The Billionaire's Bluff Read online

  The Billionaire’s Bluff:

  The Complete Collection

  By Nella Tyler

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Nella Tyler

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  The Billionaire’s Bluff #1

  Chapter 1

  It was turning out to be another typical day at the casino. Working nights was not my ideal job, but it was the only shift that had been available when I applied as a blackjack dealer at one of the many popular casinos in Atlantic City. Competition was fierce, and as a 24-year-old divorced woman without a college degree, my choices were limited. I wanted to go back to school someday and complete my education, which I had put on hold when I got married two years ago. Unfortunately, my marriage had ended in divorce after I caught my husband cheating just before our first anniversary. Ever since then, I’ve been wary of any man who showed me attention, no matter how many compliments they sent my way, which was relatively prevalent in my job.

  Not that any woman got tired of being told she was beautiful, but sometimes I wondered if the guys sitting around my blackjack table were just looking for a little extramarital excitement. I would have none of it. I had been cheated on – I certainly wasn't going to be party to some guy cheating on his wife. Sometimes it wasn't easy to tell the married ones from the unmarried ones, but I could usually pick up on some cues. Sometimes I saw the tan lines where a wedding band had been removed. Other times, guys flirted so outrageously and tried so hard to get my attention that I knew they were looking for a quick affair or one-night stand.

  I wasn't about that. I was too busy trying to pay my bills. It didn't make it any easier that I was surrounded by so much money. The men and women who came to my table flashed money around like there was no end to it, and I have to admit that there were many times when I grew so envious I could spit. Here I was, working my butt off at minimum wage, showing my cleavage, pasting on a smile as if I didn’t have a care in the world, watching while the rich and the not so rich place their bets, casually and sometimes callously throwing their money away as if it grew on trees.

  Did I play? Absolutely not. I knew that the odds were against winning, and I wasn't about to waste even one hard-earned dollar – even buying lottery tickets. Still, I couldn't help but envy the men and women who always seemed to have luck on their sides and walked away with hundreds, thousands, and sometimes even tens of thousands of dollars after a night's play. I had no idea what it was like to have extra money, and I carefully budgeted every penny I made.

  I lived simply in a cheap but not too cheap apartment, in a relatively safe area of town, not the best, but certainly not the worst. I ate cheap, lived cheap, and drove a ten-year-old car back and forth to work. I generally worked from seven o'clock in the evening until about three o'clock in the morning, although sometimes my hours changed. One thing about casinos in Atlantic City, like other gambling meccas, I suppose, is that they never closed. There were always open shifts, and sometimes, when I was running short on cash for one reason or another, I picked up an extra. As a result, I was often exhausted.

  I had worked at the casino for the past couple of years since my divorce. My current status in life was certainly not what I had envisioned for myself, especially as a career, but at least it paid the bills. In my job, I not only dealt the cards, but I accepted bets, paid winners, and collected from the non-winners. I notified my pit supervisor of any disputes or suspected irregularities that occurred, which certainly didn't happen often. It was regular, boring, and mind-numbing work, at least, from my end of the table.

  Oh, I had mastered the art of making eye contact, wishing the players good luck and smiling, and I was an expert at shuffling and dealing procedures based on house rules to not only in sure the integrity of the game, but the gamers’. I knew all the security procedures, where all the cameras were located, and had gotten used to the fact that I could be watched every second I worked.

  My chip tray was always organized and I knew enough about the game to answer just about any question from a patron, from a newbie to one who disagreed with a house rule. My job wasn't particularly demanding, but I did get tired of having to be on my feet all night. The constant background noise of the casino followed me home and sometimes even intruded on my dreams. I was often forced to be in the presence of drunken patrons, and sometimes those high on drugs, but most the time was able to handle them adequately without having to call security over.

  Tonight was just like any other. At eight o'clock sharp, I saw him walking toward my table. I had seen him every single night for the past month and could practically set my watch by him. His name was Ben, and from what I heard from other dealers, he was a 38-year-old billionaire who spent money like there was no end to it. He was a bachelor, known to be quite a player, and smiled a lot; flashing his pearly whites with every woman he met eyes with.

  He was a good-looking man, no doubt about it. His sandy blond hair was cut short, a little longer on top than on the sides. He spiked the top. Gorgeous Paul Newman blue eyes under lightly curved blond eyebrows, a straight nose, and a short trimmed mustache that dripped down both sides of his mouth to end in what I could only classify as a half goatee. His cheeks were generally stubbled with a day or two of beard, but he never looked sloppy or unkempt. He came in every night wearing a starched white shirt and suit jacket, typically over khakis or dark wash jeans.

  Like everyone else who sat at my table and got to know Ben, I always felt a slight twinge of envy for the handsome billionaire. I had no idea how he got all his money but it was typical: I was the one who always had to stand on the sidelines watching others have fun while I just went through the motions of living, trying to stave off a growing dissatisfaction with my life.

