Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (27 page)

Inside the vast, three-story nightclub, loud, pulsating music blasted while candy-colored lights bounced off a giant disco ball. On the flat screen TV above the U-shaped bar, the Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show was playing; it looked even more dazzling on television. I felt confident the ratings would be sensational.

The place was packed. Beautiful body after body was draped everywhere. Over lounges. Over the bar. Over each other. The smell of marijuana was thick in the air. Kevin found me quickly and ushered me away from Jaime to meet some of the VIPs. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jaime mingling in the crowd. He was turning heads, and before long, a dozen gorgeous supermodel types were fawning all over him. I recognized several of them from our fashion show. Former Jaime Zander fucks?

“Glorious, you look faa-bu-lous!” crooned Kevin, diverting my attention and unfounded jealousy away from Jaime.

“You look great too.” True to himself, he was back to being outrageous. He was wearing an open white peasant shirt over Gloria’s Secret leopard-patterned leggings and combat boots. Kev could one-up Marc Jacobs any day.

“No one can stop talking about the show. And we’re killing it in the ratings!”

“Thanks to you.” My eyes lit up, though I was feeling a little claustrophobic in this dark, frenetic environment.

He gave me a signature peck on both cheeks. “No, it’s all you. Your dream. Your vision. I just make it happen.”

Kev and I were a great team. He always made things happen—even the one thing we both wanted to forget. We had been through thick and thin. If we could survive our abusive childhoods and the unthinkable crime we’d committed together, we could survive anything.

He took me by the hand and swept me away “Come on, I want you to meet some of the VIPs. Actually, they want to meet you.”

I stole a glance backward and my stomach twisted. Jaime was now chatting with Vivien. They seemed to be having a very intimate conversation. Jaime was hanging on her every word though his expression was impassive. There was no doubt in my mind—Vivien was coming on to him, with her pouts, hair flicks, and hip thrusts. She placed her hands on Jaime’s shoulders and whispered into his ear. Jaime’s eyes grew wide and then a faint smile played on his face. Before either of them could catch my gaze, I turned away and let Kevin lead me deeper into the crowd.

He introduced me to several VIPs that included top models, recording artists, and everyone’s favorite reality TV stars, Snookie included. While I was cordially smiley-faced with all of them, my mind was focused on Jaime and Vivien. What was with them? My eyes searched the pulsing crowd, but I could no longer find them. Had Jaime left with her? My mental ramblings came to a halt when Kevin told me he had to split and get the charity auction for Rihanna’s diamond-studded bra and thong started. I was not standing alone for long.

“Gloria, lovely to see you.” The cold, affected drawl was unmistakable. Victor Holden, Vivien’s father. My multi-billionaire biggest shareholder and Chairman of the Board.

He cupped his hands on my bare shoulders. His fingers, as usual, were as icy as his voice. With a shiver that shimmied down my spine, I spun around to face him.

Victor was in his mid fifties though his fit body and handsome face made him look at least ten years younger. He was a tall, lean, debonair man with slicked back salt and pepper hair, a permanent tan, and elegant features that included piercing steel gray eyes and an aquiline nose. Wearing an expensive tweed jacket, open-button dress shirt, and well-cut gabardine trousers, he exuded old money. A shrewd businessman, he was known for making vulnerable companies his prey. Many on Wall Street called him “The Vulture.”

His eyes roamed down my body, lingering on places they had no right to be. But he felt he had the right to claim. He was always hitting on me. I was his prey too. I inwardly shuddered as he planted a wet kiss on each cheek.

“Well done today, darling. I’m sure the show will drive up first quarter sales. Our shareholders will be pleased.”

“Thank you, Victor.” I hated when he called me “darling.” The less I said to him the better. I always tried to keep it to dollars and cents.

“Why don’t we celebrate with a dance?”

The last thing I wanted to do was dance with him. He moved uncomfortably close to me. The rancid smell of his breath—cigarettes mixed with alcohol—assaulted my senses. He squeezed my jaw.

“Don’t disappoint me, Gloria.” He squeezed my jaw tighter.

“Please, Victor, you’re hurting me.” I jerked away. My pashmina shawl fell off my shoulders to the floor. Before I could bend down to pick it up, it was back on me, draped perfectly over my dress. I instantly recognized the scent of my hero. Jaime!

