“Any time. I’ll bring the band, and you hit up those billion followers.”
“Ten billion, dude!”
Derek frowned slightly. “…there’s not even ten billion people on the planet, Vic.”
I chimed in with, “It’s a long story.”
“Oh,” he said, then shook my hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”
So, SO embarrassing to meet you.
Then he hugged Vic again. “Good seeing you, brother.”
“Likewise!”
As Derek walked off, Vic whispered in my ear, “You can put your tongue back in your mouth now.”
“Shut up,” I whispered back, totally mortified.
“If you play your cards right, I think you’ve totally got a shot with him,” Vic teased.
“Shut up!” I whispered louder, then added – purely to salvage my own ego – “I don’t care, I don’t even like him that much.”
Vic laughed. “I’d ask you if you were lying, but from the way you were eye-fucking him, I already know the answer.”
“SHUT UP!” I hissed, and smacked his arm.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why don’t you like him?”
“Oh, I don’t know – maybe because he’s a womanizing player?” I snapped, reaching for the one piece of information everybody in the world knew about Derek Kane.
“Hey, I’m a womanizing player, and I’m alright,” Vic said in mock offense.
“No you’re not.”
“No, you’re right, I’m totally AWESOME. But, leaving that aside for a second, why do you hate Derek? Who hurt you, Monica? Who hurt you?”
I couldn’t help but laughing. “I don’t hate him. I just don’t care for him.”
“Do you like his music?”
“I did. Especially ‘Girl Please Stay,’” I said, naming Bigger’s first Top 20 hit.
“You ‘did’?” Vic clarified.
“Not anymore.”
“Since when?”
“Since he went off the rails and screwed over that girl he was dating.”
The same girl, coincidentally, he’d written ‘Girl Please Stay’ about.
“I see somebody reads the tabloids,” Vic said.
“No I don’t.”
“Then how do you know all that?”
“It was all over everywhere,” I said defensively.
“Well, I know my news isn’t as reliable as what you probably get,” Vic said playfully, “but what I heard was that they made up and they’re really good now.”
“Says who?”
“Derek.”
“Whatever. You can’t believe everything a guy like that says.”
“Just like you can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids,” he said, softening it with a jokey tone.
“I don’t read the tabloids,” I snapped.
“Okay, on ‘teh Internetz,’ then.”
I harrumphed. “Well… she still took him back, which makes her an idiot.”
“WOW. Hi, little miss cynic.”
I don’t know why I was being so bitter and belligerent – or maybe I did, considering what had happened just an hour ago with Simon – but the words kept pouring out. “If you’re going to dump a guy, dump him. Follow through and don’t look back.”
“You’re soooo romantic!” Vic teased. “I can see why so many guys fall for you!”
I laughed, realizing how over-the-top I was being. “Fuck you, plenty of guys fall for me.”
“Okay, let me amend that: I can see why so many guys stick around.”
I laughed harder and smacked him in the arm. “FUCK YOU! Asshole.”
He just grinned.
21
I decided to change the subject – fast. “What benefit concert were you talking about?”
“Oh – Derek’s big into supporting breast cancer research.”
“Which is how you bonded, huh. You both like the ta-ta’s,” I said snidely.
“Actually, the bassist’s mom was diagnosed last year and had to do chemo. Derek’s mother was kind of MIA growing up, and Ryan’s mom was like a second mother to him. She’s okay, but it was pretty scary for a while.”
Okay, now I felt like shit.
“But bonding over ta-ta’s – I like the way you think,” he added with a cheesy grin.
Okay, now I didn’t feel so bad anymore.
“How are you friends with so many famous people?” I asked.
“I told you, I got mad skillz,” he said, emphasizing the ‘z’ at the end.
“No you don’t,” I said with an eye roll. “You’re famous for being famous.”
“That’s a mad skill!”
“Right. You and the Kardashians. Mad skills.”
“The Kardashians are severely underrated,” he said, completely serious.
Okay, I like my reality TV as much as the next person – it’s a fun, brainless way to unwind – but seriously, I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.
“WHAT?!”
“Corporations pay billions every year to get their products in front of your face, and the Kardashians do it effortlessly. They built an empire worth hundreds of millions of dollars on basically a sex tape and ambition. That’s mad skillz.”
“My God, you just defended the Kardashians.”
“Don’t be a hater, Monica,” he clucked. “Fame is hard enough.”
I burst out laughing. “Like you would know.”
“I do!” he protested. “Ten billion followers on Instagram!”
I looked at him like Give me a break.
“Hate all you want,” he said, “but here’s the thing you don’t understand: fame is a currency, just like money. You gotta make it to spend it, and once you spend it, you can do a ton of good with it. Or you can waste it. But just like making a lot of money, it’s mo’ fame, mo’ problems. And only famous people can really understand what that’s like.
