John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,985
- 32,137
Chapter 25: Mr. Forrester’s Invitation
The night in downtown Vegas was still young as the trio made their way into Circa Resort & Casino, the glitziest and newest addition to Fremont Street. Unlike the vintage charm of the Golden Nugget or Binion’s, Circa screamed modern luxury—a shining beacon of high-stakes gambling and larger-than-life sports betting.
“I like this place,” Juan said, taking in the polished floors, high ceilings, and state-of-the-art sportsbook. “It’s like if Vegas finally stepped into the future.”
Brenda grinned. “And the future is calling us… straight to the craps table.”
Price, never one to argue with a good dice game, nodded. “Alright. Let’s roll.”
The craps table was lively, packed with a mix of seasoned gamblers and overenthusiastic tourists. As Brenda stepped up to place her bet, a distinguished older man in an impeccable suit stood at the opposite end, watching the dice roll with an air of calm confidence.
His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly styled, his tan skin showed no signs of Vegas exhaustion, and his tailored suit fit with the kind of elegance that screamed old money.
Price elbowed Juan. “That guy looks like he just walked out of a fashion magazine.”
Juan whispered back. “Either that or he owns the magazine.”
Brenda, always the bold one, threw down her bet and glanced across the table. “Nice suit,” she said.
The man turned, offering a polite smile. “Thank you, dear. Custom, of course.”
Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a second… Are you—?”
The man extended his hand. “Eric Forrester.”
Juan choked on his drink. Price’s eyebrows raised slightly.
Brenda gasped. “As in… Forrester Creations?”
Eric chuckled. “The very same.”
For the next half-hour, the trio found themselves playing craps alongside one of the biggest names in the fashion world. Eric Forrester was cool, composed, and eerily lucky, hitting point after point as the table erupted in cheers.
“I swear,” Juan muttered, watching the chips stack in front of Eric, “this guy has a horseshoe embedded in his soul.”
Price smirked. “Or just really good taste in dice.”
Brenda, meanwhile, was practically glowing. “I love Forrester Creations. Hope for the Future, the couture line—you guys define elegance.”
Eric gave a knowing smile. “That’s wonderful to hear, Brenda. In fact… you three seem like people who appreciate a good party.”
Brenda nearly jumped out of her skin. “Are you inviting us to a Forrester event?”
Eric nodded. “We’re hosting a private launch for the new Hope for the Future collection. Just a small, exclusive gathering at a penthouse suite later tonight. I think you’d enjoy it.”
Juan, who had no clue what Hope for the Future was but never turned down a VIP invitation, nodded eagerly. “A private fashion party in Vegas? Say no more.”
Price, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms. “Are we sure this isn’t one of those things where we show up and get kicked out for not being rich enough?”
Eric laughed. “Nonsense. You’re my guests.”
Brenda beamed. “This is incredible.”
Eric handed her a sleek black invitation card. “I’ll see you three there. And Brenda—wear something fabulous.”
With a wink, the legendary designer walked away, his presence lingering like an expensive cologne.
Juan stared at the card. “Did we just get recruited into the high-society Vegas underworld?”
Price sighed. “Guess we’re going to a fashion party.”
Brenda squealed. “Best. Night. Ever.”
As they pocketed their winnings and left Circa, they knew the night was about to get even crazier.
To be continued...
The night in downtown Vegas was still young as the trio made their way into Circa Resort & Casino, the glitziest and newest addition to Fremont Street. Unlike the vintage charm of the Golden Nugget or Binion’s, Circa screamed modern luxury—a shining beacon of high-stakes gambling and larger-than-life sports betting.
“I like this place,” Juan said, taking in the polished floors, high ceilings, and state-of-the-art sportsbook. “It’s like if Vegas finally stepped into the future.”
Brenda grinned. “And the future is calling us… straight to the craps table.”
Price, never one to argue with a good dice game, nodded. “Alright. Let’s roll.”
A Mysterious High-Roller
The craps table was lively, packed with a mix of seasoned gamblers and overenthusiastic tourists. As Brenda stepped up to place her bet, a distinguished older man in an impeccable suit stood at the opposite end, watching the dice roll with an air of calm confidence.
His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly styled, his tan skin showed no signs of Vegas exhaustion, and his tailored suit fit with the kind of elegance that screamed old money.
Price elbowed Juan. “That guy looks like he just walked out of a fashion magazine.”
Juan whispered back. “Either that or he owns the magazine.”
Brenda, always the bold one, threw down her bet and glanced across the table. “Nice suit,” she said.
The man turned, offering a polite smile. “Thank you, dear. Custom, of course.”
Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a second… Are you—?”
The man extended his hand. “Eric Forrester.”
Juan choked on his drink. Price’s eyebrows raised slightly.
Brenda gasped. “As in… Forrester Creations?”
Eric chuckled. “The very same.”
Rolling with the Legend
For the next half-hour, the trio found themselves playing craps alongside one of the biggest names in the fashion world. Eric Forrester was cool, composed, and eerily lucky, hitting point after point as the table erupted in cheers.
“I swear,” Juan muttered, watching the chips stack in front of Eric, “this guy has a horseshoe embedded in his soul.”
Price smirked. “Or just really good taste in dice.”
Brenda, meanwhile, was practically glowing. “I love Forrester Creations. Hope for the Future, the couture line—you guys define elegance.”
Eric gave a knowing smile. “That’s wonderful to hear, Brenda. In fact… you three seem like people who appreciate a good party.”
Brenda nearly jumped out of her skin. “Are you inviting us to a Forrester event?”
Eric nodded. “We’re hosting a private launch for the new Hope for the Future collection. Just a small, exclusive gathering at a penthouse suite later tonight. I think you’d enjoy it.”
Juan, who had no clue what Hope for the Future was but never turned down a VIP invitation, nodded eagerly. “A private fashion party in Vegas? Say no more.”
Price, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms. “Are we sure this isn’t one of those things where we show up and get kicked out for not being rich enough?”
Eric laughed. “Nonsense. You’re my guests.”
Brenda beamed. “This is incredible.”
Eric handed her a sleek black invitation card. “I’ll see you three there. And Brenda—wear something fabulous.”
With a wink, the legendary designer walked away, his presence lingering like an expensive cologne.
Juan stared at the card. “Did we just get recruited into the high-society Vegas underworld?”
Price sighed. “Guess we’re going to a fashion party.”
Brenda squealed. “Best. Night. Ever.”
As they pocketed their winnings and left Circa, they knew the night was about to get even crazier.
To be continued...
