Call It Business ( Book 3 of 'Call It' Series )

Chapter 52 | Winning Hand

Once upon a time, fake smiles, wry politeness, and satirical compliments had been the daily routine and norm of Gerard's everyday life. While they intertwined and entwisted days and nights in both business and card games and gave him quite an expertise to hold the winning hand, there was no doubt, he'd started to notice the pretentious and laughable aspects of it. Because of a certain witch:

"No, no. You are playing it wrong." She laughed under her breath once with a slight scold simmering in her silky voice, "How are you supposed to have fun if you are trying to calculate my hand every time I draw a card?"

He rolled his eyes, barely holding back his smirk as he studied her laughing figure sitting crossed-leg on his bed. "That's the whole point of the game," he pointed out, "It's a mental game that requires skill, in which you -"

"I thought the whole point was winning, sir," she replied, raising her eyebrows and holding his gaze with mischievous defiance, "It wouldn't hurt if you had fun in the process."

"I'll have fun when I win," Gerard responded drily, not willing to admit that he didn't mind losing against that very bewitching opponent, "And for that, you have to know when to bluff and when to fold as well as paying attention to the hands of the others."

"Yeah. I'm not that patient, really. I'm having fun right now, and I don't care how you read that," she said pointedly through a laugh under her breath, not even considering him seriously for a bit as she reached out to draw another card.

Gerard had no idea which card she was looking at, but it graced her lips with a melting smile, and her eyes glowed, painting an enticing picture combined with her glimmering golden hair cascading over the side of her chest and rosy cheeks caused by the whiskey bottle tilting against her lap.

Directing his gaze back to his cards much more forcefully than he'd like to admit, Gerard admitted under his breath, "I can't read you."

And he couldn't certainly calculate anything at all when she smiled at him like that.

"I might try to calculate how is your hand by the cards I have, but as far as I know," He continued, feeling her enigmatic eyes on his figure lounging on the bed against his side, "That card you drew could be something as insignificant as the deuce, or it might be the last card you need to complete a royal flush. There is no way to tell because you keep laughing."

"That's because," Macy drawled, a slight hesitation in her voice before she let out an exasperated, soft huff, "I enjoy playing with you, and I'm not going to act like I don't just to deceive you. That would be unfair to both of us because you are already trying hard to look like this is the worst night you'd ever had to go through, but it's okay. It's what you are used to. Pretending, I mean. It's not that I think you are doing it on purpose, but I just thought you'd get bored of it by now. You had the same expression all day in the meeting when Mr. Which-Magazine acted like he didn't want to work with us. Isn't that exhausting?" She beamed at him the moment his eyes darted up at her, and she shrugged, "Which tells me your cards are pretty good, but either you are too greedy and want more, or you have zero interest in the secret I'll tell you if you win."

She could read him like no one else ever did, but still had no idea that he was just stalling his hand to give her some time to fix her hand if it was bad to prolong the game. Yet, that was when it hit him that he started not to wear a mask or bothered with pretending with her, doubting he had ever done it and providing her enough signs that made her call his bluff.

She was right. He was greedy. She'd appeared in his life by some tormenting luck, without a strategy or a game plan made by him. It was pushing that luck, he knew that but wanted more, not from that game or any game. There was no doubt about that as his eyes traveled on her, and something told him he'd already lost.