“What?” I say in a voice just above a tortured whisper, closing my eyes and sighing. “Dante, if it’s you…just get out before I call the cops.”
“Taryn, why are you huddled in the corner. What the hell happened here?”
I grit my teeth at the gritty, sexy voice and turn around. Nixon Caldwell, my landlord, stands there with a concerned look on his face. Like Dante, Nixon’s loaded. He owns one of the most prestigious casinos on the strip and the popular promenade that houses all these high-end stores, including mine. But unlike Dante, Nixon’s a good man. He’s never treated me with anything but total professionalism. I know that there’s no love lost between Nixon and Dante, although I have no idea of the specifics. Rumors swirl around the man and rumble up and down the strip, but I’ve never been one to believe in things I don’t hear straight from the horse’s mouth. Where I come from, people shoot straight.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” My problems belong only to me. Nixon doesn’t deserve to be dragged down into my littered gutter. “Did you need something today, Nixon?”
“I heard something about you snagging Ivory Clause Ready to Wear,” Nixon says, a rare grin breaking out across his handsome face. The man’s got eyes such a dark shade of blue, they appear black. “Thought that was worth a personal visit. Nicely done, Taryn. I’m really proud of you.”
I smile, wanting to lean into the compliment and accept it with all the grace I deserve, but Dante’s visit has cast a bleak shadow over my positive emotions. “Thanks,” I say, heaving another sigh. “I just don’t really feel like celebrating right now. Although, I did…just a few minutes ago. Don’t you sometimes wish that life had a rewind button?”
“I’m more about moving forward.” Nixon raises an eyebrow. “What happened?”
I lift my shoulders in what I hope is a casual shrug. Nixon doesn’t need to know that I’m in deep with his arch nemesis. I don’t want anything to come between my cordial and even friendly relationship with Nixon Caldwell. “Forget it.”
I don’t really feel like sharing my sad life story. Nixon’s a man to be admired, important in this city, and he’s always been fair to me, but we’re not exactly intimate friends. I’ve rented space from him in his casino for almost a year now, and I wouldn’t want him thinking that I’m one of those women who attracts – or enjoys – drama.
“Alright,” Nixon says with a little frown. I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “Look, how about if I hand over a couple of VIP passes? My new dance club is pretty hot right now. Maybe you and a friend could go have a nice night out on me. It’s important to celebrate life’s successes.”
“That’s nice,” I say, wondering what’s in it for him. Last I heard, he didn’t give two shits about celebrating anything. Maybe the rumblings are true, and Marcella’s softened him some. “Thanks.”
I don’t really feel like partying. Bailey and I were supposed to celebrate, but we hadn’t had anything lavish in mind. Pizza, wine, and a chick flick. Still, maybe a night at Nixon’s new club will take my mind off Dante. I find I want to sweep away all memories of that prick from my day.
Nixon reaches into his wallet and hands me two shiny passes. “Just enjoy yourself,” he says. “Getting Ivory Clause is a big deal, Taryn. The women are going to go nuts over this exclusive contract – she’s so hot right now. As soon as you get an exclusive in Marcella’s size, set it aside.”
I nod and smile even though thinking about Dante makes my lips want to turn upside down. He just has a way of getting under my skin like a chigger. “Of course. Ivory’s super popular and Marcella would look stunning in one of her dresses. I’ll be sure to call Carol once I have one I think would be perfect.”
Nixon stares at me, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to open up. But as the seconds tick by, I start feeling more miserable than ever.
I catch a glimpse of one of my employees and jump on the excuse like a life line. “I’m just about to hand things over to the evening manager.”
He frowns for an instant but allows me out of the conversation gracefully. “Okay. I’ll go then.” He gives me another warm smile. “Have a good time tonight. Let me know what you think. I want to make sure I’m doing everything right. We’ve never had a dance club like this in the Armónico. You’ve got a very exacting eye for style. I value your opinion.”
“Will do.” I nod, wishing him out the door so I can step out of the pressure cooker. “Thanks again, Nixon. I’m sure I’ll love it.”
