Poker Face

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ****

  Paul Stratford and Jonathan Mackenzie’s long time battle for the same woman brings disaster to their family’s doorstep. What starts out as a harmless bet involving Megan and Drew turns into all-out war. Cheater pegged against cheater—money against pride, both men determined to see it through to the bitter end.

  Megan’s stepfather, Paul Stratford, offers her the opportunity to prove she’s more than a pretty face. He gives her a ranch. Well not really. He pretends to give her a ranch.

  Drew Mackenzie is hell bent on ruining Megan’s golden opportunity, making him her number one enemy, but there’s a blurry line between love and hate. Drew has spent a lifetime avoiding being anything like his womanizing father, Jonathan Mackenzie. That's why he moved away, to get out from under the man's control. But Megan stirs an all-consuming desire within him that’s difficult to ignore: the alpha male inside him wants to claim her…. take her to his bed and unleash years of pent up sexual desire, but if he does… his father wins, in more ways than one.

  The Bet

  Paul Stratford was a betting man.

  He had bet on cards, horses, sports, but never another person’s wellbeing. He had sunk to an all-time low and he knew it. His conscience screamed, “Don’t do it!” But like most addicted to the thrill of a possible win, he just couldn’t force his mouth to say the word no. 400,000 dollars was quite a bit of money to someone who had never been handed anything without blood, sweat, and hard work; but what Paul Stratford wanted more than the money was, for once, to watch his business partner and longtime drinking buddy, Jonathan Mackenzie, choke on his own words. It was about time someone knocked the man down off his high horse. An empire of fortune had been dropped carelessly in Mackenzie’s lap at an early age, he knew nothing about wanting, nothing about needing, nothing about struggling, nothing about suffering and Stratford envied the man because of it.

  But losing—that was one lesson Mackenzie would soon learn.

  Seeing that stupid grin wiped off Jonathan Mackenzie’s face would be a delectable treat, no matter the cost. Arrogant bastard! Stratford eyed the little white ball, gripped his iron tight and swung through. “I tell you, you don’t know Megan. She has a temper like her mother. Your son will strike out in the first ending.”

  “Good swing, ol’buddy, but step back and watch a pro.” Wack! Squinted eyes. A perfect hole in one. “Yeah, have you forgotten I’m well aware of Megan’s mother’s temper?”

  Every muscle in Stratford’s body tightened. No, he hadn’t forgotten. He hated being reminded that his wife dated Mackenzie before him. He tried to forget his wife’s short-lived fling, it done nothing for his self-confidence, always wondering how he compared to the Millionaire who was legendary for his vast sexual appetite, but Mackenzie always managed to bring it up, twisted the knife a little deeper. He probably enjoyed watching Paul’s face go ashen from the painful reminder.

  Mackenzie grinned, noticing Stratford’s sudden shift in mood, yes, the intended arrow had hit its mark. “Don’t underestimate Drew. His hookup lines are as practiced as my swing,” Jonathan scratched his powerful jawline, “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a woman turning Drew down. You know success runs in our family.”

  So does pompous ass smugness. “Yeah, he’s successful alright, that’s why he’s living on my ranch mooching off my generosity.”

  “He only went there as a favor to me. The boy was only nineteen with nothing better to do. The way I remember it, you needed someone to look after things, and that’s what he’s done. In fact, if it wasn’t for him you would have had to deal with selling that place a long time ago. People there love Drew. You would know that if you ever visited.”

  “That ranch can rot to the ground for all I care.”

  “Exactly,” Jonathan’s bottom crushed the air out of the leather seat of the golf cart. He slid on a pair of dark shades. “And you’re forgetting I have met your stepdaughter, on more than one occasion, and because of the lasting impression she made, I’ll go a step further and bet not only can my son get her into his bed, but Megan will also become a sobbing heartbroken mess by the time Drew is finished with her… which will be right after he succeeds in getting her to spread those gorgeous legs of hers. Short attention spans also run in the family, I’m afraid.”

  Stratford’s gut felt as if his wife had wrung it in her tight grip, like she was going to wring his neck if she ever found out her… no their daughter had become just a chip tossed down on the gambling table. His throat went dry. Shit. He needed a stiff brandy. "Yeah, what wife are you working on now...number seven?"

  "Seven's my lucky number," Jonathan returned with a wink. “Not my fault you decided to bet on one woman for life. I remember how self-righteous Lillian is when she gets a stick up her ass. If I had to guess ol’ buddy, I’d say right about now you’re sexually frustrated from being cut off. Wife number seven is very attentive to my sexual needs. That’s the wonderful part of being newlyweds, and why I enjoy repeating the nuptials so often…the sex in always new and exciting.”

  “So you say. Thirty days? Thirty days, Megan has to live under the same roof as Drew?”

