The Winning Hand by Nora Roberts

despised, then handed Mac back the computer-generated spreadsheet. “Up about five percent from last year.”
    “Six,” Mac said with a flash of grin. “And a quarter.”
    “You’ve got your mother’s head for math.”
    “I live for numbers. Where is Mom? I thought she’d want to sit in on this meeting.”
    “She’s off with Darcy.”
    Mac set down the personnel file he’d just picked up. “With Darcy.”
    “Shopping. Refreshing young woman.” Justin’s face was as bland as it would have been if he’d held three aces. “Makes it hard to regret handing her seven figures.”
    “Yeah.” Mac caught himself drumming his fingers on the file and stopped. “The press is pushingfor a name. I’ve got half a dozen assistants fielding calls.”
    “Even without her name, the publicity’s humming. It can’t hurt business.”
    “The hotel manager reports an upswing in reservations in the last two days. Play on the machine she hit on is up thirty percent.”
    “When her story gets out—and that pretty face is splashed over the national news—they’ll flood in here.”
    “I’m putting on three extra floor men, and I’d like to promote Janice Hawber to pit boss.”
    “You know your staff.” Justin took out a slim cigar. “We’ll likely get the ripple effect at other locations.” When Mac opened the file, Justin waved the cigar, spiraling smoke. “Let’s take a break here. Whatever happened to that long-legged brunette who liked baccarat and Brandy Alexanders?”
    “Pamela.” His father didn’t miss a trick, Mac thought. “I believe she’s playing baccarat and drinking Brandy Alexanders over at the Mirage these days.”
    “Too bad. She added a nice … shine to the tables.”
    “She was looking for a rich husband. I decided to fold before things got sticky.”
    “Hmm. Seeing anyone else?” At Mac’s lifted brow, Justin grinned. “Just trying to keep up with the tour, pal. Duncan changes dancing partners so often I just give them numbers.”
    “Duncan juggles women like apples,” Mac said, thinking of his brother. “I find one at a time’s less complicated. And no, I’m not dancing at the moment. You can report back to Grandpa that his eldest grandchild continues to be lax in his duty to continue the line.”
    Justin chuckled and puffed on his cigar. “You’d think four great-grandchildren would satisfy him for a while.”
    “Nothing will satisfy The MacGregor until every last one of us is married and clucking around a brood of kids.” Mac moved his shoulders restlessly. “At least he could nag one of the others for a bit. Pick on D.C.”
    “He does pick on D.C.” Justin grinned. “Alan tells me he picks at the boy until D.C. holes up in hisgarret, paints and swears he’ll die a bachelor just to spite Daniel. So then Daniel goes to work on Ian, who just smiles charmingly, agrees with everything Daniel says, and cheerfully ignores him.”
    “Maybe I’ll slip one of their names into our next conversation—strictly in the spirit of self-preservation—and shift his focus for a while.”
    The door burst open. “Speak of the devil,” Mac murmured as he got to his feet.
    The MacGregor stood in the doorway, grinning widely. His white hair flowed back from a broad and deeply seamed face offset by eyes that twinkled bright blue and a wild, snowy beard. His shoulders were as broad as the grille of a truck. And the hand that slapped Justin enthusiastically on the back was as big as a ham.
    “Give me one of those pitiful excuses for a cigar,” Daniel boomed, then caught Mac in a bear hug that could have toppled a rabid grizzly. “Pour me a Scotch, boy. Flying cross-country puts a thirst in a man.”
    “You had a Scotch on the plane.” Caine MacGregor strode into the room. “Charmed the flight attendant out of one when I wasn’t looking. If Mom finds out, she’ll scalp me.”
    “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt you.” Daniel plopped his bulk into a chair, sighed lustily and