Leverage (Part Three)(23)
He let himself in through the back door and bounded up the steps to the private office that now Laird occupied. Vince and Laird were business partners but he'd long since handed the day-to-day operations over to his friend because he was trying to lead a respectable life and hanging around a notorious, ultra private sex club wasn’t exactly conducive to remaining monogamous. Trying to was the operative word. He didn't sleep around — no one could compare to his Emma — but Malvagio was a habit that was hard to quit. Where else could someone enjoy the freak show of human nature without getting their hands dirty? Emma knew he wasn’t messing around but he always got that “look” when he told her was going to drop by the club. He understood why Emma hated the club — long story — which was why he was looking for a buyer but until then, he had to make sure things still ran smoothly. Opening the office door, he found a sloppy drunk Boston sprawled on the leather sofa mumbling to himself and intermittently shouting to no one. He looked to Laird with an amused smirk. “Damn, you weren’t lying. He's all fucked up.” Then he gestured to the prone man. “Gimme a hand putting him in the car.”
Laird nodded and the two hefted the man's dead weight, grunting with the effort. “Dude could stand to lose a few pounds,” Laird grunted. “Lay off the carbs, you know what I mean?”
“Let's just get him into the car,” Vince said as they practically dragged Boston out of the club. Once buckled into the passenger seat Boston groaned and mumbled a name but it was nearly unintelligible. It was going to be a long night.
“When did he arrive at the club?” Vince asked.
“According to the stub, he got there around 11 p.m. and he started drinking the minute he walked through the door.”
“Did he come alone?”
“Yeah and he wasn't interested in any of the girls either. It seemed as if he just wanted to get pissed drunk and nothing else mattered.”
“That doesn't sound like Boston. Not the Boston that I used to know anyway. You did good in calling me. Thanks a lot man.”
“You got it,” Laird said and waved goodbye.
Vince climbed into the car and instead of driving to his house went to the penthouse. Now that Penny lived with Dillon, the penthouse was empty. And thank God the penthouse had an elevator. There was no way in hell he was gonna be able to drag Boston's heavy ass all the way up the stairs. He heaved Boston onto the bed and then left him there, alternately snoring and mumbling. “Sleep it off, buddy,” he said, locking the door as he let himself out. He’d be back in the morning to see what the hell crawled up Boston’s ass.#p#分页标题#e#
The next morning Boston awoke to the mother of all hangovers, the need to vomit, and the realization that he didn’t remember anything past a certain point last night. Oh, and he had no fucking idea where he was. He rose, stiff from sleeping in his clothes, and stumbled from the bedroom to find his old buddy Vince Buchanan sitting in the living room, reading on his iPad while sipping coffee. It took him a few seconds to realize it was Vince who must’ve brought him here.
Vince looked up and grinned. “You look like shit.”
“Feel like it, too. Where am I?” Boston asked, wincing at the sunlight streaming in through the windows. “Is this your place?”
“One of them. You're at the penthouse. There was no way I was dragging your drunk ass home to my wife. She would've fileted you and me alive. So what’s going on?”
Boston closed his eyes. He didn’t want to remember. Vince sighed and put his iPad away. “All right, what's her name?" he asked, going straight to the point. “Don't bother denying it. I’ve been through this before in my own life and I recognize the misery. Only a woman can make a man look like you do.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, feeling like squashed dog shit.
Vince shook his head. “Naw, after dragging your ass out of my club, the least I can do is get a name out of you.”
He supposed he owed Vince that. “Julianna,” he shared, wincing at even saying her name. “Julianna Holly.”
“Nice name. What's the story?”
“C’mon man, cut me some slack. I don't want to talk about it."
“Too bad. You have to know that whatever you're running from isn’t going to get better if you don’t face it.”
Boston gave him a sour look. “And suddenly you're an expert on love? The man who owns a sex club? Give me a break.”
“That was the old Vince. The new Vince is a respectable monogamous guy. Who just happens to own part of a sex club.” He shrugged when Boston rolled his eyes. “It's an important distinction.”