CHAPTER TEN
1903 Words
Wes sat down at the poker table, trying his best to look like he belonged. He loosened his tie just enough to seem casual, ran a hand through his hair for that perfect I-don’t-care-but-I-still-look-good effect, and leaned back into his chair with the confidence of someone who definitely wasn’t down to his last dime.
The thing was, people could smell an outsider from a mile away. And he was getting looks.
“Who is he?” a woman in a tight white dress murmured to her friend, barely hiding the way her eyes flicked over him.
“I don’t know, but he’s hot,” the friend whispered back, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.
Wes smirked. Damn right, he was. He adjusted his suit a little, shifting just enough to look effortless, and prepared himself to soak in the attention. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he could—
A scoff.
Low. Amused. Condescending.
Wes’s mood soured instantly. He turned his head, already knowing who it was before he even saw him.
Wheelchair guy.
He was parked near the edge of the room, watching him like he had already decided Wes didn’t belong here. Which, fair, but still.
The women beside Wes immediately turned their attention away from him like he was old news.
“Oh my God,” one of them gasped. “That’s—”
“Yeah,” the other sighed dreamily. “He’s still so hot even after the accident.”
Wes clenched his jaw. Unbelievable. He had been in the middle of crafting a whole mysterious-bad-boy image for himself, and this guy had to show up and ruin it. He rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw the ceiling.
Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, Wheelchair Guy spoke.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite scammer,” he drawled. His voice was smooth, like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Wes plastered on a grin, the fakest one he had. “Well, if it isn’t my least favorite asshole.”
Wheelchair guy laughed, the sound rich with amusement. He made a small motion with his fingers, and his assistant immediately moved to wheel him closer.
Wes groaned internally. Of course, he wants to sit next to him. Just his luck.
“Good evening, Master Nathaniel,” one of the staff greeted, bowing slightly as they passed.
Wheelchair guy—Nathaniel, apparently—didn’t even acknowledge them. His eyes were locked onto Wes, sharp and assessing, like he was still trying to figure out what exactly Wes was doing here.
“So,” Nathaniel said, resting an elbow on the armrest of his wheelchair. “Are you here to lose more money? Because from what I’ve heard, you’re really good at that.”
Wes narrowed his eyes. “And what exactly have you heard?”
Nathaniel smirked. “That you made a very poor investment. And that someone might be six feet under if they don’t figure out how to pay their boss back.”
Wes clenched his jaw. He wasn’t even gonna ask how Nathaniel knew that. Guys like him? Rich, well-connected, and annoyingly smug? They knew everything.
“Thanks for your concern,” Wes said flatly. “But I’ve got it handled.”
Nathaniel hummed, clearly not believing him.
The dealer shuffled the cards, and as the game started, they kept bickering like an old couple.
“Are you sure you know how to play?” Nathaniel asked, eyeing Wes’s chips.
Wes scoffed. “Do you?”
Nathaniel smiled, slow and confident. “I don’t need to know. I just need to be better than you.”
“Oh, you are so full of yourself.”
“And you are so bad at hiding your tells.”
The players at the table side-eyed them, but neither cared. The game had started, but for them, the real competition had already begun.
They played. And bickered. A lot.
At first, Wes was on fire. Cards were going his way, chips stacking up in front of him. Every time he won, he made sure to rub it in.
“Damn, Nate. You sure you know how to play?” Wes smirked, raking in another win.
Nathaniel, completely unfazed, leaned back in his chair. “Beginner’s luck.”
Wes laughed. “Nah, man. It’s called talent.”
He was having the time of his life. Every time he pulled off a win, he’d shoot finger guns at the dealer like he was some kind of poker god. The women at the table giggled, clearly entertained by his confidence. Even the older businessmen playing alongside them seemed mildly amused.
Then, things took a turn. A bad one.
The wins stopped coming. His smug grin slowly faded as he watched his pile of chips shrink like his chances of survival if his boss ever found out about this. Meanwhile, Nathaniel, the picture of calm, just kept collecting wins.
At first, Wes tried to play it cool. “Alright, alright. I see what’s happening. You’re just letting me win earlier so you could hustle me now. I get it. Classic strategy.”
Nathaniel didn’t even blink. “Oh? Is that what you think?”
“Absolutely,” Wes said, nodding like a man convincing himself more than anyone else.
But then came another loss. Then another. Then another.
At one point, he slammed his cards down dramatically. “Alright, this is rigged. I want a refund.”
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “A refund? What are you, five?”
“I don’t know, man. You’re playing like you own the damn casino.”
Nathaniel smirked. “I do own the damn casino.”
