Double Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  “Excuse me?” Denver said, trying to sound lighthearted.

  “Girls throwing themselves at the good-looking boss,” Lucky said.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Denver said, attempting to sound breezy and unconcerned. The last thing she wanted was Lucky feeling sorry for her.

  “It doesn’t bother me either,” Lucky replied. “Girls are always coming on to Lennie. Or at least they used to.”

  “Hold up,” Lennie interrupted, shaking his head. “Whaddya mean, used to? I gotta fight ’em off with a stick.”

  “Sure, baby,” Lucky crooned. “And you better make sure that stick stays in your pants or else!”

  “Or else what?”

  “You know what.”

  The two of them giggled like a couple of in-heat teenagers. Denver felt like an intruder on their intimacy; she’d never witnessed two people so into each other.

  Bobby returned to the table. Handsome Bobby, so damn hot in a black shirt and pants. Dark hair, intense eyes, strong jawline. Yes, he was a babe magnet, no doubt about it.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” he said, sitting down.

  “Old girlfriend?” Denver questioned, although old girlfriend sounded all wrong—shouldn’t it be young sexy girlfriend, who looks like she recently stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue?

  “We went out a coupla times,” Bobby admitted. “Nothing serious. And I can assure you it was way before you and me.”

  “You and I,” Denver murmured, adding a succinct, “I have ex-boyfriends too, you know.”

  “I do know that,” Bobby said, playing along. “And I’ve got the urge to smash ’em in the face if they ever put in an appearance.”

  “You do?”

  “If I have to.”

  They exchanged a knowing smile.

  “So what am I supposed to do about your exes?” she asked, feeling better already.

  “Ignore ’em,” Bobby said. “It’s you I’m with, and that’s the way it’s meant to be.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I’m hoping you feel the same way.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “You know I do.”

  * * *

  Giggling hysterically, Cookie and Max piled into a cab, a dour-faced Ace along for the ride. He wasn’t happy about getting stuck with Cookie, but he was pleased enough to escape from Gerald M. and his adoring entourage. Hanging with those kinds of people was not his ideal. “Where we going?” he asked.

  “There’s this club for under twenty-ones. No alcohol served, but awesome sounds,” Max offered, thinking that a riotous time on the dance floor was exactly what they all needed. “Harry’s new friend Paco is deejaying there sometime tonight. We gotta go check him out.”

  “What’re we waitin’ for?” Cookie said, scrolling through the messages on her cell to see if Frankie had missed her yet.

  He hadn’t.

  Well, he wouldn’t, would he? Too busy paying homage to Gerald M.

  “Who wants a joint?” she asked, digging in her purse.

  Ace shook his head as Cookie found what she was looking for and lit up.

  “In a cab? Really?” Ace said to Max in a disgusted tone.

  “She’s upset,” Max whispered. “Besides, it’s only one little joint. Nobody’s going to throw us in jail for that.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” Ace grouched. “I drive all this way, and this is what we end up doing.”

  “Sorry,” Max retorted. “But you know I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Thanks a lot,” he said restlessly. “You’re making me feel so frigging welcome.”

  Ace’s bad mood was getting to her. Wasn’t it enough that she’d gotten dumped by Billy? Now she had to put up with Ace and his complaints.

  Why couldn’t he relax and simply go with it?

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  “Did I just see little Max running out of here?” Venus asked as she joined Bobby’s fast-expanding table in his poolside cabana at Mood.

  “Don’t tell me she left,” Lennie said, frowning. “That damn kid—I hardly got to see her.”

  “Ah, the doting daddy.” Venus sighed as she slid into the booth beside him. “And might I say that you, Mr. Golden, are looking great as usual. In all the time I’ve known you, you never change.”

  “I could say the same for you, Venus.”

  “Then say it.”

  “You look incredible for an old—”

  “Lennie!” Lucky warned.

  “I’m teasing her,” Lennie said with a big grin. “She knows it.”

  “Of course I do,” Venus said, smiling. “Lennie and me—we’ve got a special relationship.”

