For Richer or Poorer (Vegas Vows), page 1
For Richer or Poorer
A Vegas Vows Novella
Cameron Hart
Copyright © 2021 Cameron Hart
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
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Edited by: CM Wheary Proofreading and Copy Editing Website: https://cmwheary.com/
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Summary:
Miles: Winning big in Vegas is my last, admittedly desperate, hope. I need money for my mom’s surgery, and I’ve always been rather skilled at poker. I may have come here with the hopes of taking home some serious cash, but now I want to take home something else. I want Blaire’s pure heart, her light, her laughter with me always. I have this crazy idea to make her mine; I just hope it doesn’t blow up in my face...
Blaire: I feel like a princess dressed up in this silver sequined evening gown, entering a private event at the illustrious Luxor Casino. It’s a far cry from my barista uniform, that’s for sure. My roommate’s dad owns the casino, and he gave me a few chips so I could play the floor games. I spot the sexiest man I’ve ever seen sitting down at the poker table, so decide to start there in hopes of getting a closer glimpse at his brutal beauty. I fully expect to lose all my money, but I didn’t realize I’d lose my heart instead.
Chapter 1
Miles
“Don’t do anything stupid, Allen. I’m working on a way to get the money, okay?”
“I’m just saying, I know a bookie who can get us in contact with someone who has enough money for mom’s operation.”
I pull the phone away from my face and rub my eyes, trying to keep my cool. My brother and I are both stressed and worried about our mom, but the last thing we need is a loan shark added into the mix.
“Trust me, little brother. I’ve got a plan. Just let me try it my way first, then we can revisit the loan.” I have absolutely no intention of taking out a sketchy loan, but it’ll get him off my back long enough to get the money myself. I hope.
“Fine,” he concedes. “But Mom doesn’t have a lot of time. If you don’t get the money by next week, I’m talking to my guy.”
“You think I don’t know how sick Mom is?” I growl.
Once again, I take a deep breath and try to be civil. We don’t need to rehash this conversation. Allen has always been flaky, and I shouldn’t have expected him to be any different when our mom was diagnosed with brain cancer. She has an aggressive, malignant tumor in her parietal lobe, that if left alone, will likely metastasize and…
Well, I can’t think about that. I won’t lose my mom. She raised Allen and me all on her own, provided us with everything we needed, and she never once complained about working two jobs. She’s a fighter, and I know she’ll fight through this, too. As soon as I get the money for her operation.
It's a high-risk surgery because of the placement of the tumor, so her insurance won't cover it. But what choice do we have? I make good money, but not that good.
I have a plan, though, and it’s going to work. It has to. I drained my savings account and took the soonest available flight to Vegas, which landed a few hours ago. There's a big event at the Luxor Casino tonight, and I'm hoping to triple my money. I used to do some underground gambling in college to pay for tuition.
I regret telling Allen about it. He got sucked into that world, hence having shady contacts for under the table loans. I cut ties with all of that when I graduated, but ten years later, and Allen is still waiting for the next big payout. That's why I'm not telling him what I'm doing or where I am. Knowing him, he'd take the loan out anyway, come out here, and then lose all of it.
“I’m just saying,” Allen mutters, pulling me back into the present.
“And I’m just saying, trust me.”
He scoffs, but finally agrees he’ll hold off on the loan.
I hang up just in time for another incoming call, this one from my mom.
“Hey,” I answer, keeping my voice soft. Some days she gets sensory overload and can't handle much more than a whisper.
I feel lightheaded from switching gears from gruff older brother to caring and attentive son. I should be used to that feeling by now, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take everything out of me some days. Okay, most days. But what choice do I have? Mom has always been our anchor, and now it’s my turn to step up to the plate.
“Miles, are you coming over today?” she asks, her voice shaky. I close my eyes and rub my chest, right where my heart is breaking for her. My mom used to be bright and bubbly and had a smile for everyone, despite her struggles. She used to say she sparkled, and that I inherited her spark for life.
It's been a long damn time since either one of us has sparkled. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I felt a flicker of light or warmth in my life. I've been drowning in medical bills and trying to find in-home care while still holding down my job. Being the owner of More Miles Mechanics is hectic, but I've hired some good people to run the show while I take care of things for my mom.
“Miles? Are you there?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, trying to focus my thoughts. I’m worn the fuck out, stretched so thin I’m about to break...but there’s always more work to be done. “I’m out of town for a few days, remember?” I told her yesterday, but she’s been forgetting things more and more. “Allen should be over to check in on you soon.”
“That’s right. Why are you out of town? Did you finally find a nice woman to settle down with?”
“Ma…” I sigh. “You’re all I need.”
She snorts out a laugh. “I love you, kid, but that’s really sad.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. It would make me so happy to know you had someone special in your life.”
"I…" Dammit. What do I say to that? It's not the first guilt trip she's laid on me about finding a wife, but there's a desperate edge to her voice, like it's imperative to her health that I get hitched or something.
