All In: Casino Players Saga, #1

By Annabeth Saryu

Second chances aren't something you're given. They're something you take. 
 
When Darla Simone's gambling-addicted brother calls pleading for money, she travels to Las Vegas intent on hauling him home. But before they can leave, she must wheel and deal with a wealthy casino owner.
 
Anton du Bruyn is determined to collect from his former friend, until one look at Darla has him proposing payment options that don't involve money.

When she accepts his terms, they both get far more than they expected.  Is it too late to walk away, or will they pay a price neither one anticipated?

 

Reading Order of the Casino Players Saga:

Book One: All In

Book Two: Double or Nothing

Book Three: Ante Up

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annabeth Saryu
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781732383869

Book preview

Chapter One

Darla

W elcome to the Babylonian Gardens Casino Resort, the valet greets me when he opens my car door.

Hello. I struggle to not sound annoyed. From my days as a maid, I know it sucks when someone takes their lousy mood out on you just because you’re required to be in their space.

But the fact is, I don’t feel welcome. I’m fed-up, frustrated, and furious.

Darla, it’s Pax. Sorry I haven’t called in a while. We’ve both been busy, I guess. Listen, I’m at the Babylonian Gardens here in Vegas, and my car broke down. Of all the shit luck. I’m a bit jammed up here…Can you send me money? Ten grand would be good. I know it seems like a lot, but I need to have the car fixed and fly home and back so that I can get to work this week. Call me. Please.

I’d been sipping coffee in the quiet solitude of my empty house when my iPhone started dancing on the counter. I don’t answer Pax’s calls unless I’m expecting them, and he usually hangs up when they go to voicemail. But on this particular occasion, he’d left a message.

That message. It’s been replaying in my head during the long, hot drive from Texas.

Car repairs? Ten grand? My horse’s ass.

Do you need help with any luggage, ma’am? The valet’s question snaps me back to the present.

No…No, it’s just the one here. I reach over and pull my Chanel Hobo bag off the passenger seat. It’s packed with the bare essentials for an overnight trip. With any luck, we’ll be long gone before I need anything from here.

The valet offers me his hand as I place the cubed heel of my Miu Miu mules onto the hot asphalt. I adjust the loose skirt of my silk mini dress, then take the claim ticket from him.

An uneasy feeling burrows into the pit of my stomach as I watch my Audi A7 disappear around the corner. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and set off toward the hotel entrance.

God, I need a drink.

The Babylonian Gardens is a city unto itself inside. Faced with signs pointing in every direction, I follow one that hopefully leads some place that serves alcohol. During my trek down the massive corridors, I pass others who, likely, are either just getting up or going to bed.

I find my way down the end of a long corridor that leads to a twenty-four-hour lounge with an Old English vibe. The paneling is dark wood, and it cuts the bright glare streaming in from the large portrait window. The long L-shaped bar seats about twenty, and it’s surrounded by a mix of modern, high-end tables and furniture.

Most of the other customers here sit together at tables or the clusters of plush chairs scattered around. There’s a man sitting alone at the corner of the bar, with a full view of the place and quick access to the bartender.

Aside from me, he’s the only other person alone in here.

Can I help you? the bartender asks as I approach him.

Bloody Mary, light vodka, please.

Me too, a male voice says next to me.

I watch a masculine hand with long tan fingers place an empty glass with a small swirl of tomato juice in it onto the bar. When I look up, light green eyes meet mine. Dark lashed and alert, he’s not nursing a hangover or coming off an all-night bender.

He nods and then smiles. Good morning.

Hello. As attractive as he is, I’m not in the mood for conversation.

Rough day? He points to the Bloody Mary’s that appear almost instantly.

My last audience with a mirror was at a rest stop one hundred miles ago. Any traces of berry lip gloss and gray eyeliner are long gone in this blistering heat. I can’t escape the feeling that rough describes more than just my plans for the rest of the day.

Not yet. I sigh. But it will be, soon enough.

Same here. He nods at the cocktails waiting on the bar and gestures for me to take one.

I select the closest one, and he picks up the other. Without further pretense, we each take a generous gulp.

Damn. I place my near-empty glass on the polished wood counter. I think I’m going to need another.

My tab, he tells me.

I start to protest, but he insists.

Come on, just a friendly drink. Believe me, I’m in no hurry to start my day. Besides… He gazes at me with those heated green eyes, I couldn’t have wished for a better distraction, even in the best of circumstances.

Smoother than fifty-year-old scotch, aren’t you?

I take that as a great compliment. He says it with such grave reverence, I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

It makes me laugh, despite my crappy mood.

Fine. One friendly drink then.

Excellent. He smiles. I’m Anton.

Darla. I smile back.

Nice meeting you, Darla. Let’s get a table. Anton signals for another round, then leads me toward a quiet table.

Following behind, I take a