As soon as the door chimes again, I slump against the counter and dig my iPhone out of my bag.
“Hey!” Bailey says, shrieking so loud I have to pull the phone away. “Did you get it?”
“Yeah.” Even to my own ringing ears, I don’t sound nearly as chipper as my bestie, and I won’t be able to pull the wool over her eyes. She seems to anticipate my every mood. “I got it.”
“What’s wrong?” I can tell by the sound of her voice that Bailey’s frowning. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I say, knowing that news of Vegas’s most hated requires a face-to-face. “Want to meet at Velvet?”
“Where?”
“Nixon’s new dance club. The one that just opened.”
Bailey gives a nervous giggle. She’s like my soul sister. We’re both farm fed gals from the rural Midwest and meat markets serving as dance clubs aren’t our usual haunt.
“I don’t know. I don’t really feel like waiting in line. You know, the red velvet ropes and all that. Don’t even mention finding a suitable dress to squeeze my T & A into. Too many double stuffed Oreos this month.”
I can hear the gears in her mind turning, worrying about how she looks and what she’s wearing. Bailey has that fresh-faced, girl next door vibe that doesn’t quite fit in with the plastic Vegas norm.
“I have VIP passes,” I say, glancing down at the shiny cards in my hand. “And bottle service. Nixon Caldwell came over and gave them to me. He told me to celebrate my victory.”
“Well, damn, girl! Why didn’t you say so?” Bailey laughs. “When do you wanna go?”
I glance down at my watch. It’s late afternoon, and the club doesn’t open until eight. That will give me plenty of time to hand things over at the store to Josie, my manager working the night shift and glam myself up, so I’m worthy of Velvet. There’s a new cocktail dress I’ve been dying to wear.
“Let’s get there right when they open the doors. I’ll meet you at the front entrance to the club at eight, Bails-of-hay.”
She laughs. “Done. See you later, Tarynwreck.”
***
A few minutes after eight, we’re seated at the largest and most luxe table in Velvet. There’s a bottle of Grey Goose chilling in an ice bucket courtesy of Nixon Caldwell, but I’ve already got a gin and tonic in my hand. Taking a long sip, I wait for the warm, familiar fuzz of alcohol to hit my bloodstream and make my troubles fall away.
By the time Bailey takes a few sips of her Cosmo, I’m well on my way to tipsy. She leans down and gives me a hug, lifting her glass so we can toast.
“I guess I’ve got some catching up to do,” Bailey says as our glasses clink together. Some of my gin and tonic sloshes toward the rim. She tosses the Cosmo down her throat and grimaces, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Why does even the good stuff taste so awful?” She groans. “I always feel like I might throw up the first shot. Isn’t vodka supposed to be tasteless?”
“You should drink more,” I say, pushing the bottle of vodka toward my friend. “Today, we’re mourning.”
“Taryn, what are you talking about?” Bailey bites her lip and shakes her head of auburn curls. Her killer curves are encased in a crimson Michael Kors that she borrowed from me. “You got Ivory Clause! That’s good! Better than good. Hell, that’s huge!”
“Yeah.” I cast my eyes downward as I take a fortifying inhale. “You know what else is huge?”
Bailey narrows her eyes. “No. What?”
“The twenty-percent friendship
extortion tax that Dante Giovanetti wants me to give him just for being alive.” I drain the rest of my drink, then slam the highball glass down on the shiny surface of the table. “That’s pretty fucking huge. Huge enough, I daresay, to ruin Strict Nécessaire and put me out of business forever. All my dreams swirling the toilet bowl of a total douche before they get sucked down into the sewer.”
Bailey frowns and her soulful brown eyes widen as she absorbs what I just said. “Oh, Taryn,” she wails, shaking her head in dismay. “He’s so crooked! There’s no way that’s legal, no way. You should get a lawyer, or at least tell Nixon. He’s your landlord, he’ll go to bat for you. Besides, word on the street says he and Dante hate each other’s guts. Nixon’s a bad-ass.”
I sigh, slumping my shoulders and leaning against the leather booth. For a moment, I wish the buttery upholstery could swallow me whole and transport me to a world where the mafia and extortion did not exist. “I can’t tell him. At least, not right now.”
