Hustler (18 page)

Disconnecting our lips, I back away with our hands still connected. Her eyes open, hazy and dazed. My job here is done.

“Thanks for your time, Miss Prescott. It was a pleasure as always.” With a wink, I turn away from her and press forward toward my private elevator, all the while thinking how my intentions were to leave her wanting more. So why the hell was I the one desperate for her to spend the rest of the day with me, her lips on mine and our limbs tangled?

Like father, like son
.

The words ring heavily in my head.

Never going to happen
, I try to convince myself.

**NELL**

God, I am so stupid. I ignorantly let down my walls for just a fraction of a second, giving Gavin the perfect opportunity to climb in, only to watch in bewilderment as he closed himself off, pasting that arrogant persona back into place.

That goddamned mask he wears like a protective shield pisses me the hell off. Or maybe it’s not a shield, maybe that’s just the real him, and I idiotically let myself believe, for just a second when I
thought
I saw something in his eyes, that there was more to him. And like a dumbass, I’ve spent the past two days thinking of nothing but our poolside encounter… mainly the kiss that followed. I wanted to punch myself in the face for being such an idiot.

“Nell!” Page shouts as she bursts into my bedroom like a bat out of hell.

“Uh, right here, psycho,” I tell her from my place on the bed. “No need to yell the house down.”

“I need your help. And you aren’t going to like it, but I’m desperate and if you don’t help me the world will end. California will fall into the ocean—not that it’ll really be that much of a loss—volcanoes will erupt all over Earth, and nuclear missiles will explode in their silos.”

Ah, my sweet Page. When she isn’t being an incurable romantic, she’s a drama queen that could put every cross-dresser on the Strip to shame. “You know, you had me at California falling into the ocean, but you went too far with the missiles.”

“I’ll be sure to tone it down next time,” she replies drolly. “So are you going to help me or not?”

“Well I don’t know,” I answer sarcastically. “Seeing as you haven’t told me what the hell you need my help with yet. I’m inclined to say yes right off the bat, simply because I love you, but for all I know, you’re asking for the privilege of naming my first-born child. How can I trust you wouldn’t pick some God-awful name like Finius or Buckwheat? I just can’t allow that. You understand.”

Sarcasm is my go-to reaction whenever Page goes all dramatic, it’s a sure-fire way to calm her hyper ass down.

“Ha. You know I totally plan on naming your kid Brussel Sprout. But that’s not what I need. I was called in to cater a private dinner party. It was last minute and one of the waiters I usually bring in to help with these things has the flu. Can you help me?” She clasps her hands in front of her and begins hopping from foot to foot. “Pretty
pleeeeeeeeeease
.”

“What do I have to do?”

“I just need you to act as my runner for the evening, bringing out the food and all that stuff. I have another girl that will handle the actual waitressing. You won’t have to do anything other than set the plates down and keep me company in the kitchen. Kim will handle everything else.”

I give her an easy shrug. “Sure, sounds simple enough. Where’s the dinner party?”

It’s with that question that her face takes on a sheepish expression. “Hotel Paragon.”

The hairs on my arms stand on end as I ask, “And who’s hosting this party?”

She cringes, actually cringes, as she says, “Gavin Saint.”

“Oh come on!” I shoot to my feet and slam my hands on my hips. “You’ve got to be kidding. It’s like this guy’s invading every aspect of my freaking life! I can’t get him out! He’s like… he’s like…” it takes me a second to come up with a good enough analogy, then I hit money, “…toenail fungus!”

“Really?” Page gives me a blank stare. “That’s the comparison you’re going with? The dude you’ve traded spit with,
more than once”
—I never should have told her about the damned pool— “that has you throwing vibrators hard enough to dent drywall is like
toenail fungus
?”

“Yes,” I snap.

“All right,” she sighs, beginning to turn toward the door. “I was going to
pay you
, but if you’re dead set on staying as far away from him as possible, I guess I’ll have to find someone else to help me out.”

“Whoa,” I grab the hem of her shirt to halt her steps. “Let’s not be hasty here. I mean, I didn’t exactly say
no
…”

Spinning around, Page grins widely. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“How much money we talking?”