And then it hits me. She doesn’t want me to be alone if she dies. Well, fuck. That realization just about knocks me on my ass.
“Miles?”
“I’m just taking care of a few things.” I hate shrugging her off and not being completely honest with her, but if she knew what I was doing, she’d refuse the money on principle.
“Okay, honey,” Mom sighs. “Be safe.”
“Always, Ma. You too. I promise I’ll make you a good meal when I get back since Allen can’t cook worth shit.”
“Language!” she scolds, making me chuckle. She’s still got that spark. “I’ll have him pick something up on his way over.”
“Good plan. I love you, mom. I’ll be home soon.”
“Love you too, kid.”
We hang up and I wipe my hand down my face, gathering my thoughts and trying to calm my racing heart. Everything rides on this, on me getting this money. No pressure.
✽✽✽
Three hours later, I’m handing my money over to the teller at the Luxor. I look down at my life savings, which has been reduced to a handful of chips. The reality of my situation slaps me upside the face, leaving me breathless and rattled.
It's been a while since I've played poker, but it was my game of choice back in the underground gambling circuit in Phoenix. I used to make a semester's worth of tuition in one night. I'm hoping lady luck is on my side one last time.
Straightening my suit jacket and checking my cufflinks, I make my way out onto the gaming floor. Luxor holds a Lucky in Love event every year on the weekend before Valentine’s Day, and it’s always a spectacle. I’ve only been here once, during my college days, but it’s even more opulent than I remember.
You can't get in without an invite, and luckily, I was able to secure one after talking to a contact from the old days. As per the invitation, it's a black-tie event. There are floor games, but no slots, as those are too tacky for the ridiculously rich crowd the event draws. The Lucky in Love event also has a formal ball and a seven-course meal, both of which I opted out of. I'm here to play with the high rollers.
I wait for an opening at one of the tables, observing the men and few women already playing. Poker is part skill, part reading your opponents, and part luck. The man in the ten-gallon hat and a mustache that would make Tom Selleck jealous is clearly just playing for fun. The portly gentleman wearing a red cummerbund, of all things, is skilled but he huffs out a breath every time he gets a good hand as if he's already picturing his victory.
Then there’s a middle-aged woman in a dress that’s about three sizes too small. She’s wearing a huge necklace studded with dozens of diamonds, and massive earrings to match. At first glance, she might seem like someone who’s just playing because they’re bored and have more money than they know what to do with, but she’s shifty. Clever. I can see it in the way her eyebrow arches and her beady eyes move swiftly around the table, also assessing her opponents.
I continue looking around the table, sizing up the competition until it’s just Cummerbund and Shifty Eyes left. It’s a close match, but Shifty Eyes wins the hand with a flush. She leaves with her winnings as the dealer calls out for buy-ins for the next game.
I secure my spot and sit down, quietly observing the others who fill up the table around me. Cummerbund is back in, as well as Ten-Gallon Hat. A man dressed in all black takes a seat next to me, narrowing his eyes. He's going for an intimidation tactic, but the joke's on him. I'm a desperate man fighting for my mother's life. There's nothing scarier than that.
“Wow, they really went all out with the decorations, didn’t they?”
I turn my head toward the sweet, airy voice on the other side of me and nearly fall out of my chair. She’s fucking gorgeous. Long blonde hair that reminds me of caramel flows down her back in luscious waves. Her features are delicate, almost doll like. And those eyes. They are the lightest green I’ve ever seen. They even...sparkle. Her light spills over onto me, stirring something deep inside, dislodging it, and uncovering the spark I thought was lost.
She tilts her head and furrows her brows slightly. I want to reach out and smooth the worried crease between her brows with my thumb.
What is wrong with me?
The woman’s intoxicating scent swirls around me, making me lightheaded. I can’t quite place it. Sugary, almost like cotton candy, but there’s something else. Something warm and comforting. Like sunshine. She smells like fucking sunshine and looks like a radiant goddess in her silver-sequined dress.
“Are you alright?” the woman asks, frowning slightly. My eyes are drawn to her lips, perfectly accented by light pink lipstick. They are full, almost pouty, and I’d bet all my chips they’re soft and taste as sweet as she smells.
I clear my throat, realizing I’ve just been staring at her. “Y-yes,” I stutter out.
“Yes to the decorations, or yes, you’re alright?” She gives me a playful little grin, one that has me feeling all sorts of things. My chest grows tight and my pants grow even tighter. My dick hasn’t risen to the occasion in...God, it’s been years. I can’t remember ever having this kind of instant, uncontrollable reaction to someone.
“Decorations?” I ask in confusion.
“Yeah, you know, the sparkling hearts and golden cupids everywhere? Oh, and the swan statues. Personally, I think those can go. Who wants a statue of a swan? Is that really a symbol of love? Have you ever met a swan in real life? They’re not friendly.”
