"You'll regret betting an island," Aubree laughed as cards slid across the lacquered table.
"Regret?" Holly tossed a sleek black card case onto the pile. "I collect regrets. They look good next to the limited reds."
Coen snorted. "You mean your bag wall, Holly. You can't possibly trade that."
"I can and I will," Holly said. "My wall is worth more in attention than any of your offshore properties."
Forrest folded his arms. "Dad will have a fit if you actually sign this."
"Let him fit," Aubree said. "Ambrosio's a hospital away from patience. Besides, real estate is for people who don't know how to have fun."
"Fun?" Coen tapped his glass. "This is stupid even for you. Who bets an island in a members' room?"
"People who win," Aubree answered. "And people who make others choke on their confidence."
Holly's eyes flashed. "Deal. I put up the wall. All of it. Limited reds, blacks, the rare compacts, the prototype clutch. Everything on the blue shelf."
A low murmur moved through the private room like friction.
Coen spread his hands. "You can't be serious."
"Forrest, don't talk me out of embarrassing you in front of the Sjoströms," Holly said. "Deal or no deal?"
Forrest's jaw worked. "You know Isabel will disown you at dinner."
"Then let Isabel disown me," Holly said. "Sign the paper, Coen. Aubree, your island or my wall?"
Aubree grinned and pushed a slim tablet toward the middle
