Goddess of Vengeance (31 page)

Yes, Armand was sure of it. Now it was up to him to make certain the sale happened.

He paced around the living room of the villa – not nearly as luxurious as the Presidential Suite he had occupied at The Keys.

After a while he laid out several lines of coke and soon imbibed all of it. Fortunately he always travelled with a full supply – courtesy of his New York dealer who took care of keeping him well stocked.

By the time Fouad sent up the information on Lucky Santangelo, he felt ready to not only rule Akramshar, but the rest of the world too. He was flying high, angry and resentful. He needed to vent his frustration at not getting what he wanted.

Picking up the phone, he called Yvonne Le Crane.

Yvonne was not pleased to hear from him. She did not appreciate her girls being stiffed. If they failed to receive the full amount of money they were due, it meant less commission to tuck into her latest Prada purse – Prada being her current obsession. When Armand Jordan got on the phone and demanded more girls, she was less than friendly, especially since a certain important person in Vegas had been asking questions about him.

‘You didn’t pay my girls everything they were due,’ she accused.

‘The two women whom I did not pay for extra services were inexperienced and unprofessional,’ Armand stated coldly. ‘It does not reflect well on your services.’

‘My services are the best in Vegas,’ Yvonne retorted, quite insulted. ‘My girls are clean, beautiful and honest.’

‘Your girls are filthy whores,’ Armand sneered.

‘If that’s what you think, then I suggest we cease doing business and end this conversation.’

‘No. We will not end it,’ Armand said sharply, his anger building as he leaned over the coffee table to snort another line of coke. ‘You will send me two girls. Big breasts. Thirty thousand. Cash. Have them here at six. I am now at The Cavendish.’

Yvonne was silent for a moment. She didn’t trust Armand Jordan, and even though she’d never met him, there was something off about him, something she didn’t like. Several of the girls she’d sent to him before had all complained that he was a crass pervert, and for them to complain was quite unusual.

However, it occurred to her that she didn’t have to send him her girls; there were other places she could obtain talent. Armand Jordan was a sicko; he wouldn’t know the difference since all he chose to do was debase and humiliate them, so what the hell? Above all else she was a businesswoman, and thirty thousand dollars was a tempting amount of cash.

Yes, Yvonne decided, she would send Armand Jordan exactly the type of girls he deserved.

Chapter Thirty-Three

A
fter the board meeting, Lucky met with Danny who filled her in on Armand’s furious exit. ‘What a misogynistic asshole!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s demented. A crazy man. Who
is
he anyway?’

Danny had printed out everything he could find about Jordan Developments, but as Lucky flicked through the thick file, she discovered there were no personal details about Armand at all. Wikipedia supplied scant information; there was nothing about where he was born, just a brief mention that he came to America at the age of eight, the schools and college he attended, and that his socialite mother, Peggy, remarried an investment banker – since deceased. Who was her first husband? Obviously Armand’s father. There was no mention of Armand having a wife or children or any other family members.

It seemed Armand Jordan only existed as the CEO of Jordan Developments along with several other subsidiary companies.

Because of his far-fetched threat about some kind of future battle, Lucky felt she should find out more about him.

Danny clicked onto various gossip sites and came up with a few photos of Armand at several New York social events – always with a different woman on his arm.

While Danny was doing that, Lucky went straight to the WireImage site on her Mac, typed in Armand Jordan, and up he popped – once again photographed with a series of attractive young women.

The man was a serial dater, although his dates were never named. Odd. A couple of B-list actresses appeared in photos, but they only accompanied him to one event each.

Studying the photos of the girls with no names, Lucky figured they had to be high-class call girls or professional escorts. She recognized the look – sleek, expensive and bland.

Sure enough, when Danny checked out one of the most exclusive and private escort sites – with a ten-thousand-dollar entry fee which Lucky agreed he could put on her credit card – they came across photos of several of the girls Armand had been seen with.

‘He’s a hooker hound!’ Danny exclaimed, deciding that this little investigation certainly made up for missing the board meeting. Danny was so into a bit of intrigue, it made his day.

‘He certainly is,’ Lucky agreed. ‘Obviously one of their best customers.’

‘Not a huge surprise,’ Danny sniffed. ‘After all, he ordered up girls here, so it’s his pattern.’

‘Do we know which madam he used?’ Lucky asked, her curiosity on full alert.

‘I’ll find out,’ Danny said, deciding not to mention that on his adventures on the Internet, he’d come across Lucky’s Ferrari being driven by Billy Melina. What was
that
about?

‘Do it,’ Lucky said briskly. ‘And get me in touch with the New York madam. I think I want to find out more about Mr Jordan.’

*   *   *

‘I gotta go see M.J. before dinner,’ Bobby said, when they finally arrived back at the hotel. ‘You okay for an hour?’

‘Bobby,’ Denver assured him, ‘you do not have to babysit me. I’m perfectly fine on my own. Actually it’ll give me some time to work on my laptop.’

‘Anybody ever told you you’re a workaholic?’

‘And you’re not?’ she responded lightly.

‘
Touché
,’ he said, grabbing his jacket. ‘I’ll see you later. Dinner. Just you and me. We’ll make it even more romantic than lunch.’

‘I thought we were getting together with your family?’

‘Not tonight, sweetheart, tonight is all ours.’

‘How come?’

‘’Cause I reserved tonight for us.’

‘I like it,’ she said, secretly delighted that she wouldn’t have to deal with the Santangelo/Golden clan until tomorrow.

‘So . . . Beautiful,’ he said, bending down to kiss her. ‘Wear something sexy.’