  “Not too special, I hope,” Lucky said.

  “What do you think?” Venus said. Turning back to Lennie, she added, “How’s your movie going?”

  “Two more weeks of hard labor and I’m back in L.A.,” Lennie said, picking up his drink.

  “For about five minutes,” Lucky quipped, joining in. “We all know Lennie—he’ll be off again soon. It’s impossible for him to stay in one place for long. That’s how he rolls.”

  “And that’s how you like it,” Lennie retorted.

  “My husband the workaholic.” Lucky sighed. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

  “I know, babe,” Lennie said. “But if we were together all the time we’d tear each other apart.”

  “True,” Lucky agreed.

  “I wish you’d think of writing something for me,” Venus said wistfully. “You know how much I’d love to work with you, Lennie.”

  “As if I’d trust you and your ‘special relationship’ alone on location with my old man,” Lucky said jokingly. “Surely you’re aware what they say about best friends?”

  Listening to their banter, Denver was in awe. Not only was she sitting with Bobby’s illustrious parents, but superstar Venus was now in the house and had joined them too! It was all becoming a little bit surreal. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t encountered quite a few stars when she’d worked at Saunders, Fields, Simmons & Johnson—after all, it was a major Beverly Hills law firm, and she’d represented some big names. However, this was different. This was up close and extremely personal.

  “We’ll leave as soon as M.J. gets here,” Bobby said, leaning over and whispering in her ear.

  “Can I count on that?” she whispered back.

  “Yeah. Sit tight. I just gotta go deal with a couple of things.” And he was gone—lost in the heady mix of loud music, strobing lights, and clinking glasses.

  “Hello,” a voice said.

  She turned to the man who’d moved in next to her. He was model-boy perfect and quite young.

  “I am Jorge,” he said, with a strong accent. “I am here with Venus.”

  “Oh, hi,” she said, sensing that he felt as out of place as she did. “I’m Denver. I’m with Bobby.”

  “Bobby?” he said blankly.

  “Uh … do you know Lucky?”

  “Lucky?” He shook his head. His soulful brown eyes had the look of a lost puppy’s.

  “Lucky, Venus’s friend,” Denver explained. “She’s Bobby’s mom, and, uh, Bobby is my boyfriend.”

  The word boyfriend immediately made her feel uncomfortable. It was so straight out of high school. But he was her boyfriend—or maybe lover would be a better description.

  “Ah,” Jorge muttered vaguely.

  It would be nice, Denver thought, if Venus introduced her escort to everyone instead of getting all cozy with Lennie Golden.

  Watching Lennie in person, she’d already decided that he did not disappoint. He might be an older man, but he exuded a George Clooney under-the-radar kind of sex appeal. Lucky did indeed have it all. A mega-successful hotel and casino, a great family, and a smart, talented husband. What more could any woman want?

  “We go dance?” Jorge suggested in a surprisingly deep voice.

  Was he asking her? Was it inappropriate if she said yes?

  He was already up and ready to go; she couldn�
��t just leave him standing there.

  “Sure,” she said, glancing at Venus, whom she hadn’t even met. The platinum-blond star was busy talking to Lucky and Lennie. Would Venus even notice her boyfriend was missing?

  Probably not.

  Without thinking more about it, she got to her feet and followed Jorge onto the crowded dance floor. Bobby didn’t dance—early on in their relationship he’d announced it wasn’t his thing. At least there was something he didn’t excel at.

  On the other hand, she loved to dance, and since Jorge was no slouch either, the two of them were soon enjoying themselves to the sounds of Bruno Mars and Alicia Keys.

  * * *

  The Wonderball was one of the most popular clubs on the strip on account of its no-alcohol, no-drugs policy. For a twenty-five-dollar entry fee, all the under twenty-ones could rave until it was time for a total collapse. The Wonderball featured live bands and guest deejays. It was a major mob scene, and naturally plenty of booze and drugs got smuggled in.

  When Max, Cookie, and Ace arrived, the club was filled to capacity. They barely made it through before the fire marshal turned up and posted a NO MORE GUESTS sign at the door.