“Sorry, she’s with me,” he growled, wrenching me away from Victor. Their eyes clashed, the air between them thick with tension and animosity. Unspoken words flew between them. Victor’s eyes narrowed into sharp slivers of glass as Jaime led me deeper into the crowd. As we neared the bar, I stole a glance back at Victor. He stood there motionless, his glacial eyes fixed on me. It was not the look of defeat but rather that of a man who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. He frightened me.

“Do you know who that was?” I asked Jaime.

“A fucking asshole.” His face hardened.

“Do you know he’s the Chairman of—”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, cutting me off. “I don’t give a flying fuck.”

His contempt for Victor shocked and enthralled me. “He could get in the way of you winning the Gloria’s Secret account.”

His jaw stiffened. “He won’t.” It softened. “Do you want a drink?”

“I’d love one,” a female voice responded. Slinking up to us was Victor’s daughter, Vivien, dressed to the nines in a fuchsia strapless bandage dress that hugged her curves and pushed up her D-cup boobs. Matching platform stilettos completed her ensemble. She flung back her loose ebony hair with a shake of her head and gave Jaime a wide toothy predatory smile.

“Later,” Jaime said coolly.

Vivien’s face took on the expression of a miffed spoiled little rich girl who was used to getting anything she wanted. She glowered at me as she sauntered off. My face didn’t move a muscle.
Bitch!

“So where were we?” asked Jaime, his tone now sexy and seductive.

“Um, uh, a drink,” I stammered. Drinking at business events was against my rules, but I sure could use one.

“What would you like?”

“A vodka martini with extra olives.”

“Don’t move.” He strode over to the bar and returned quickly with two martinis, one for me, one for him.

“Thanks.” As I put the cold, velvety liquid to my lips, the pulsating music came to a sudden halt. The auction for Rihanna’s diamond-studded bra and thong had begun. All eyes, including Jaime’s and mine, were riveted on the wiry auctioneer standing behind a podium at the front of the club. The items were displayed on a curvaceous mannequin to his right.

The bidding opened at $100,000. It quickly escalated to $500,000. My heart was palpitating. While I was seriously amazed that someone would pay so much money for a set of underwear (Okay, they were diamond-studded and Rihanna-strutted), I was thrilled because all the proceeds would go to Girls Like Us, the charitable organization I had started to help underprivileged and troubled teen girls pursue their dreams. Like me.

At $900,000, a new bidder stepped in. I recognized the glacial voice immediately. Victor!

“I have $900,000. Do I hear one million dollars for these treasures?” shouted the enthusiastic auctioneer.

Dead silence. Everyone in the room held their breath.

“One million dollars.”

I gasped. Jaime Zander had just shouted out that exorbitant figure. I shot him a wide-eyed look. A smug smile crossed his face. What the hell was he doing?

“One million dollars to the man with the gorgeous blonde.”

I cringed. His smile widened.

“Do I hear one million five hundred thousand dollars?”

“Over here,” chimed in Victor hastily. I turned my head, and my eyes met his. They burnt with fire and desire.

The auctioneer beamed behind his podium. “One point five million dollars. Do I have any more bids?”

Silence again. I glanced again at Victor. He shot me a smarmy smile. The tension in the air was thick.

The auctioneer: “Going once… Going twice…Fair warning…Going down at…”

“Two million dollars!”

Jaime again! He raised his martini glass high in the air to confirm the bid. What the fuck? I gasped so loudly I was embarrassed. Fortunately, the din of the crowd’s collective gasp drowned it out.

The auctioneer grinned. “It’s back to the gentleman with the gorgeous blonde. Do I hear anything further?”

I eyed Victor once more. He was quietly fuming. I’d seen that sinister expression on his face before when he couldn’t get what he wanted—especially at the price he was willing to pay.

The auctioneer slowly raised his hammer. “Going once.” Silence. “Going twice.” Silence. “Going…going…GONE!” He slammed his hammer down on the podium. “Sold for two million dollars to the gentleman with the gorgeous blonde. Congratulations, sir!”

Raucous applause and cheers broke out. The loud disco music started up again. The crowd began to dance wildly. The party was now just getting started. But I stood motionless in shock.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Gloria?” Jaime asked, catapulting me into the moment.

“Why did you buy the Rihanna undergarments? They cost a fortune.”

