting with ruining Maggie’s business and ending up in jail.

Then the worst thought hits me in the stomach . . .

What if this is how I’m found?

A mug shot over stealing a fifty-dollar bill hardly seems worth it.

Hopefully, he won’t notice. Maybe he won’t remember how much money he had. Or better yet, maybe he won’t remember me.

That hope or prayer is quickly lost the moment our eyes meet. His facial expression tells me there is no way he forgot me. I almost fell over when he looked at me, and now I’m trying to regain my footing.

Yet there he is, sitting at the table, cool as a cucumber, and I’m falling all over myself like an idiot. Why does he have to keep looking at me? Why can’t he let me be? Isn’t he supposed to be playing the hand?

Those crystal green eyes stare at me, waiting for the moment to pounce. I don’t want to go over to him, but when he waves his hand at me, I have no choice.

There is only one thing to do, so squaring my shoulders, I head over.