Double Lucky (81 page)

The problem with Max was that she hadn't figured out what she wanted her life to be. But at least she didn't sleep around like Cookie; she had that under control.

As far as sex was concerned, he'd never pushed her to go further than she felt she was comfortable with, although now that she was about to turn eighteen …

Ace was almost twenty-one, and he wasn't about to wait forever for them to take it to the next level. He had his needs, and if Max didn't meet them, then maybe it was time to rethink their situation.

*   *   *

Striding through the airport, Billy attracted major attention. Paparazzi dogged his every step, girls excitedly texted about spotting him, airport personnel treated him like royalty, ushering him and Kev to the front of every line. Of course, Kev loved it; why wouldn't he?

“We should do something together,” Kev suggested, fully basking in the attention.

“Like what?” Billy said, signing autographs for three overweight security women who'd all abandoned their posts and were gazing at him adoringly.

“I dunno,” Kev answered vaguely. “Maybe I could produce your next movie. Like I'm a real winner at dealing with actors an' shit. I could totally nail it.”

Billy knew full well that Kev's social skills were nonexistent, but Kev was a loyal friend, who unfortunately couldn't seem to keep a job, even though he'd tried and failed countless times.

“Producing's not for you, Kev,” Billy said as he was hustled through a private security door with an officious airport escort.

“Then how about I write a script?” Kev said, trailing behind them. “Like, y'know, kinda a buddy-style comedy. Somethin' like
The Hangover
. An' here's the kicker—
you
can star in it.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Billy said briskly, “but I'm booked solid for the next five years.”

Kev's eyebrows shot up. “Holy jeez! Are you shittin' me?”

“'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 serious. “Gotta pay alimony to that cooze I was married to for five minutes. An' I got debts up the wazoo 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 wannabe 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 scent into the atmosphere.

They hadn't made love yet, but they both knew it was inevitable.

Venus didn't believe in wasting time. After Jorge had been 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 he plunged 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 was perfectly 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 look-alike officiating.

Cool. Bobby would be their best man. And Harry's deejay friend would come up with a majorly badass sound track 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 seat belt 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 mustache and cold, hard eyes. The man accompanying him was much more low-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 Ms. Lucky 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 by this man's obvious difficulty in dealing with a strong female presence. She'd encountered men like him before. Men who were basically scared shitless by powerful women. Men whose balls shriveled 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 second, 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 Ms. Santangelo might want to proceed with,” Jeffrey continued. “He thought it prudent that the principles get 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 sunk deeper into his chair.

Danny glanced up from his laptop, well aware that 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 opened his mouth 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. “We're wasting valuable time,” he added, 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, then I suggest 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 brain power.”

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 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.”