Chapter Nine
“ What ’ s with you tonight?” Laura pulls me from wherever it was I disappeared to.
When three hours at the gym and two-odd hours of shopping didn ’ t work, I called Laura. Copious amounts of wine and all the guilt-ridden carbs I could stomach later . I ’ m still in a shitty mood.
“ Nothing, just drained.”
“ I don ’ t get you. You bust your balls at the gym daily only to gorge on enough pasta to feed a third-world country. Not to mention half a vineyard.”
“ Wine ’ s a fruit,” I muse.
“ I think the fermentation negates the ability to use it as one of your daily two.”
“ Semantics.”
She studies me for a moment too long, and I fight the urge to squirm under her gaze. Even in college , Laura could see right through me like I was nothing more than a pane of glass.
“ Have you had enough?”
I ponder that for a minute, knowing she ’ s not referring to the wine.
I have everything I ’ ve ever wanted. The decked-out apartment, the wardrobe some celebrities would die for, and complete and utter independence. Not one cent came from my parents’ trust fund, and to me, that is worth every pound of flesh I ’ ve paid. Laura and I worked damn hard to get me to this point. It sure wasn ’ t easy or always pleasant. Shitty client after shitty client until I made a place for myself in the right—or wrong, depending how you look at it—circles. Now I have it incredibly easy. I want for nothing.
But have I had enough?
“ Let ’ s go to Vegas for the weekend!”
Laura raises an eyebrow in response.
“ Come on. It ’ ll be fun.”
“ Last time you said that , I wound up naked in a bathtub full of condoms.”
A laugh bursts out at the memory. I ’ ve never been into drugs, not even the recreational kind. I get my kicks elsewhere, but Laura used to like to dabble before she became a fancy lawyer. We drove to Atlanta on a whim—mine, not hers—and bumped into one of Lewis ’ s A-list clients at the casino. He ’ d seen me with him the night we met. As men do, the details were shared, rather explicitly, and I was commandeered for a night. One night turned into a weekend of hard partying and endless sex.
“ You can ’ t blame me for that. I didn ’ t get you high or force you to dance naked around the condo.”
“ No, that was the tequila.”
“ You went to pee and never came back. I noticed , eventually,” I tease. She was completely fine—just fell asleep. How she ended up in the tub will always remain a mystery.
“ Real nice.”
I shrug. “ It was a memorable weekend.”
“ One for the books. But I ’ m not repeating it, and you have Maxwell tomorrow night.”
“ Ah, fuck. ”
Laura raises a brow.
“ I forgot.”
“ Okay, something is up, and don ’ t tell me there isn ’ t. I ’ ll get to the bottom of it sooner or later.”
My lip twitches, knowing she ’ ll try and fail—I hope.
God, I don ’ t want to be here. I want to be anywhere but here. I vetoed Maxwell picking me up and caught a cab to the “ exclusive” location of the back-room poker game. Skeeze, the douche we met the last time, had messaged Max, telling him where and when. So, here I am, down a filthy alley, shivering my tits off , waiting for Max. I may have balls of steel most days, but hell no am I walking in there alone. Not that Max will be any good to me if something goes down.
The silver Bentley I ’ ve come to recognize as Max ’ s town car pulls to a stop at the lip of the alley. My stilettos echo off the brick walls as I storm toward it.
“ ’Bout fucking time, Max. Where the hell have you been?”
“ We got lost.”
God help me .
“ Someone ’ s got their knickers in a knot.”
I roll my eyes and make for the back entrance.
“ My son not doing it for you?”
Oh, for fuck ’ s sake . “ Got something you want to get off your chest, Max? Because by all means, what I do on my time is completely up for discussion .” I throw over my shoulder and fight not to grind my teeth.
“ Jeremy came barreling into my office, demanding to know what was going on.”
“ And? ”
“ And what did you tell him?”
“ Oh, you know, every dirty detail.”
“ What?”
My jaw clenches, and my frustration sizzles. “ I didn ’ t tell him a damn thing, Maxwell. What part of my profession has given you any indication I ’ m incapable of discretion or keeping my damn mouth shut? He does, however, have some very interesting theories he came up with all on his own.”
“ You mean he doesn ’ t know what you do? He isn ’ t…paying you?”
I bite back a laugh. “ No. I doubt he could afford me. Not to mention I get the feeling it would be beneath him.”
We reach the door, and I wait while Max knocks twice, pauses a beat, and then knocks three more times. Really? That ’ s their secret knock?
“ So, what? You ’ re sleeping with him for free? Getting your kicks with a younger man?”
