She wondered if he was thinking about her.
Probably not. It was likely he was one of those guys who slept with lots of women, and never gave them a second thought. How sad was that?.
And yet, even if it was true, she still couldn’t stop thinking about him.
And, even worse, she didn’t want to.
By the time Chris checked into the Four Seasons it was past midnight. He’d instructed Andy to book him out on an early-morning flight to New York, so after a good night’s sleep he’d be on his way back.
After ordering a bowl of hot soup and a medium rare steak from Room Service, he picked up the phone and finally reached Roth Giagante in Vegas.
‘Where are you?’ Roth asked gruffly.
‘Back in L.A.’ he said, not about to take any shit. ‘My house has been destroyed.’
‘Didn’t do it,’ Roth dead-panned.
‘That’s not funny,’ Chris snapped.
‘You get what you ask for,’ Roth said, adding a casual, ‘How’d you like your New York gift?’
‘She was very accommodating,’ Chris replied, thinking how much he couldn’t stand this man. ‘Especially when she took off with my gold Rolex. Was that part of the plan, or are you too cheap to pay her the going rate?’
Roth laughed. It wasn’t a friendly sound. ‘I’m expecting you here tomorrow with my money.’
‘Your money happens to be in my safe, and right now my safe is buried under a mudslide somewhere in my house. So, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.’
‘You shitting me?’ Roth growled.
‘Send one of your goons to check my story. Go ahead–maybe they can dig it out.’
‘Does this mean you’re not coming tomorrow?’
‘No, Roth,’ Chris said, clenching his jaw. ‘You’ll get your goddamn money next week. Right now I’m involved with more pressing problems–like nowhere to live, everything I own is destroyed, and I gotta fly back to New York for a meeting. As I said, you’ll have to wait. And, oh, yeah, don’t bother sending me anymore visitors.’
‘Quit givin’ me orders, you dumb prick.’
‘You’re the dumb prick,’ Chris answered, beyond caring. ‘I’m offering you a chance to host Birdy Marvel’s wedding at your hotel, which would mean millions of dollars worth of free world-wide publicity, and you’re not even entertaining the idea. If you were smart you’d speak to your PR people and listen to what they have to say. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to get back to me. Then I’m calling Peter Morton at the Hard Rock. He’s a smart guy, he’ll get it. And don’t worry, you’ll get your fucking money!’ He slammed the phone down. Man, it felt good!
Naturally he couldn’t sleep. How could he? His house was wrecked with everything he owned in it, and how could he stop himself thinking about all the things he’d lost? It was making him feel sick. His house was a symbol of everything he’d achieved. Now it was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Outside, the rain continued to pour down.
Talk about losing control–it was not a pleasant feeling.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Acting as Liberty’s spokesperson, Beverly went to Maleek, the director, and informed him that Liberty required a thousand dollars a day for the two days she’d be working on the video.
‘It’s already set,’ Maleek said. ‘She’s getting two thousand a day, Damon’s instructions. The dude is into her.’
‘We need it in writing,’ Beverly replied, trying not to look too surprised that this was all so easy.
‘In writing? Or how about she gets paid cash?’ Maleek suggested. ‘That way she puts it into her pocket an’ walks away.’
‘Cash’ll do nicely,’ Beverly said, thinking that she should’ve asked Liberty for commission. Not seriously, though–Beverly’s latest philosophy was all about giving back, and it was working. She’d met Chet, and he was the first decent man she’d hooked up with in a long time.
When Beverly told Liberty about the money, there was a stunned silence. ‘Two thousand dollars a day?’ Liberty said at last. ‘A day? Are you sure?’
‘Don’t sweat it. They were probably paying Vanessa plenty more. Besides,’ Beverly added, teasing her, ‘Damon likes you, he really likes you.’
‘He does?’ Liberty said, remaining cool.
‘So says Mr Director.’
Liberty didn’t even want to ask what that meant. She took off to find Cindi, who was in a complaining mood. ‘Ha!’ Cindi bitched, when she told her. ‘I gotta shimmy around with my ass hanging out, shovin’ it in the freakin’ camera, an’ all you gotta do is stand there glammed up like some kinda diva.’ Cindi stared at her reflection in a full-length mirror. ‘Sheeit! This ain’t fair.’