“Because I could afford to. And the money’s going to a good cause.” He winked at me as he punctuated the words “good cause.”

Smartass!
“So, you think by impressing me with your money and audacity you’ll win the Gloria’s Secret account?” I countered, my voice testy.

His lips curled up into that sexy smile. “No. I’ll win your account with my creativity and agility.”

Arrogant asshole!
But there was no denying that his words made me flush. Before I could utter a sound, he tugged at my braid.

“Dance with me, Gloria!” An order. Setting his half-finished martini onto a nearby cocktail table, he whisked me into his sculpted arms, drawing me tight against him. The dance music was pounding, and so was my heart…along with the wet bundle of nerves between my inner thighs. Against my silk dress, I could feel the rippled muscles of his chest and the rigid mound between his thighs. He pressed his arousal harder against me as he gyrated his hips against mine. I was as stiff as a board.

“Relax, Gloria,” he commanded. “Trust me.”

He splayed his long fingers on my jutting hipbones, rotating my hips to follow his. I chugged my martini, and as the velvety liquid coursed through my bloodstream, I felt myself loosening up. Soon I was rhythmically moving with him as if we’d danced together forever. His undulating movements were fluid, sensual, and controlling. Boy, did Mr. Agility know how to move!

A waiter passed by with a trayful of cocktails. Plunking my depleted martini glass on the tray, I grabbed another drink, not knowing what it was. I polished it off in two gulps, in time to return the emptied glass back onto the tray. I reached for one more. Jaime gripped my wrist forcefully, holding it back.

“Careful, Gloria.” Jaime’s voice whirled in my ear as the room started spinning around me. Was this some kind of special effect? My favorite new song, “Blurred Lines,” began to play. I was totally into it, singing along at the top of my lungs.

“Do you think I’m a good girl?” I asked Jaime, slurring each word.

“Come on, let’s get of here.” Jaime’s voice took on urgency.

“No!” I protested. “I just want to dance.” I looped my arms around his neck, brushing them along his silky tousled hair, and glued my forehead to his. My hot breath caught his, and I started to move wildly, bumping every part of me against his rock-hard body. My hips. My butt. My boobs. Without losing physical contact, I pulled off my shoes.

“Don’t need these!” I chirped and tossed them deep into the crowd.

“Let’s go. Now!” ordered Jaime.

Before I could protest again, Jaime yanked my arms off his neck, grabbed a hand, and dragged me through the crowd. Dazed and dizzy, I tottered behind him, barely managing to keep up with him.

I passed by Vivien and waved at her. She fired me a scathing look. I was confused. Everything was a whirling blur.

Finally, we were outside. The cool, crisp air enveloped me but did little to bring me to my senses. The world, which revolved around the devastatingly handsome Jaime Zander, was still spinning out of control. I felt myself swaying. Thank goodness, this gorgeous hunk of manliness was holding me up, his muscled arm clamped around my waist. He slipped his spare hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He fingered the touch-key screen and I heard him mumble, “Orson, I need the car brought around to the entrance of the club immediately.”

“How do you feel?” Jaime asked upon ending the call. His voice was tender.

“Like shit,” I murmured. Nausea had settled in. Bile was rising to my chest.
Oh God, please don’t let me throw up in front of him! Please! NO!

The next thing I knew, Mr. Zander was scooping me up in his arms and loading me into the back seat of his Rover. He cradled me in his lap, his hard length pressing into my backside, and let me lean my head against his chest. Though his chest was pure steel, the softness of his cotton tee was comforting.

“I’m sorry,” I rasped, barely able to get out the words as I fought back nausea.

“Don’t be.” He smoothed my hair along my scalp and then twisted my long platinum braid around his fingers.

“Rihanna’s underwear!” I mumbled, the events of the night whirling around in my head.

“Don’t worry.” He pressed his warm lips against my forehead. Even in my drunken stupor, his touch zapped every fiber of my being.

I gazed up at him. Gah! There were two of him! Double the gorgeousness. “Do you have an identical twin?” I slurred.

“Ah, my Gloria.” He chuckled. “You’ll soon find out that I’m a one and only. Just like you.”

The muffled sounds of late night traffic in the city that never sleeps drifted into my ears. Somewhere during the ride back to the hotel, everything faded to black.