Page 349 of Double or Nothing

The sight of him strikes me so hard, I can’t breathe.

Files surround him in ordered stacks. Several lie open beneath his hands, marked with coloured tabs and notes. His jacket hangs over the back of his chair, but the rest of him is immaculate.

White shirt. Dark waistcoat. Tie precisely knotted.

His blond hair is carefully styled. Beautiful. So beautiful it brings a lump to my throat.

He leans over a report, absorbed in a column of figures.

I saw something like this during the preparations for The Gilded Table. Jack spent hours bent over auction records and buyer histories, absorbing every detail while pretending the strategy rested on instinct alone.

But that work had a prize. A deadline. An auction to win. A room to conquer.

This is different. No opponent sits across the table. No audience to impress.

His shoulders carry a different presence. The ease remains, but something steadier has settled beneath it. I can’t explain it, just soak it in.

God, I’ve missed this man so bad.

Not Jack the casino owner.

Not Jack the gambler.

Not the playboy who turns every room into his stage, and knows how to fuck like a God.

Just Jack.

The man who sent apologies into silence. The man who gave me space even though he hated it.

The man who told me he wanted to become someone worth coming back to.

Jack looks up and his gaze lands on Eli first.

“Nearly done with this round. Figures up, eighteen over twelve.”

Then it moves to me.

The pen stills in his hand. Everything else seems to still with it.

No joker smile appears. No clever observation, or quip about the fact I must look as though I’m like a hamster on a wheel of nerves.

For once, I see his reaction before he can hide it.

Surprise. Astonishment. Something deeper that passes through his eyes and leaves me unable to breathe.

The pen slips from his fingers and lands on the open report.

“Bryce.”

Not BT.

Bryce.

My name sounds different from his mouth tonight.

Careful.

Disbelieving.