‘You’ll think it’s even less fair when you hear what they’re paying me,’ Liberty said excitedly.
‘More than I’m gettin’?’ Cindi said, narrowing her eyes.
‘Try two thousand a day,’ Liberty said, still in shock that she was about to make such an unbelievable amount of money for basically doing nothing.
‘Man!’ Cindi yelled, jumping up and down. ‘We’re freakin’ richer than freakin’ shit! We can get ourselves that flat screen TV we bin talkin’ ’bout forever. I ain’t even mindin’ that you’re gettin’ more than me.’
‘First we pay our bills,’ Liberty said, thinking about what a relief that would be. ‘Do you know how many bills we’ve got piled up that I keep on juggling ’cause you refuse to deal with them?’
‘That’s ’cause you’re better at it than me,’ Cindi said, adjusting her costume. ‘You’re the smart cookie, I’m the booty queen!’
‘That’s right,’ Liberty agreed, laughing.
‘You’d better call your mama,’ Cindi said.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘’Cause you should tell her to drop by my mom’s tomorrow night. We’ll all celebrate together.’
‘I’m not sure I want to see her,’ Liberty said uncertainly. ‘I still don’t get why she couldn’t’ve told me about my dad before. It’s not fair she waited all these years.’
‘She probably figured you wouldn’t wanna know you had a dead daddy, that it was better for you to grow up with, y’ know, some kinda hope.’
‘Yeah,’ Liberty said bitterly, ‘false hope.’
‘Let’s not get into it now,’ Cindi said. ‘There’s too much slammin’ shit goin’ on.’
‘When am I supposed to get into it?’ Liberty muttered, almost to herself.
‘What time’s our call tomorrow?’ Cindi asked, quickly changing the subject.
‘Ten. According to Bev, they’re not into starting early in the rap world.’
‘Man, Bev is the coolest,’ Cindi said enthusiastically. ‘She’s gonna fix my eyebrows tomorrow. I’m tellin’ you, for sure it’s the eyebrows got you the gig. Just you wait till Damon sees you now. He’s gonna dump his old lady an’ the two of you’ll hook up permanent. Mrs Damon P. Donnell. Try that on for a tight fit. It’s all good, girl.’
‘Zip it, Cindi,’ Liberty said, looking around to make sure no one had heard. ‘Don’t even rag on it. It’s not like I’m thrilled about being The Girl in some dumb rap video. I’m only doing it for the money. All I want is for Damon to get off on my voice.’
‘Sure,’ Cindi drawled sarcastically. ‘I believe you.’
By the time Liberty was dressed and ready, it was late. Slick Jimmy was pleased to see her hit the set but, as Beverly was quick to point out, Slick Jimmy was pleased to see anything female. His group of overweight, sexy mamas were feeling the heat: they’d been at it all day, there was only so much booty to be jiggled and they were dragging. They lounged around in various stages of exhaustion, while Jimmy’s CD blared over the loudspeakers.
Lousy lyrics, great beat, Liberty thought, for the second time, as she stepped in front of Maleek for his approval.
Maleek was not happy with her look, which immediately made her feel insecure. He requested further hair extensions, a mor
e exotic makeup, and he wanted her dress to cling. Instead of shooting her piece, they rehearsed instead.
‘You’ll do your thing tomorrow,’ Maleek decided. ‘Damon wants you perfect an’ so do I.’
Hmm…Damon wanted her perfect. That was interesting, especially coming from a man who until today had basically ignored her.
She’d been thinking about Beverly and her offer to set her up with a modelling agent. It sure beat the hell out of pouring coffee, so she thought she might ask her if she was serious, because if it was a serious offer, she would definitely pursue it.
The time had come to take chances, and she was more than ready.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gianna had left a message on Jett’s voicemail that she expected him to meet her at the airport.
Of course she expected him to meet her, Gianna was used to getting everything her way.