“My rate for last minute private events is pretty steep. How about three hundred for the night? It’s easy money and only four hours tops. You can’t beat that.”

She’s right, I definitely can’t. And it will help having that extra money to send to my folks back home, that’s for sure.

“Okay, I’m in.”

With a squeal loud enough to pierce my eardrums, she pulls me in for a hug. Tomorrow night I’m going to be serving drinks and food to Gavin and a bunch of his rich, entitled friends.

For some reason, my gut’s telling me this might not be the best idea. We’ve been dancing around each other for way too long now, something I’ve been refusing to acknowledge building more with each passing day.

One of these days, it’s bound to explode. And I have a feeling that day is coming soon. And I’m
definitely
not prepared for the aftermath.

***

My chest is tight as I make my way through the parking lot, the sun beating off the concrete causing hot beads of perspiration to dot across my forehead in a matter of seconds. My body is sore, but it’s the pain in my chest that hurts the worst. It’s like my soul’s been battered so badly I can physically feel it. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. How many more auditions I can go on, how many more times I can hear that I’m just not good enough, before it finally becomes too much.

All my life, all I’ve ever been good at was gymnastics. It was my passion, the one and only thing that carried me through the hard times. And growing up poor, there were
a lot
of hard times. I knew I wanted to use my skills to do something with my life, but I never wanted to
compete
. I didn’t care about gold medals, or proving I was better than anyone else. That was the one aspect I’d disliked the most. I just wanted to
perform
. And when I saw the glossy pictures of La Magie du Cirque’s performers in a magazine while standing in the checkout line of the supermarket my sophomore year of high school, I just
knew
.
That
was what I was meant to do with my life, with my passion.

And since moving away from the only home I’ve ever known, it’s been three steady years of one rejection after another. I’ve all but given up on believing it will ever happen to me. I click the unlock button on my key fob and climb into my car, turning it on and cranking the AC as high as it will go as I just sit there, staring at nothing, trying to figure out what I could have done better during that audition. I lose track of how much time has passed when the sharp trilling ring of my cell phone pulls me out of my head and back into reality.

Digging my phone from my purse, I swipe my finger across the screen and hold it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, peanut,” my Dad’s deep, soothing voice resonates through the line and I can’t help but smile, despite the additional pang I feel in my chest at the sound of it. God, I really miss my parents.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“How’d the audition go? You blow ‘em away?” Of course he’d remember I had another audition. He and my mom were my biggest supporters. If they could, they’d probably be at every audition, cheering and holding up signs among the empty seats in the audience.

“Didn’t get it,” I tell him quietly, disappointment filling the empty space behind my ribs.

“Aw, honey, I’m sorry. You’ll knock ‘em dead next time. I just know it. You’re the best I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

A small laugh works its way up my throat. “You have to say that. You’re my dad.”

“Doesn’t matter if I’m your dad when it’s a fact.” I want to tell him that it’s not a fact, that if it were, I’d have gotten a spot with La Magie du Cirque years ago, but I can’t bring myself to burst my parents’ bubble. Honestly, I think one of the only reasons I haven’t called it quits, packed my shit, and crawled back home with my tail between my legs yet is because of their belief in me. They sacrificed so much my entire life so I’d be able to do what I love, I can’t stand the thought of disappointing them.

“How are things there?” I ask, changing the subject. “How are you and Mom?”

“Well…” At the sound of his voice trailing off, my stomach plummets to my feet, the air conditioning hitting my face suddenly feels like needles pricking my skin.

“What’s going on?” I push.

“Your mom was in an accident—”

“
What
?” I shout, nearly crushing the phone in my grip as panic courses through me.

“Now, hold on there just a minute, peanut. She’s fine. She’s gonna be just fine.”

“What happened? Tell me everything,” I demand to know.

“She was in a car accident,” he begins to explain, and the sweat on my brow returns with a vengeance. “The tires on the car were a little worn and we haven’t really had the money to replace ‘em. She hit a pothole on the way to work and had a blowout. The car swerved and hit a tree. Your mom broke her arm, but other than that, she’s just fine. More angry about the damned car being totaled than anything else,” he laughs lightly, and I know he’s trying to infuse humor into the situation to keep me from losing my mind completely.

