It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for John to call a couple of his men into his office; he did it frequently to discuss certain aspects of collections, so it wouldn’t bring about any particular attention, but just to be sure, he kept an eye on who was passing in the corridor outside through the glass panel.
That stupid girl wandered around on a regular basis, no doubt trying to look important or to ingratiate herself with his staff. Yes, his staff – not hers. They would never be hers.
John frowned. At least enough of them weren’t onside with her to matter. Not yet, at least, and that’s all that counted at the moment.
Smiling coldly, he glanced at the three men in front of him. All of these boys had been with him for donkey’s years and every single one of them had expressed their unhappiness about Samantha Reynold being involved with this side of the business, let alone thinking she could waltz in, expecting them to take orders from her.
‘This is happening tonight, you reckon?’ Sid asked, peering at John with beady eyes.
John nodded. ‘Apparently. There’s a chap on the Stoker side – one of their runners, who has a runaway mouth when he’s had a few sherbets. Hell knows why someone hasn’t dispatched him yet, but I guess that just shows how little notice Old Man Stoker took of details what matter!’ He folded his arms, his face forming a weird grimace that, to him, equalled pleasure. ‘And this dickhead was overheard by someone I know who, in turn, told me.’
Tom was quite useful for digging the dirt, John had to give him that. Of course, he’d want his cut, but he’d be getting the bare minimum. And that was only if he was bloody right. Tom was such a drunk cokehead that he could have dreamt the whole thing up, but it was worth a punt.
John pulled his attention back to the three men. ‘Not sure where the deal is happening yet, but I’m pretty sure it will be done by one of the Stokers themselves. That’s why I want all three of you. I’ll be watching the Peacock and I’ll put a tail on whoever leaves around 9 p.m. Make sure one of you is in my office. I’ll call and tell you where to come and what to do.’
John stood up from his desk and looked at each of the three men in turn. ‘And boys, rest assured I’ll make this worth your while.’
Sam could have walked to the Peacock. It was only a couple of hundred yards from the Orchid, but arriving by car looked more presentable, so a taxi it was.
It had been an extremely long day, which had passed at the speed of a dead snail. Although she had been busy moving her stuff from her mother’s house back into her own apartment, for Sam, every minute, every second, dragged. And that was because all she’d been able to think of was what she was doing tonight.
She was dreading it. For many reasons.
‘Having a bit of a flutter tonight, are you?’ the driver said, his eyes meeting Sam’s in the rear-view mirror.
‘Something like that,’ Sam smiled, quickly checking her makeup in her compact mirror. She glanced at the orchid clip in her hair – the latest, and last one her father would ever give her. This one’s for you, Dad.
Wearing the flower was an easy decision. It was the rest that wasn’t. She hadn’t been sure whether to dress business-like or to go for the attire she’d usually wear to somewhere like this – or the Orchid, her own casino.
Her stomach somersaulted. How strange that sounded: her own casino.
But it was. The Violet Orchid was now hers and, despite what anyone else thought, she would do a good job of running it. She had to and would do whatever was necessary to make that happen.
As the taxi drew to a halt outside the Peacock, Sam fumbled with her purse. Pulling out a ten-pound note, she handed it to the driver. ‘Keep the change.’
‘Cheers, love,’ the driver grinned. ‘Hope you’re lucky and win tonight.’
So do I, Sam thought, stepping out of the car. Shutting the door, she watched the cab drive off, before turning around and looking up at the Peacock.
A similar style building as the Orchid, the Peacock stood four storeys high, uplighters highlighting an illuminated vertical path between the windows on the first and second floors. The deep red of the ‘Royal Peacock Casino’ signage spanned the length of the building and ‘Roulette, Slots, Blackjack, Late Bar and Restaurant’ were signed above in smaller neon lettering.
Sam walked towards the entrance, where a doorman opened the double glass doors. Nodding her thanks, she continued up the red-carpeted staircase to the casino’s reception, glad she’d gone for a black cocktail dress rather than a business suit.
‘Good evening, madam,’ the beautiful blonde receptionist gushed as Sam entered the lobby. ‘Do you have your membership card?’
