Hiding Sparrows

17. Talk about poker face

The house was just the kind I had been expecting. An ostentatious, historic old home set into the hills of Kirribilli, but clearly very well maintained. This area was full of mostly large terrace houses, but this one was wider than most, and looked like it was the renovated development of two homes combined.

Out the front was a trimmed hedge and a large modern metal sculpture of two semi circles.

Ty noticed me looking.

"Boring, isn't it?" He asked, stopping to look at the structure. "Looks like paper clips."

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe we just don't understand it. Like, maybe there's a deeper meaning."

"Yeah there's definitely an art wank definition, but it's usually just some made up bullshit the artist slaps on at the last minute to sell it. Probably something about connection or some shit."

I frowned, not a fan of his cynical impression of art. He just gently tugged my arm.

"Enough staring. We have a game to run."

Reluctantly, I followed him up the stairs to the front door. Ty rang the buzzer, and a few minutes later, the heavy ornate door swung open.

"T-dog, my man!" An enthusiastic young guy exclaimed, pulling Ty in to clap him on the back. Then, his attention turned to me.

"Who's this lovely lady?" He asked, grinning at me.

Ty glanced back. "She," He said, "Is my lovely assistant this evening. Robin, this is Tristan. Tristan, meet the person taking all your money."

"Ah, the accountant," he said, nodding, and subtly eyeing me up and down. "You'll treat me well then, hey?"

Ty shook his head and chuckled. "Nah, she isn't the one you have to worry about."

I gave Tristan a coy smile nonetheless, and he smirked. "Alright, come on in. Can I get either of you a drink or anything?"

"Whiskey for me," Ty said. "Robin?"

When I shook my head, Tristan exclaimed, "Aw, come on. Nothing? What about a cocktail?" Then, in a half-joking tone, he said, "Sex on the beach, perhaps?"

I laughed, not because it was funny, or because I wanted one but because it was very clearly an attempt at flirting. The laugh was light, not insulting. In an aloof voice, I said, "Maybe later."

Because that was what these kind of boys wanted. Someone that seemed interested, but not too easy to get.

I knew the type.

Tristan shrugged, and turned. "Come on, the rest of the guys are already upstairs."

As we came into the upstairs area he'd mentioned, I noticed two things very quickly. One; the atmosphere. The space was dimly lit with floor lighting, and matching leather couches over Turkish rugs. The air smelt like cedar wood and bourbon. I wondered if that was some kind of candle someone had burnt beforehand, or just the wafting smell of expensive cologne.

The second thing I noticed, closely related to the first; the party was full of rich men. Although the term men was a stretch.

Looking over their faces, I could guess the type; guys fresh out of uni, working in a cushy job in consulting or business, "earning their stripes," because they had always lived off their parents' credit cards.

Put simply, they were fuck boys.

But they were loaded and didn't know fuck about spending their money. Aka the perfect victims for losing it all on poker. Which, if I had to guess, was Ty's strategy.