“Sir, Ms. Buchanan, as requested,” the blond security guy says, interrupting Yamada’s joke.
Alexander’s eyes immediately snap in my direction, and the jovial expression that I was just admiring has completely been wiped off his face. His posture even changes and instead of leaning forward toward his friend, he relaxes back against the couch and throws his arms around the women on either side of him, pulling them snug against his sides.
My nostrils flare. That asshole. What’s he trying to do—make me jealous? Ha! Well, I’ll show him that it doesn’t bother me one tiny bit.
I’m here for one reason: To get close to Yamada. I will not allow Alexander King to distract me no matter how ridiculous he looks draped over some random bottle-blondes.
Yamada turns to me and holds out his arms. “Dime Piece! I knew you wouldn’t refuse Yamada! Come give Papa some love.”
I hold back a laugh and an eye roll as I step into his embrace and hug the guy back. “This party is really something. Do you know all these people?”
Yamada pulls back and then places his hands on his hips as he surveys the filled space. “No, but the bitch—”
“Bitches love Yamada,” Alexander cuts him off. “I’m sure you’ve told her that one already.”
I curl my lip at Alexander. “He can tell me again if he wants. You shouldn’t be a complete asshole and cut people off like that. It’s rude, and you’ve got a bad habit of doing it.”
Alexander’s eyes narrow at me. He hates when I belittle him. This grumpy look he’s giving me is the same one I get every time I tell him something he doesn’t want to hear.
Yamada bursts out in a fit of laughter. “Yamada’s in love. Any woman who stands up to King earns my respect.” He grabs my arm. “Come on. Let’s go get you a drink.”
He pulls me through the crowd to where he has two bartenders working what appears to be a full bar. “What are you drinking?”
I bite my lower lip. “I don’t typically drink, so just a diet soda or water would be fine.”
Yamada tilts his head and stares at me like I’ve just sprouted wings. “What? Are you one of those Christian-y types or something?”
I shake my head. “No. I just like to keep my head on straight. People always seem to do crazy things when they drink.”
The corner of Yamada’s mouth lifts into a half smile. “That’s kind of the point—to let loose and have some fun.”
His words ring through my head and I think back on the phone conversation I had with my mother just before I boarded the plane. I did promise her that I would have at least one drink and not be a complete stiff while I was out here. What’s the worst that can happen?
I push up to the bar and the cute dark-haired bartender looks my way with a smile on his face. “What can I get you?”
“Can I get a screwdriver?” I ask and the guy nods and gets to work making my order.
Yamada’s smile widens. “That’s the spirit.” He turns toward the bartender. “Make that two. We’re getting fucked up tonight!”
Three drinks later, Yamada and I are dancing to some crazy techno sounding song that I’ve never heard, but with all the alcohol coursing through my veins, I’m not bothered that I might look like an idiot.
Yamada sings along—complete with doing the rap to the song that completely comes out of nowhere. He flings his hands and points his fingers while spitting out the fast-paced words just like the guys do on the videos.
“You’re pretty good at that,” I lean in to tell him. “You should be a rapper or something.”
He smiles. “That’s exactly what Yamada’s going to be, waiting for his one shot to be discovered.”
“Why don’t you make your own video and put it on YouTube or something? You have the money.”
He nods. “Yamada might just do that while he’s here in the states. Good thinkin,’ Dime Piece. Beautiful and smart. No wonder you have King tripping all over himself.”
I roll my eyes before I nod my head in the direction of the couch where we left Alexander sitting with the two women. “Clearly, he’s not. He couldn’t care less about me.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let that show over there fool you. Trust me. The Barbie Twins are a cover—for his own benefit—to make you think that he’s not thinking about you,when, in fact, he is. He just isn’t ready to admit it to you or himself yet that he cares.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
“But I do,” he assures me. “He warned me that you were off-limits.”