Double Lucky (73 page)

Jerrod was Lucky's rock, and like she did Danny, she trusted him implicitly.

*   *   *

Oh my God! What have I done?
Denver thought, panicking slightly.

You've invited Bobby to meet the family,
her inner voice replied, unruffled and in control.

Why?
she asked herself, still panicking.

Because you know it's time.

The problem is, will they like him? And will he like them?

You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?

Fortunately, she was due in court to prosecute a famous actress who was up on a shoplifting charge, so she didn't have much time to think about Bobby and her somewhat eccentric family. But she was anxious all the same. She so wanted them to like him.

And they will.

What if they don't?

Stop obsessing.

On her way into court she got a text from Carolyn asking what she thought of Vanessa.

Hmm … interesting question, but she had no time to give her opinion of Vanessa now. She had a high-profile shoplifting case to win, a family dinner to worry about, and an upcoming trip to Vegas.

Briskly she texted back.
Seems nice.
But she didn't add
or not
. Had to keep a positive attitude. It was Carolyn's life.

Then she dived into court with work on her mind.

*   *   *

Now that his slippery Russian investors had finally signed on to put up the money for his L.A. and Miami clubs, Bobby was more than ready to meet with the architects and designers he'd chosen to work with. Mood in L.A. had to be a total winner considering the fierce competition. Clubs in L.A. came and went all the time, so Mood had to stand out as
the
place to be.

Bobby's vision was of a rooftop space with panoramic views of the city, incorporating a sixty-foot pool with underwater speakers, a forty-foot stone bar surrounded by a dozen private party cabanas, a kick-ass restaurant run by a world-class chef, and a major dance space—all with a tropical feel. Simple, stylish, the perfect hang.

The meetings took longer than expected, and he was so caught up in the details that when he checked the time, he realized he'd never make his flight.

Damn! Denver was not going to be happy, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Too bad. He'd been looking forward to finally meeting her family.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The cleaning crew went to work like the well-oiled team of professionals they were.

Billy threw Max a triumphant look and said, “Y'see? They're taking care of business. No worries.”

She had to admit he was right; they were fast and thorough. By the time the housekeepers arrived back, things were looking a lot better. Although once the women figured out what had taken place, they threw Max contemptuous looks and muttered under their breath because they knew that if anything important was broken or missing, it was them who would get the blame.

Fortunately, Billy spoke a smattering of Spanish, so he moved into action and charmed them into a hypnotized state, then made them assure him they would not utter a word of this to Max's parents. After he was sure they understood, he handed each of them five hundred bucks as insurance.

Max was impressed. He was protecting her, which is more than she could say for Cookie and Harry—who'd obviously both taken off without a thought about how she was going to put the place back together. Man, they were totally selfish! She had a good mind to rescind their Vegas invitation. How dare they run out on her?

Or … maybe they'd tried to find her and couldn't, which was a possibility because she'd been sequestered on the beach with Billy.

But if that was the case, shouldn't they have been worried about her?

On the missing list and nobody gave a rat's ass.

Whatever …

At shortly after two, Billy glanced at his watch and muttered, “Shit!”

“What?” Max asked, still basking in the glow of his company. They'd been sitting in the kitchen, where she'd fixed him a tuna fish sandwich while they watched the cleaning crew finish up. It was all good. In fact, it was all totally awesome.

“I've kinda blown off a big interview with
Rolling Stone,
” he announced. “My PR's gonna be so pissed.”

“Does that mean you have to go?” Max asked, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Yeah, but I guess I can turn up late—what're they going to do, shoot me?” he said with a wry smile. “Problem is I don't got a ride.”

“I'll drive you,” she said, quick as a flash.

“Nah,” he said, with a casual shrug. “I'll call a cab.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked, determined to hang on to him as long as possible, because who knew when she'd ever see him again? “Don't you trust my driving?”

“Course I do, babe. But if I ain't in the driver's seat, then I'm your front-seat passenger from hell. Trust me, you'd hate it.”

She was beginning to feel slightly desperate. “How about if
you
drive?” she offered. “That way I'll be the one sitting in the passenger seat.”

Too needy, Max. Calm down! Stop sounding like a stalker.

“Wouldn't work out,” he said. “I gotta get my ass straight to the interview. It's at the Sunset Towers, an' driving up with you in the car is not an option.”

“Okay, then,” she said, coming up with a plan that would assure her of seeing more of him. “You can take Lucky's Ferrari, and I'll pick it up from you later.”

“C'
mon,
” Billy said disbelievingly. “There's no way Lucky would want me driving her car.”

“She wouldn't mind,” Max lied, knowing full well that Lucky had a thing about her precious Ferrari, so much so that she wouldn't even leave it with a valet parker. “I drive it all the time,” she added. “Believe me, Lucky hardly ever uses it.”

Big fat fib, but hey—this was major.

“You're sure about that?” Billy said, still hesitating.

“Dead sure,” Max said convincingly.

“Then it's a deal,” he said, being a big fan of fast cars ever since Venus had bought him his first Ferrari, which he'd recently sold. “Only how're you gonna pick it up if you're flying to Vegas today?”

Darn it!
She'd forgotten all about Vegas and her upcoming party.

“Uh … actually, I'm not leaving until tomorrow.”

Another lie. But if it meant seeing Billy again, totally worth it.

*   *   *

Prosecuting a famous actress was an easy road. The woman's defense team (and there were three of them) were highly paid and totally inept. Denver listened to their weak excuses for the woman's behavior, then she swooped in with her witnesses—a series of fed-up sales people and store managers who had been putting up with the actress's stealing addiction for years.

The jury was unimpressed with the woman's fame. Too many high-profile people were getting away with—yes—sometimes even murder.

