‘’Fraid not. Signed, sealed, an’ delivered.’
‘I could be your manager then,’ Kev ventured, not prepared to give up. ‘That’d work. I’d be a kick-ass manager.’
‘Got one of those,’ Billy said, wondering where this was going.
‘I need a job, Billy,’ Kev said, suddenly becoming quite serious. ‘Gotta pay alimony to that cooze I was married to for five minutes. An’ I got debts up the kazoo in New York. I figured if I came back to L.A. you’d be able to hook me up . . .’
‘No worries,’ Billy said, remembering the days he’d slept on Kev’s floor when he was stone cold broke with no future prospects. ‘I’ll come up with something.’
‘You will?’ Kev said, his face brightening.
‘Leave it t’me,’ Billy assured him. ‘There’s no way I’d ever leave you hangin’.’
And with that they entered the VIP lounge, where Billy was besieged by even more autograph requests and adoring females.
* * *
And while Billy was catching a plane, Venus was catching up with her Brazilian stud from her photo shoot. His name was Jorge, and he was quite a specimen.
The moment he sauntered into her apartment, macho strut going full force, smoky eyes sending out major sex signals, she was ready for action. Venus had never been slow about coming forward.
Jorge wasn’t quite sure what had hit him. One moment he was a penniless wanna-be model working as a busboy at Cecconi’s who’d been in L.A. less than a month, and the next he was plucked from obscurity by a randy old agent who’d gotten him the gig on the Venus photo shoot. And before he knew it, Venus had invited him to Vegas for the weekend, and now here he was.
Venus greeted him with kisses on each cheek as she led him into her sumptuous apartment at The Keys. It was quite a place – all white leather furniture and luxurious throws. A giant Buddha sitting in the hallway welcomed guests. Low lighting cast a magical glow, for Venus had all the shades drawn shut. Incense-infused candles wafted into the atmosphere.
They hadn’t made love yet, but they both knew it was inevitable.
Venus did not believe in wasting time. After Jorge was in her apartment for a few minutes she said, ‘Come with me, I’ll show you the bedroom.’ Taking his hand, she led him to her bed, and without words they both began stripping off their clothes. Jorge took a moment to catch his breath when he saw Venus naked. She was magnificent.
‘Do something!’ she commanded.
Jorge jumped to attention, manhandling her breasts before pushing her onto the bed in a take-charge kind of way, a move she was definitely into. His nude body hovered over her like a falcon trapping its prey, before plunging into her, keeping up a mind-blowing series of thrusts for a full twenty minutes.
Their sexual encounter was a marathon of tongues and wetness and acrobatic positions. It was all that she’d hoped for and more, for what Jorge lacked in technique, he made up for with pure brute strength, and a staggeringly beautiful uncircumcised cock. Jorge was a stud and then some, plus his lack of English only heightened the excitement she experienced.
When they were finally done, Venus decided she couldn’t be more delighted with her new plaything. He far surpassed her two previous conquests. She couldn’t wait to put him on parade.
Screw you, Billy Melina. I have officially moved on.
* * *
The landing in Vegas was extremely bumpy. Tightly strapped into her seat, Max seriously considered the possibility of the plane crashing and them all facing a fiery death. Or maybe only Denver would suffer a fiery death, and she and Bobby would be miraculously saved.
Yes, that was a way cool scenario. Billy would hear about the crash and rush to her side, full of apologies for the shitty way he’d treated her. Then they’d immediately run off and get married at one of those crazy wedding chapels with an Elvis Presley lookalike officiating.
Cool. Bobby would be their best man. And Harry’s deejay friend would come up with a major badass soundtrack for the occasion.
She giggled at the thought.
The plane touched down, skidded along the runway, and finally shuddered to a stop. No fiery death for anyone today.
Bobby unclicked his seatbelt and came over to her. ‘Glad to see you’re smiling,’ he said, bending over her seat. ‘It’s going to be a great weekend. No fighting – right, sis?’
Little did he know the reason she was smiling. Denver was dead. Billy was back on the scene. And all was well in the world.
