Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 2(11)

Jaime protectively ushered me through the mayhem. He wrapped his strong, manly arm around me, shielding me as I bowed my head. I hoped a photo of the two of us together wouldn’t appear tomorrow on Page Six of the New York Post. I took a calming breath. There were way more intriguing people than me to feature. Like Kim Kardashian, who I’m sure would be here with her entourage or Justin Bieber who was also on the VIP list. Not to mention all the Gloria’s Secret supermodels.

Inside the vast, three-story nightclub, loud, pulsating music blasted while candy-colored lights bounced off a giant disco ball. On the flat screen TV above the U-shaped bar, the Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show was playing; it looked even more dazzling on television. I felt confident the ratings would be sensational.

The place was packed. Beautiful body after body was draped everywhere. Over lounges. Over the bar. Over each other. The smell of marijuana was thick in the air. Kevin found me quickly and ushered me away from Jaime to meet some of the VIPs. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jaime mingling in the crowd. He was turning heads, and before long, a dozen gorgeous supermodel types were fawning all over him. I recognized several of them from our fashion show. Former Jaime Zander fucks?

“Glorious, you look faa-bu-lous!” crooned Kevin, diverting my attention and unfounded jealousy away from Jaime.

“You look great too.” True to himself, he was back to being outrageous. He was wearing an open white peasant shirt over Gloria’s Secret leopard-patterned leggings and combat boots. Kev could one-up Marc Jacobs any day.#p#分页标题#e#

“No one can stop talking about the show. And we’re killing it in the ratings!”

“Thanks to you.” My eyes lit up, though I was feeling a little claustrophobic in this dark, frenetic environment.

He gave me a signature peck on both cheeks. “No, it’s all you. Your dream. Your vision. I just make it happen.”

Kev and I were a great team. He always made things happen—even the one thing we both wanted to forget. We had been through thick and thin. If we could survive our abusive childhoods and the unthinkable crime we’d committed together, we could survive anything.

He took me by the hand and swept me away “Come on, I want you to meet some of the VIPs. Actually, they want to meet you.”

I stole a glance backward and my stomach twisted. Jaime was now chatting with Vivien. They seemed to be having a very intimate conversation. Jaime was hanging on her every word though his expression was impassive. There was no doubt in my mind that Vivien was coming on to him, with her pouts, hair flicks, and hip thrusts. She placed her hands on Jaime’s shoulders and whispered into his ear. Jaime’s eyes grew wide and then a faint smile played on his face. Before either of them could catch my gaze, I turned away and let Kevin lead me deeper into the crowd.

He introducing me to several VIPs that included top models, recording artists, and everyone’s favorite reality TV stars, Snookie included. While I was cordially smiley-faced with all of them, my mind was focused on Jaime and Vivien. What was with them? My eyes searched the pulsing crowd, but I could no longer find them. Had Jaime left with her? My mental ramblings came to a halt when Kevin told me that he had to split and get the charity auction for Rihanna’s diamond-studded bra and thong started. I was not standing alone for long.

“Gloria, lovely to see you.” The cold, affected drawl was unmistakable. Victor Holden, Vivien’s father. My multi-billionaire biggest shareholder and Chairman of the Board.

He cupped his hands on my bare shoulders. His fingers, as usual, were as icy as his voice. With a shiver that shimmied down my spine, I spun around to face him.

Victor was in his mid fifties though his fit body and handsome face made him look at least ten years younger. He was a tall, lean, debonair man with slicked back salt and pepper hair, a permanent tan, and elegant features that included piercing steel gray eyes and an aquiline nose. Wearing an expensive tweed jacket, open-button dress shirt, and well-cut gabardine trousers, he exuded old money. A shrewd businessman, he was known for making vulnerable companies his prey. Many on Wall Street called him “The Vulture.”

His eyes roamed down my body, lingering on places they had no right to be. But he felt he had the right to claim. He was always hitting on me. I was his prey too. I inwardly shuddered as he planted a wet kiss on each cheek.

“Well done today, darling. I’m sure the show will drive first quarter sales. Our shareholders will be pleased.”

“Thank you, Victor.” I hated when he called me “darling.” The less I said to him the better. I always tried to keep it to dollars and cents.