Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(32)

I push both questions out of my mind as best I can and focus on tonight. First up, a meeting on neutral ground, and then in an hour, a high-stakes game Summer reminded me I was invited to. My fingers flex as if anxious for the slide of the cards between them.

Play the man, not the game. I’m ready.

Earlier in my suite, I changed into a jade-green dress with a keyhole neckline and my Alexander McQueen peep-toe pumps, curled my hair into big beachy waves, and applied my makeup with a ruthless hand. If eyeshadow were a weapon of war, I’d be assured victory. Finally, I pulled out the big guns—my Alexander McQueen skull purse that looks like you’re wearing brass knuckles when you carry it.

Walking through the casino, I finally feel like my old self again. Actually, better than my old self, because I have a different kind of confidence wrapped around me. It’s not the brittle confidence-by-necessity I used to have. It’s something deeper, more innate. I have a purpose, and it goes far deeper than winning a simple poker game.

On the way to the bar, I catch a flash of auburn hair swinging over a shoulder as someone does a double take.

“No. Impossible. She is not here.”

The haughty British accent stops me in midstride. My instincts tell me to keep walking, but I can’t ignore that voice. Slowly, I turn to face Poppy de Vere . . . and Juliette Preston Priest.

Really? I send a glance toward the masterpiece of a ceiling, asking the man upstairs why he couldn’t leave Jericho’s former mistress out of this. I get no response.

Poppy’s perfectly applied nude lip curls as her brown gaze drags from my hair to my heels. I grip my newfound confidence even tighter as Superman and Spiderman retreat to a respectful distance.

“Poppy. Juliette.” I say their names politely. “What an interesting coincidence. I didn’t expect to see you here either. Especially together.” I bite my tongue before I can say anything else, if for no other reason than to save Summer’s job.

“What are you doing here?” Juliette asks in a haughty tone. “Trying to drum up your next rich ex-husband? I hear it’s a lot harder to do the second time around.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, holding my head high. These two women are insignificant, but still, they’ve clearly heard the news and have no qualms about stabbing at fresh wounds.

“I told you Jericho would never settle down. It wasn’t at all surprising to hear he filed for divorce.”

I keep my smile fixed in place even as her swipe threatens to shatter my composure. A small part of me has been holding out hope that he wouldn’t actually file the papers I signed, but I’ll never admit that to them.

“You know everything, don’t you, Juliette? Except how to hang on to a man yourself, it seems.”

Her features turn hawkish. “I wouldn’t be too smug if I were you. It won’t take him long to replace you. It never does after they go slumming for kicks.”

My teeth grind together, and only my best poker face can stop me from baring them at her.

Poppy saves me from having to reply. “I’m surprised you’re not sniffing after my brother again.”

My gaze cuts to the sharply contoured lines of her face. “Have you seen your brother lately? Or is he too busy kidnapping people and slinging drugs?”

Poppy’s face drains of color before she bolts forward. “How dare you!”

I sense Superman and Spiderman moving toward us, but I hold up a hand over my shoulder.

“I dare because it’s the truth. If you want to see him again, you should probably find him soon. I doubt he’ll be breathing much longer.”

Poppy’s face doesn’t look nearly as elegant when it’s contorted in rage. “You’re lying. My brother would never.”

“Might want to ask him a few questions, Poppy.” I flick open my clutch to peek at my phone for the time. “And now I’m late for my meeting. If you’ll excuse me.”

“You don’t know anything, you little—”

A gruff Russian-accented voice comes from behind me. “I doubt very much that you want to finish your sentence, madam.”

Ah. My father found me before I found him.

I turn to look at him, this time dressed in an elegant tuxedo, starched white shirt, and diamond studs. “Good evening. I apologize for running late.”

Juliette Preston Priest stares open-mouthed between me and my father. Does she know who he is? Or maybe she’s thinking that I’ve got daddy issues, which I undoubtedly do, but not like that.

“It is no problem. If you will excuse us, ladies.” His emphasis on the word ladies indicates he thinks they’re nothing of the sort, which I find endlessly amusing. “My daughter and I have much to discuss.”

Juliette’s mouth snaps shut and Poppy stares at her, clearly uncertain what is going on. I wink at them and turn to strut away as they hurl invisible daggers at my back.

“Ms. Baptiste,” Superman says, moving closer to my side.

“It’s fine. We’ll be at the bar. I’m perfectly safe.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll be close, though.”

My father holds out an arm. “After you.”

I lead the way to the bar, walking past the already crowded craps tables and the clicking roulette wheel as people hold their breath, waiting to see where the ball will land. When we stop in front of the antique wooden bar, my father signals to the bartender, and the service is immediate and efficient.