  Tonight, Sunday night, was busy, and my table was full. As Ben sat down, he flashed me a smile, making small talk. He oozed charisma and carried an air of confidence about him. Everyone at my table usually deferred to him, even when he monopolized conversation that tended to slow down play. The women loved him, the men mostly envied him, while some even displayed signs of open dislike, but I hadn't quite decided how I felt about him. I knew he was a player and sometimes it seemed as if he was manipulative, at times even arrogant in his confidence, but there was no doubt that he carried himself with a certain swagger.

  He had come on to me a couple of times, but I strove to remain professional despite his advances. Sure, he was gorgeous and rich, but I wasn't interested in any man at the moment, especially not someone like him. He certainly wouldn't have any trouble getting dates, and I wasn't about to become part of a revolving line of women swooning under his charisma, his sexuality, or, let's face it, the fact that he made my private parts tingle every time he flashed at that sexy grin of his my way.

  Ben usually stayed late and won quite often. No doubt about it, he was an expert at Blackjack, and I wasn't surprised when he enjoyed a winning streak at my table. At times, just watching him, I found myself distracted. More than once he found me staring at him and not paying attention to the deal, but he was gracious enough not to say anything about it.

  "Hello, Maggie."

  He sat at one of the empty chairs at my table. “How have you been doing?"

  I smiled politely. "Good evening, Ben."

  He nodded politely to the other players at the table. I had no idea how he could he afford to play Blackjack every night. Sure, he won a lot, but he al
so lost, sometimes thousands of dollars in one night. Was he addicted? I didn't typically see him playing any other games. On my days off, I had no idea whether he came to the casino. Maybe that was something I could ask one of my friends, not because it really mattered, but it would assuage my curiosity. While it was nice to think that he came every evening and sat at my table because of me, maybe he just considered this his “lucky” table and I had nothing to do with it. Not that I wanted anything to do with him. I had sworn off men, I constantly reminded myself.

  Ben politely chatted with the other players at the table as I dealt, one hand after the other, back and forth, back and forth, for several hours. I had to be careful not to start daydreaming because I had to remain focused. Focus and concentration were essential in my job. Even though I was familiar with Ben, to a degree, I had to watch the players carefully to make sure no one was cheating. Of course, if someone was good enough, they always found a way to cheat, and I didn't always catch them.

  By the time my shift ended, I was struggling to stifle my yawns. My feet throbbed, my calves ached, and the inactivity had begun to create that familiar ache in my lower back. While I tried to shift my position or balance my weight either between my feet or shift my weight from one to the other as often as I could, I had to do so unobtrusively. My movements, especially those of my hands and fingers, were carefully watched, not only by the cameras and pit bosses, but by the customers. If they thought I was fidgety or inattentive, they might complain. I didn't really blame them. Some of them put down an awful lot of money and fewer still walked away winning big.

  More times than not, Ben walked away a winner. His winnings varied; depending on how much attention he was paying to the game. On a bad night, he won maybe one thousand dollars and on a good night, at least five thousand, sometimes more. Just thinking about it could've turned me green with envy if I allowed it to, but once again, I tamped down the emotion. It had been my choice to come work at the casino, not that I had had that many other choices. And, even though it barely paid the bills, it was adequate… for now.

  By the time my replacement approached the table and decks of cards changed out, I was ready to go home and get a good night’s sleep. To my surprise, Ben left the table, as well. He had been on fire tonight, so it surprised me that he was ready to leave. I made my way into the employee section of the casino and went to our locker room. I headed toward my locker, where I kept my personal belongings. I turned the dial to the combination padlock, grabbed my purse and sweater, although I didn't think I'd need it tonight, and clocked out. If one of the other dealers finished at the same time as me and walked out with me, I left by the side door. Tonight no one clocked out with me, so I decided to walk back through the casino and out the front door. More lights, more people, more safety.

  To my surprise, I saw Ben standing beside the three side-by-side sliding glass doors that fronted this section of the casino. I glanced at him, nodded a good evening and began to make my way down the walkway before I stepped off the curb and into the parking lot. I turned when I heard footsteps behind me. Was he following me?

  "Maggie, wait a minute, will you?"

  I paused, not sure whether I should wait for him or not. I was still within the glow of the bright lights of the casino, so decided I was safe enough for the moment. I didn't think he had any funny business planned, but you never knew.

  He stood in front of me, as if waiting for me to say something. I didn't, but merely lifted an eyebrow, indicating I was waiting for him to tell me whatever it was that was so important he had to wait for me to invite him to say it. To my surprise, he glanced down as if embarrassed, shifting from one foot to the other before replying.

  "Maggie…I was wondering…would you like to go out with me? A drink before you go home, perhaps?"

  My heart gave a little thump. While it had been nice of him to ask, I had no intention of going out with him – or anybody, for that matter. Once bitten, twice shy they said, and I lived that model to a tee. I looked him straight in the eye. "Not in a million years," I said, and then abruptly turned and made my way to my car. To my immense relief, and I wasn't sure why, he didn't follow.