Sam faltered, realising she hadn’t thought this meeting with Seb Stoker through very well. She didn’t think she’d ever been inside the Peacock before. If she had, it was a very long time ago. ‘Oh, erm… I… erm… I don’t have a membership card. I’m here for a meeting with Mr Stoker.’
The blonde blinked, her false eyelashes casting spidery silhouettes across her flawless face. ‘Mr Stoker?’
‘Yes, Sebastian Stoker,’ Sam added, belatedly remembering there were several of the Stoker men.
The receptionist picked up the telephone. ‘Can I take your name please, madam?’
Feeling her clammy hands slip on her clutch bag, Sam hoped her smile remained in place. ‘Samantha Reynold.’ She watched the woman tap digits into the telephone, her long nails clicking as they hit the buttons.
‘No need to page me, Serena. I’m expecting Ms Reynold.’ Seb strode towards the reception desk, his hand outstretched towards Sam. His eyes ran appreciatively over her. ‘You look lovely, Samantha.’
And she did. More than lovely. What needled him more and more each time he laid eyes on her was that even her overly privileged and defensive attitude wasn’t enough to dilute the intrigue he felt about the woman.
Women usually threw themselves at him – hanging off his every word – and the fact that Sam didn’t piqued his interest.
‘Good evening, Mr Stoker.’ Sam shook Seb’s hand, horribly aware her hand was sweaty to the touch, and tried not to stare too long at the man who had hold of it.
Seb Stoker looked even more handsome in a tuxedo than he had in the tailored suits she’d seen him wearing previously. The cut of the jacket emphasised his wide shoulders and slim waist and the expensive material showed the outline of muscular legs under the perfectly fitting trousers.
Slightly irritated with herself for being glad she’d decided on the cocktail dress over the business suit, she quickly pulled her eyes away before he caught her looking. She released her hand from his grip. It would be prudent to remember that what this man looked like had absolutely no bearing on why she was here.
Watching Sam pull from his grasp, Seb’s fingers instead moved to touch the flower clip in her dark, glossy hair. ‘How apt,’ he remarked, meeting her brown eyes. ‘You wear your casino’s namesake?’
Seb’s raw gravelly voice, his lips inches from Sam’s ear, vibrated through her entire body, his proximity both intoxicating and off-putting in equal measures.
This man was dangerous and on top of that a rival of her father’s business, yet his overpowering magnetism drew her like a moth to a flame. She had to get a grip. What was the matter with her?
Regaining her inner composure, she forced herself to smile. ‘I always wear an orchid on special occasions, Mr Stoker,’ Sam said, her voice clipped.
Seb stepped back, his hand dropping back to his side and his green eyes twinkled with amusement at Sam’s sarcasm. An abrupt, bordering on rude manner would normally aggravate him, but with her it was invigorating.
Besides, two could play at that game…
‘I’m honoured you warrant our meeting tonight as a special occasion,’ Seb smiled. ‘Let me show you around.’ He gestured proudly towards the main casino area.
Sam followed, her heels sinking into the plush deep-pile carpet, unable to deduce whether Seb’s response was sardonic, or if he’d taken her scorn as a compliment. She could only hope it wasn’t the latter.
She looked around the large gaming room, sporting the same deep burgundy carpet. There were plenty of well-spaced roulette tables in the centre and slot machines around the perimeter of the room, but the thing catching her eye the most was the unusual lighting, which formed a gold swirl across the ceiling in a moulded figure of eight. Not too bright, yet not too dim. The place looked good.
She chewed her lip, unsure why that should surprise her. It wasn’t like anywhere rivalling her father’s casino – her casino, would be shoddy, but it was clear Seb took great pride in the Royal Peacock and she admired his attitude.
Taking Sam’s elbow, Seb smiled. ‘I presume I don’t need to explain what all of these areas are.’ He nodded towards the roulette wheels and the blackjack tables.
‘I don’t think so, no,’ Sam laughed, part of her not entirely sure whether he was being serious, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
‘We have a restaurant,’ Seb continued, gesturing to a door at the far end of the room. ‘Have you eaten or perhaps you’d just prefer a drink in the bar?’ He pointed to a large, galleried overhang above. ‘The bar is upstairs.’
