The money on the table wasn’t devastating, but the bruised egos of Lukas and Mark told a different story.
“Did you seriously bring a professional to clean us out?” Rowan muttered under his breath, casting a sharp glare at Joe.
At first glance, Skylar looked young—maybe in her early twenties. But the way she played? Her poker skills hinted at years of experience. She didn’t just win; she dominated.
“Five of a kind,” Skylar announced calmly, laying her cards down with an innocent smile. “I guess I’m just lucky.”
Joe leaned back, eyes glinting with amusement as he watched her pretend to play dumb. His voice was even, but the tone carried weight. “If you can’t handle losing, maybe you shouldn’t play at all.”
“Who said we can’t handle it?” Rowan snapped, visibly annoyed.
It wasn’t about the money—none of them were hurting for cash. Losing a few hundred grand was pocket change. But the embarrassment of being bested so easily? That stung.
Now they understood why Joe had brought her. Skylar wasn’t just a pretty face—she had substance.
After a few more rounds and three consecutive wins, Skylar turned to Joe, her voice cautious. “Is this enough? I feel like taking more would just be… excessive.”
She had been mentally keeping track—each man had lost somewhere between $800,000 and over a million. Together, it was likely four to five million dollars on the table. Viola’s advice echoed in her mind: Quit while you’re ahead. Never get greedy in a game of chance.
Joe met her gaze, unbothered. “Had your fill? If not, keep going. That much money isn’t even worth mentioning.”
Skylar felt a flicker of guilt. “Then let me treat you to dinner when we get home.”
Joe’s voice dropped slightly, richer in tone. “Only if you cook it yourself.”
Maybe it was the ambiance of the dimly lit club—or the way she looked at him—but something inside him stirred.
Skylar grinned. “Then I’ll make you a feast. You deserve at least that after funding my big win.”
“Looking forward to it,” Joe replied in a low, almost indulgent voice.
Rowan, still watching from the side, suddenly asked, “What’s your name, beautiful lady?”
He’d never seen Joe behave like this around a woman. Not once. There was something different in the way he looked at her—warmth, maybe even fondness.
“Skylar,” she answered as she pushed away another winning hand.
Another round, another win.
“Damn!” Rowan exclaimed, wide-eyed.
Joe shot him a warning glance—a silent reminder not to swear around her. Rowan’s lips twitched, but he backed off without another word.
Skylar stretched slightly, feigning fatigue. “Mr. Martin, I’m feeling a bit tired.”
In truth, she wasn’t tired at all. The rush of winning had left her exhilarated. But the stakes were high, and she didn’t want to overplay her hand. Better to exit while ahead.
Joe saw through her act. “Then go rest. There’s food and drinks over there.”
Skylar nodded and stood, making her way to the refreshment area. Joe turned to the rest of the group. “Anyone still up for playing?”
Rowan stood as well, sighing. “Nah. Let’s just have the birthday cake.”
Joe hadn’t really been interested in playing from the start—his offer had been more a courtesy than anything else. After Skylar’s run, he doubted the others would be eager to continue anyway.
Feeling thirsty, Skylar searched the drink table. No water—just soft drinks, juices, and alcohol. She picked up a glass of orange juice and took a few sips, then nibbled on some fruit.
“Are you really Mr. Martin’s secretary?”
The question came from a striking woman standing nearby. Skylar turned to see her—Shirley Flynn.
She instantly recognized the actress. Shirley was the lead in one of the most popular dramas airing at the moment, and Skylar had always admired her work. Her acting felt genuine, effortless.
“Yes,” Skylar said with a composed smile. “I’m his secretary.”
Tonight, that was the truth. She wasn’t here as Joe’s secret wife or anything more. She was simply the woman at his side—doing her part, playing her role, and surprising everyone who thought they had her figured out.
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