The lingering irritation from seeing Eleanor talking to Dean Jiang still burns in the back of my throat. I purposefully avoid checking the security cameras on the drive back; I want to surprise myself, half-hoping she is preparing a cake or something to welcome me home. I never expect the questionable sight that actually greets me.
She is sitting across from Vandiver. Playing blackjack?
“You should feel ashamed, playing rough with a novice,” Eleanor says, a small, warm smile lighting up her face.
“Hit me.”
She picks up her card, and the moment Vandiver looks down to check the chips on the table, she swiftly switches it with one resting under her thigh.
I dip both hands into my pockets, leaning against the doorframe. I never knew my little girl is a sly demon.
“Twenty-one,” Vandiver