“Why not?” Bailey reaches out and rubs my shoulder, and I lean into the comforting touch. “Taryn, he’s a good guy, I’m sure he’ll help. He’ll know how to deal with someone like that crook.”
I cover my face with my hands. I’m not sure that dealing with Dante is even possible. Whenever I close my lids, the room starts to blur and shake. A dizzying feeling comes over me. Good. I want to forget all about him. In fact, I want to forget about all men. They’re nothing but trouble.
Fuck everything with a penis.
“It’s just not fair,” I moan. “Just when I finally thought I was getting somewhere.”
Bailey grimaces with sympathy and love. I’m so lucky to have a friend like her in a city where everything can turn fake in an instant. But Bailey and I have been home girls since we were roommates at UNLV. We’re tight.
“I know,” she says, taking a dainty sip of her fresh Cosmo.
After about an hour of dancing, sweating, and flirting with every hot guy in the vicinity, I sink down into the comfy booth again.
“I’m ready for another cocktail.” Thankfully, a server passes by at that exact moment, and I grab him by the elbow. Vodka’s just not doing it for me tonight. I need more of my old friend, Gin.
The server gives me a wry grin. “Did you need something, miss?”
“Another gin and tonic,” I say, shoving my empty glass into his hand. “And make it a double this time.”
Thoughts of Dante have become a jumbled mess inside my alcohol infected brain. Maybe one more will eradicate him for good, and I can go back to celebrating my well-deserved success.
“Taryn,” Bailey says. “Maybe you should slow down. You know how you get on your third drink. Not drunk but definitely tipsy.”
I glare at her, shooting the messenger. She’s right, but I don’t give a shit because I can take a cab home. There are more cabs in Vegas than tourists. The only thing that matters is the negativity fading away.
“No,” I say with a little too much force. To the server, I turn and bat my lashes. “Pretty please. Just one more.”
The server nods and scurries off into the crowd. With a sigh, I lean back against the purple leather booth, slumping into a ball of misery.
“It’s not that bad, Tarynwreck,” Bailey says, reverting to my college nickname. “You’re doing so well, girlfriend. You should be able to move past this.”
I roll my eyes, not wanting to believe her. I’m indulging in a little willful self-hatred, and as my bestie, she can damn well get on board the pity train.
“You don’t get it,” I say, flaring my nostrils because I’m thinking about him again when all I want is for Dante’s visage to disappear in a poof of gin and perspiration. “Twenty percent is completely outrageous. That will make it impossible for me to turn a profit. I’m right back where I started…and this time, I’ll be lucky if I can actually stay in business. Profit margins in luxury fashion just aren’t that high, and he knows it. Besides, I’m lucky enough to be on the Promenade, and that comes with a price, too. Overhead mean anything to you?”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay. After all, what legal claim does he have to your money?”
I heave a dramatic sigh worthy of Meryl Streep. The server brings my drink, and I knock half of it back with a gulp. Nothing happens. I don’t even stop to consider that they pour light in these expensive clubs to increase their margin. The mixture sloshes around in my stomach, and I haven’t even touched the trendy pulled pork nachos arranged artfully in front of me.
I know I should eat something and slow down with the alcohol. When I get tipsy, I tend to make rash decisions. But right now, I don’t care. The club thumps and pulses with restless energy, and I can’t stand thinking about work anymore.
“Strict Nécessaire is the most important thing in the world to me,” I say, shaking my head as if she didn’t already know. Bailey’s been by my side through it all. She gives me a sympathetic look. I reach forward and grab her hand.
She squeezes mine in sisterly solidarity. “It’s really not that bad. Look, why don’t we call my dad’s lawyer in the morning and ask if he can help?”
I tapped my lip with my finger, but before I can answer, Bailey’s phone rings. As she listens to whoever is on the other line, her eyes grow huge. “I’ll be right there.”
She hangs up and gives me an exasperated look as she grabs her purse. “A water pipe broke in my building, and I have to get back and deal.”
I stand up, too. “Do you need help?”
