Chapter 2

Ace's POV

"Depends on your definition of interesting." I kept my tone conversational, but let my eyes drift back to his laptop screen for just a moment. "That's a lot of zeros for someone who doesn't want to be noticed."

There—a tiny muscle twitch near his left eye when I mentioned the zeros. He was surprised I'd been that observant. Good.

"Most people wouldn't have noticed," he said finally, studying me with renewed interest.

"Occupational hazard." I leaned back slightly, mirroring his body language. "You learn to notice things when people's money is on the line."

He had high cheekbones, stubble that looked deliberate rather than careless, hands that moved with the kind of controlled precision that suggested he was used to handling dangerous things.

When he tapped his fingers against the armrest, it was in a specific rhythm—not nervous energy like the businessman in 2A, but something more deliberate. A tell, maybe, though not one I recognized.

"Professional poker player." It wasn't a question.

I tilted my head. "You seem pretty confident about that. Should I be flattered or concerned that you know who I am?"

For the first time since our conversation started, I saw genuine surprise flicker across his features. He'd expected me to confirm it, not flip the question back on him.

His smile widened slightly, but I caught the brief moment where his confidence wavered. "Ace Delacroix."

"Well, that answers that question." I kept my voice light, but internally catalogued everything about his reaction. "Though now I'm curious how a complete stranger knows my name and has access to what looks like my money."

I let that hang in the air between us. Two could play the information game.

The fact that he knew my name should have been alarming, but what really caught my attention was the pause before he'd said it—like he'd been debating whether to reveal that particular card.

"Do we know each other?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I would have remembered this man. "Because you're either remarkably well-informed about strangers, or this isn't nearly as random as you'd like me to think."

"Not exactly. But we have a mutual acquaintance, it seems." He gestured toward his laptop screen, where Blake's name had appeared in another transaction window. "Blake Morrison."

I didn't react to the name—another poker skill—but I filed away the fact that he was watching for my reaction. "And you are?"

"Someone who moves in similar financial circles." He closed the laptop with a soft click, giving me his full attention. "The more interesting question is what your connection to that money is."

"What makes you think I have any connection to it?" I asked, even though we both knew he'd already figured out the answer. But I wanted to see how much he was willing to reveal.

I wanted to demand answers, to grab his laptop and see exactly what Blake had done with my investment fund. But something told me that playing this hand too aggressively would be a mistake. This man clearly knew more than he was letting on, and I needed information before I made any moves.

"That depends," I said carefully. "Are we talking about a friendly conversation, or something else?"

He leaned back in his seat, studying me with the kind of intensity that made me feel like he was trying to read my cards. The problem was, I was trying to read his too, and coming up empty.

In my line of work, being able to read people was everything. It kept me fed, paid my rent, and had built the investment fund that Blake had apparently stolen.

This man was a blank slate.

"What if I told you," he said slowly, "that your fiancé's 'investment opportunity' involves my business interests in ways that are... problematic?"

Problematic. That was one hell of a euphemism.

"I'd say that sounds like something we should probably discuss."

"Unfortunately, we're about to land." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card—thick, expensive paper with minimal text. Knox Santoro, followed by a phone number and what looked like a hotel address in Las Vegas. "But I think we should definitely continue this conversation."

I took the card, noting how his fingers brushed mine for just a moment longer than necessary. There was something electric about the contact, which was ridiculous considering I'd just discovered my fiancé was potentially screwing me over.

"Why would you want to help me?" I asked.

Knox's smile turned sharp-edged. "Who said anything about helping?" He stood as the pilot announced our descent into Las Vegas. "Maybe we can help each other."

The plane began its descent, and I watched Knox gather his things with the same controlled precision he'd shown throughout our conversation. He moved like someone who was used to being in control, used to getting what he wanted.

As he prepared to leave, he paused and looked back at me.

"Oh, and Ace?" The way he said my name sent another unexpected chill down my spine. "That transaction you saw? That was just the beginning."

He headed toward the front of the plane, leaving me staring at his business card and trying to process what had just happened.

Blake had taken my money—money I'd earned, money I'd planned to build my future with. And somehow, this mysterious man named Knox Santoro was connected to it all.

I looked down at the card again. Heavy paper, expensive. The kind of card that suggested serious money and serious connections.

The question was: did I trust a complete stranger who seemed to know far too much about my business?

As the plane taxied to the gate, I slipped the card into my purse and made up my mind.

I guess I was about to find out.