I want to laugh and scream at that. “ Nothing comes for free, Maxwell. Everything has a price.”
“ What ’ s that supposed to mean? Are you or aren ’ t you sleeping with my son?”
“ It means just that. And who I do or don ’ t fuck is none of your business.”
“ He ’ s my son. You made it my business.”
“ So I ’ m good enough for you to work with, but not your son? That ’ s rich, Max, really rich. And for your information, I ’ m only thirty-one. That ’ s hardly scandalous, and since when does his business concern you? From what I ’ ve gathered, you ’ re not close, like at all.”
The door opens, some beefy, bald dude on the other side. Whatever Max ’ s response was going to be dies on his tongue.
“ Head straight, then turn right. Door at the end,” is all the beefy, bald dude says before he steps aside, letting us enter.
“ You know nothing about my family,” Max bites out in my ear.
“ And that ’ s exactly how I plan to keep it.”
Max scoffs at that.
“ You ’ re a client, no more.”
“ So you ’ ll make snap judgments about my relationship with my son and pretend you know everything?”
“ Pot, kettle, Maxwell.”
“ I made a logical conclusion.”
“ You did no such thing. You pay me, that ’ s it. I do my thing and leave. The end.”
“ And what about Jeremy?”
“ Jesus, Max. He thinks I ’ m after his job or sleeping with his father—probably both. It ’ s safe to say that ship has sailed. Hell, the ship didn ’ t even dock. I ’ m nothing to him. You ’ re making an anthill into a whole fucking island. Drop it.”
“ Fine .”
“ Fine .”
You could cut the tension with a knife, but for once, it ’ s not of the sexual kind. It ’ s taking all my resolve not to walk out, not to be the lesser person and leave him to his own mess, but I can ’ t.
“ Why didn ’ t you mention children, Maxwell?” That brings him up short, stopping him in his tracks. “ Because I ’ m starting to think you ’ ve been lying to me.”
He turns to look at me this time. “ No lies. ”
“ Then why the secrecy? What aren ’ t you telling me?”
“ Nothing you need to know.”
“I call bullshit.”
“ Why do you care?”
“ Who said I do?”
He shakes his head but makes no move to correct me or explain.
“ Maxwell, what are we doing here?” I wave my hand back and forth between us.
“ What has my son told you?”
“ Nothing.”
Maxwell raises an eyebrow, doubt shrouding his face.
“ Once again, I ’ ll remind you, you ’ re reading too much into shit. I know nothing about your son, other than a few conversations about BU.” And meaningless text messages.
“ Boston University?”
“ Yes. ”
“ You went to school together?”
“ No, obviously.”
“ Right.” Maxwell ’ s forehead furrows as he looks at me, really looks at me.
“ What?” I roll my eyes. “ I do have a brain. I just choose not to use it. It wouldn ’ t be nearly as much fun, or as lucrative.”
“ Why do you do that?”
“ Do what?”
“ Make out that you ’ re less than you are?”
I balk at that.
“ You ’ ve done it before. Limited your self-worth.”
“ I value myself plenty. I even set a price for it. A rather excessive price, and how would you know anything about me and my self-worth?”
“ You can ’ t put a value on self-worth, Vivienne. It ’ s obvious you don ’ t think you ’ re worth more, deserve more than—”
“ Whoring myself?”
“ To put it bluntly, yes.”
I shake my head and walk on, wanting to be done with this conversation. “ I found something I ’ m good at. I excel at it. It ’ s something I actually enjoy most days, and it pays through the roof. How many professionals do you know who can say the same?”
“ And your parents?”
“ Oh, yes. They must be so proud, ” I scoff. “ They wouldn ’ t give a damn if I was President of the United States because it wasn ’ t what they chose for me. I answer to no one but myself. My life, my choices.”
I come to an abrupt stop at the end of the hall and knock on the only door. It swings open seconds later, and we ’ re met with Skeeze and his slimy grin.
“ It ’ s good to see you both. You ’ re right on time. I hope you brought your cash.”
Our game faces are instantly in place as Max steps forward and opens his coat, showing the stash of cash in his pockets. He did come prepared.
“ Very good. Come on in. You can cash that in for chips in the corner. And what about you? Candy, was it?”
“ You remembered my name—that ’ s so sweet.” And a little unnerving.
“ Never forget a pretty lady.” He leers at me.
Gag. I just smile sweetly.
“ Don ’ t fancy playing with the big boys?”
A retort is right on the tip of my tongue, almost burning with the need to put him in his place. Instead, I swallow it down. “ I like big boys, but I ’ m all full-up.” I wink at Max, and he manages a watered-down smile in return.