I can’t do anything except stare at her as she explains how vile swans are in vivid detail. There’s an inkling of cynicism deep in my gut, whispering that she might be playing me for a fool. If the gentleman on the other side of me is going for the tough guy act, then this little beauty could be pretending to be a friendly, sweet woman to make me lower my defenses.
But I squash that thought as soon as it pops into my head. There’s just something about her that screams pure innocence. Her bright green eyes shine as she talks a mile a minute, gesturing with her hands to emphasize certain parts of her story. This girl is genuine, through and through. Her brightness and unassuming nature remind me of the best parts of my mom. The best parts of me, too, before our lives were consumed with learning medical jargon and navigating hospital bills and insurance claims.
“Miss, we’re ready to get started,” the dealer says, his voice harsh. I glare at him, not liking the tone he’s using. I don’t understand why I’m so protective of her, but the urge to defend her from every bad thing courses through me and fills my lungs.
“Oh, right. Sorry about that. Swans, you know,” she laughs, waving her hand in the air. She said it like it was obvious, as if everyone shares her opinion on swans.
We get our cards and begin placing our bets. I’ve got a decent hand, though not spectacular. I place a few chips in the pot, enough to appear confident without being cocky. I doubt I’ll win this hand, but you have to lose a little money at first to hopefully gain it all back and then some later. Then it’s the beautiful Swan-Hater’s turn. I really need to get her real name, and soon.
She looks around the table with wide eyes, then looks down at her cards. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration and then her nose scrunches up. She’s got a shitty poker face. Either that, or she’s playing all of us, but I don’t think she has a disingenuous bone in her body. Finally, she observes what other people are putting in and slides two chips into the growing pile.
As I suspected, I didn’t have a winning hand, but I’m not deterred. Surprisingly, it was Ten-Gallon Hat who won, which is fine by me. He’s not a real threat, and by the looks of it, he’s not walking away. That’s usually a mistake. When you hit it big, you have to walk. Or, at the very least, switch up the game.
“Oh my goodness, congratulations!” the woman next to me exclaims, giving the man a big smile. Uncontrollable jealousy floods through me. I want all of her smiles.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he responds, tipping his hat at her.
“It’s Blaire,” she answers, reaching across the table to shake his hand. I barely restrain myself from looping my fingers around her wrist and taking her hand in mine.
“Elliot Grantwood,” he chuckles, his meaty hand engulfing her much smaller one. He’s got to be in his seventies, but I still have to tamp down the wave of jealousy that floods my system at the fact that he’s touching her and I’m not.
“Miss,” the dealer says, clearly annoyed at her. “Please return to your seat so we can start.”
I glare at him, unable to stop the low growl in my throat. He looks at me and opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it.
"Right. Sorry!" she whispers. Blaire covers her mouth with her hand and then makes a motion as if twisting a key on her lips and throwing it away. God, could she be any more adorable?
Not that it matters. I’m here to win enough money to take care of my mom’s surgery. Nothing else. Certainly not to pick up the intriguing, innocent little blonde woman with light green eyes and laughter as light as the cotton candy she smells like.
We play a few more rounds, and I end up gaining several thousand dollars’ worth of chips. Each time someone wins, Blaire congratulates them, silently, with a double thumbs-up. Seriously, she's so adorable it's distracting.
I’ve got a straight flush, and I’m confident it’s the best hand at the table. So confident, in fact, I place nearly all of my chips in the pot. Next to me, Blaire stares at her cards, then looks at me with wide eyes.
“Woah, you must have a good hand,” she murmurs. I’m not sure if she was talking to me or herself.
I try to remain neutral, but I'm fighting a smirk. I'm also fighting the urge to crash my mouth down on hers and slip my tongue between her full, pouty lips. I want to taste her light, her goodness. I want to consume it and keep it as my own. But I can't. Not here, anyway. Not now.
I’m expecting her to fold, but to my surprise, she puts all of her chips in. Blaire looks at me over her shoulder and shrugs, giving me a playful smile.
“Go big or go home, right?” she says.
“Whatever you say, princess.” I think I meant it as an insult to her obvious wealth, but it sounded more like a term of endearment. I don’t think I’ve ever used one before, and certainly not for a woman. Blaire dips her head down as a blush creeps over her cheeks and down her neck. Christ, why is that so sexy?
“Let’s see ‘em,” the dealer calls. I show my hand, already calculating how much more I’ll need for Mom’s surgery.
And then Blaire lays down a royal flush. Fuck me. It’s the one hand that could beat mine.
I dart my eyes over to her, absolutely shocked that she beat me. Was she playing me after all? But, no, she doesn’t seem to realize she won.
“Would you like to cash in, miss? Or perhaps...take your winnings and try your hand at a different table?” It’s clear he’s annoyed and wants her gone. I’d shoot him another glare except I’m still too stunned at what’s happening.
