Conceal

“What exactly is this job?”

“It’s a high-stakes poker game. Very exclusive. But since it popped up so unexpectedly, I haven’t had the time to hire enough staff, so it’s me and one other girl serving drinks. We also have Josh manning the bar, but that is not enough. This is high-end clientele, and the number of jobs I can pick up from this gig alone could change my life. I can’t cancel.” Her voice leaves no room for objection. Changing her mind is not in the cards, but there has to be a solution.

“I’m not saying cancel, but there has to be someone else who can cover your spot?” I ask, desperate to help.

“There isn’t anyone. Everyone I hired has a commitment already. Legit, I’m not being overdramatic. I have no other options. I either go sick, or I have to cancel.”

Before I can think twice about it, I say something I know I’ll regret.

“I’ll do it.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can take them back, and the moment they do, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake. This is a bad idea. I won’t be able to hide my face, and what will I wear? Something tells me my oversized sweats to hide my figure and hat and glasses will not be on the list.

It doesn’t matter, though.

I have to do this.

Even if it means I get caught.

No. You won’t. She said it was an exclusive game, which also means private . . .

It will be okay.

Maggie must also think my idea is crazy because her eyes widen at my suggestion. She stares at me as if I’m insane or maybe spoke a different language.

“I’ll cover your spot.”

She tilts her head at me. “Do you even know how to serve? Any experience?”

“Well, no. But—”

Her head shakes, and I stop speaking. “It’s not as easy as it looks,” she says.

“I know, but what other options do you have?”

Her cheeks pucker in. “None.”

* * *

I’m running late.

By the time I convinced Maggie to let me cover for her, I barely had time to get ready.

The worst part was I was right.

I feel naked, unprotected, and I’m hoping this isn’t the biggest mistake of my life. There is no hat on my head. No glasses protecting my eyes. And certainly not a large sweater to hide my shape.

Nope.

Not at all.

Now, I’m dressed in a skintight black dress that is way too tight to drive a car in and heading toward Connecticut.

If it’s not bad enough that these shoes make it impossible to press the brake, the dress is legitimately cutting off the circulation to my stomach.

It’s not my dress.

It’s Maggie’s.

I’m four inches taller than Maggie, this dress is indecent on me.

But apparently, it’s the look, and I have no choice. The only thing that saves me, is I no longer have strawberry blond hair. That alone makes me look different. However, in my rush, I forgot my contacts, so my blue eyes are visible.

Shit.

This is bad.

I’d like to bitch but I can’t.

I’m driving Maggie’s car to Maggie’s gig, in Maggie’s dress, pretending to be Maggie, basically. This is freaking great. What could go wrong? Everything. I’m the poster child for Murphy’s Law. If it can go wrong, you bet your ass it will.

However, in the grand scheme of life, pretending to be Maggie is better than being Willow these days.

The GPS tells me I’m now only fifteen miles away. The game is being played in the middle of nowhere on some billionaire’s compound.

Should be interesting.

I’ve got no clue how Maggie got this break, but by the way she described it, if she does a good job, this could open doors for her business. She just wasn’t prepared for the event to be so soon.

I’m only ten miles away when the low gas light comes on in Maggie’s car.

In my own car, or in the car I had before I left, I’d know that the light means I have thirty miles before I’m empty, but Maggie’s car is older than I am, so I’m not exactly sure what that light means. Is it thirty miles? Or five?

I can’t afford to break down and not show up, and I can’t afford to run out of gas on the way home.

I’ll look for a gas station as soon as I get off the highway. Hopefully, I’ll find one because it would suck if I didn’t. When the GPS indicates it’s time for me to turn off, I’m rewarded right away.

There on the corner of the street before I take the turn is a station.

Having no clue what the next ten miles will bring, I enter and pull the car up to a pump. When I get out, I notice a car right across from me, but other than that, the station is empty. No one is around, and it’s dark. Very, very dark.