  “This ain’t too bad,” Cookie allowed, gazing around the cavernous space crammed with writhing sweating bodies, the music so loud conversation was an impossibility. “I could get into this,” she yelled, heading for the dance floor. “It’s like my kinda crazy.”

  “We’re gonna try to find Harry and Paco,” Max shouted above the noise. “If Paco’s playing, we can hang out in the booth. See you there.”

  “Right on,” Cookie agreed, dancing and checking her phone at the same time, which reminded Max she still hadn’t taken her phone off plane mode.

  She quickly did so, and immediately saw that she had several text messages.

  The first one was from her two younger brothers on their European tour wishing her a happy birthday. The second was from Bobby’s niece, Brigette. And the third was from Billy.

  YES, BILLY!

  Her heart jumped. When had Billy texted her? How come she’d missed it?

  WHAT THE FUCK?!

  Her hands began shaking as she started to read his message.

  Hey, it’s me—Billy. Where r u?

  I’M HERE. RIGHT HERE!

  Been trying to reach u.

  REALLY?

  I’m in Vegas.

  OMG!

  Want to c u. Call me.

  “What’re you doin’?” Ace shouted, making himself heard above the noise.

  “Nothing,” she said, hurriedly clicking her phone off.

  “Are we gonna find Harry or what?” Ace asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” she yelled back, wondering exactly how she was supposed to make a clean getaway. Billy was in town, and seeing him was her number one priority.

  * * *

  Bobby met M.J. and Cassie at the door. They were with a man in an expensive suit and tinted aviator glasses. He had slicked-back hair and acted as if he and Bobby were old friends.

  “Eddie Falcon,” he said to Bobby, proffering his hand. “You and I hung out at Brett Ratner’s house. You were diddling with two Playboy Bunnies, an’ I was flyin’ solo.”

  Playboy Bunnies were not Bobby’s style. He had no idea who this Eddie Falcon was, and he didn’t much care.

  M.J. filled him in as Cassie and Eddie headed off to a table.

  “Eddie’s the agent Cassie wants to sign with,” M.J. explained. “She says he’s hot shit.”

  “More bad timing, huh?” Bobby remarked.

  “I figure if she lands herself an agent, it’ll make her happy,” M.J. reasoned. “Then she can work on her music stuff while she’s sittin’ around pregnant. You know she’s into writing her own songs, so this could be a way t’ go.”

  Sometimes it amazed Bobby that M.J. could be so dense when it came to his wife. She didn’t want to have a baby right now. All she wanted was a career. And Bobby had a strong suspicion that nothing M.J. said or did would change her mind. Signing with a smooth, fast-talking agent would only make Cassie more determined to put her career first.

  Not my problem, Bobby thought. I need to get the hell out of here so that Denver and I can spend some special alone time together.

  And just as he was thinking of exactly how he would take his girlfriend on a sweet ride to ecstasy, a hand clapped him on the shoulder and a familiar voice boomed, “Hey, guys. It’s me, Frankie. I’m back in town!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Having drinks with Paige and Gino was not where Peggy wished to be. In full detective mode, she was primed to seek action regarding her first DNA sample. Then it occurred to her that she needed something from Armand. He’d told her he was busy with important meetings, so if she could just get into his bedroom and take a few strands of hair from his hairbrush …

  She already knew where the villas were located, and the sooner she got there, the better. But Gino, at his advanced age, did not seem to be slowing down at all. The man was a freak of nature. And was it her imagination, or as Paige imbibed her fourth glass of wine, was Gino’s wife becoming a little too friendly?

  Peggy feigned a yawn and murmured, “You really must excuse me. I’m still on New York time, and I’m afraid it’s catching up with me.”

  “We’re gonna let you go on one condition,” Gino said gruffly, winking at her.

  “And that would be?” Peggy asked politely.

  “Dinner again tomorrow night.”

  “Gino,” Paige said, reminding him. “Tomorrow night is Max’s party.”

