The Sunday Arrangement (17 page)

“My sincere
apologies, sir, that you did not enjoy the food. I will certainly compensate
your meal for you both. Is there anything else you would like to try, sir? We
have an excellent selection of—”

Pierce held up his
hand apathetically and shook his head. “That’s not necessary. I would like to
speak to your chef. Could you please send him out?”

“Certainly, sir,” the
waiter said. He swiftly spun on his heel, and we watched his bald head
disappear behind the black double doors.

Confused, I looked at
Pierce and sat forward in my chair. “This was some of the best food I’ve ever
had from a casino here in Vegas. What are you up to?” 

“I agree. I actually want
to offer the kid a job.”

I raised an eyebrow.
“But the casino won’t be opening for at least three years. You think he’ll wait
that long?”

“I know. That’s exactly
why I’m offering him a job as my personal chef until the casino is ready for
business. Don’t worry. I plan on making it worth his while.”

A tall, blond-haired
man in his late twenties approached our table. His white smock was laden with
food stains. His chef’s hat was a little skewed atop his head, and his gaze was
fixed on Pierce.

“I’m sorry to hear
you did not enjoy the meal, sir.” His eyes were a beautiful deep blue. I gave
him the once-over and looked to see if he had a ring on his finger. He didn’t.
I smiled at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He held his hands behind his
back as though he was bracing himself for whatever Pierce was about to say. I
noticed he seemed to be feigning uneasiness for Pierce’s benefit. Given his
size, I doubted he ever got nervous or really cared who did or didn’t like his perfect
dishes.

“On the contrary Mr.
. . .”

“Hoffman, Lucas
Hoffman.”

“Mr. Hoffman, I want
to offer you a job. I’m in the process of building a casino, hotel, and
restaurant. Until it is open and you can start working there, I want you to be
my personal chef. I will offer you three times your daily rate. You will be
paid this per three meals a day and extra for anything that takes over an hour
to prepare, five days a week.”

Hoffman’s blue eyes
widened in surprise. He glanced at me as if he needed validation that this was
true.

I nodded my head,
prompting him to accept.

“I . . . that’s
nearly ten grand a month!” he exclaimed.

“So will you do it?”
Pierce was clearly unmoved by Lucas’s shock. I personally couldn’t blame the
chef for being over the moon; it’s not every day a person gets such an increase
in pay.

“When will your
casino be open, sir?” he asked.

“Two, maybe three
years. Is that a problem?”

“No, sir,” he said,
grinning from ear to ear. “I’d be more than willing to be your personal chef
for as long as necessary.”

“Good. You will start
Thursday. If you have any issues with your employer, have him call me and I’ll
make sure it’s not too big of a loss for him.” He suavely pulled a business
card from his suit jacket. “Here’s my number. I’ll let my assistant know to
expect you. Call her number tomorrow, and she will give you my address and further
instructions.”

Lucas nodded. “Yes,
sir, thank you.”

“And one last thing,”
Pierce added.

“Anything.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’” he
said with the flick of his wrist. “It reminds me too much of my father.”

“Yes . . . uh, okay.
Thank you very much.” He beamed at us both before he took the card and walked
back to the kitchen.

“Speaking of your
assistant, where is April? Normally her bony little hips are attached to yours.”

“She has nights off.
She chooses to come out with us only when she wants to. I don’t make her do
anything she doesn’t volunteer to do.”

I suppressed the urge
to roll my eyes. “So when you had her on that date in New York, the night before
we flew out here . . . that was her doing as she pleased?”

He took a sip of his soda.
“Now, now, Lauren. Do I detect a hint of jealously in your voice?”

I sat back in my
chair and crossed my arms. “No, no. Not at all. It’s nice you give the poor
little thing a job, I suppose.”

“Actually I took her to
that restaurant to piss off my father. He hates it when the paparazzi come to
him with photos of me and an assistant. ‘Billionaire’s wild son out partying again,’”
he said in his best 1960s newsies accent.

“Sounds like a
familiar title,” I said.

“I’m sure you know
what I mean. Money attracts cameras for some reason. And Dad will do just about
anything to avoid them. He’ll pay hundreds of dollars for the photographs just
to avoid a potential scandal even though there never is one. Those damn
journalists have a habit of pole-vaulting over mouse turds.”

“Lucky you.”

“Then again, I never
slept with any of my college professors . . .”

I almost knocked over
my wine glass. “How did you know about that?”

He rolled his eyes,
those eyes I was so very fond of. “Please, Lauren. It was all over the news.
You dropped out of school. The old geezer was forced to retire. I’ve never seen
my dad so thrilled about the bad press your father received.”

“It was the absolute
worst time in my life. I couldn’t go anywhere, do anything. Everyone knew all
the details of my life.”

“I bet you couldn’t. It’s
impossible in our position, with families as wealthy as ours, to screw up. Like
I said, wealth attracts those goddamn cameras. But scandal and wealth? That’s walking
into the hornet’s nest.”

I shook my head,
dismissing the painful memories. Why hadn’t I connected the dots? Of course,
Pierce would know about the blemish on my otherwise pristine public record, but
he was the last person I wanted to discuss that particular memory with. It
didn’t seem appropriate in light of our current relationship—and what my father
had warned me about yesterday. Making a mental note to keep Pierce at a
distance, with the exception of Sunday evenings when I wanted him as close as
he could possibly get, I tried to change the subject. “If you hate it so much,
why do you provoke the paparazzi?”

He shrugged. “I like
to see my father squirm every once and a while, especially around April.
There’s something about her in particular that he really hates. You should see
him. I swear the veins in his head look like they’re going to explode when he
sees us together.”

