Free Card Sharks by Liz Maverick Page A

something much nicer, though.
    Donny was the kind of guy who could talk his way into just about any kind of job, with or without relevant experience. He just had the gift of networking and a massive sense of self-confidence, two things that never failed to appeal to jobinterviewers. So now he’d gone and probably landed a huge raise to go with his promotion. Marianne hadn’t talked that much about it, but Bijoux knew that Donny’s recent success was both a sore spot and a source of pride for her.
    Even as Marianne introduced Peter to Donny, Bijoux could see the proprietary nature of her friend’s body language. She still loved him. No question.
    â€œDonny, this is Peter Graham,” Marianne was saying. “He’s an old friend of Bijoux’s. Peter, Donny. He’s . . . an even older friend.”
    The two men shook hands and swapped pleasantries, clearly sizing each other up. Bijoux took the opportunity to glance at the other men in the living room as she detoured into the kitchen with the sack of beer they’d brought.
    Donny followed behind. “Here, let me take that,” he said, lifting the heavy sack out of her arms.
    â€œYou’re such a gentleman.”
    â€œI try.” He put it down on the ground in front of the refrigerator and started unloading the bottles. “So you dating this guy?” he asked, gesturing over his shoulder toward where Peter was chatting with Marianne and the other guys around the poker table.
    â€œOh, he’s just a family friend.”
    â€œHe’s not your date?” Donny asked, clearly caught by surprise.
    â€œNope. Just a friend.”
    â€œNo money,” Donny said with an understanding nod.
    Being with Donny was so easy. He understood Bijoux’s plight and she didn’t feel the urge to cringe when they talked about her impending financial disaster and what she planned to do to solve it.
    He suddenly turned and looked behind him. “Is he making a play for Marianne?”
    Bijoux looked over her shoulder. “Everyone makes a play for Marianne. You know that. Poor thing is cursed with natural charisma,” she said dryly.
    They both watched Marianne who’d already drifted across the room, drawing the other men to her like a magnet.
    Bijoux chewed on her lower lip and watched. You’re going to have to turn it on, Bijoux. Turn it on. It’s why you’re here. She might be the one wearing a bright-turquoise-and-white-polka-dot silk miniskirt and a silver-and-turquoise tank top. She might be the one with piles of blond hair and loud makeup, but when Marianne was in the room, Bijoux always felt like her shadow.
    Marianne had two calibrations: “on” and “really on.” Bijoux’s own calibrations read, “I know you” and “I don’t know you—panic!” That was just the way she was. So this whole business about going to play cards with strange men as a construct to meet them and divine their eligibility was really quite preposterous and merely reminded Bijoux just how desperate she really was.
    She wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t as if she had nothing to say. She’d read the latest books, watched bad television, picked up People magazine instead of Forbes in the dentist’s office. She knew how to flirt, how to work a room . . . but it didn’t come naturally. She could fake it, no doubt. She could make people think she knew exactly what she was doing, that she had all the confidence in the world, but the reality was that she was going to sit down at that poker table and smile like she meant it and try to meet someone nice (and rich) while feeling just about as uncomfortable in her own skin as a person could feel.
    Donny finished unloading the beer and kept the last one for himself, popping the top using just his hand and the counter in that way boys did that always gave Bijoux a bit of a thrill. He continued to watch Marianne through