“Talked me into it.” Kate pocketed her own coin. “I was coming over anyway. Poker night at the De Witts’.”

“That’s right.” Laura grinned. “Dad’s already rubbing his palms together. So, Margo, are you up for it?”

“I’ll be there.” Margo picked up her coin but held it. She hoped Laura wouldn’t put hers—or her dreams—away too quickly. “Maybe we can get Mum and Mrs. T a little drunk and play some poker ourselves.”

“I’m game. Why don’t we—” Kate broke off at the brisk knock on the office door. The customer who poked her head in seemed annoyed and impatient.

“Excuse me, but is anyone working here?”

“I’m so sorry.” All conciliatory smiles, Laura stepped over. “We had a small problem. What can I help you with?”

Michael had never been driven to a poker game in a limo, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Not that he hadn’t ever ridden in one before. After all, he’d worked in Hollywood for five years.

But to a poker game? It felt, well, pretentious.

Then again, as Josh had said when he came to the stables to fetch him, no one would have to worry about how many beers they knocked back.

Obviously at home in the plush surroundings, Thomas leaned back and tapped his finger on his knee in time with the aria playing on the stereo.

All Michael could think was that big limos, opera, and poker didn’t mix. And he began to worry just what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

“I’m feeling lucky.” Thomas wiggled his eyebrows. “I hope you two boys brought plenty of money.”

Which made Michael realize that his idea of plenty of money and Thomas Templeton of Templeton Hotels’ idea of plenty of money were unlikely to be in the same ball-park.

Jesus, he could lose his shirt, and his ego, in one fun-filled evening.

“My wife fell in love with a Tennessee walker you have down at the stables, Michael.” Thomas crossed his legs at the ankles and decided to see how much of a rise he could get out of young Michael Fury. “Maybe I’ll win him from you before we’re done tonight.”

“I don’t bet my horses,” Michael said easily, “or my friends. Nice watch, Mr. Templeton.” He flicked a glance over Thomas’s slim gold Rolex. “I could use a new watch.”

Thomas let out a bark of laughter and slapped Michael on the knee. “A boy needs his dreams. I ever tell you about the time I played seven-card stud for thirty-six hours? That was in Chicago in ’55. Now we—”

“Not the ‘thirty-six hours in Chicago’ story,” Josh moaned. “I’m begging you.”

“Shut up, Harvard.” Almost comfortable, Michael stretched out his legs. “Some of us haven’t heard it.”

Pleased, Thomas grinned at Michael. “Then I’ll tell you, and you can be afraid.”