  Laughter filled the greenway. “It’s not going to take thirty days. You’ve got to get her to the ranch first. My guess is, she’ll pitch a nice lil temper tantrum, show up at the ranch and take one look at the riff-raff you’ve chosen to offer free room and board …. then run immediately back to Daddy Warbucks, so I’ll be a nice guy for once and graciously let you out of the bet if she refuses to ever get on the plane.”

  “Oh, I’ll get her on the plane. You wait and see.” If he had to handcuff, and gag her—he’d get her there. No way was he going all in against the Mackenzie’s without….a few cards hidden up his sleeve. Paul Stratford took a swallow from the water bottle in his hands, a huge smile spreading across his face. Yes, a few surprises were in order.

  “No cheating,” Jonathan added.

  Stratford’s shoulders rounded as if he’d taken a direct blow in his stomach.

  Poker Face

  She was not going to Boonville Arkansas.

  Especially, not to any rundown ranch out in the middle of nowhere.

  Had her mother finally driven the man insane?

  Megan narrowed her blue eyes on Paul Stratford, the keen business man, reclined slightly in the leather chair. He sat behind a monstrous, cherry desk his fingers forming a steeple. No. Her stepfather appeared the same as he always had, preoccupied and distant, but not crazy. The phone on his desk buzzed, lit buttons flickered. “Sorry. Hold on a second Megan.” He sat forward finger on the button as he spoke to his secretary. “We’re about to wrap it up in here …. can you give us a few more minutes?”

  About to wrap it up? Nothing had been settled yet. Did he think he could just bark orders, and she would fold like every other person who’d ever stepped into his office? The man could not bully her into submission. One of her manicured nails tapped the wood on the arm of her chair, the tip of her right foot matched the angry beat. Did he not know her well enough to know she doesn’t take orders well?

  Feeling the sudden urge to tell him where he could stick his ranch, she came to her feet, smoothed the wrinkles of the gra
y, silk shirt dropping off one of her shoulders, and straightened the narrow cuff of her black shorts. The heels of her stiletto’s clicked over polished marble as she walked over to the long set of windows that overlooked the city.

  “Well, if it were up to me sir, but the bank says they need the papers before closing,” his secretary’s voice paused on the intercom, and Megan sensed the woman would have said more if she wasn’t in the room. His secretary continued, guarded. “Has the plan changed?”

  The city skyline was impressive in that lingering moment just before the sun fully disappeared: a cobalt blue backdrop to all the lights twinkling on in the high-rise buildings. Megan’s fingers lay against the trim of the window as she gazed out imaging the multitude of families gathering around a dining room table, families passing a bread basket around, laughing, and sharing memories. She pushed dark curls back off her shoulder and sighed. Her forehead pressed against the coolness of the tinted glass, as the voices behind her faded in importance.

  “No. We’re still moving ahead. Give me five minutes, and then bring the papers in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Megan took a seat back in front of the desk, her legs crossed, posture perfect, her face tight with the intention of standing her ground.

  “Where were we? Ah yes, the ranch. Listen Megan, all you have to do is show the realtor around. I really can’t…” her stepfather’s voice cracked. For two years the house and the 147 acres it was positioned on had sat vacant, ever since Paul’s brother’s heartbreaking death. The help employed during the time of the freak accident had been asked to stay on until Paul could face signing the papers which would place the small ranch he was raised on into the hands of a new owner. It had taken him two years to come to terms with his brother’s accident. She suspected her stepfather still held some resentment towards the property, since his only brother had been found out in the middle of a corn field wedged, flesh mauled, body mangled and bloody under a rumbling combine. Thankfully, her stepfather had been miles away when he’d received the call and had not been the one to find his brother’s bloody body. “I can’t seem to find the courage to do it myself.”

  She was speechless feeling her resolve soften, turning into gooey, sappy mush. How dare he play the sympathy card!

  Megan remembered only bits and pieces of her life leading up to when she was seven and Paul Strafford took on the title of stepfather in her life. She went to the best private schools and was given everything money could buy, but Paul Strafford was not her father. He had never really seemed interested in playing the part. As far as she was concerned the man was unattainable and closed off. In fact she’d bet if he’d had it his way she would have been packing for some boarding school, sent off many, many years ago. Is that what this was about, him, finally getting rid of her? Hell, all he had to do was fork over the cash for a new studio apartment downtown, and she’d play the absent daughter.

  Her chin tilted up. “I’m nineteen now, even if my mother has agreed to it…. I’m not going.”

  Paul exhaled an exaggerated breath, laid a finger on the button once again. “Georgia, call the bank, tell them Megan’s not interested …..”

  She held up a finger. Her stepfather paused, “hold on Georgia.”

  “I don’t understand. Did I miss something?” she asked.

  Leather crunched as he reclined, his feet casually crossed on the corner of the desk, his fingers back to forming steeples. “I had my attorney draw up the necessary papers to put the ranch in your name. All you have to do is sign, and the property is all yours.”

  “In my name… why?”

