Of course, he wouldn’t need to know.

The receptionist, Lettie, came into the office smiling and put a note on Riley’s desk. “Chaz called,” she said, grinning. “He wants you to meet him at The Orteja for lunch.”

Riley raised a brow. “The Orteja? Are you sure?”

The receptionist’s eyes lit up, and she pressed her hands against her chubby cheeks. “I listened to the message three times,” she whispered.

Riley’s mouth went dry as she gaped at the note. “I—” She licked her lips. When a girl found out that her boyfriend of two years had just made the biggest romantic gesture of their relationship, it didn’t bode well if said girl’s first thought was to hope that he wasn’t proposing. “Thanks for the message.”

“Riley!” Her father boomed from his office. She darted to his office, imagining heart attacks and her father helpless on the floor.

Instead she found him standing at his desk, the newspaper in front of him unfolded to the society section. “Do I need to have my lawyer sue for this POS excuse for journalism?” His finger jabbed the page and Riley blinked at the spread of pictures. “Or did this really happen?”

Chapter Eight

“Bravo, my friend. Bravo.”

Charlie rubbed his eyes and rolled over to look at the clock. Not even nine a.m. He hadn’t slept for shit last night. Every time he’d closed his eyes, the image of Riley in skintight leather haunted him. But not as much as the image of her getting herself off while talking to him. So f**king hot.

He adjusted his cell phone against his ear and yawned for the benefit of his agent, who should have known better than to call before noon. “Bravo for what?”

“The photo op! The press just ate it up! Grab your Las Vegas Times and see for yourself.”

“What photo—” He shot up in bed, remembering his directions to Rick. “Shit. You sent a photographer.” He threw back the blankets and padded to the door of his suite. He snatched up the paper that waited just outside.

He dropped his phone in favor of tearing the paper open and winced when he saw the front of the society page. The headline read: NATIONAL POKER PROFESSIONAL HAS LAS VEGAS’S GOOD DAUGHTER BETTING HER HEART. Under the headline were pictures capturing their night.

One shot showed Charlie dancing with Riley, his hand splayed possessively on her back while she looked up at him. Another showed him feeding her, and the photographer had caught the pleasure that shaped her features with each bite. But it was the final shot that made his gut burn. It showed Charlie at Riley’s door, hands tangled in her hair as he kissed her.

“Fuck.” He tucked the paper under his arm and snatched his phone from the floor. “They followed us after dinner?”

“And it paid off, didn’t it? You did great. Now for the easy part. We’ll just sit back and wait for the calls.”

“I didn’t tell you to have them follow us to her f**king apartment, Rick. Jesus.”

“What? You think I told them to do that? You know how these guys are. You give them an inch.”

Charlie dragged a hand through his hair. This could work. He could get the sponsorship he needed, and Riley could get out of a bad relationship, but that didn’t end the sick gnawing from growing in his gut. “Keep me posted, Rick.”

He ended the call and stared at his phone for a long moment. He’d rather talk to Riley in person—or at the very least over the phone—but he didn’t want to bother her at work again. He settled for a text.

Have you seen the paper?

He paced to his bedroom while he waited, throwing the newspaper on the desk and pulling some clothes from a suitcase. If all went well today, he’d have a sponsorship for the next tournament. And maybe the one after that.

If it didn’t…well, Charlie should probably make himself a little more marketable by learning the Spanish translation for Do you want fries with that?

His phone beeped. Yes. I’m so sorry. You must be angry.

Why would he be angry? Did she think this was her fault? Shit, he should really tell her this was on him.

I’m just worried about you, he typed. A couple innocent pictures had seemed so inconsequential when he’d suggested it to Rick yesterday, but after sharing last night with Riley, seeing their intimate moments exposed in print made him feel violated. Worse, it felt like the photographer had violated her.

Which was f**king convenient since it was his own damn fault.

His phone beeped again. Are you sure you still want to see me?

Charlie shook his head in wonder as he thumbed his response. Of course I do. After last night, seeing you in the flesh again is all I can think about.

***

The Orteja was the kind of place where celebrities took in a late breakfast at one p.m. It was the kind of place where women met for three-martini lunches, and no one but a fool would think she could walk in off the street and be seated.

Riley sat alone at the table that had been reserved under Chaz’s name and wondered if he’d had a change of heart. Ever since their text message conversation this morning, guilt had gnawed its pointy teeth into her conscience, curled its hairy tail around every thought.

Someone published pictures of her kissing another man, and he was worried about her. She didn’t deserve anyone that wonderful. Particularly since, despite her best efforts, she still couldn’t get her mind off a certain poker player.

Add the element of her father—furious, aghast…disappointed—and she could no longer deny that she’d made a mess of her tidy little life.

She checked the time on her phone. 12:15. Maybe Chaz had come to his senses and decided he didn’t want anything to do with her. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she clicked the command on her phone to send him a text.

I’m at The Orteja. I still want to see you if you want to see me.

I’m close. I can be there in five.

So he was still coming. Rolling her shoulders back, she took a sip of her water. She was determined not to be critical. Chaz had proven that he trusted her. That he cared for her even if she wasn’t perfect. Even if she made mistakes. It was high time she returned the favor.

She blinked when, less than a minute later, Chaz came through the door with a bouquet of white roses. As he crossed to her, a string-quartet gliding behind him, their bows working beautiful melodies from their instruments.

Her pulse skittered to a pause and air refused to enter her lungs.

Chaz dropped to his knee in front of her. The quartet decrescendoed as he pulled something from his pocket.

Riley crossed her arms, and her stomach lurched. Everyone around them had stopped their conversations and turned from their drinks to stare.