Denver's immediate boss had told her to go for it with all she had. So she did. And her closing argument sealed the deal. The jury took twenty minutes to come back with a guilty verdict.

Her boss informed her that she'd done a stellar job, then asked if she would care to grab a drink with him to celebrate her victory.

Inappropriate,
she thought.
Why, if a woman is single and attractive, do all men feel the need to make a move?

He was fat and fifty
and
married, plus he was her boss, so why would she even think of putting herself in that position?

She mumbled something about next time. But of course there would be no next time, as she was moving on. “Sorry, family commitments,” she added, and made it to her car.

Yes. Family commitments. Introducing boyfriend to Mom, Dad, and the rest of the Jones clan.

Anticipation was the name of the game.

*   *   *

Danny gave Lucky the word that Max would not be arriving Thursday night as planned; instead she would be getting there the next day.

Lucky was disappointed. She'd arranged dinner with Gino and Paige, and she knew that Gino was looking forward to spending some time with his feisty granddaughter. Gino got a kick out of joking around with Max.

Family. They were always the ones that felt free to change plans at the last minute, never taking into account that everything had to be shifted. Well, Bobby better be on his way.

Lucky called him to make sure.

“Just getting on a plane,” he informed her.

“To Vegas?” she asked, hoping he might make it for dinner.

“No. I'm in New York, on my way to L.A. Heading to Vegas tomorrow.”

“So is Max. Maybe you can fly in together.”

“Uh … I'm using the Stanislopoulos plane,” Bobby said, sounding slightly sheepish.

“
Really?
” Lucky said, aware that Bobby only used the plane when it was for something important. “What's the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Bobby answered vaguely. “Kinda feel I should use it sometimes, let the relatives know I'm still around.”

The relatives Bobby referred to were his late father's two sisters and their respective families, who were all on the board of Stanislopoulos Shipping and resided in Greece. Bobby wasn't exactly close to his Greek relatives. America had always been his home. But he was, after all, along with his niece, Brigette, one of the main heirs to the enormous Stanislopoulos Shipping fortune.

“Okay,” Lucky said. “Then you can give Max and her friends a ride.”

“Sure,” Bobby agreed, albeit reluctantly, because he was so not wanting Max and her cohorts on the plane. He'd planned a romantic trip with Denver, just the two of them. However, saying no to Lucky was never an option.

“I'll tell Max to call you,” Lucky said. “And if you get here in time, maybe we'll all have lunch.”

“Uh … not so sure about that,” Bobby said, trying to come up with a fast excuse. He wanted time alone with Denver before the whole family thing took over.

“Okay,” Lucky said. “I'll plan on it and hope you can make it. Fly safe.”

That settled, Lucky went over her Friday schedule with Danny. An early breakfast with Venus, who was flying in late Thursday, then a meeting with Jeffrey Lonsdale and the people who'd wanted to buy The Keys. Though she refused to ever sell, she'd learned that they were now apparently interested in investing in future projects. Then the board meeting, perhaps a late lunch with Bobby and Max—if they arrived on time—and finally dinner alone with Lennie.

Ah, Lennie … They'd been apart for six weeks, way too long, although making up for lost time was always the most exciting.

Friday night was reserved strictly for Lennie. There would be no distractions. No family. Just the two of them.

She couldn't wait.

*   *   *

Billy was totally into taking a ride in Lucky's Ferrari, especially as it was one of the latest models, a Ferrari California—sleek and smooth and definitely kick-ass. He'd recently read up on it, and he couldn't wait to drive a car that had a top speed of 193 miles per hour. In fact, he'd been thinking of buying one, so this would be an excellent test run.

“Sweet!” he said, easing himself behind the wheel.

Max hovered beside the car, nervously biting her lower lip. “Uh … when should I pick it up?” she asked.

Billy's attention was on the Ferrari, not her. “C'mon by my house around seven,” he said, smoothing his hands lovingly over the steering wheel. “Maybe we'll go grab a bite.”

Was that a dinner invitation? Cool!

Billy gave her his address, blew her a distracted kiss and took off at full speed.

Please God,
Max thought as she watched her mom's car vanish into the distance.
Let Lucky's precious Ferrari survive the ride. Otherwise I am one dead person.

*   *   *

“Where's this Bobby character we've heard so much about?” Denver's father, Derek, asked in his loud—some would say booming—voice. He was a maverick lawyer and quite used to intimidating people.

“I told you, Dad,” Denver explained patiently. “His plane from New York is delayed. He'll be here later.”

“Will he now?” Derek said in a tone that expressed deep disbelief.

“Yes,” Denver said confidently. “He will.”

“You're sure about that?”

“Oh, for God's sake, Dad. It's no big deal.”

“Someone's gettin' edgy,” Scott, her favorite brother, singsonged. “What's so special about this dude, anyway?”

“I never said he was special,” Denver retaliated, glaring at him.

“You're sure as shit acting as if he is,” Scott said, irritating her even more.

“Language!” intoned Autumn, Denver's mother, a tall, imposing woman with gray hair worn in a low ponytail, no makeup, and a penchant for the hippie clothes she'd favored as a teenager. “If you cannot speak properly, then do not speak at all.”

As if on cue, Hanna, Scott's five-year-old daughter, raced into the room screaming, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Scott scooped up the little girl and shushed her.

“Disgusting!” Autumn shrieked as Hanna's seven-year-old cousin ran in with a fully loaded water pistol, which he proceeded to shoot at Hanna, who immediately began screaming again.

Pandemonium reigned.

Just another normal Thursday-night gathering in the Jones household,
Denver thought.
They're all crazy, including the kids.

And suddenly she wasn't so upset about Bobby not making it.

*   *   *

“What the fuck?” Max yelled over the phone to Cookie. “You are
such
a douche.”