“A hundred people a day coming up to you who know you, but you don’t know them? Or in Derek’s case, a thousand people a day? You’re surrounded by people who know your name and face, who feel some kind of connection to you, but who don’t know the real you. And you’re pretty sure they wouldn’t like the real you if they did. They know a manufactured image, and that’s what they want, so that’s what you have to keep giving them. You’re constantly performing and not being yourself. Makes you a little crazy.”
“Wow, you’re philosophical,” I said. I sounded a bit sarcastic, but partly that was to cover up the fact that I was impressed. He wasn’t just spouting off about boats and hoes and how great his life was.
Maybe there was more to Vic than met the eye.
“Naaaaw, I’ve just got an awesome beard, that’s all,” he said with a grin, then grabbed my hand. “Let’s dance.”
“NO.”
“What, you don’t dance?”
“I dance, just not with you.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t compromise our love-hate work relationship,” he teased.
“I think you mean our hate-hate work relationship,” I said, though I was joking, too.
“No… deep down, you love me. I can tell.”
“Yeah, RIGHT. You’re drunk.”
“No, you’re drunk. Which is why I can tell – it’s like truth serum.”
“A, I am not drunk, B, there is no truth serum, and C…”
I trailed off as someone unexpected walked up behind Vic.
“C stands for ‘Can’t say you don’t love me because it’s not true’? Huh? Huh?” Vic asked, wiggling his eyebrows – and completely oblivious to his nemesis standing behind him.
“No, I believe she is stunned into silence by me,” said a deep voice with the slightest of Italian accents.
22
Vic whirled around to see Domenico right behind him.
“Oh, I thought I smelled a huge pussy,” Vic said.
I winced. Ugh.
“So crude,” Domenico said, brushing past Vic as he kept his eyes fixed on mine. “No wonder she does
not care for you.”
Vic saw my expression of disgust and tried to justify himself. “I only said it because you didn’t play poker – you totally pu– uh, wimped out. I was looking forward to taking all your money.”
“Because you care only about money. I prefer that which is priceless,” Domenico said as he took my hand and kissed my fingers, never once breaking eye contact. “Incantato as always, bella.”
In my buzzed state, I didn’t quite understand. “Incan…?”
“Or, as the French say, Enchanté,” Domenico added with a dangerous smile.
Domenico had been rude to Simon earlier.
But Simon had turned out to be an ass, so that negated my earlier bad impressions.
And God he was charming and handsome as hell…
“Okay, okay,” Vic said, muscling his way in between us, breaking Domenico’s hold on my hand. “Enough hitting on my assistant.”
That jarred me out of my alcoholic haze.
“I’m not your assistant!” I said indignantly.
“Right, sorry, business associate,” Vic said as he took me by the arm and led me off through the crowd.
“Let go of me!” I snapped, trying to jerk my arm away – but his hold was incredibly strong.
“You should spend less time with assholes, and more time with a real man,” Domenico called out after us.
“Then she should avoid you as much as possible!” Vic yelled.
23
Vic finally let go of my arm once we were clear of Domenico.
“I’m not your daughter, you jerk!” I snapped.
“I know – I would’ve had to hit puberty at two years old.”
I wasn’t having the jokey bullshit. “You don’t get to decide who I talk to and who I don’t!”
He became suddenly serious. “Look, normally I wouldn’t interfere – ”
“Of course you would!”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you don’t like that your uncles hired me to keep you under control, so you’re trying to screw me over!”
“Screw you over?! Who sent you to a nice restaurant with Simon, huh?” he shot back. “Who paid for the meal?”
I stood there in silence. He kinda had me on that one.
Even though Simon had been a total bust, Vic definitely had tried to help me out, not sabotage the date.
“Look,” he continued, “Domenico and I have a long history. I’m sure he’s into you – I mean, who wouldn’t be? – but he’s also doing this to get at me. He’d sleep with you just to fuck with me.”
“THAT’S what bothers you! This is all about you and your oversized ego! You don’t care about me at all!”
“I do care about you,” he said quietly.
The honesty and vulnerability in his voice took me aback.
And it probably freaked him out, because he immediately began qualifying it.
“I mean, I think you’re a cool chick, despite our differences and the whole work thing… but,” he said, gesturing back to the crowd, “if you want to sleep with him, go ahead. I won’t stand in your way.”
I glared at him. “Nobody said I’m going to sleep with him.”
“Jesus, Monica, look at him. Any woman would sleep with him. Not only that, he’s a smooth talker – he knows how to get into your head, and then he’ll be in your panties before you know it. Plus you’re seriously buzzed. I don’t think you’re in the best shape to make decisions right now.” He sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to control you. Just wait until you’re totally sober before you hook up with him, so you know what you’re getting into.”
What he said made a lot of sense… though it seemed horribly hypocritical.
“Yeah. Like all the women you sleep with are sober,” I said snarkily.
“Why do you think I get ‘em drunk?” he joked. “So they have the worst judgment possible.”
I glared at him… but my irritation gave way to amusement. “THAT’S for sure.”
