When I turned back to Max, he’d stopped on a number. “Who are you calling?”

“Mr. Johnny French,” he said.

“How do you know him, anyway? An old friend?”

Max laughed. “Not sure I’d call him a friend. Not sure he’d call anyone a friend, really. But he does owe me a few favors and as you’ve seen, caters to the type of crowd that might be helpful in our situation.”

“I’m afraid to see where this is going.”

“A little faith, mate. Will is a bit of a ladies’ man,” he said, smiling. “We’ll just . . . help him.”

“Help him?”

Max shrugged, meaningfully.

“You mean get him a hooker?” I practically shouted.

Max shushed me and glanced around. “A little louder perhaps? And who’d have thought you’d be such a prude, Ben? I’m a little surprised,” he said. “I’m not going to let him sleep with her. We just want a distraction. We’re getting him a distraction.”

“But—”

He held up a finger to silence me, and put the phone on speaker between us. It rang a few times before it was answered by a man with a deep, serious voice: Johnny French.

“What can I do for you, Max? Again,” he said.

“How are you this evening, Mr. French?” Max asked.

“Still fine.”

“I hope I didn’t wake you?”

A gravelly laugh filled the line. “Funny. I trust you found everything to your liking?”

Max smiled and I raised an eyebrow. It occurred to me that I really had no idea what Max had been up to in there. I knew it involved Sara, but now I was beginning to wonder if the details were a bit more . . . sordid than I’d originally thought.

“It was brilliant. Bloody brilliant. As usual, of course. You have one hell of a place there.”

“Good, glad to hear it. Now get to the point.”

“I’d like to call in a favor.”

“I assumed as much,” Johnny said flatly.

“The thing is that we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a predicament here, and need a little help getting out of it.”

“I’m listening.”

“We need a distraction. A decoy.”

“A distraction.”

“Yes. Sara is here, as you know. But so are our friends.”

“I see . . . And you’d like to ditch them.”

“Not exactly. We just want them . . . entertained. One friend in particular. We’d like him safe but maybe . . . occupied for a few hours.”

“So you can run off and be with your girls on Valentine’s Day.”

Max smiled. “Something like that.”

Silence filled the line and Max and I looked up at each other in question.

“Did he hang up?” I mouthed.

Max shrugged. “Still there, mate?” he asked.

“I’m here. And yeah, no problem. Pretty sure I have the perfect distraction in mind.”

“I don’t trust him,” I said on our way back to the restaurant.

“Stop worrying. Johnny is a man of his word, I assure you.”

“He didn’t exactly sound happy with you.”

Max waved me off. “He’s never going to be the guy to give me flowers and tell me I’m lovely.”

“He sounded like we were a**holes.”

“We are arseholes.”

He had a point. “So what about Henry?” I asked, stopping at the stairs just outside the restaurant.

“Do you think he’ll be a problem?”

“I think if I shoved a thousand bucks in his pocket I wouldn’t see him again until Tuesday morning.”

“Brilliant. So we have a nice dinner, wait for Johnny to send someone over, and then find our girls. If all goes well I won’t see your ugly mug until the morning, when we can start this weekend properly.”

“Done.” We shook hands and made our way inside with a new sense of purpose.

Will and Henry were just where I’d left them and now surrounded by a mountain of bowls and platters. There were steaks and fish, salad with bacon, steaming dishes of vegetables and what had to be some of the biggest shellfish I’d ever seen.

“Wow,” Max said, looking over what had to be enough food to feed at least ten people. “Hungry?”

“We didn’t know what you’d want,” Henry said with a shrug. “Plus Ben’s picking up the bill so . . .”

“Feeling better?” Will asked Max skeptically.

“Much, thank you. And absolutely famished.”

We each took a seat and Max motioned to the waiter. “I’ll have another Macallan,” he said.

“And a Belvedere gimlet for me.” I pointed to Henry and Will across from me. “And bring them two of whatever they’re having.”

“So what did I miss?” Max asked, covering his plate in some sort of potatoes. “Did you two finally stop playing hard to get and decide to run off together? There’s a chapel just downstairs, I believe. In the casino.”

“Ha,” Will said. “We were actually discussing who would be next. I assured Henry here that the only possible answer was you.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Max said. “Never know what will happen with one of your sheduled booty calls.”

Will laughed.

“What about that, Stella? Think it’ll happen with you and Sara?” Henry asked.

Max smiled but it was the shielded smile that he wore whenever he spoke about Sara. “I haven’t had this conversation with her yet, I’m certainly not having it with you lot.”

“But you’ve considered it,” I found myself saying. I’d never seen Max fall for anyone like he had with Sara. I knew the feeling. He had to have at least considered it.

“Of course,” he answered. “But we’ve only been together for a short while. We’ve got time.”

Another round of drinks arrived and Max reached for his, holding it up for a toast. “To Bennett and Chloe. May your fights be rare, and if they aren’t—because who am I kidding—at least may they be followed by some wicked shagging.”

We all clinked glasses and drank deeply. The room seemed to expand and shrink, and I put my vodka down, reaching instead for my water.

“Well, I can’t wait to hit the tables,” Henry said, rubbing his palms together. “I spoke with a few of the dealers earlier. Kind of disappointed they have standard odds and no fire bet but hey, can’t win them all.”

“Wow. You sound like you’ve . . . really looked into this,” I said, wondering for a moment if I should be legitimately concerned.

He shrugged and cut into his steak. I made a mental promise that if he started talking about card counting or needing a spotter, I’d intervene. Who said I wasn’t a good brother?

We continued with dinner, Max and I sharing conspiratorial glances toward the door and back to each other. Just as Will excused himself to the restroom Max got a text.

“She’s here,” Max whispered. He typed something into his phone and pressed SEND. “Told Johnny what Will’s wearing and that he’ll be near the front of the restaurant. Showtime.”

“This is too easy,” I said, looking around, the tickle of uneasiness settling into my stomach. “Since meeting Chloe, nothing in my life is ever this easy.”

“Would you relax?” he said under his breath. “This isn’t insider trading, it’s finding a way for us to sneak off for a shag. Calm the f**k down.”

“Whoa.”

I looked up at the sound of Henry’s voice and followed his gaze across the room. A woman had stopped Will on his way back to the table. She was . . . beautiful, with miles of wavy red hair and makeup so skillfully applied she looked like a piece of art. She wore a short beaded dress that clung to her body and she smiled as she gazed at Will, her hand resting on his forearm.

But . . .

I nudged Max and pointed, sitting back when he looked up. “Is that the woman Johnny sent?”

His eyes widened before they narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to get a closer look, figure out what didn’t quite add up.

“What the. . . ?” Henry said. Max began typing furiously on his phone while Henry and I continued to watch Will. The escort stood about eye level with him and had steered him toward the bar. It looked like Will might be buying her a drink. “I’m confused. Is that—?”