Chapter Nine

:: Phoebe ::

"If a kiss does that, I can only imagine what your bedroom looks like."

Roni kept talking, but Phoebe's mind was practically in the next dimension. She didn't know how she'd be able to concentrate, but she had to win.

They were gambling with their parent's money.

Max had kissed her.

How did their parents have half a million dollars?

Max had kissed her.

Sparks erupted the moment their lips met. As if Phoebe didn't have enough to freak out over, she now had to make sure she didn't bankrupt her parents and ignore the fact that she had just experienced the best kiss of her life.

Sweet cheese.

"One more spot for blackjack!"

"Go!" Roni hissed.

Phoebe stumbled forward, the tight dress restricting her movement. She slipped into the seat right as an older guy wrapped his hand around the back of the chair. She forced a smile.

"Sorry."

She turned towards the dealer, but not before she saw Max taking a peek at his first hand. He laughed at something the player to his right said. He was cool as a cucumber. He also looked like James Bond in his crisp black suit and snappy bow tie. He tossed a couple chips into the pot and leaned back in his chair.

How was he so unruffled?

"Place your bets."

Phoebe slid a stack comparable to the others towards the center of the table and took a deep breath.

Blackjack was the easiest game to card count. Even with multiple decks, Phoebe ran the formulas and odds through her head quickly. She lost on purpose a few times, just to keep suspicion at bay.

She was grateful to be at a game with smaller bets, even though small was a comparative term. She couldn't imagine being at the poker table. Players tossed chips in like they were playing with M&Ms.

Phoebe got into a good rhythm. By the time she heard the cheering and clapping from the poker table, three hours had disappeared.

"Greg Davis, Martin Fisher, and Louis DuBeau advance to the next round Hold 'Em!"

Another voice called out. "Roni Maroni, Tiffany Morrison, and Greyson Steele advance to the next round Omaha!"

Phoebe wasn't sure she knew how tournaments worked, but she soon realized what was going on. Each table was being halved.

"Juliette DuBeau, Emerson Finch, and Zack Sampson advance!" The dealer smiled around his table. "Enjoy the break."

Break. Phoebe stood up stiffly and headed into the ladies room. As soon as she entered a stall, she bent down and grabbed the hem of her dress. With a satisfying rip, she made a slit that travelled up her thigh.

She could walk normally again.

By the time she left the restroom, makeup refreshed and relishing the regained mobility, she managed to stumble upon a major hissy fit erupting. Diego didn't look near so attractive when angry. He was arguing with two suited officials.

"He got busted," Max whispered.

Phoebe jumped. Max pressed a hand against her side. "Calm down. Geesh."

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she hissed.

"What's with the dress?"

"I couldn't move."

Max laughed. His mouth was right next to her ear. She was sure it was a move to ensure privacy, but it was a distracting move.

"I—"

Phoebe jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow. "Look."

Max doubled over slightly. "Wha—what?"

The officials weren't arguing with Diego any longer. Instead, one handed him a bucket of chips while the other talked into his earpiece.

"What's going on?"

The sound of an angry Latina woman answered the question. Maribela was led through the crowd by another official.

"You!" She shrieked at Diego. She broke into rapid fire Spanish. Phoebe couldn't keep up.

"You took more Spanish than I did," she said to Max. "What's going on?"

"Unless it's 'hola,' I've got nothing. Nada—-Wait, I know that one too."

"Not again."

Phoebe looked to her left. Roni had joined them. "Again?"

"Whenever Diego gets busted, he pulls this stunt. Mari barely took him back last time. If we didn't need them as a couple, I'd say good riddance but—"

"What stunt?"

Roni looked at Phoebe, then Max, then back to Phoebe. "Didn't you experience it at the spa?"

"What?"

Roni motioned towards Diego. He was rapid fire pointing at another woman who was shaking her head. The officials were nodding. "He's an illusionist. He can make you feel like you're laying on a beach one minute and turn you against your mother in an altered reality the next."

A guy that Phoebe could only assume was the woman's husband began arguing with Diego. Meanwhile the woman stopped shaking her head. She wrapped her arms around Diego and smiled. Phoebe gasped.

"He's the illusionist?"

"Of course! Who did you think took us to Aruba? Me?" Roni cackled. "Did you not do your homework? Because I'll tell you baby, we know all about the two of you."

"Oh really?" Max asked. Phoebe knew she was going to get an earful from Max later. She was riding the D+ bus on this mission and she needed to snap out of it.

"Of course. Your skills aren't super helpful, but Tony sees potential. He also likes that you two love each other and won't pull this crap," she nodded towards the scene again. Maribela kicked the air as she was carried out. The woman's husband shouted at anyone who would listen.

