You Bet And I Survived
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Summary
My relationship with Rhett began with a wager.
They assumed I had no idea.
Except that night, the heavy oak door to the private VIP lounge hadn't clicked shut. I was standing in the corridor holding a silver tray with a crock of French onion soup, waiting for the bartender to sign my slip, when a ripple of laughter drifted through the crack.
"Ninety days," a voice drawled, punctuated by the clink of crystal tumblers. "A hundred grand says you can't make that pathetic little busser fall hopelessly in love with you."
