I wink at him, then slip the platinum disk in his direction.
“Take the Valhalla; it’s too damn small for me anyhow.”
He chuckles and flicks a hand at his team of security men, who are still watching us. A second later, one arrives beside us, and we’re exchanging details of the vehicles. The Sheik’s collection of cars has been deemed uninsurable by almost every underwriter on the planet. And I just made a new ally.
“I need another bottle,” the Irish mob boss says gruffly to a waiter, then shoves his seat back and makes a show of stretching his legs. Considering he’s just put away an entire bottle of whiskey, I’m surprised he’s still so steady. But then again, fuckers like him were probably raised on that shit from the tit. As he moves to stand, some of the others do the same, prompting an unscheduled break from play. It’s a moment that Emma seems to have been waiting for.
“Excuse me,” she says quietly, tugging her hand free from where Robbins has taken a grip on it.
“Too much excitement for ya, Sugarplum?” the senator is slurring slightly. He gropes her ass yet again. Asshole. That’s no way to treat a woman you’re about to marry.
“I…uh…need to use the restroom,” she says. Her father scowls at her.
“I’ll send Murphy with you,” he tells her. She sets her jaw and narrows her eyes on him.
“I think I know how to take a piss on my own, Daddy,” she snaps. Just as sassy as I remember. Dammit, my cock just got harder.
“No need to be crass, girl,” he snaps back. A looming redheaded heavy is hovering nearby, clearly waiting for an instruction.
“Sorry, Daddy.” She presses her lips together in a way that makes it clear she’s not sorry at all. “I’ll get Parker to accompany me. I’ll be back in a minute.”
McErlane hesitates and then nods his head, turning to the table as she backs away. It’s clear she’s been dismissed. I wait a minute or two as the conversation ebbs and flows. Drinks are being ordered, and a new dealer arrives.
That’s my cue.
I line up my chips and give a rueful smile.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” I glance around the table. “I have a brief matter to attend to. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to miss the next couple of rounds.”
There’s a murmur of dissent. Leaving a high-stakes game is frowned upon. But screw it. My house, my rules.
“My man will sit in as my proxy,” I add, looking up at the security manager who’d been standing close behind me.
“Suit yourself, Caraldi,” McErlane bites back. “Running out the minute your luck finally changes? Looks like bad judgment is your biggest problem.” There’s a snicker from a couple of the others, and I splay my hands in a gesture of acknowledgment.
“I’ll try to make up for it when I get back.” I rise to my feet. As the girls move to join me, I wave them away brusquely.
“Wait for me here, thank you, ladies,” I say politely, suddenly remembering the number of times I’d probably behaved just as crudely as the dick sitting on the other side of the table. But there’s no time to dwell on that right this minute. I have to go.
There’s a woman in white who thinks she’s just slipped out of my clutches. And if I leave right now, I’ll get a chance to show her just how wrong she is.
Chapter 7
Emma McErlane
As the doors close behind me, I gather the hem of my dress and bolt away as if there are wolves snapping at my ass.
What a fucking nightmare!
I weave through the guests in the main reception area, some of whom eye me curiously when they see me exit the exclusive VIP area. Very important people… Hah! Very Ignorant Pricks, more like. I doubt I can remember being surrounded by a bigger bunch of twats. So self-important, I’m surprised they don’t have to add a skylight to the damn room to make space for all those motherfucking egos.
“Miss Em?” I hear Parker behind me and feel a moment of remorse. The poor man’s been like a father to me all these years. A better one than my own, no doubt about that. There was a time when I know my dad must have cared about me – I remember being swung through the air and gazing into adoring eyes. I was his little girl, and he loved me…I’m sure he did. But that was so long ago, I half wonder if I’ve invented those memories. That fucking gobshite hasn’t shown me an ounce of affection since my mom left us.
Left us? She died, Emma.
And he’s blamed me ever since.
Dickhead.
