Page 61 of Breadwinner
“I’ve always had this talent,” Angela said, sipping her wine. “That’s what my mother, rest her soul, used to tell me. You see, I’ve always been able to tell when someone’s heart isn’t fully in the work they do. And yours, honey—let’s just say I’ve never heard a heart speak quite as loud.”
Sarah froze.
The words cut through her like a clean incision, leaving an ache in their path. She hadn’t said those doubts out loud, not even to Nell, and here was Angela—a woman she barely knew—reading them in her posture, in the way her eyes hesitated over the table before every bet.
“I’m not saying you should quit,” Angela said lightly. “I can see that you are a little too risk-averse for that.” Angela tilted her head slightly, her eyes landing on the chip where she had placed her bet. “But if I were you, I’d think about what excites me and follow that feeling to where youwantto be. One of the cruelestparts of human existence is that we’ve tricked ourselves into believing we can only do one thing our whole lives.”
The ball rolled to a stop again, landing on seven. “Not that you asked for my advice, but you don’t owe anyone the version of success you thought you wanted at twenty-three. That version is allowed to, and should, change over time. There’s always time to chase a new dream or follow a new whim.”
Before Sarah could respond, a familiar presence slid behind her, overwhelming her senses with a scent she instantly recognized but had never found a name for. It was clean without being floral, woodsy without being overpowering, and smoky in the best way. It was so bespoke that she wouldn’t be surprised if it had been custom-made for Nell.
A hand found the small of her back, and Sarah turned instinctively. She nearly forgot how to speak because—God, Nell.
She had only seen her from across the room earlier, but now, up close, Nell looked like a goddamn fever dream. Her white chiffon blouse, so soft and sheer, glowed under the chandelier light, with a black pussy-bow tied at her throat, and her trousers tailored within an inch of indecency. Her hair was slicked back into a high ponytail that tumbled in perfect waves down her back.
Sarah’s mouth went dry. “Hi,” she managed.
Nell leaned in, brushing her lips just behind her ear. “You’re breathtaking,” she whispered. “How’s your luck tonight?”
“Still finding it,” Sarah replied, willing her pulse to slow.
Nell stayed close, her fingers trailing casually down Sarah’s back in a way that made it nearly impossible for her to focus on anything else. Nell didn’t seem bothered at all, merely continued as she made charming conversation with the table.
“I trust you aren’t giving Sarah a hard time, Angela.”
“I would never.” Angela scoffed, her hand coming to rest in an imaginary pearl-clutch. “We were simply having some candidcareer conversations. You know me, always on the lookout to poach top talent when I see it.” Angela winked at her as the dealer called for another round of bets.
“Room for one more?” came a voice at Sarah’s right. She turned and was surprised to find herself face-to-face with Senator Fairchild.
“Yes, of course,” she said quickly, shifting slightly closer to Nell, who welcomed the proximity by leaning around Sarah to make the introduction.
“I don’t think you two have met. Sarah, this is Renee Fairchild, senator from Connecticut. Renee, this is Sarah Gallagher. She’s a partner at Braxton, Pryce, and Gallagher. You probably heard about that big case she recently closed.” Sarah’s stomach lurched at the mention.
“Data privacy, right?” Renee said, as she shook Sarah’s hand.
“Yes. It’s thrilling stuff,” she joked. “All in a day’s work.”
She wanted desperately to steer the conversation away from her work. Nell must have sensed her discomfort because she took control, redirecting the conversation to Angela and Renee. Sarah listened as the three women went back and forth, Nell making some offhanded observation about odds and instinct.
Nell leaned toward her, her hot breath against sensitive skin, sending a shiver through Sarah. “I want you to bet with my money,” she murmured, sliding a chip to her. “Five hundred thousand. Place the bet, and don’t disappoint.”
Sarah choked slightly, having taken the most inopportune sip of her drink. “I—Nell, that’s—No. Absolutely not. That’s ridiculous. I can’t?—”
“Rule number seven, Sarah,” she said calmly. “Fuck the money.”
Sarah stared at her, trying not to drown in the fire those words lit inside her.
“I want to watch you take a risk,” Nell continued, voice quiet, only for her. “Do something that makes you uncomfortable. Let go. Place a bet because it feels right even if you aren’t sure what the outcome will be. Let me worry about the money.”
Sarah hesitated a second longer before inching the half-million-dollar chip forward.
“Black thirteen,” she said, holding her breath as every pair of eyes at the table landed on her. She glanced at Nell only to find that sly, Cheshire-cat smile firmly in place.
“Good girl,” Nell purred in her ear.
The dealer nodded and spun the wheel. The table went silent and watched as the ball clinked, skipped, and danced its way to its final resting place.
Black thirteen.