He went all out and hired a limo. Might as well pick her up in style.
When Gianna got off the plane, cleared Customs and began striding through Kennedy, clad in thigh-high leopard-print boots and a short, chocolate brown belted Prada raincoat, a couple of random photographers appeared out of nowhere and snapped her picture. They weren’t certain who she was, but they quickly realized she was someone.
As soon as she saw Jett walking towards her, she threw out her arms and shouted ‘Ciao, carino. It is so molto bene to see my boyfriend.’
All of a sudden he was her boyfriend? Well, yes, of course he was, they lived together, didn’t they?
‘Hey, baby,’ he said, hugging her. ‘You smell great.’
‘No, no, I smell of aeroplane,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Is disgustoso, I need a shower.’
‘What hotel am I taking you to?’ he asked, grabbing her Louis Vuitton carry-on bag, which weighed a ton.
‘No hotel, carino, I stay with you,’ she said, tossing back her long hair.
This was a surprise, and not a welcome one. How could he pursue a new relationship while Gianna was sharing his bed? ‘Well,’ he said slowly. ‘I kinda didn’t ask Sam if it—’
‘Prego!’ she exclaimed. ‘Of course Sam invite me.’
‘Sam doesn’t know you,’ Jett pointed out.
‘Ah…but if he did,’ she said, smiling knowingly, ‘you certain he invite me.’
She was right, there wasn’t a man in the world who would turn Gianna down.
He had to admit she looked spectacular. Tall and slender, with a mane of auburn hair, cat-like eyes and full, luscious lips. Men were stopping to stare as she sashayed past, like they couldn’t quite believe such a magnificent creature existed, for Gianna’s looks were extremely feral.
‘I’m not sure Sam’s apartment is fancy enough for you,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘There’s hardly any space in the bathroom for your make-up and stuff. Plus there’s no magnifying mirror, and you know how you love your mirrors.’
‘What I need, carino, when I have you?’ she said affectionately. ‘I’ve missed my Yankee boyfriend molto molto.’
Yankee boyfriend? It was her new favourite expression. She’d learned it from her grandfather, a Second World War veteran, and Jett hated it.
‘Hey, I’ve missed you too,’ he said, not really meaning it, because the girl whose name he didn’t know was on his mind big-time.
‘Have you been a bad boy?’ Gianna teased.
‘Only as bad as you,’ he retaliated.
‘Ha! Incredibile! I see only one other guy. Mr Lamborghini. And we like him, sì?’
‘How is my favourite car?’ he asked, as they made their way through the airport.
‘I put in garage. Is bene, huh?’
‘How long you staying?’
‘We shoot photographs. We go home.’
‘Not we, you,’ he said quickly. ‘I have to stay around for a couple of weeks.’
‘Perchè?’ she asked, disappointed.
‘’Cause there’s a few things I gotta take care of before I can leave.’
‘Che cosa things?’
‘Family stuff.’
‘You make Gianna triste.’
‘Sorry, baby. It can’t be helped.’
In the limo she hugged him again, her tongue snaking its way into his ear. ‘Gianna cannot wait to be alone with you,’ she whispered. ‘We make delizioso amore all night.’
‘Later tonight,’ he corrected. ‘Earlier we’re invited to my brother’s rehearsal dinner.’
‘Che cosa rehearsal dinner?’
‘Something people do before they get married.’
‘I thought that was sex,’ she said, her hand descending on–to his thigh.
‘You think everything’s sex.’
‘Is bene, no?’ she said, with a husky laugh.
‘Not always.’
‘You like, you know you do,’ she cooed, her hand moving further up. ‘How they say in American? You insatiable–sì?’
‘Maybe we should wait until we get to the apartment,’ he said, deftly removing her hand. ‘There’s a driver up front getting his rocks off watching our every move.’
‘So? That is bad?’ she said, snuggling against his shoulder, her tongue once again flicking towards his ear.
And he realized there was no escaping Gianna.
Sunday noon, Nancy Scott-Simon had arranged a major sit-down with Lynda Colefax, the wedding planner. She wished to make sure that all final details were in place since mishaps were not on her agenda.
