Poker Face

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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 gray, 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.”