This time Sam’s smile was cool. He was treating this like a date and that it was definitely not. ‘I think I’d prefer to just get on with our discussion.’
Seb shrugged. ‘Okay, whatever you wish. In that case, we’ll go straight to my office. I’ll get some drinks sent there.’
Sensing a strange twinge of annoyance in Seb Stoker’s face, Sam forced a smile, realising she’d come over far too sharp to class as polite. Regardless of her dislike of the nervous uncomfortableness this man spawned in her, she still needed his help. ‘How is your father, Mr Stoker?’
Seb turned and looked at Sam quizzically before speaking. ‘He’s a lot better now he’s out of the hospital. He’s not a big fan of those places, but thank you for asking.’
Sam followed Seb through another door and walked down a corridor towards his office. It would be tempting to have more than a few glasses of wine before getting publicly humiliated over her lack of knowledge, but she didn’t dare do anything to cause her guard to slip. It was bad enough accepting this man’s help without acting like an imbecile in the process.
‘Are you sure it was wise sending Gary to do the deal with the Irish?’ Neil asked, his concentration firmly on a new blonde waitress.
Andrew shrugged. ‘Gary wanted more responsibility, didn’t he? You heard him. And being as Seb’s busy chasing the Reynold skirt tonight and you do sod all, apart from lounge around here every night, I thought for once I’d join you.’ He motioned to the waitress for fresh drinks. ‘Besides, Gary can’t exactly fuck this up because all the hard work has already been done. It’s literally a case of taking the final payment once the drivers have swapped trailers. Even he should be able to manage that.’
Neil pursed his lips. ‘I’m surprised he hasn’t chucked himself off a cliff after what you said the other night.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Andrew scoffed. ‘I was only joking.’
‘Except you weren’t,’ Neil countered, raising an eyebrow. ‘Admit it!’
Andrew scowled. Okay, so he wasn’t joking and if any of his other brothers were honest, neither were they. Gary had always been different to the rest of them. Aside from his different colouring – his sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, compared to their dark, almost black hair and green eyes – he also was as far removed as possible in sharing their mentality.
Whilst they’d all enjoyed daring adventures, Gary was quiet and reserved – preferring to look for frogs and newts in ponds than have a scrap or play football. Now, as adults, Gary was the worrier – over-discussing things and procrastinating, rather than getting his hands dirty.
Andrew wasn’t stupid. There could be some truth in what had been said and if there was, didn’t that mean that their mother had…? Did their father know about any of this? Was that why their father always let Gary get away with stuff? Not because Gary was the baby of the family, but because of an entirely different reason?
Neil watched his twin brother carefully. ‘You think it’s a possibility, don’t you?’
Andrew turned his drink around in circles on the table. ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly, looking into the same green eyes as his own. ‘But if it is true, then what does that mean?’
‘It means he’s not a fucking Stoker, that’s what,’ Neil spat. ‘And that would explain everything.’
‘What do you reckon Seb thinks?’ Andrew asked, worry beginning to snowball. It bothered him more every time he thought about it. Had Gary always irritated him because deep down he’d always known the man wasn’t his true brother?
‘You know what Seb thinks about it. He doesn’t want us to entertain the thought!’ Neil barked, recollection of his brother’s sharp backhand the other day still vivid. ‘But then, Seb never levels with us on anything. And that will only get worse now he’s head honcho. It’s started already, or haven’t you noticed?’
‘All I noticed was that hot chick he ushered in earlier,’ Andrew laughed, eager to get off the subject. ‘Seb’s punching above his weight with that one. What happened to the evening with Samantha Reynold? Got a better offer, it seems, thank fuck. Don’t know why Dad wants us involved with the Reynolds anyway.’
Neil laughed, despite himself. ‘That was Samantha Reynold.’
‘What?’ Andrew choked. ‘I don’t remember her looking like that! No wonder Seb agreed to help out. Bloody typical. I wish I’d volunteered now.’
Both men continued their drinks, but no matter how much they skirted around the topic, the subject of Gary played on both of their minds.