‘Sorry, Bobby,’ she said meekly. ‘You’re right, it’s gonna be a way cool weekend. And I promise I’ll behave.’ Her smile widened. Not!!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lucky took the power position behind her desk, with Danny somewhere behind her getting ready to take notes on his computer. Jeffrey was seated across from her.
She gave Armand a long cool stare as he entered her office. What she saw was an arrogant man, impeccably dressed, not bad-looking, with a small neat moustache and cold hard eyes. The man accompanying him was much lower key, and seemed slightly uncomfortable. Lucky considered herself an expert at reading body language, and she immediately got it – Armand Jordan was the boss, and Fouad Khan his faithful lackey.
After announcing the names of the two men, Jeffrey said, ‘May I present Miz Santangelo.’
Armand did not proffer his hand. Instead he gave her a dismissive nod of his head, making no eye contact.
Fouad spoke up. ‘It is a pleasure to meet such an accomplished businesswoman,’ he said, causing Armand to shoot him a furious glare.
Lucky did not miss the energy passing between the two men. It seemed that Fouad was happy to be present, while Armand was certainly not.
‘Thank you,’ she said, picking up a silver letter-opener with the inscription Never fuck with a Santangelo. Bobby had given it to her last Christmas – a reminder of the family motto. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said coolly. ‘Kindly take a seat.’
‘We should get down to business,’ Armand said, addressing Jeffrey as he sat stiffly in a high-backed leather chair. ‘I have no time to waste. I am sure neither do you.’
Lucky was amused at this man’s obvious difficulty in dealing with a female presence. She’d encountered men like him before. Men who were basically scared shitless by powerful women. Men whose balls shrivelled at the mere hint of a female being in charge. Men who always had to pay for it, otherwise they were incapable of getting it up.
Ah yes, she’d come across men like Armand Jordan many times. They were unemotional pathetic creatures who obviously needed help.
It occurred to her that Jeffrey should never have requested that she attend this meeting, for she had no intention of venturing into any deals at all with the arrogant asshole who sat before her. First of all she didn’t need his money, and secondly she certainly didn’t need his sexist attitude.
‘There is really nothing concrete to discuss,’ Jeffrey said, instantly realizing that there was no way Lucky would ever enter into business with Armand Jordan. This meeting was useless, and he’d better wind it up as quickly as possible, because knowing Lucky, there was no doubt she would bring up the hooker incident if she felt in the mood to embarrass Armand. ‘Mr Khan requested a meeting regarding future financing of any major projects that Miz Santangelo might want to proceed with,’ Jeffrey continued. ‘He thought it prudent that the principles got together, and I agreed. However—’
‘Fouad must have given you the wrong impression,’ Armand said, rudely interrupting, while still not addressing Lucky directly. ‘I am not here to talk about future financing. I am here today to purchase The Keys. And furthermore, I am prepared to pay whatever it takes to do so.’
Lucky flashed Jeffrey a look that said, Are you fucking kidding me?
Fouad sank deeper into his chair.
Danny glanced up from his laptop, well aware there was about to be trouble. He knew better than anyone how Lucky hated to waste time, and this meeting was definitely a huge time-waster.
‘There has no doubt been a big misunderstanding,’ Jeffrey said, adjusting his glasses. ‘I made it perfectly clear when Mr Khan visited my offices in New York that The Keys was not in any way for sale.’ Jeffrey turned to Fouad. ‘Isn’t that so?’
Fouad fidgeted uncomfortably and went to say something, but Armand silenced him with a shake of his head.
‘I’m not sure that you are hearing what I am saying,’ Armand said, speaking very slowly as if dealing with a backward child. ‘I wish to buy The Keys, and I will pay whatever it takes. This is not a negotiation, it is an offer you cannot refuse.’
Finally Lucky spoke up. ‘Really?’ she questioned, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Armand made the mistake of continuing to ignore her, once more addressing Jeffrey. ‘I have no time to waste,’ he said abruptly. ‘This deal has to take place immediately.’
‘Why the urgency?’ Lucky asked, playing with him.
‘My lawyers in New York are waiting for your call,’ Armand said to Jeffrey. ‘I expect you to make that call today.’