“Why do you try so
hard to make your father upset by taking blonde bimbos out on a date?” I asked.
“Seems a little . . . beneath you.”

He reached for the plastic
straw in his glass and began folding it up like an accordion. “We’re done
scouting here. There’s not much else to see now that I’ve taken the one great
thing about this place.” He quickly got up from the table and walked away.

I frowned. He had
deliberately not answered my question, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. Ever
since my conversation with my father, I questioned everything Pierce said or
didn’t say. I hated it. The insecurity and paranoia made me nauseous.

I placed enough money
on the table to pay for our meal and give the waiter a generous tip for putting
up with Pierce’s show. I followed him out to the valet. By the time I got
there, he was already speeding off in his Shelby Cobra. Apparently, I had stepped
over a line. At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed at the thought
that he’d brought April to my favorite New York restaurant that night, but then
got mad when I asked about it. Now I was forced to find a cab. This wasn’t at
all how I thought this evening would play out.

~*~*~*~

We had a speech to
give to more potential inspectors, and I was working on my half—nothing huge,
just an update to keep them involved and interested in the process. It’d been a
week since our last communication with the ten wealthy men who wanted a piece
of the casino’s pie. They needed to know where we were.

Pierce was focused
and silent, working on something across the table from me. If he was still
bitter about last night’s escapades, he didn’t show it. April looked busy
enough, but I frequently caught her stealing glances at Pierce. For the thousandth
time, I wondered what in hell Pierce was doing with her. She was pretty in a
stereotypical, Playboy kind of way. But she added nothing to our team, and she
sure as hell added nothing to our business. If Pierce saw something in her, I
wondered what that said about me.

“April, did you create
the Excel spreadsheet with all of the investors’ contact information like I
asked yesterday morning?” I said. I knew she hadn’t, but I wanted her to have
to say it out loud, especially in front of Pierce.

She looked at me, a
scowl on her face. “I’m making the final adjustments to it now, actually.”

 “Oh, I didn’t
realize it would take you so long since there are only ten investors.”

“I’m not in the habit
of turning over mediocre work. My perfected spreadsheet will be e-mailed to you
shortly, Ms. Hart,” she said with a forced grin on her face.

“Well, all right then,
it’s not the Sistine Chapel.” I knew I was being snarky, but part of me wanted
to see how Pierce would react to the bickering between the two women in his
life. He was either too preoccupied with what he was doing, or he simply didn’t
care to acknowledge our little spat.

I grabbed my phone to
text Kat.
Remind me again why you’re attracted to women
, I wrote.

Almost immediately,
my phone lit up with her reply.
Two words: BOOBS
.

I suppressed a soft chuckle
at my friend’s bluntness.
Good point. But what happens when that thing above
her boobs won’t shut up?

Better question, why
is this conversation turning me on?
her response read.

Typical. Come visit
me already. I miss you.”

I miss you too, Lo!
I’ll be there next weekend. Forgot about my dad’s birthday this Sunday.
L

I set my iPhone down
on the long conference table. Secretly I was thankful Kat had something come up
at the last minute. I missed her, but I didn’t want her visit to interfere with
my plans for Sunday. No matter what kind of paranoia my father had caused me to
feel lately with Pierce, I still desperately wanted to have sex with him. My
instinct wasn’t sending warning flares in the air, so why not? I couldn’t let a
perfectly decent video camera go to waste, now could I?

The only sound in the
room was the mad clicking of laptop keys. April looked confused as she stared
at her Macbook. Pierce looked resolute as he typed away without hesitation.

I nearly jumped out
of my skin when Pierce’s cell phone went off next to him.

He stared at the
caller ID for a moment before he answered. “Pierce Maverick.” He frowned as he
stared at the pale green conference room wall. “How did you get my number?” His
eyes narrowed. “You know that was a lie. It never happened like that.” His hand
resting on the table formed into a fist. “I tolerated you then for her sake. I
don’t have to put up with you now.” He hung up on the caller and pushed the
cell phone away from him on the table.

“Is everything okay?”
I asked. I jumped again as his phone rang another time.

He ignored the call.
“Yeah, just a demon from my past.”

 “What kind of
demon?” April asked. She leaned in close to him. “Anything I can take care of?”

I rolled my eyes at
the naiveté of this girl. It was a good thing she was beautiful because she
clearly didn’t have much else working for her.

The phone went off
again, and once more he ignored it. “It’s a demon that I’m apparently going to
have to block.”

~*~*~*~

The rest of the week
passed in a blur as we scouted different venues to see what they had to offer, created
proposal drafts, held meetings with concerned investors, and checked on the
progress of the model Toby was designing. I felt better about getting down and
dirty with the details of the project again. No longer was I letting Pierce
just have his way. I protested when I felt it was necessary, I offered more
input, and I think we were both better because of it. Dad would be happy, and
it helped the week pass by immensely faster than the week before. I barely had
time to finish all my phone calls, my exploration of the city, and my e-mails,
let alone worry about the sex video I was going to make with Pierce.

 Over all, I’d simply
been dealing with a moody Pierce, who had become a brick wall of indifference
since Wednesday when he got that mysterious phone call.

When “Beethoven’s
Virus,”
the peculiar song I appropriately set as Pierce’s ringtone,
blared throughout my room early Sunday morning, I was surprised. This was the
first time he’d ever called me. Normally, we were together enough that he never
needed to reach me via telephone. “Hello?” I answered groggily, trying to wake
up.

“Interesting little
gift I got this morning,” he said simply.

I sat up in bed and
ran a hand through my tangled hair to move it out of my face. “You got it?”