He chuckled. “You don’t have to agree so strongly.”
“Oh, but I do.”
We stood there looking at each other… and as the adrenaline of our little spat faded away, I suddenly felt very tired and very drunk.
“Take me home, please,” I said.
He smiled kindly, put his arm around my shoulders, and guided me towards the door. “You got it.”
24
Vic
By the time we got back to the Mandalay Bay, Monica was fading fast – but when we walked into the elevator, she jerked back to life.
“Oh crap, Simon’s up in my room,” she groaned.
I knew something hinky had gone down between them earlier, but hadn’t called her on it – and I wasn’t about to now.
“You can stay with me,” I offered.
She jerked away from me like I’d just shoved a slug in her face. “I am not staying with YOU.”
“Not ‘WITH me’ with me,” I said, even though that’s kinda sorta what I’d hoped. “I’ve got, like, five bedrooms in my suite. Seriously, just crash out in another room.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to hear you and your hoochies going at it all night.”
“My ‘hoochies’ are long gone. Probably attached themselves at the hip to the first high roller who spent money on ‘em.”
She seemed to consider, but then came up with another objection. “I could just get another room.”
“You could,” I agreed, “but on a Friday night in Vegas, they’re only going to have really expensive ones, or crap. And they’re not going to have any cheap ones here at the Mandalay Bay, that’s for sure.”
I had no idea if what I was saying was true or not, since I always booked the twenty-grand-a-night penthouse (and usually got comped) – but she mulled it over and seemed convinced.
“I’ll have my own room?” she asked warily.
“Of course.”
She kept silent until the elevator opened, and then she relented. “…okay. But no funny stuff!” she said, pointing a finger at my chest.
I laughed. “No funny stuff.”
Once we were inside the penthouse, she looked around in amazement, like a three-year-old seeing a candy store for the first time. She was entranced by the artwork, the plush furniture, the 30-foot high ceiling, the gorgeous view. She dropped her purse on a table, then walked over in front of the gigantic plate-glass window where she stared out at the lights of Vegas.
With all the time I spend in the lap of luxury, I forget that other people aren’t used to the crazy opulence and ten million dollar views. Her reaction was a nice reminder of how lucky I am.
“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured.
“It is,” I agreed as I made my way over to the bar. “You want a nightcap?”
She turned around sharply and narrowed her eyes. “No funny stuff.”
“No funny stuff,” I agreed with a chuckle. “What’ll you have?”
“Do they have bourbon?”
“Of course.”
“Is it good?”
I looked at her like Come on.
“Give me the best you’ve got,” she ordered, and turned back to the window.
“Yes ma’am,” I said playfully.
Once I brought the drinks over, we sat on a plush leather couch and looked out over the twinkling Vegas skyline.
“This is gorgeous now, but it’s gonna be bright in the morning,” she commented.
I reached over to the table beside the couch and picked up a remote. “That’s why we’ve got these things.”
“What?”
“Watch.”
I pressed a button, and slowly the glass began to darken until it became completely black.
“OH MY GOD!” she squealed in delight, and she snatched the remote away from me.
I laughed as she kept making the window transparent then opaque, back and forth, just like a kid with a toy. “Every room’s got a controller like that so you can keep them completely blacked out in the morn
ing.”
“My room’s like that, too?!” she asked gleefully.
“Yup.”
“This is so cool,” she said in awe, then continued to drunkenly play with the window for another minute until she tossed aside the remote. “Hey, I wanna know something.”
“Oooh, sounds serious,” I teased.
“It kind of is.”
“Alright – shoot.”
“All those people who kept coming up to you tonight, asking for your help… why don’t you leverage all that and make some money for what you do?”
“I’m not going to help them out just so two old assholes can make an extra buck.”
“No, no, no,” she said tipsily. “Not for your uncles – for you. Why don’t you strike out on your own? If you can really help all those people succeed, then that’s worth something. They should be willing to pay you for it.”
“I don’t want to ask my friends for money.”
“Well, then, they could cut you in. A small percentage of their company if you really help them out.”
I stopped and thought about that.
Huh…
She went on. “You have so much potential, Vic. I’m gonna be honest, I thought you were a total douchebag when I first met you – ”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Hold on, hold on – but then I saw how easily you connect with people. It’s, like, a gift.”
She was being sincere… so I guess that made me feel a little more comfortable in opening up.
“Well,” I admitted, “I was really only ever good at two things: making friends and playing poker.”
“And I’ll bet the poker part is about being good at reading people. Like, whether they’re bluffing or not.”
“Yeah…”
“So why don’t you actually use those talents – connecting with people the way you do – and go off and start your own thing?”
I looked at her sideways. “Did my uncles put you up to this?”
“No – and I probably shouldn’t even be telling you,” she said as she took another sip of her bourbon. “It’s only ‘cause I’m drunk and my judgment’s impaired.”
“That’s exactly what I want – career advice from somebody whose judgment’s impaired.”
Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2 Page 7