‘Mr Jordan,’ Lucky said, willing him to look at her. ‘Although I realize that you are totally delusional, I think it’s about time I set you straight.’
‘Excuse me?’ Armand said coldly. ‘Are you addressing me?’
‘The Keys is not on the market for you or anyone else,’ Lucky said, her tone as sharp as an ice pick. ‘Whatever the offer.’
Armand threw her a severe look. His lip curled, exhibiting his distaste at having to speak to a woman about business. It was quite obvious to him that she was merely a figurehead, and that Jeffrey Lonsdale was running the show.
‘Excuse me?’ he repeated, annoyed that a mere female would have the audacity to address him in such a brazen fashion.
‘Are you from America, Mr Jordan?’ Lucky asked, beginning to suspect that he must hail from some far off country with antiquated ideas about women.
‘Of course I am an American,’ he answered sharply.
Who exactly did this whore think she was? How dare she question him? She was so far beneath him it was ridiculous. If they were in Akramshar he would have had her thrown into jail for exhibiting such blatant disrespect.
‘I bet you weren’t born here though, were you?’ Lucky continued, going on a hunch.
‘Mr Jordan is originally from the Middle East,’ Fouad said, attempting to smooth things over. ‘He became a naturalized U.S. citizen at the age of eight.’
Armand could not believe what he was hearing. Fouad shooting his mouth off as if he, Armand Jordan, was auditioning for this audacious cunt. Fouad needed shutting up and fast. ‘We’re wasting valuable time,’ he said, making a controlled effort not to lose his temper. ‘Surely you realize that my offer is too good for you to turn down? I am telling you to name your price.’ So do it, bitch. Do it now.
Lucky raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Telling me?’
Here it comes, Danny thought. And I for one cannot wait!
Armand refused to back down. Finally locking eyes with Lucky, he repeated his words. ‘Yes,’ he said harshly. ‘Telling you.’
‘Hmm,’ Lucky said, remaining surprisingly calm. ‘Let me give you a piece of valuable advice.’ She picked up the Never fuck with a Santangelo letter-opener, balancing it in the palm of her hand. For one wild moment Danny thought she might stab the man. But she didn’t, she continued talking. ‘This is the deal, Mr Jordan. If you wish to keep doing business in America, then I suggest that you make a supreme attempt to conquer your extremely obvious and very intense fear of women. It makes you seem impotent and weak, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?’
Armand glared at her, trying to imagine her naked, crawling around on all fours while he pissed all over her, for that’s exactly the kind of treatment the cunt deserved.
‘You make it clear why women should be seen and not heard,’ he said at last. ‘How dare you presume to know me. You know nothing about me.’
‘Ah, but I do know that you’re an asshole,’ Lucky said, rapidly losing patience with the game that was taking place.
‘And you,’ Armand replied, his words laced with venom, ‘are nothing but a foolish, impudent woman with an extreme lack of brainpower.’
Jeffrey began to speak – but Lucky silenced him with a wave of her hand.
‘As I said before,’ Lucky said, directly addressing Armand, her blacker-than-night eyes feline and deadly, ‘you’re an asshole with both feet planted firmly in the Dark Ages. So I strongly suggest that we end this ridiculous conversation right now. I repeat for the last time – The Keys is not for sale. Get that into your hooker-riddled head and then get the hell out of my hotel. Oh yes, and finally,’ she added fiercely, ‘those two working women you fucked last night want the money you owe them. So be a man for once and pay up.’
Danny felt like applauding. Who else had a boss as feisty and perfect as Lucky Santangelo? She was unique.
Filled with unmitigated rage, Armand abruptly stood up and marched to the door. Once there he stopped and turned, in spite of Fouad trying to manoeuvre him out. Glaring at Lucky, he spat his final words. ‘I can assure you, bitch, this is not the end, it is merely the beginning of a battle you will eventually lose. So get off your high horse and back into the bedroom where you belong. The Keys will be mine – there is nothing and no one who will stop me owning it. Be warned, because I will do anything to get it. And when I say anything – I do mean anything. And that, my dear, is not a threat, it’s a hard cold fact.’