“Riley Elaine Carter,” Chaz said, opening a black velvet box, “we love each other.”

She swallowed hard, eyes darting to the spectators around them. She willed him to stop, willed time to go in reverse so she could cancel this meal. He’d never taken her to The Orteja. She should have known.

“I know last night was just your way of getting my attention. Of getting me to ask you the question I should have asked you months ago.” He gave a sheepish grin. “I think I’ve just been too afraid to change something so…perfect.”

Riley winced. How could she put a stop to this? “Chaz—”

“You are the woman I want to talk to when life gets hard. You’re the woman I want to raise my children.”

Bile rose in her throat. Did he want a wife or a nanny?

He lifted the box and Riley winced at the size of the diamond. Square cut and at least three carats, the stone leered at her more than winked. “I’m ready to marry you.”

Riley blinked. Wait. Wasn’t he supposed to ask…? Chaz stood and drew her from her chair and into his arms. Applause erupted, as the crowd around them stood. Over Chaz’s shoulder, one man wasn’t clapping.

“Charlie?”

He stood, arms dropped to his sides, stance wide. Their gazes locked for a long moment before he gave her a curt nod and turned away.

“About those pictures…” Chaz whispered in her ear, “I’m going to let you make it up to me.”

He held her tight but she managed to wriggle her hands between their bodies and press against his chest. He took a step back smiling down at her but not releasing her.

“Can we go somewhere…private to talk?”

The smile dropped from his face for a beat before he carefully replaced it. “Sure. Anything for my fiancé.” He wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulder and winked to the crowd. “Apparently the lady wants me alone.”

The crowd’s laughter was another punch in Riley’s already roiling stomach. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to be this close to Chaz. If she wanted to shove him off her because he was holding her close, how was she supposed to marry him?

When they cleared the restaurant doors, he released her shoulders, but resumed his possessive hold on her upper arm. “You almost embarrassed me in there.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Can we just…go to my office and talk?”

“Sure.”

“And let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.”

He released her instantly. “Sorry.” Again the forced smile. “I think after those pictures in the paper this morning, I feel like I have to hold on to you or I might lose you.”

They walked the two blocks back to Grand Escape in stiff silence. The Las Vegas heat pounded them, and with each step Riley grew angrier. Didn’t she deserve a man whose idea of a wife was more than a job description for a nanny? Didn’t she deserve a man who would be hurt if she kissed another man? Who was passionate enough about their love to scream about it? Yes. She did.

And she deserved to be asked for her hand in marriage, not told she was going to give it.

When they stepped into the Grand Escape lobby, the air conditioning felt like a freezer against her dewy skin, and it only hardened her resolve.

Chaz approached the elevator and she stopped short. “You know I can’t take that,” she whispered.

“Get over it, Riley. It will be fine.”

She winced. “Do you even care what I feel about anything?”

His eyes turned darker, harder. “You apparently rode in an elevator last night or that photographer wouldn’t have been able to take pictures of you at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant.”

“That was different. I—” What? She’d been with Charlie Singleton? She’d had his arm around her, his breath brushing across her ear as she’d faced her fear? “It’s different in a glass elevator. I can do a glass elevator.”

He punched the button. “Then you can do this one too.”

Riley stared after Chaz as the elevator doors slid open and he walked in without her. He leaned against the wall and looked at her until the doors slid closed again.

She closed her eyes and wished with all her might that she wasn’t such a coward.

By the time she climbed the twenty-two flights of stairs to her office, Chaz was showing off her ring to Lettie.

“There she is,” Chaz said when he spotted her. He gave her a tight smile and tucked the ring into his pocket. “Hold Ms. Carter’s calls, please,” he requested. “My fiancé and I need some alone time.”

She made sure her office door was firmly shut behind her before she turned to Chaz and braced her hands on her hips. “I wish you’d quit calling me that!”

Chaz straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “What are you talking about?”

Riley couldn’t help but mentally tally all the ways he came up short when compared with Charlie. Charlie’s shoulders were broader, his chest better defined, his biceps thicker.

Charlie would have taken the freaking stairs with her.

“I’m not your fiancé, Chaz. So quit telling everyone I am.”

His scowl drew his features tight and made him look more like a spoiled child than a confident man. “We just got engaged. Last I checked, that makes you my fiancé.”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse. I never agreed to anything.”

His body deflated. His shoulders sagged and he blew out a breath before collapsing into a chair. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve screwed this all up,” he said softly, his eyes downcast.

“No, you haven’t. It’s just—” She put her hand to her mouth, fighting the instinct to comfort him.

“Did you know I’ve been planning this proposal for weeks?”

She blinked. He’d been planning a proposal while she’d been trying to decide whether or not their lack of sex life was reason enough to end the relationship. The revelation made her feel small.

“And then this morning, the day I’ve been planning, I’m making final arrangements when I see pictures of the woman I love kissing some gambler.”

A professional poker player was a far cry from a gambler, but she didn’t dare say so when shame was smacking her in the face.

He looked up at her, his cool blue eyes searching her face. “So if I came across heavy handed, if this didn’t go quite as I planned…could you cut me some slack?”

Her jaw worked, but she couldn’t find the words. She’d wanted this for so long. She’d been ready—anxious even—to move forward. Why was she so fast to throw it away?

“I’m sorry I pushed you to get on the elevator. I’m just…hell, I’m jealous you’d do it for some other guy.” He shook his head. “So I was an ass. I’m sorry.”

He stood and walked slowly to her, retrieving the ring box from his pocket. He slid the ring from the case and took her hand.