‘Only if you do the same,’ she teased, affectionately touching his cheek.

‘A black thong do it for you?’ he joked.

‘Get
out
of here,’ she said, the thought of Bobby in a black thong putting a smile on her face.

As soon as he was gone, she pulled out her BlackBerry and scrolled through her messages. Amongst them was a text from Sam. It was apparent that he now considered himself back in her life, he was not giving up easily.

Having a fine time on set being ignored by actors and director alike, except when they need an instant rewrite on a line, then I’m King of the Hill and they kiss my skinny ass. As an observer of the human race you would enjoy every second. How’s Vegas? Do u miss my eggs?

Denver grinned. The
do u miss my eggs
line was a reference to the delicious scrambled eggs he’d made her in New York the time she’d ended up spending the night in his apartment. It was his not-so-subtle way of reminding her that sometime in the past they had indeed shared a bed. And had sex.

She quickly texted him back.

Vegas fun. Given up scrambled, moved on to poached. Good luck with being ignored.

Then she clicked SEND before she changed her mind. They were friends, nothing more, and Bobby wouldn’t mind a touch of banter between friends. Or would he?

Too bad if he did. It wasn’t as if they were married or anything.

Wow!
she thought.
Where does marriage enter into this equation? It’s certainly not on my mind.

Leon had also texted her, but his text was all about work. She appreciated him giving her a heads-up on what she’d be getting involved with the following week. She was looking forward to working with Leon, he was dedicated to getting drugs off the streets – especially the smalltime dealers who set up shop near high schools – targeting kids as young as ten and eleven. Leon was a solid guy, and after working at a top-level Beverly Hills law firm defending the probably guilty, it was refreshing to know she was finally getting into something that really mattered.

*   *   *

So there he was. Ace. Her boyfriend. Standing in front of her with a big proud grin on his face, which meant she wasn’t about to be alone on her birthday. Ace had apparently skipped out on his job and driven all the way to Vegas to be with her. Ace was fully present. Ace loved her.
Yippee!!

Then why wasn’t she happy? Why was she suddenly suffused with guilt? Why was she wishing he hadn’t made the trip?

‘Wow!’ Max exclaimed, as he moved forward to hug her. ‘This is crazy. What are you
doing
here?’

‘What do you
think
I’m doing here?’ he responded. ‘Making sure I’m with you for your birthday. Wouldn’t miss it.’

‘That’s so cool,’ she managed, extracting herself from his hug.

‘Yeah,’ he said, still grinning. ‘Had a feeling you’d want me to be here.’

‘I do,’ she insisted. ‘Only we’re not alone. Harry’s downstairs with some new friend. And Cookie’s hanging out somewhere, and I know you’re not wild about being around either of them.’

‘Thanks for warning me,’ Ace said. ‘But we can sneak off somewhere by ourselves, right?’

‘Can’t do that,’ she said. ‘They’re here for me, so it wouldn’t be cool to desert them. Anyway – you
know
they’re my best friends.’

‘And what does that make me?’

‘Uh . . . my boyfriend,’ she said, almost choking on the word.

‘That’s exactly why I’m not into getting caught up with the crowd,’ he said restlessly. ‘Haven’t seen you in weeks, don’t wanna share you.’

Thoughts were flying through her head. Thoughts of Billy, and the offhand way he’d treated her. Thoughts of their one night together on the sand. The way he’d touched her, the blue of his eyes, his kind of half-crazy laugh, and his hard abs.

How could she tell Ace that she wasn’t a virgin any more? Oh man! He’d be so bummed that she’d done the deed with someone else after he’d waited forever.

Bad girlfriend.

Cheating girlfriend.

She wanted to cry.

‘Look,’ Ace said, touching her arm. ‘Dump the miserable face. If it means that much to you we’ll hang with Cookie and Harry, s’long as they don’t start doing drugs in front of me. You know I’m not into that crap.’

Mister Straight. Her boyfriend. He wouldn’t fit in with Frankie, for sure.

‘You know what?’ she said. ‘Since we’re gonna see them all tomorrow night at my party, I guess we can escape an’ do something on our own.’

‘Now
that’s
my girl,’ Ace said. ‘Knew you’d see it my way.’

*   *   *

Lying on the bed, smoking yet another joint while thumbing through a Vegas magazine, Frankie was startled to see that Gerald M. – Cookie’s dad – had a one-night engagement at The Cavendish that very evening. ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, sitting up, wondering why Cookie hadn’t told him.

‘What?’ Cookie asked, entering the room with her key card, fresh from a four-hour session at the hair salon where she’d had them remove her dreadlocks. A lengthy process but hopefully worth it.

Frankie barely glanced up. ‘Didja know your old man’s appearing at The Cavendish tonight?’ he demanded. ‘A one-off sold-out performance.’

She marched over to the bed, stood in front of him with hair that curled softly around her pretty face and said, ‘Screw my old man. Whattya think of my new hairstyle?’

‘Oh yeah, your hair,’ he said vaguely, giving her a cursory once-over. ‘It’s lovely, doll. Told you, no regrets.’

‘It took
forever
,’ she complained, flopping down on the end of the bed.

‘I bet it did.’

‘Do you really love it? Are you wild about it? Do I look awesome?’

‘’Course you do,’ Frankie lied, because he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. Now she looked like every other pretty young black girl instead of standing out as one of a kind. But at least it had given him a free afternoon to play the tables. He’d taken a beating at craps, although tonight he was confident that he’d win it all back.

After all, he was Frankie Romano. He always came out on top.

‘So about the concert.’ he said. ‘I think we should go.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah, seriously.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Chapter Thirty-Four