She’s already shaking her head. “I don’t think so, but I don’t want you to stay out by yourself.”
I didn’t want to stay out by myself either, so I nod. “You go, and I’ll catch a cab after I use the restroom.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “You promise?”
Pulling her into a hug, I assure her. “Promise. Go before things get worse and call me if you need me.”
She buzzes my cheek with a kiss and takes off.
Grabbing my clutch, I head to the ladies’ room, pleased that the VIP lounge has no line. Feeling like a rock star, I pee and use the fancy hand soap, giving myself a squirt of the lotion for good measure. Looking for my phone to call a cab, I panic when I realize it’s gone. Retracing my steps to our table, I heave out a relieved breath to find it on my seat. Snatching it up, my attention is drawn to the fresh gin and tonic on the table.
Screw it.
Sitting down, I toss back half the drink in one gulp. Just this one, I silently promise Bailey and down the rest. I really should leave, but when the server asks if I want another, I tell him to make it a double.
As I sip, I laugh bitterly at nobody in particular. “If Dante’s going to clamp my ovaries into a vise grip, I might as well go back to dancing for him.” Climbing to my feet, I wobble only a little and inhale. Time to stop worrying and thinking. I think too damn much. Time to start feeling. And dancing.
Right the hell now.
The world whirls around me as I spot my desired destination. It’s looming above me, calling to me with its shiny siren’s song. I climb onto the booth and onto a small patch of elevated floor. The surface is polished black – mirrored just enough for patrons to look down and see the dancer’s thong-covered ass. There’s a metal cage, the perfect size for one dancer. Hydraulics can move the platform up and down.
I sway a little but manage to grab the bars of the cage and keep myself upright. Climbing inside, I start doing a messy burlesque number I know by heart from my dancing days, closing my eyes and whirling my body around to the fast dance music. The motions don’t really match the music, but I don’t care. I’ve always felt free while dancing, and right now there’s nothing I want more than a clear head.
If Dante Giovanetti thinks I’m only good as a dancer, well, we’ll give him some dancing. I’ll give everyone so damn much dancing they won’t even know what hit them.
I switch into a lazy, sexy Rumba, swaying my shoulders and dipping down low with each step and kick of my feet. The cage confines
the steps, but I keep going anyway, spinning and twirling until the alcohol makes me feel as powerful as a goddess. When I look down, I notice that the straps of my black cocktail dress are dangerously close to causing a wardrobe malfunction.
A crowd of jeering men gathers at my feet.
“Take it off, baby. You’ve got great tits. Let me see your nipples.”
I glance down at the designer dress I purchased the last time I went to New York for fashion week. It boasts a crisscross style over my ample chest, lifting it to the sky. All I’d have to do is reach up and untie it at the neck to give these guys an eyeful since I decided to go braless. I want to. Instead, I snake a hand up my thigh, taking my already short hem with it until just a peek of my black lace thong is in view.
“Yeah! If you’re gonna dance, you might as well get naked!” The throng of young hotties pant and salivate, their eyes flashing with lust and danger. Must be some bachelor party or something.
“Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!”
Ignorant meatheads, I think as I continue dancing. They wouldn’t know the difference between a trained professional dancer and a stripper if it hit them right between the eyes. But if they want a show, I’ll give them one. I flash a big smile and burst into song, perfectly mimicking Top 40 vocals…sans auto-tune.
Like a black cloud raining on my parade, a large security officer appears at the edge of the platform.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step down from the cage,” he thunders. “Come on. Get down here. Don’t make me come up and get you.”
I ignore him and keep dancing, swirling and twirling around until my world spins with the freedom of movement. My platform high heel catches on the bars of the cage, and I burst into laughter as I soar through the air, eventually crashing down on the metal bars. I know it should hurt, but I can’t feel anything. My booze-soaked brain is giving me the stamina of a superheroine.
The security guard opens the door to the cage and grabs a fistful of my hair. I try to kick and bite, but he’s much stronger, and I’m soon on the floor with his meaty hands painfully gripping my arm.
Buyer Beware (Caldwell Brothers Book 1) Page 19