Double Lucky (80 page)

And suddenly she was delighted she'd agreed to come on this weekend.

*   *   *

Once more they were on the move, Frankie's Corvette roaring down the highway at full speed. Somehow or other Cookie had convinced Angry Cop they were on their way to get married, and that the sex thing he thought he'd seen wasn't what it looked like, and that her daddy, Gerald M.—yes,
the
Gerald M.—was waiting to greet them, along with several camera crews and a shitload of paparazzi. Only she didn't say
shitload;
she cooled it with the language.

At first Angry Cop didn't believe she was Gerald M.'s daughter, but she had proof—several photos of them together on her iPad, and his latest CD in her purse. She carried it with her at all times for just such an occasion.

Angry Cop's wife was a fan, so Angry Cop wasn't so angry anymore, and after a short lecture on road safety, he sent them on their way with a warning to be more careful in the future.

“You should be a freakin' actress,” Frankie exclaimed, full of genuine admiration. “That little performance you just put on was insane!”

“I know,” Cookie said with a less-than-modest giggle. “I'm the real shit, right?”

“You bet your ass,” Frankie agreed.

“My dad taught me t' use his name whenever it would get me outta trouble. There's gotta be
some
perks to being his kid.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart dude.”

“Not so much. When it comes to pussy, he's a total douche.”

“I'd still like to meet him,” Frankie said, thinking of the possibilities.

“One of these days,” Cookie answered vaguely.

“Well anyway, I'm impressed,” Frankie said. “I thought we were definitely gettin' busted.”

Cookie giggled again. “That's the fifth CD I've used as payoff. It works every time.”

“Yeah?” Frankie said. “So tell me, how many dudes you been caught givin' head to in a movin' vehicle?”

“Wouldn't
you
like to know,” she murmured mysteriously.

No, actually, he wouldn't. Some things were best left unsaid.

*   *   *

Feeling sorry for herself, Max decided a mimosa was a fine idea. So even though she didn't usually drink, she downed two, and immediately felt light-headed.

Nobody cared. Bobby was too busy with his girlfriend to notice, while Harry was totally locked into Paco, who didn't seem at all gay—so what was
that
about? Was Harry delusional? Or had something actually taken place? She hadn't bothered to ask him; she was too caught up with all the drama in her own life.

Tears threatened to flow.
Snap out of it
, she warned herself.
Get a grip and stop acting like a girl. You're a Santangelo. Suck it up. So you had a one-nighter with Billy Melina. Big freaking deal.

They hadn't used protection.

Dumb.

Super dumb.

What if she was pregnant?

The very thought shocked her sober, and she moved as far away from everyone as possible, strapped herself into a seat, closed her eyes, and attempted to shut out the world.

*   *   *

“I must say, you certainly know how to put me together with the classiest of people,” Lucky complained to Jeffrey when they met up in her office adjacent to the conference room.

“What are you talking about?” Jeffrey asked, looking puzzled.

“These Jordan Development people,” Lucky said, tossing back her hair.

“Yes?” Jeffrey said, clearing his throat.

“Apparently they're into hooker paradise and not paying.”

Jeffrey adjusted the heavy old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses he always wore to business meetings. “Is there some information I should know about?” he asked, uncomfortable that Lucky apparently knew things he didn't.

“Yes,” Lucky said, moving behind her oversized art deco desk and sitting down. “If I know it, so should you.”

Jeffrey pulled up a leather chair opposite her desk. “And how do we know this?” he inquired.

“We know,” Lucky replied, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Because Danny is the eyes and ears of everything that goes on in my hotel. Right, Danny?”

Danny, who was busy setting up his laptop at a side table so he could recount every detail of the upcoming meeting, nodded.

“What exactly did you hear?” Jeffrey asked.

Danny repeated his story. He really enjoyed being the center of attention; it made a welcome change from hovering in the background.