  *

  I didn't think too much about Ben's offer to go out. I had slept well last night. After all, patrons asked me out all the time. So did the other girls. I declined every single one of them – mostly because I wasn't about to leave myself open for another failed relationship, but more importantly because I didn't have the time. Plus, fraternizing with the patrons was severely discouraged by management.

  After I got home, all I had wanted to do was take a quick shower and climb between the sheets and go to sleep. The night was relatively cool, so I cracked my bedroom window open to allow some fresh air into my second-floor apartment. Sometimes, during the day it got so hot and humid, it felt stifling.

  I'd certainly been flattered by Ben’s gesture and the offer to go out, I was pretty sure he had been sober when he asked me, and I found myself smiling. At least it was good to know that men still found me attractive. The problem was, I couldn't see myself trying my luck with anyone, much less someone like Ben. He had more money than he knew what to do with. I didn't know anything about his private life. I didn't know if he had a girlfriend, if he was married, or even if he was a family man. Besides, I had no business going out with anyone, not with the frame of mind I was in regarding relationships.

  My life was hard enough as it was, and I certainly didn't need to add any more drama to it. I had my own baggage to carry, and I lacked the emotional stamina or desire to get involved with someone who might also have an equal amount of baggage.

  However, one of the main factors causing me to turn down Ben’s offer last night was based on my instinct. Over the past month, when night after night he sat at my Blackjack table, I began to wonder at his luck. Was he really just lucky or gifted? No, he didn't win all the time, but he did win the majority of the time. The amounts always differed, so those winnings didn't really cause any alarm bells. Still, I began to wonder if he was counting cards. If he was, he was damned good at it. I also knew what my responsibility was a dealer was, but at the same time I wasn't sure. I had no proof. I certainly couldn't go around throwing accusations without proof, could I?

  Oh, I had dealt with cheaters before, some who were good at it, some not so much. Still, I knew that I should probably alert my pit boss tonight when I got into work for my shift if I still felt this way. After all, it was part of my job. If I thought anyone was cheating, I was supposed to bring it to their attention. They would take it from there. However, I didn't want to mention anything until I knew for sure. I knew I should, but even a hint of an accusation could get Ben banned from the casino. Even though I didn't want to date him, I did like him. He was charming, handsome, and personable.

  I knew he drank, but it didn't seem as if he were a lush. He never acted obnoxious or drunk. He usually drank bourbon or whiskey, but no more than two or three drinks during my shift.

  At any rate, by the time I got back to the casino for my shift that evening, he was there, already sitting at my table. I went through the process of changing shifts with the current dealer, got a brief update from the pit boss, and then I got to work. Ben acted as if he had never said anything, which I appreciated. He did not act embarrassed or anything, so I acted cool, as well. I was my usual pleasant self, and so was Ben, although he didn't seem as talkative tonight as he usually was.

  To my surprise, around midnight, Ben cashed in and left, well before my shift was over. I wondered about it, but not enough to let it disturb me. Maybe he had taken the hint and wouldn't bother me about going out with him. There was nothing worse than trying to dissuade a potential suitor who didn't understand the word no.

  One time last summer, things had even gotten out of hand so bad with one patron that I had to mention it to the pit boss. After that, the gentleman in question had been escorted out of the casino by two security guards, never to return. While I certainly didn't wan
t that to happen with Ben, there was no doubt I would report him if he in any way gave me an indication that he was going to be a bother. Stalking was a serious fear of mine, especially because of the business I was in. Unfortunately, many of the men and women who gambled at my table were also alcoholics and after a night of drinking, with perhaps one more loss than they could tolerate under their belts, they got difficult, argumentative, and sometimes even aggressive.

  A friend of mine had been stopped by one of these sorts once and the stories she had told me caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up on end. I certainly didn't need that. I had enough of my own problems, thank you very much. I just hoped Ben had taken the hint and wouldn't pursue any future interest in me.

  Chapter 2

  I didn't see Ben at all the next night, but the following evening, while I was in the break room, one of my friends at the casino named Savannah came up to me with a secretive smile. At first she just stared at me, and I had no idea what she was doing. "What is it?" I asked. “Is my lipstick smeared or something?”

  “You have a secret admirer?" she asked, giggling with excitement.

  "I certainly hope not," I stated, meaning it.

  She laughed knowingly, as if I were joking. Only when she saw that I wasn't smiling did she take me more seriously. She frowned and then shook her head as if she didn't understand it.

  "You've received a package of some sort," she said. “The pit boss took it and placed it in the security office."

  I frowned. The owners of the casino tended to look down on gifts from patrons, even though it was and continued to be a relatively common practice of players, or at least, regular players, when they won big. House rules decreed that gifts were not to be given to be dealer personally, but left with a member of security guards or one of the pit bosses. The gift would then be taken to the security room. Very rarely were any dealers, myself included, allowed to keep any of these gifts. I was given impression that if the gift was received, the managers felt that the dealer might be willing to look the other way for certain players when it came to the game, whatever it was they played.