By Emie M. Little

“Ah, I did say I would match you drink for drink, didn’t I?” Nathaniel Markson sways as he pulls another whiskey off a passing server’s tray. His flushed cheeks are evidence that he’s had far more drinks beyond the three with you.

You aren’t truly playing your part in the “matching drinks” either. The whiskey in your hand is the same one as when the deal had been made, replenished with large ice blocks that give the impression of a full glass. You aren’t about to mention your sobriety to Nathaniel, though, as you clink your glass to his. “You are a man of your word.”

He guffaws and takes a deep drink. You match him, barely able to taste the whiskey. “Always am, especially when it comes to drinking. I just got back from Greece, and let me tell you, they can throw a party. The liquor was flowing.”

“Greece, eh? What did you do out there? Other than drink, I mean.”

He immediately starts talking about his grandparents’ villa, sharing more personal details than any sober person would. Finally, there’s enough of a lull in the conversation that you’re able to cut in. “I’ll have to make my way there some time. If you’ll excuse me though, all your talk of Greek food is making me hungry.” You finish the dredges of mostly-water and make your way to the buffet.

The catering is exquisite, as was to be expected at a party celebrating Markson’s company going international. The tables are overflowing with increasingly elaborate bites and canapes. You take one of the small plates and grab a few elaborately decorated savory tarts and a toast point topped with caviar in a thick white spread. Turning from the table, you run into a man with a plate piled high in each hand.

“Oh, my apologies,” you say, grabbing the man’s arm to steady him as he struggles to keep his plates balanced.

“No worries,” the man says affably. “The buffet is distracting. If I drop something, it just gives me an excuse to come back for round two. It all looks so good, I just want to try it all.”

You nod politely.  “They really outdid themselves.”

The two of you share a few pleasantries before parting ways as the man begins a search for an open table. Luckily, your more moderate snack allows you to eat one-handed and continue to mingle. A corner of the room is set up with casino games and poker tables, and you venture over to obtain some chips and see what seems interesting. Rather than a game, your attention latches onto a young man standing in a corner. He doesn’t have any chips himself, but you can see clear longing in his eyes as he stares at the games. It’s hard not to feel bad for him.

“Not going to play?” you ask.

He startles, as though surprised at being noticed. “Oh! No, I’m not really here. I mean, I am here, but I’m working. Well, I’m on break now, but I’m not a guest.”

“Ah, I see. Well, come on, sometimes the workers have the best luck.” You lead him toward a nearby roulette table. “You tell me, what should I bet on? If you’re right, I’ll split it with you.”

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Of course! It’s chance after all. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Um, odds.”

You place the bet, and grin when the white ball settles on the 19. “There you go, I said you were lucky. What next?”

You play a few more rounds, more lucky than not. Even splitting the chips with the stranger, you quickly earn a profit. Content with the modest winnings, you hand the young man his share of the lucky chips.

“I’m going to cash out. Thank you for sharing your luck.”

His eyes remain locked on the roulette wheel with the fervor of a man convinced he was about to make it big. “I’m going to just do a few more rounds.”

You clap him on the back and leave the table. The party wears on, and just as the drink, food, and entertainment nears its zenith, you step away. Moving to an empty corner of the room, you slip through an off-limits door that should be under watch—except that the guard is on the other side of the room, locked in battle with the roulette wheel.

In the hall beyond, you make your way to a restricted access section of the building. When you come to a locked door, you pull out a key card that had once belonged to a man whose hands were too full of hors d’oeuvres to check his pockets. That key card allows access to every room, until you reach an office with a private computer sitting on the desk. The laptop is locked, of course, but during the conversations over drinks, Nathaniel and you had discussed long lost pets, childhood homes, favorite colors, and finally, maternal family members.

The conversations gave you every answer you need to get through the security questions. Within moments, the computer screen shows page upon page of financial information.

A smirk flashes across your lips. After an entire evening of exercising self-control, finally, it is your time to indulge.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emie M. Little is an Accountant in Virginia who has had a love of storytelling from childhood, stemming from a love of reading. Ever since middle school she had been posting fanfictions across several websites. Now, over a decade later she has started to delve into the world of original works and short stories. She has enjoyed writing for Havok and getting a chance to publish original works.

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