King:Las Vegas Bad Boys(5)

Especially when I spend my nights in clubs until four a.m., sleep till  mid-afternoon, and don't even need to hire the strippers who dance for  me ... let's just say our life visions thus far haven't quite  intersected.

Geoffrey and Fiona should be enough for my parents, but they aren't. Mum  and Dad insist, constantly, on calling and asking me to join them in a  wet weekend at home with them in England, sipping the nostalgic tea of  my childhood.







"Well, listen, son-Geoffrey and I-"

"Dad, did you you really ring to tell me about your golden boy?"

"No, Landon, I called to invite you to an important family summit this weekend."

"A summit?" I have no idea what he is talking about. "So we've graduated  from annual family meetings, to full-on summits, have we? Is this a  ploy to get me to join the family business?"

"Basically, yes."

I don't answer because I have no fucking clue what I'm supposed to say.

"Landon, you there?"

"I'm here."

"Listen, I need you here next week. I am retiring. And I need to pass the family business on to one of my boys."

My chest tightens. Retirement? I'd always assumed it was in the far-away  future for my father, although my mum has been prodding him to take a  step back from he empire for years. But retire now? Passing on the  business? This I did not expect.

"You're passing it on to Geoffrey?"

"Don't assume anything, Landon. I haven't made up my mind. You and  Geoffrey have equal holdings in the company now, but I need one man's  name on the paper. The president and CEO. Need one of my sons in charge;  I'm not interested in passing on The King's Diamond to some willy-nilly  chap who's been working up the corporate ladder. No. I want one of my  boys to take over what was once a small enterprise."

"But doesn't Geoffrey work for you now? Surely he's the front-runner. This seems like an unnecessary step, really."

"No," my father says sternly. "I haven't given anything to Geoffrey.  Sure, he has experience with this business ... but I need my successor  to really care about people. To care about each diamond, and whose hand  will wear that wedding ring or that necklace, to know why each purchase  is special, signifies love and commitment."

This is the point where my father can drone on and on for days about  diamonds representing something solid, unbreakable. Representing love.  How The King's Diamond is more than a jewelry store, how it's an  opportunity to be a part of the greatest moments of someone's life.

He's still talking, and I try to concentrate, mostly hung up on the fact  that he's considering me as his successor. Is he serious?

"You know how much I want you to succeed," he says. "I want you to put  some real heart into your life. Well, I need you to come home and show  me what sort of man you are."

I'm grateful that my father hasn't learned what Face Time is, or he'd  see my aggressive eye roll, notice the way my fingers grip the steering  wheel.

Is this is motherfucking joke?

"Do you know me at all, father?" I snort.

"I do, Landon. At least, I know what sort of boy you were, before this  mess. Before your stint in rehab, before you ran off with that dancer.  Before you landed in Vegas for the past several years drinking and  gambling away my money."

The call goes silent. My jaw clenches as I listen to his recounting of  my early twenties. I don't need him reminding me of my past.

"But I don't think that's who you are anymore. Or, at least, I believe  in you, son. Now, I want you to come home and show me what sort of man  you are."

I don't want to fight with him. He isn't that macho-aggressive sort of  man, the kind who bullies and pushes to get what he wants. My father is a  good man, and he seems to see something in me.

But I don't know why.

"Look, I'll think about, but things are busy here, I don't know if  leaving in a few days is gonna work," I tell him. The last thing I want  to do is show up in Hertfordshire and remind everyone what a fucking  failure I am.



In the gym, sweat runs down my back. McQueen's personal trainer JoJo has given me a run for my fucking money.

Throwing the boxing gloves on a bench, I grab a towel.

"You're a beast. You know that, right?" I ask her.

"That's what all the boys say," she teases. Her long, red hair is wild  and free, and from the body in her tight little shorts, I can tell she's  strong. Fierce. I won't mess with a woman like her.

McQueen though, doesn't know what's good for him.

"So, you wanna come to a poker game tonight?" he asks her.

"Hey," I say, punching him in the shoulder. "What the fuck? That's a men-only game."

"But JoJo is one of the guys," he says, shrugging.