Jeffrey frowned. This did not bode well for the upcoming meeting. If he knew Lucky, she couldn't care less that the man they were meeting with had entertained hookers. But the fact that he'd stiffed them would definitely irk her.

Before Jeffrey had time to think it through, the receptionist announced that the people from Jordan Developments had arrived.

Lucky smiled a slow, dangerous smile, her black eyes sparkling.

“Let the show begin,” she drawled. “This could turn out to be quite interesting.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Armand often reflected on what his life would have been like if he'd been raised as a normal boy in America. He wasn't normal; he knew that. He was special. He was a prince. His childhood in Akramshar had been anything but normal. He'd been born in a palace, nursed by women in long black robes who'd barely talked to him. And it wasn't until he and his mother moved to New York when he was eight that he'd finally gotten to spend time with her. Up until then he'd had very little to do with Peggy; she was merely this dazzling redheaded woman who'd occasionally swooped into the nursery wearing low-cut silk gowns and magnificent jewelry.

The king had different rules for the women in his country. Poor females were not allowed to be educated and wore long body-covering robes at all times. Rich females could do whatever they wanted. Most girls from affluent families were schooled in Europe, and many of them chose not to come back, for arranged marriages at the king's request were quite normal. Soraya, Armand's wife, was one of the girls who'd come back.

Armand never gave much thought to Soraya. She was the mother of his children, that pleased the king, and pleasing the great man was all that mattered.

Returning to Akramshar once a year had shaped Armand's life. He was a tried-and-true prince, and one day he might be tempted to let the world know, for he was well aware how impressed Westerners were with titles.

But not today. Today he was buying a hotel, soon to be the jewel in his property empire, the crème de la crème of Vegas.

Armand believed in pampering himself. After doing several lines of coke, he thoroughly showered before applying various lotions to his body, spending an inordinate amount of time massaging his balls and fine shaft of manhood. Thinking of the whores from the night before caused him to become so hard that he had no choice but to attend to his needs. Inconvenient, but far more enjoyable than being with any woman.

When he was finished, he took another shower, applied more lotions, stared at his reflection for a while, and finally got dressed. First a silk Turnbull & Asser shirt made especially for him in London, a $350 tie from Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills, and finally an $8,000 pinstriped custom suit in pearl gray.

Admiring himself once again in the mirror, he had to admit that he made a dashing figure. It was no wonder women pursued him. The
New Yorker
magazine had recently listed him as one of the city's most eligible bachelors.

New York indeed. How about the world?

*   *   *

Peggy did not sleep well at all. She couldn't relax. Her mind was buzzing, filled with memories of the young girl who was once the toast of Vegas.

Ah … she remembered those times so well. And she also remembered Gino Santangelo. When Fouad had told her the old man's name, she'd been filled with excitement. She'd thought it was him, but she hadn't been sure. Now she knew.

Seeing Gino again after so many years was quite a surprise. It had brought every long-distance memory crashing back.

LAS VEGAS 1968

Peggy Lindquest. A young, ambitious girl from Ohio. A girl with legs up to here, translucent skin, and fiery red hair. A girl who captured every man's attention.

Peggy hit town like the proverbial firecracker, filled with ambition and the desire to make a career for herself, or at least snag a rich man. She was eighteen and hot to tango.

It wasn't long before she landed a job at Caesar's Palace, dancing in the chorus of a big flashy show. Dancing, and sometimes showing her breasts while attired in a fantastic showgirl costume of sequins and feathers. Her breasts were real and quite something. A 36C with rosebud nipples. Men lusted after her perfect breasts.

Peggy was no virgin. She'd been having sex with boys since she was thirteen. She knew what men wanted, and she was prepared to let them beg for it.

She met Joe Piscarelli at a party. Twelve years older than her and dashingly handsome in a gangster kind of way. Girls swooned over Joe, but not Peggy. She played hard to get until he was begging her to move in with him. Eventually she did so, and it was blissful for a while, until she discovered that Joe possessed a vile temper, which sometimes exploded into violent rage. When that happened, Peggy ran away to stay with one of her girlfriends.