“Daddy…” I whisper brokenly into the phone as I lean forward and rest my head against the steering wheel, my eyes clenched shut tightly against the onslaught of tears threatening to fall.

“Oh, baby girl,” he says quietly, knowing I’m struggling at this very moment. “It’s all goin’ to be okay. I promise.”

“I’m coming home,” I croak past the emotion clogging my throat. “You guys need me there. I’m not helping being so far away. I need to be with you.”

“You are not,” he says adamantly. “You’re stayin’ right where you are and livin’ your dream. Mom and I will be just fine. There’s no need in you gettin’ yourself all worked up over this.”

“How can you say that?” I cry, shooting up straight. “You guys couldn’t afford to replace worn tires. Now the car is totaled, Mom’s hurt, and there’s no telling how long she’ll be out of work because of this! I’m no use to you guys here. You need me
there
!”

“I can say that because I’m the parent,” he says in an almost reprimanding tone. “And because it’s
our
place to take care of
you
. Not the other way around. You already do too much for us as it is. We aren’t lettin’ you give that up, you hear me? We’re so damned proud of you, peanut. We wake up proud every single day for the simple fact we gave birth to such a lovin’, devoted, strong-willed daughter, and I’m not gonna hear of you givin’ up your life to come back here. That’s not the person we raised you to be.”

“You raised me to take care of my family,” I argue. “To help in any way I can. I’m not doing that from all the way in Vegas.”

“Oh, but baby girl, you are,” he whispers. “Just knowin’ you’re strivin’ for what you want makes our hearts strong. If that’s not takin’ care of us, I don’t know what is.”

I lose the battle with my tears and allow them to fall freely. “I miss you guys so much,” I choke out.

“And we miss you, too. But it’s not like we’re worlds away, it’s only a few states.”

“A few states
is
worlds away when none of us can afford to get back to each other.”

“You don’t go worryin’ yourself about that,” he says in a way that makes it sound as though he’s got it all figured out.

“How am I supposed to stop worrying, Daddy?”

“Like I said, we’re the parents. We’ll get it all figured out. You just take care of yourself out there. And don’t go gettin’ into any trouble, young lady. You might be grown, but you’re still my daughter. I got no problem tannin’ your hide.” I laugh at that, an actual genuine laugh. “And stay away from them foul mouthed rich boys. I hear Vegas is full of that kind. You find yourself a nice boy that’ll treat you good. Or, better yet, just… don’t date at all. That’ll definitely work wonders on makin’ me feel better.” I release another laugh, despite the tears that continue to trickle down my cheeks. If only he knew about Gavin… not that I’d
ever
tell my father about Gavin Saint. That would send him into cardiac arrest for sure. “I love you, peanut,” he tells me in a soft voice.

“I love you, Daddy. Tell Mom I love her too, will you, and that I’ll call soon to check on her?”

“You know I will.”

I disconnect the call, my heart feeling like a lead weight as I begin to cry harder now that I don’t have to worry about my father hearing me. This day has been one long emotional roller coaster, and all I want to do is go home, crawl into bed and sleep until it’s over, hoping tomorrow will somehow be better.

Only, that’s not an option. I don’t have the luxury of spending the next several hours throwing myself a pity party.

Oh no, I get to spend that time waiting on Gavin Saint and his merry band of rich assholes. I suddenly have no idea how I’m supposed to get through tonight without either having a complete mental breakdown, or ripping one of the rich asshole’s heads off.

One thing’s for sure, it’s going to be an interesting evening.

**GAVIN**

Page has been in my kitchen, chopping, sautéing, and stirring to her little heart’s content for at least an hour now. The villa smells like absolute heaven, my table has been decorated with rich purple and navy hues. Silver votive candles reflecting sparks of the dim light come from the ceiling. It’s intimate, bombastic almost, but not in an, ‘in your face’ kind of way. It wreaks of wealth which is what I want, but not because I want to show off my money. I want to make sure the man I invited over for drinks and a spectacular dinner feels at home.