I see JoJo stiffen at the assessment, and I try to read the silent language going on between them. I can't tell who wants whom.

"JoJo is most certainly not one of the guys." And she's not. Her little tits are perky and her ass is tight.







"Fine." McQueen smiles coyly. "We'll hit it a different night, JoJo. Maybe you can come over and teach me some new moves."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" she says, laughing, waving us off toward the locker rooms.

"What the hell was that?" I ask him, as I open the locker where my things are stashed.

"The hell was what?"

"Do you have a thing for JoJo?" I ask. "She's not your type, at all."

"What the fuck do you know about my type?"

"I know you usually go out with women you meet at your shows. Not girls like JoJo."

McQueen is a male dancer and DDs aren't even on his radar. He likes big, plastic, and usually more than one at a time.

"I'm just teasing JoJo, and she knows it."

"Alright." I shrug.

We split up to get showered. After I change quickly, I sling my bag over  my shoulder. McQueen comes over, ready to go, and tosses me a bottle of  water.

"You hear from Ace today?" I ask. "The game still on for tonight?

"Yeah, he and Emmy got home last night from Tahiti. Lucky bastard."

We leave the gym, and head to our cars in the parking lot.

"What, you want to go to Tahiti? You should fucking go," I tell him. Living in the moment is my motto.

"Naw, he's lucky he has Emmy. I don't know. Maybe I'm done being a  fucking asshole in this town. Maybe it's time to find myself a woman."

"Like JoJo?" I ask, grinning.

"No. Not JoJo ... she's too...."

"Confident?"

"Maybe," McQueen admits, laughing. "I don't know. What about you? You wanna go to Tahiti with a woman?"

"Actually, my father wants me to go to bloody England next week."

"Really, bro?"

I fill him in on my father's phone call, and I can see the wheels turning in McQueen's dumbass brain.

"So what are you gonna do? Pretend you're no longer a player? Fly home and convince them you deserve the billion dollar empire?"

"I don't think I can pull that off. I mean, what? I buy a three-piece  suit and drop the f-bombs? I don't want to go home; it will only remind  me of why I left."

We get in our cars. We'll meet up later for Ace's monthly poker game.

Fuck. I gotta get my head in the game. It's just I'm not entirely sure what game that is.





Claire


Getting dinner and drinks with Emmy and Tess is the sort of indulgence I  rarely give myself. I want to go ... but Mom-guilt is a bitch.

"You sure, Mom?" I just put Sophia to bed. It's a school night and seven  o'clock means that girl is out for the count. Still, I feel bad leaving  her here with my mom for something that isn't necessary.

"Claire, go," Mom says. "Sophia is sleeping, and you're all tense, have  been for weeks. I'm just going to have some boxed wine and watch Bravo.  Not missing much here." Mom opens the fridge and pours herself a glass  of Pinot Grigio from the second shelf.

"It won't be late or expensive. Emmy says she has comp tickets for us at  the hotel's new restaurant, Moxie, and then we'll have drinks in her  penthouse after. She has wedding pictures to show us."

"Great," Mom says. "And you look nice. Except, maybe...."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe change your top. It's a little ... frumpy. And the shoes, too."

"Mom? Seriously?" I shake my head. I know my wardrobe isn't up to par  with the women she watches on Real Housewives, but it isn't frumpy. I  have on black boots, a black stretchy dress, and a jean jacket on top.  Jean jackets are my lifesaver. They go with everything and they sell  them at Target.

"I just think denim is a little casual, is all."

I smile tightly. Mom is so clueless about well, everything. She has no  grasp on the reality of me working paycheck to paycheck. How I can't  shop for Roberto Cavalli stilettos and designer dresses for dinner out  with my girlfriends.

She's amazing with Sophia. Beyond amazing. Mom being able to take care  of her so I can work means so much. I just wish ... well, I wish an  awful lot.

But specific wishes in regard to my mom? I guess when my dad died, ten  years ago, Mom never considered looking for a job herself. She's lived  off his life insurance all this time, but now it's nearly gone. And  she's never had a legit job in her life.