Lucky Streak by Carly Phillips

Amber. “I recognize you from Beverly Hills.”
    For a split second Amber froze. She and Marshall had one hard-and-fast rule. If something seemed off, they cut their losses and ran. The money wasn’t worth their lives if they crossed the wrong people. Nothing that extreme had happened. Yet.
    Catching herself, Amber gave her best bimbo giggle and said, “Isn’t that funny? He thinks I’m from Beverly Hills. I must look like a star! ” Amber said in her ditziest voice.
    Marshall rolled his eyes. “I’m laughing, baby.”
    â€œBecause I don’t look like a movie star?” she asked, insulted.
    He shook his head. “Because you’ve never beenoutside Vegas.” Marshall turned to the dealer. “Are we going to play?”
    Howard didn’t appear satisfied, but the antes began and he refocused on his cards.
    She let out a huge sigh of relief. When she saw a chance for Howard to win, Amber let Marshall’s opportunity pass in order to keep Howard’s mind on his cards and not where he’d met her once before. She didn’t need her real world colliding with her fake one. Not tonight, when the stakes determined both hers and Marshall’s future.
    Over the next half hour, Marshall’s pot grew larger, King Bobby grew nastier, and Howard kept passing her covert glances that made her uneasy.
    A quick tally in her head told her Marshall had won what he needed and she was halfway to paying back Mike. They were almost there.
    â€œBobby, honey, were you able to get us into the Country Club for dinner?” Emmy Lou asked. The exclusive restaurant in the Wynn hotel was world famous.
    â€œDamn, woman, can’t you see I’m busy? Call the concierge and find out if she made us a reservation if you want to. But let King Bobby be.” He tossed her his cell phone.
    â€œThat’s it!” Howard rose from his seat.
    â€œDon’t tell me this yahoo won again,” King Bobby muttered. “It’s enough that guy’s messing with the King’s mojo tonight.” He gestured to Marshall.
    A skittering of dread rushed through Amber and the hair on her arms stood on end.
    â€œNo, I just remembered where I saw her before.” Howard pointed to Amber. “I may not remember the name, but I never forget a face. You were the concierge at some hotel in Beverly Hills.”
    Amber breathed in deep and forced a silly giggle. “Me, a concierge?” She turned to Marshall. “Baby, he thinks I’m smart enough to be a concierge.”
    â€œLord, a man can’t concentrate tonight what with these women gaggling like geese and this guy worried about where he met some two-bit whore before,” Chuck, another man from somewhere in the Midwest, said angrily.
    â€œHe’s got a point. I fold,” Marshall said, tossing down his cards.
    Amber didn’t need to count again to know they didn’t have all the money they needed. At least, not enough for her to return to Mike with a semiclean conscience, an explanation and a plea for forgiveness.
    â€œThat’s it for me.” Marshall rose.
    â€œBut honey, the necklace—”
    â€œMaybe another time.” He gathered his chips, cashed in, ignoring her tapping foot behind him and King Bobby’s loud complaints that Marshall wasn’t giving him a chance to win his cash back.
    Once he was finished, Marshall grabbed her arm hard enough to leave a bruise and guided her out the door while saying his goodbyes all at the same time.
    It wasn’t easy, but Amber held in her angry explosion until they were safely in the car and out of earshot of anyone from the game.
    â€œHow the hell could you walk before we won what we needed?” she yelled at him.
    He started the car. “In case that genius brain of yours missed it, I won what I needed.” He dug into her large purse, pulled out the wad of big bills he’d stuffed in there and counted out the bundles.