Wes froze. Then he burst out laughing. “You’re messing with me.”
Nathaniel just smiled.
Wes stopped laughing. “You’re not messing with me?”
Nathaniel casually placed another bet. “Nope.”
Wes just stared at him, processing. “I hate you.”
“Mm-hmm. That’ll be another hundred.”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I knew you were rich, but this rich? You’re out here running a whole casino while I’m out here losing my life savings. No wonder you’re so calm.”
Nathaniel just shrugged. “Not my fault you suck at poker.”
Wes narrowed his eyes. “Oh, that’s how it is? You think you’re better than me?”
Nathaniel gave him a slow, amused look. “I know I’m better than you.”
Wes slammed another set of chips onto the table. “Alright, one more round. Double or nothing.”
Nathaniel smirked. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Wes was now getting nervous, and Nathaniel could sense it. He was loving every second of it.
“Just admit you’re bad at this game, and maybe I’ll let you go unscathed.”
“No way in hell, wheelie boy. I’m gonna win this round. I can feel it.”
Nathaniel smirked. “Yeah, right. Like you could feel your stocks going up?”
Wes nearly choked on air. His cards slipped from his hands as he gawked at Nathaniel. “How the hell do you know about that?”
“I ran a background check on you.”
“You what?”
Nathaniel shrugged, clearly enjoying Wes’ growing panic. “Nothing really impressive, if I’m being honest. Just your criminal records, a few dumb investment choices, and—”
Before he could finish, Wes slapped a hand over his mouth.
Big mistake.
Immediately, a bunch of men in identical black suits surged forward, their hands hovering above their pistols.
“Get your hands off the chairman.”
Wes froze. His brain short-circuited. His hand dropped as he turned to look at Nathaniel, who was watching him like a cat playing with its food.
“The what?”
“The chairman,” one of the suited guys repeated, his tone making it clear that this was very obvious information.
Wes turned back to Nathaniel, then to the security team, then back to Nathaniel. Finally, he groaned and dragged a hand down his face.
“Jesus Christ. You mean to tell me you’re that Nathaniel Hawthorne? The guy who runs one of the biggest corporations in the country?”
Nathaniel gave him a slow, smug nod.
“Unbelievable,” Wes muttered. “No wonder you’re such a rich, nosy bastard.”
Nathaniel placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “That’s Chairman Rich Nosy Bastard to you.”
Wes glared, but his mind was already spinning with the implications. This guy—this guy—wasn’t just some random grumpy rich dude. He had power. The kind of power that made Wes’ screw-ups look like small potatoes in comparison.
Nathaniel watched him with amusement. “Now, where were we?” He glanced at the poker table. “Oh, right. You were losing.”
Wes groaned again, slumping back in his seat. “I hate you.”
Nathaniel smirked, shuffling his cards. “I know.”
By the end of the night, Wes sat at the bar with his back slumped. He had lost big time. His collateral? The apartment that wasn’t even his to begin with.
He stared at the ice in his drink like it held the answers to his problems. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
Then someone cleared their throat behind him.
“I know it’s you, Wheels,” Wes muttered without looking.
“I’m surprised you already know me that well,” Nathaniel said smoothly, sliding onto the barstool next to him.
“No one else in here talked to me other than you. So why wouldn’t I know?” Wes took a long sip, debating whether smashing the glass over his own head would be preferable to continuing this conversation.
Nathaniel smirked. “Rough night?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Chairman, you tell me,” Wes deadpanned. “Seeing as you personally made sure I’ll be homeless by morning.”
“Homeless and broke,” Nathaniel corrected. “If you’re going to wallow, at least be accurate.”
Wes exhaled sharply and turned to glare at him. “You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be dying, you sure have a lot of energy to be annoying.”
Nathaniel’s smirk didn’t waver. “And for a guy who was so sure he’d win, you sure lost spectacularly.”
Wes clenched his jaw. He was too broke to afford dignity right now.
“Do you have to rub it in?” he grumbled.
Nathaniel tilted his head. “No, but I want to.”
Wes groaned, slumping further into his seat. “I should’ve just stayed home.”
“But then you wouldn’t have had the pleasure of my company.”
“Exactly.”
Nathaniel chuckled, clearly having the time of his life while Wes was having the worst night of his. Then, just to make things worse, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and dangled them in front of Wes.
“Oh, by the way. Since I now technically own your apartment, I figured I’d stop by and check out my new place.”
Wes snatched the keys back. “Over my dead body.”
Nathaniel arched a brow. “Ironic, considering I’m the one who’s actually dying.”
Wes groaned again, already regretting every choice that had led him to this moment.
- Writer
