Princess

Chapter 2: Poker Night

Damon

I walked away $120,000 richer when the game broke up. Though these poker games were meant to be more social occasions, it helped that we played with millionaires and billionaires who loved to throw their money around.

There were a few fixtures at the table, Jackson and Christian Ryder, Francis Duval, New York Police Commissioner Richard Burns, the Hale family lawyer Dean Jacobs (for all the legal shit we did do occasionally), my father and me. Then, there were the rotating members, the ones who had to be invited to the table on a weekly basis. Millionaire hedge-fund managers, oil tycoons, Senators, and other men of prominence.

In the few months that my father had ordered me to tag along to the games because I hated social shit to the highest degree, I mostly observed.

I was there for specific reasons: to watch. To study. To learn. To internalize the tells of every single person at the table and find their weaknesses. Every single game was a reconnaissance mission.

The games weren't all terrible, though–it gave me a chance to catch up with my best friends too, Christian Ryder and Francis Duval. Despite their names, these two were about as priestly as Hugh Hefner, especially the former.

Christian was ruthless. Ever since we were kids, he picked fights and won them, no matter the cost. Soon to be the head of his family's billionaire business, he'd externally cleaned up his act and was the perfect face for the company. Never mind that he still daily dipped his dick into the pool of New York's long-legged bronze-skinned ladies who externally looked like sweet, innocent maidens. When Christian underwent his massive personality overhaul, it took a lot out of him. The boy who left was not the same who came back and that transformation broke hearts everywhere, some very close to home. The Stanford and Columbia graduate and New York's biggest heartthrob had a temper that no one could control. The fucker had a pretty face–a player of massive proportions and had a sour reputation with women. Placidly indifferent to the world, he didn't care what people thought of him. Christian was cunning, resourceful, and turned everything he touched into cold hard money.

Francis Duval was too smart for his own good. To call him brilliant would be like saying the Burj Khalifa was tall. He came from old money and a fucked-up family but worked hard to put that all behind him. He'd been through more than most people should have to endure in their lifetime and matured quickly because of it. Mensa IQ of 148 and a photographic memory, he wasn't the kind of man anyone bet against. Literally. Even though he was six years younger than me and Christian, he exuded a kind of confidence that made him seem like the most established person in the world. He had an uncanny ability to know everything about someone before he even spoke to them. Reading people was his hobby and he excelled at it. When we were kids, every prediction he made came true. Some of which were truly alarming. He was a human lie detector, and I trusted his instincts about people more than I trusted myself. Probably also why he was a criminal lawyer who could probably get Charles Manson off after the world saw the Manson tapes. Dark blond hair, green eyes, and chiseled to glory, there was good reason why a high class woman like Bella Ryder fell for him. Suffice it to say, I was glad he was on my side.

Unlike Christian, who seemed destined to stay unmarried, Francis fell for Bella Ryder and he fell hard. It was sickening. His heart beat only for her. The two of them were childhood enemies at first, part of our little group, and though we probably all should have seen it coming, it was still shocking because they had the most angsty, drawn-out relationship I had ever seen. Rumor had it that Francis told Christian he'd marry his sister the first time he laid eyes on her and he ended up being right, seeing as they were engaged now.

Bella Ryder was a complete badass, my lifeline, and my best fucking friend even if she was seven years younger than me. She was loyal to a fault and one of the only people I liked to talk to for long periods of time. She wasn't ever afraid to tell me shit to my face, to admonish me for being stupid, or to boss me around. I had a lot of respect for her. We shared a love for food and cooking–she was my go-to if I wanted to try somewhere new in the city and she always had a say in the menus at my restaurants. Isabella Marie Ryder was confident, a talkative social butterfly, basked in the limelight of fame, accomplished in many ways, and a talented Public Relations savant who worked for her father as well. There wasn't a lot she couldn't do.