Wandering around her mother’s dining room, fervently wishing she was somewhere else, Amy listened while the two women droned on about the usual subjects–flowers, seating, guests. It seemed their appetite for wedding trivia was never-ending.
‘Amy, will you kindly concentrate?’ Nancy scolded. ‘Who do you wish to sit at the head table?’
‘Family, Mother.’ She sighed. ‘We’ve been over it a hundred times. Family, Tina and Brad.’
‘What about Sofia Courtenelli and her escort?’ Nancy said. ‘Shouldn’t they be at the head table?’
‘I don’t want them at the head table, Mother.’
‘Sofia Courtenelli is your boss,’ Lynda pointed out, determined to be involved in every single decision. ‘Etiquette dictates—’
‘I still don’t want her at the head table,’ Amy interrupted, wishing Lynda would butt out of stuff that was none of her business.
‘Max has still not told me if his father will be attending,’ Nancy said irritably. ‘It’s appallingly bad manners.’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Lynda.
‘I think he will be coming,’ Amy offered. ‘He was at Max’s bachelor party. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not that I care whether he comes or not,’ Nancy said snippily. ‘It’s simply so rude not to reply. I should call Lady Bentley and ask her myself.’
‘Allow me to take care of it,’ said Lynda, jotting a reminder onto a large Gucci writing pad.
‘No,’ Nancy responded. ‘It’s something I should deal with personally.’
An hour later, Amy was thrilled to get out of there. The wedding plans were making her dizzy. What a ridiculous fuss about one day.
She hailed a cab, and was just about to give the driver her address, when she made a spur-of-the-moment decision and instead gave him the address of her mystery man–an address that was, somehow or other, embedded in her brain.
Not that she planned on ringing his bell: she just thought she might take another look at the building where she’d spent the night and lost her virginity.
Why not? She had nothing else to do.
Lady Jane continued putting her time alone to good use. If Red Diamond wished to treat her as if she was dispensable, she would do whatever it took to protect herself.
On Saturday night he did not come home, so on Sunday she resumed her investigation of his private domain, printing out several e-mails from Red to Roth Giagante at the Magiriano Hotel in Las Vegas requesting that he pressure Chris to pay his debt, and other e-mails from the two banks Red
had forced to withdraw from Max’s building project.
She discovered nothing new about Jett, except a detailed report from the rehab clinic in Italy.
For a fleeting moment she felt sorry for the three young men. Having Red as a father must have been a hideous experience. And yet they’d all managed to survive and do well. At least, two of them had–who knew how Jett had turned out?
She had no idea why Red had summoned them to a meeting on Monday morning. He was probably going to inform them they were inheriting nothing, and because he was Red Diamond, he wanted to tell them personally. That way he could watch them cringe.
Red Diamond was exactly what everyone said he was. A true bastard.
Max decided there was no way in hell he was giving Mariska blood money to get rid of Vladimir Bushkin. If she swore to him that the marriage papers were fake, then he would take it up with the authorities and have Vladimir deported. Yes, that was what he’d do and, by God, she’d better not be lying.
He went over to her apartment on Sunday morning. Irena, her personal maid, opened the door and let him in. ‘Is she around?’ he asked.
‘I get her,’ Irena muttered.
A few minutes later Mariska came into the living room. She seemed unusually pleasant, and since this was not a happy occasion, he knew she must be up to something. ‘Do you have the money?’ was the first thing she asked.
‘I never agreed to bring money,’ he answered.
‘Yes, you did,’ she said, the good mood fast slipping away.
‘No, I didn’t,’ he said sharply. ‘Where’s Lulu?’ he added. He didn’t want his little daughter overhearing their conversation.
‘Out with her nanny.’
‘Let me explain why I’m here,’ he said, trying to keep his temper under control. ‘The next time Vladimir comes to my office, I’m calling in detectives and having him arrested for extortion.’
‘You cannot do that,’ Mariska argued, her demeanour turning positively icy.
Lovers & Players Page 21