  “So Peggy’ll come t’ the party,” Gino said magnanimously, once again giving Peggy the wink.

  Was it possible that he did remember their one night of lust? It was so long ago, and yet …

  “I think I’d enjoy that,” Peggy replied, getting to her feet.

  “I’ll call you in the morning, then,” Paige said, and just like that, before Peggy could react, Paige kissed her full on the lips. After which Peggy beat a hasty retreat.

  * * *

  Carlos the concierge was right about Luscious and Seducta: If it wasn’t nailed down, they had an urge to collect.

  Seducta carried an oversized fake leather purse she’d recently swiped from K-Mart. It was roomy enough to hold all her favorite things for a rip-roaring night of paid-for sex. Condoms, a double-headed black dildo, and enough lubricant to please an elephant. However, as she flitted around the villa, she still had room to throw in several bars of expensive hotel soap, a couple of crystal shot glasses from behind the bar, and various snacks and several miniature bottles of booze from the minibar, plus two marble ashtrays and a couple of rolls of toilet paper. Every little bit helped. Besides, what was wrong with bringing home gifts for Mikey?

  Luscious was more discerning. She raided the bedroom and rifled through Armand’s personal possessions, grabbing a silk tie still in its cellophane wrap, and two pairs of what looked like solid-gold cuff links. The dude would never notice; he had a shitload of stuff. Too much.

  Luscious wondered who he was. Obviously loaded. Probably wanted a show since he’d requested two girls.

  Another night, another pervert.

  Luscious was up for it as long as Seducta knew how to behave. They’d never worked together in front of a john. There was a rhythm to making sure the client ended up with a satisfactory happy ending.

  Luscious knew exactly how to do it. The question was, did Seducta?

  * * *

  When the Cavendish Hotel was built, the team of architects had created a series of on-the-property luxury villas meant for high rollers only, private and discreet—a golf-cart ride away from the main hotel or, if the guests were so inclined, a walk along a series of leafy pathways.

  Armand chose to walk, Annabelle by his side.

  “How far is it?” she asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable tottering. “These Jimmy Choos are not made for walking.”

  Armand ignored her; he had many other things on his mind. The conci
erge had texted him that the women he’d ordered were waiting in his villa. Perhaps sex would clear his head.

  He couldn’t wait to see Annabelle’s expression when she realized they were not alone.

  Would she run out on him?

  Or would she stay?

  He needed her to stay. She knew the Santangelo family, so that made her useful. Perhaps ignoring her was not in his best interest.

  What was in his best interest?

  His mind was filled with raging thoughts of seeing Lucky Santangelo dead. Shot. The bullet hitting her directly in her loud mouth, the mouth that had dared to insult him.

  But how to arrange it?

  Fouad would not help. Fouad was a sniveling lackey who thought only about himself. It infuriated Armand that after all these years he could not depend on Fouad.

  Enough money would buy him the right person to do the deed, but how to find that person? Would the Internet be of any help? No, probably not.

  “I said my feet are killing me,” Annabelle repeated, wishing he was a little more attentive.

  “Take your shoes off,” he suggested, stopping for a moment. “Bare feet can be quite sexual.”

  “Oh no,” Annabelle mock-groaned, hoping to get at least a smile out of him. “Don’t tell me you have a foot fetish?”

  “Would that bother you?” he asked, testing her.

  Annabelle thought for a moment, then leaned up against him while she removed her spike heels. Foot fetish or not, she had him in her sights, and this time she was hanging in there.

  Armand seized the opportunity to forcefully kiss her, his tongue darting into her mouth while his hand reached down, making its way roughly up her skirt—heading for ground zero.

  She was startled but still game. At least he was interested. This was her shot, and this time she had to make sure it worked out, for unfortunately she had big financial problems. After her somewhat scandalous book was published, her father cut her off, so now money was not exactly falling out of the trees, which meant she needed a man like Armand Jordan to support her and give her credibility. Armand had everything she wanted. Money. Power. Status. And when he became the new owner of The Keys, she would have her own personal playground to entertain her friends. What could be better?