Then I beeped the phone off and threw it on the chair.
Then I deep breathed and I did it for a long time.
Then Lash walked in and asked, “Who was it, babe?”
I looked to my fake boyfriend, smiled bright and lied, “Nobody.”
Then I walked out of our fabulous living room through our fabulous French doors to our fabulous flower bedecked cool deck around our fabulous pool and I grabbed the hose and recommenced watering.
Chapter Twenty-One
Artillery
Two days later…
I was at the club, sitting at the way back around the corner of the bar, three stools next to me empty, Brutus standing against the wall guarding me.
Unfortunately, he needed to do this. I hadn’t danced for long and I hadn’t danced in a while but still, Rue the burlesque dancer was Vegas legend.
And I worked the house.
This meant I hired, fired, scheduled and managed the waitresses, the bartenders, the bar and the floor.
Part of me managing the floor was getting tricked out every night, putting on amazing dresses that exposed a fair amount of flesh (in a classy way, I thought, and so did Lash considering he chose and bought all my dresses for me), high-heeled, fuck-me shoes and expensive jewelry. Often, I wandered the floor smiling, touching men’s arms, shoulders, hands, leaning down and brushing their knees or the outside of their thighs with my fingertips all the while inspecting their tables and the state of their drinks. If they were half done, I’d give the high sign to a scantily clad waitress and convince them with a practiced, come-hither smile that even though they were only halfway done with their drink, they needed another one.
I sold a tremendous amount of booze. Lash told me that within a month of me taking over the floor, the bar’s turnover doubled.
This was why he paid me a shitload and kept me in amazing dresses, shoes and jewelry. This and the fact that the waitresses and bartenders worked his nerves, they were always screwing each other then getting in fights, breaking up and taking that shit to work. When I took that off his shoulders, he was beside himself.
This was also because he adored me.
So I was visible. You paid your money, there was a chance you’d still see Rue. She wouldn’t be dancing on the stage in high heels with fans but it was better. She would be working the crowd and she might come close, you might see those bedroom eyes, that hair and that smile right in front of you and, if you were lucky, she might touch you.
Men were pretty stupid on the whole, I thought. Dropping that kind of money to see women dance nearly naked (that said, Lash’s girls were the shit, no one in Vegas was better than them and even I had to admit there was an immense sensual beauty to it) and getting wound up because some woman touched your thigh and bent over so you could look down her cleavage.
I mean, really?
Whatever. It kept Lash in the lap of luxury and Lash kept me in the lap of luxury so who was I to complain?
“Ivey, beautiful, got a sign from Patrick,” Brutus said in my ear, hand on the flesh at the small of my back exposed by the low dip of my dress. “May be trouble across the floor. Gonna give him backup. Be right back.”
I looked from the notes I was making on the schedule on the bar, a martini glass filled with straight up cranberry juice next to it, twisted my neck and smiled over my shoulder at him, giving a nod.
His hand pressed lightly into my back and then he moved through the tables across the floor.
My head bent and I went back to my schedule.
I liked it back here. The lighting was dim and it seemed far from the crowd. It was the farthest place in the room from the stage so no one wanted back here. With Brutus at his post, the darkness, the distance from the stage which was why everyone paid to be there in the first place, I had privacy.
Not that night.
I would learn this ten seconds after Brutus left when a voice came in my ear.
“Do not stick your nose in with Cody.”
My neck twisted and I stared in shock at Buddy Sharp standing next to me wearing a hard expression, his eyes glittering mean even in the dim light.
Yes, Buddy Sharp.
What the fuck?
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“Small town. Word travels. Janie’s a stupid bitch. I know she’s called you. Do not stick your nose in that business with Grayson Cody.”
I felt something snake across my skin, it wasn’t good. In fact it was really, really bad.
He’d come to Vegas to warn me off personally. He lived in Colorado, not Italy but still, it wasn’t an hour’s drive.
And I did not think this boded well. I didn’t know what it boded but I had the distinct impression something was going on, something I didn’t know or get and it was something very, very bad.
Very, very bad for Gray.