Lucky rose to her feet, her dark eyes flashing danger signals. She’d had it with this expensively clad douche bag. ‘Get the fuck out of my hotel, moron. And never bother coming back. Because if you ever do, I promise you’ll regret it.’
Before Armand could reply, Fouad managed to hustle him out the door.
As far as Fouad was concerned, this was one deal that would never happen.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Arriving at The Keys, Max felt as if she was coming home, for she knew the place as well as their Malibu house. She’d swum in every pool, availed herself of all the spa facilities, eaten in every restaurant, shopped in every high-end shop, and explored the lush gardens countless times. She had her own suite in the hotel, on a special floor reserved strictly for family and friends.
Lucky’s apartment was off-limits. ‘It’s my haven of peace and quiet,’ Lucky had explained when she’d started spending time in Vegas. ‘It’s a no-kids zone unless invited.’
At first Max was furious when her mom had informed everyone of the rule. But then again – her mom was Lucky Santangelo, and everyone knew that Lucky did things her way. Now Max was totally into the fact that she could come and go as she pleased, and have her friends to stay whenever she wanted. It was a way cool situation, except when her younger brothers were around, Gino junior, and her step-brother, Leonardo. Fortunately the two boys were gone for the entire summer, travelling around Europe with a guardian. It was Lennie’s idea that they got a view of life other than Beverly Hills and Vegas. Max was psyched to be rid of them; they were both younger than her and major annoying, especially when they all ended up having to spend time together in Vegas.
Bobby had arranged to have his Lamborghini waiting for him at the airport, so the moment they arrived he and Denver had taken off. An SUV and driver collected Max, Harry and Paco, and headed straight to the hotel.
‘Are you sure Paco is gay?’ Max whispered to Harry on the drive to The Keys. ‘He doesn’t seem as if he is to me.’
‘Shh . . .’ Harry scolded, his pale face turning bright red. ‘That’s such a random thing to say.’
‘Only asking,’ Max said irritably, thinking that Harry should be a little nicer to her considering she’d got his new friend a ride on Bobby’s plane. ‘No need to throw a fit.’
‘He’s sitting two feet away,’ Harry hissed. ‘For crap’s sake – shut it!’
Oh great. What a birthday this was going to be. Bobby in a mood, plus Harry acting like a dick, no boyfriend,
and Cookie would be all over Mister Cokeaholic when they arrived.
Fantastic fun. She may as well drown herself in one of the pools.
* * *
‘How very thoughtful of you – my favourite car,’ Denver said dryly, as she gingerly lowered herself into the passenger seat of the Lamborghini. ‘I love it because it’s so low key.’
‘Hey,’ Bobby said, with a quick grin. ‘A boy’s gotta have some toys.’
‘And you are such a boy,’ she responded. She couldn’t help laughing, because it was true. At times Bobby could be quite serious, but it was his playful streak she couldn’t resist. The private plane, the fancy car – all big boy toys. He’d never admit it, but he had very expensive tastes.
‘By the way,’ Bobby said, revving the engine, ‘guess who I ran into at the airport in New York?’
‘Hmm, let me see . . . The Pope? The President?’
‘Very amusing.’
‘I try.’
‘Annabelle Maestro.’
‘Oh my God! Not Annabelle,’ Denver said, flashing onto her old school friend who’d always treated her like a poor relation – even though they weren’t related. And when Annabelle’s movie-star mother had gotten murdered, and Denver was involved with defending Annabelle’s famous dad, she’d still gotten treated like the poor relative even though she was a respected attorney with a top Beverly Hills law firm. ‘How is she?’
‘The same entitled bitch on wheels, minus Frankie.’
Now Denver flashed onto Annabelle’s ex – the coke-addicted Frankie Romano, who used to be one of Bobby’s best friends. ‘Well,’ she said, remembering Annabelle’s annoying sense of self-importance, ‘I hardly think it’s likely she’ll ever change. What did she have to say?’
Bobby decided it was prudent not to mention that Annabelle had referred to Denver as ‘some kind of mutt’.
‘Not much,’ he said, sliding into traffic. ‘Carrying on about that book she got published.’
‘Oh yes, My Life – A Hollywood Princess Tells All. What a crock of shit!’
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