"I'm her husband, not him! Kick him out! Leslie, tell them!"

The woman was too wrapped up in lusting on Diego to hear the pleas. Max's hand on her waist tightened. Phoebe sensed fear in the touch. She had a feeling he was thinking the same thing she was. Aladdin look alike or not, Diego was someone to work with from a distance. Phoebe had already had a taste of his work back at the spa. Diego must have encouraged her to get the highlights. The taste was one thing, but she didn't want a bite.

Not even a nibble.

She couldn't stop herself from placing her hand over Max's. Days were full of nibbles with Max. Confusing, weird, amazing nibbles.

"Players, round two!"

"Good luck," Max said tensely. He let her go. Her side felt empty.

"You too," she said. She hitched her purse up on her shoulder.

They had work to do.


Towards the end of round two, Phoebe learned that the tournament lasted two days. Two straight days.

Most tables closed and awarded final money on day one, but the Hold 'Em table went on longer. Phoebe knew by the applause that Max had advanced to round three before the dealer even called his name. He was going to be exhausted if he kept it up, which he needed to if they had any chance of getting the Maroni's, specifically Roni, to keep spilling the beans.

Phoebe was another winner going on to round three. As players dwindled, tables condensed further and further. Bets became more competitive. Tempers continued to flare.

During round three, Phoebe was reminded that Christmas was just weeks away by a super chatty lady with a giant ring on every finger. She had a moment of sad realization that depending on how the mission went, they might miss Christmas at home. They had never missed Christmas.

The thought of Christmas also reminded her that they needed to get the money back in their parent's accounts before Mom went shopping for presents.

"What's your honey getting you for Christmas?" the chatterbox asked her.

"I'm not sure," Phoebe said. She kept her eyes glued to the cards.

"You're married to that delicious drink of water at the Hold 'Em table, right? The black haired guy with the eight o'clock shadow and that renegade bruise?"

She suddenly remembered her French accent. "Eight o'clock?"

"It's long past five. How did you hook him?"

Phoebe thought of the debriefing she'd received. She tapped the table for another card. 20. She held. "We met at a charity benefit. I performed a scene from Swan Lake. Louis ran the des dons."

"The what?"

"Eh...how you say...donations?"

What she didn't tell the lady was that Juliette had pulled in donors to call in during her performance and bribed Louis to route that money right into her bank account. In return, he asked for a night with her. The one night turned into an elopement. Louis had perfected rigging bombs in toilets and causing large amounts of damage to historical buildings. Juliette would pull together a benefit for the damaged building and they'd repeat the scheme that made them fall in love. It was during a benefit for a building owned by the Hero League that they got caught.

And now Phoebe was recanting bits, the legal parts, of the love story to a woman whose hands looked like chandeliers.

"With legs like yours he'd have been a fool not to notice you," the lady sighed. "If I was a few years younger, I would have given you a run for the money. My nana always said you're never too old to appreciate a good lookin man."

Phoebe just smiled. They were on to another hand. She held at 19. The dealer went bust.

The lady kept rambling. Phoebe learned about her three kids and her husband, Martin Fisher, who had been playing Hold 'Em with Max since the first round.

"During break my hunny said your hunny reminded him of himself when we first got married. You both want a big family?"

Phoebe accidentally tapped when she wanted to hold. "Excusez moi?"

"Marty said your hubby mentioned coming from a large family. He told my hubby he was looking forward to having a house full of kids because he had such a good role model in his own dad. Isn't that just the sweetest?"

Phoebe busted. She swiveled in her chair. She blurted out, her accent nil. The shock was all Phoebe Thunderman. "He said that?"

Max was hunched forward, his face blank. An older guy, most definitely Marty, was sweating profusely beside him. Max scooted a pile of chips forward. Cards were shown. A grin broke out on his face. Marty looked like he was going to puke. Life was obviously not going well for old Marty.

"That grin could get a good girl in trouble fast."

The lady wasn't kidding. Phoebe turned back around. She had never imagined Max with a family. She pictured him more as someone living with, well, Colosso.

Max and Colosso chilling in a bachelor pad was easy to imagine.

Max with a kid hanging off his neck and cradling a baby in his arms was…

Imaginable. But hard to imagine.

"Oh, my poor Marty. Well, at least we went out at the same time. Good luck to you dear."

The rings clacked into Phoebe's shoulder blade. She realized she had made it to the next round. She glanced at the clock. The short hand hit six. Phoebe rubbed her eyes.

She had no idea whether it was 6 pm or 6 am. She just knew she needed to keep winning.

And stop thinking.