Let The Games Begin

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Conan was waiting at my desk when I arrived for work.

"Do you play poker?" he asked.

"It's been a while." My cheeks flushed as soon as I spoke. Damn it. I remembered my game of strip poker with Mr. Cheap Poker. "I know how to play ... but I'm not very good," I lied.

"I like to play with everyone in my department," he said as he glanced down at my short skirt.

"What kind of poker?" I felt blood rushing through my legs. I sat down and began fiddling with papers on my desk.

"Not strip poker, if that's what you're thinking." He chuckled and let his eyes rest on my cleavage for a moment.

"Of course not." I blushed and squirmed in my chair. My little girl had a mind of her own.

"Texas Hold'em will have to do you. I've booked a room at a private club tomorrow night. Make yourself available."

"Yes sir." I smiled.

"I'll be out of the office for the rest of the day. Call my security detail and tell them to meet me in the garage."

"Okay. Have a nice day," I said as I picked up the phone.

After I made the call I ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water over my face. I leaned on the bathroom sink and stared at myself in the mirror. You're on a mission. Yes he's very hot, but it's just business ... not a kinky date. Control yourself!

* * *

Conan picked me up in a limo the next evening. The chrome handle glistened like a blade.

"Is this yours?" I asked as he opened the door.

"It's one of Wilmar's bulletproof limos," he said proudly. "My guys are in the car behind us."

"I see." I slid into the backseat and caressed the silky beige leather.

Conan was wearing a black suit with a red tie, and there was a long strip of tiny buttons down the front of his white shirt. We arrived at the Tipping Club at eight on the dot.

"Good Evening Mr. Casey," said the bouncer, opening the door.

Conan went to the reception desk and I stood behind him in the dark foyer.

"I've reserved a private room," he said as he signed in and showed his membership card.

"Nice to see you again Mr. Casey." The sexy blond smiled and handed him a key.

She was wearing a black leather corset, a velvet choker, and black leather cuffs. I imagined her strung up like a marionette, controlled by an elusive puppet master hiding in the shadows. I shook my head to get the puppet image out of my mind.

We walked down five stairs into the main room. The exclusive club had red velvet furniture and crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in a soft, golden glow. People were sitting around card tables with green felt tops and tuxedoed croupiers. Waitresses in skimpy, skintight uniforms were serving cocktails.

Conan led me to a private room. His bodyguards flanked the door as we went inside.

The small card room was masculine and subdued, but it still had the feel of a stately European parlor. There was a round table with four leather armchairs, and the only light was from a tiny baroque lamp.

I put my clutch bag on a chair and sat across from Conan, folding my arms. He took a leather briefcase out from under the table. It contained two decks of cards and red poker chips. He divvied out the chips and put the decks on the table. I unfolded my arms and placed my hands on top of each other on the table, like a cat.

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