  “Honestly, I just want to wash my hands of it. Too many bitter memories associated with that property. I thought… you know what, it was a stupid idea.” The chair swiveled and he stretched a finger towards the call button.

  “Wait!” Megan’s finger went back to tapping as her teeth bit into a corner of her lip. Irresponsible was the word people used to describe her. Irresponsible and someone who lacked motivation. She had never owned anything in her life. Her bank account had a surplus of five dollars, five dollars and fifty cents to be exact. Granted she had access to money anytime she needed it, all I had to do was tell her mother, who then went and got the money from Paul. “So you’re just going to give me your ranch… and your feelings won’t be hurt if I sell it.”

  Deep male laughter nipped at her pride. “I expect you to sell it Megan. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. It’s business. Handling this transaction will be a good experience for you. If you work this little venture right you could come through it smelling like money.”

  She was at a loss for words. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” He swung his feet down and sat forward in eager anticipation. He was actually beaming. Paul Stratford was beaming! Beaming was definitely uncharacteristic of him. Something in Megan’s gut twisted screaming he was hiding something, but she way too excited to care. The money she pocketed off the whole deal could buy her a studio apartment downtown. She could finish getting her degree in fashion and design. So many windows and opportunities would open up. She’d have her own money. Her own place.

  “Okay. I’ll sign the papers.” she’d no more than said the words when the office door squeaked open. Megan watched the woman with bleach blonde hair lean in next to Paul, her fake boobs –revealed in her low cut dress—practically stuffed in his face. Red nails flashed as Georgia slid the papers on the desk in front of him. Her other hand lingered on his shoulder. Megan could have sworn she witnessed an affectionate squeeze making her seethe with anger. Did the man not realize how devastated her mother would be if she lost the only man she had loved, since Megan’s father’s death? No. Men rarely considered anyone’s feelings besides their own.

  “Can I get you something to drink Megan?” Georgia’s voice was like polyester. Irritating.

  “No.”

  “Thanks Georgia, I’ll let you know when we’re ready,” Paul said with a dismissive wave.

  Megan caught the odor of channel perfume as the secretary breezed out of the room. The odor hit her as strange, since it was the same perfume Paul had given her mother for Christmas.

  He removed the paper clip, scooted closer to the desk and went straight in to business, “You’ll need to inform the help the property is being put up for sale. Give them at least a two weeks’ notice. I’m prepared to write letters of recommendation, and compensate them well for their years of loyalty to the family. I owe them that much. So please Megan, be thoughtful of their situation. I have a guy coming out tomorrow to inspect the place. He’s the best, in huge demand, and doing this only as a favor to me. Take good care of him. Make sure he has everything he needs. Other than that, all you have to do is manage the work and collect once the ranch sales.”

  “Hold on, he’s going to be there tomorrow?”

  “Is that a problem? I guess I could call and see if he could possibly postpone for a week or two, but then he might not have time to do whatever work needs to be done. If this to too much for you, I can just let a realtor handle it.”

  Megan drew a breath and held it. Nobody had ever trusted her with something so…. Monumental.

  “No. It’s not necessary. I’ll fly out in the morning.”

  “Then it’s settled.” He slid the papers across the desk along with a pen. “Sign and we’ll have Georgia notarizes it.”

  Day One

  “This is as far as I’m going.” The driver stuck the cab in park siting at the end of the long, dirt drive, engine rumbling. He and Megan had clashed the moment they’d pulled away from the airport exchanging a few not so nice words. In the end, she’d as good as threatened she wasn’t going to pay a dime for his “sucky ass driving”. So there she was being forced to walk the rest of the way to the ranch, because the man didn’t want to “dirty his newly washed cab driving over ruts full of yesterday’s rain”.

  “What about my luggage?”

  The driver’s side door swung open. She heard heavy steps
, heard the trunk open, and heard a grunt. “No he’s not!” she shrieked, mouth gaping as the man sat her luggage over by the cab. She huffed, stepped out of the back of the cab and slammed the door. Her four and a half inch heels sank in mud, sucking and popping from the soles of her feet as she attempted a few wobbly steps.

  Okay, so maybe pissing off her cabby wasn’t such a bright idea. But he was rude, hairy, and smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks.

  The driver slid his round belly back behind the wheel. “If you ever need a cab….don’t call me.” He spit from the rolled down window as he swerved out of the drive.

  Megan dug for an insult, “Go home and shave that hideous mustache!” but it was too late, the rear-end of the cab had disappeared over the next hill leaving her looking like a complete fool, thankfully no one was there to witness the full brunt of her quick insults.

  Dirt and gravel stretched out before her, a pitiful attempt at a driveway. She worked on pulling the sharp points of her heels out of the sludge frowning at her ruined two hundred dollar stilettos—shoe’s made her think of her luggage, or the absence of it. Megan panicked unzipping the one and only bag the cabby had set out. “This is just my shoes…where’s my clothes, my makeup?” She dug out her cell to call and complain and got no answer.