It was on just such an occasion that she'd encountered Gino Santangelo. Gino was an older man, but he was full of charisma and powerful vibes. Everyone knew Gino in Vegas; he was kind of a legend. And quite a ladies man.

Peggy slept with him. Once. It was a night to remember.

The next day she was back in Joe's bed. And two weeks after that she was on her way to Akramshar with the king.

But Peggy had never forgotten her one night of lust with Gino Santangelo. And seeing him again all these years later—even though he was now an old man—she couldn't stop remembering their night of unbridled passion.

It was a memory she cherished.

Satisfied with his image, Armand added solid-gold cuff links, an onyx and diamond masculine-style bracelet, and on his other wrist a $250,000 diamond-encrusted watch.

At last he was ready for his meeting. A meeting that would change his life. He was sick of New York, the clubs, the women, the social events. He needed a change.

Vegas had so much to offer. It was his kind of town.

And soon he would own it.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“I'm starving,” Max whined to Bobby as he exited the bathroom on the plane.

She knew she sounded needy, but she simply couldn't help herself; she had a strong urge to take her frustration out on someone.

“How can you be hungry?” Bobby questioned, eager to get back to Denver. “There's a whole buffet laid out.”

“I feel like a hamburger,” Max insisted. “Can we go to the Hard Rock when we land?”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Bobby said. “I'm busy. Gino's in town; call him when we get there, he'll take you.”

“Oh,” she said scornfully. “I really want to go get a burger with my
grandfather
.”

“Might I remind you, your
grandfather
is one of the greatest men you'll ever come across,” Bobby said, frowning. “He practically invented Vegas, so you should try listening to his stories sometime. Maybe you'd learn something.”

“Why are you being so mean to me?” Max asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“Who's being mean? Not me.”

“Yes you are,” she said fiercely. “You're, like,
ignoring
me.”

Bobby shook his head in exasperation. “What's up with you today? How come you're acting like a spoiled little kid?”

“I am
so
not,” she said crossly. “It's
you
and what'shername.”

“Her
name
is Denver,” Bobby said sternly. “And you might try being a bit nicer to her.”

“Why's that?” Max demanded, narrowing her eyes. “Are you planning on
marrying
her or something?”

As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. The last person she wanted to alienate was Bobby. She was hoping he'd forget what she'd just said, hug her, and act all big brotherly. Why couldn't he do that?

Instead he threw her a hard-ass look and returned to his seat, whereupon Gitta made the announcement that they would be landing in fifteen minutes, and everyone should please buckle up.

Max slunk back to her seat, her mind racing. What was Billy doing? Was he out and about shagging some other unsuspecting female simply because he could?

Being a movie star meant getting laid anytime you wanted. And she should've known that. Coming from such a high-profile family, she was hardly naïve.

But no, she'd so fallen for his nice-guy shtick.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Ace, where are you when I need you?

*   *   *

Ace was actually behind the wheel of his truck, heading full speed toward Vegas. He was feeling pretty upbeat about surprising Max on her birthday. There was no way she'd expect him to leave the construction job he was working on in Big Bear; it would be a real shocker, especially as she was always urging him to loosen up and be more spontaneous.

The two of them had a long-distance relationship, which seemed to work, although one day he hoped to save enough money to make the move to L.A. Then they could see how things panned out when they were living in the same city.

Max was his addiction. One moment she was the vulnerable, thoughtful girl he'd first met. The next, she was some kind of tough party animal who liked spending all her time dancing on tables in L.A. clubs with her somewhat sketchy group of friends. Harry was a weirdo, with his dyed black hair and white face. And Ace especially couldn't stand Cookie; she was definitely a negative influence, with her flashy lifestyle and obvious coke habit.