Skeeze laughs, but it ’ s cringe-worthy and sets my nerves on edge.
“ I ’ ll be quiet as a mouse if you let me watch. I like to watch.”
“ Do you, now? And here I was thinking you ’ d be more the watchee.”
“ Oh, ha ha. That ’ s clever.” Kill. Me.
“ Take a seat.” He points to a chair just shy of the poker table, already three-quarters full of players.
“ Thank you.” I smile and head for the chair, ignoring the leers directed my way.
This is going to be a long, long night.
I ’ ve been struggling to pay attention for the last three or four hours, only doing enough to gather the bare minimum of what ’ s happening, who ’ s winning, and who ’ s losing. I should be far more present, but I ’ m all up in my head. It ’ s gotten to the point where I ’ ve had enough of stewing, and I want out. It ’ s time to leave.
“ Baby? ” I lean forward, my cleavage on display for all to see, and halt Max ’ s next play. “ I ’ m getting kinda sleepy.” I bite my lip coyly and run my tongue over the seam, hoping my subtle message is coming across loud and clear. It ’ s now or never.
Max ’ s mouth quirks in understanding, and he turns back to the players, now with a slightly glazed-over expression . I lean forward and slide my hand over his thigh, squeezing firmly, sending my final message.
“ Well, you heard the little lady. It ’ s time for bed,” Max says with a gleam in his eyes I didn ’ t know he had in him and pushes all his chips forward, going all in.
I giggle and cover my mouth with my hand. Max turns back to me, seeming to give me all his attention. But I know better. The vein in his neck pulsates, no doubt in time with the rampant thoughts racing through his mind.
Chuckles and a few lucky bastards filter through the room, but Skeeze ’ s beady eyes just stare, boring into me. Two of the men fold, unprepared or unable to match the bet. Two start counting chips, and Skeeze watches. Always watching. It could be anyone ’ s game with a king, ten, nine, and two eights on the table, yet it won ’ t be.
“ Twenty K, all in?”
Max directs his gaze to Skeeze and nods. “ Yeah, that sounds about right.”
The other two players put their chips in and look at Skeeze. He slides his chips across the table, an unreadable mask on his slimy face. “ Call. ”
I fight the urge to bite my lip in anticipation, already knowing the outcome in my head. That ’ s more than eighty grand, right there. One by one, Max turns his cards over. First the jack, then the queen.
Game, set, and match.
The room explodes with a mix of what-the-fucks and the roars of cheers, and Max just sits there in a holy fuck- stunned stupor. I snap to and squeal with excitement, tugging on Max ’ s arm and repeating “ we won!” over and over.
“ That seems to have been a lucky play, Max.” Skeeze glowers, pulling Max from his shock.
“ You ’ re tellin ’ me. Guess my lucky charm here worked like a treat.” He smiles a shit-eating grin at me.
“ So it would seem.”
“ Nothing like bedtime to motivate someone.” I giggle, if a little uncomfortably.
Max chuckles as he pulls in all his chips, his grin getting wider and wider. “ It was nice doing business with you, boys. We ’ ll have to do it again sometime.”
“ With your lucky charm by your side?” Skeeze responds with a hint of something I can ’ t quite put my finger on. Questioning curiosity is the closest, with a side of hostility, maybe.
Max looks at me with a beaming smile, and I crinkle my nose, making him and a few of the others chuckle. “ Aw, come on, it ain ’ t so bad.”
“ I prefer the after-game.” I wink. “ And I really don ’ t want to outstay my welcome.” I smile sweetly at Skeeze.
“ And deprive the men of your company? We couldn ’ t have that, now could we? Besides, Max here needs his lucky charm, ain ’ t that right?”
“ You know I like having you by my side.” Max ’ s response is on cue with a sweet smile of his own, only his eyes showing any concern.
“ Then I ’ ll be where Max is.”
“ Wonderful.” Skeeze smiles at me, all teeth and no lips, reminding me of that old wives ’ tale —never smile at a crocodile. “ Well then, we ’ ll be seeing you both next time. Max?”
“ Uh, yeah?”
“ Cash those chips in before you leave.”
We don ’ t need to be told twice, both more than eager to be gone. And with that, Skeeze goes back to the game at hand, several grand poorer and a big chip on his shoulder.
Max and I don ’ t speak a word to each other as we leave the room, close the door behind us, or walk down the narrow hall in the dark toward the exit, but the silence is too loud, too deafening. I jump a little as the beefy, bald dude appears out of nowhere to let us out, his stoic stance saying he ’ s not thrilled about it.
We ’ re halfway down the alley when Max finally breaks the silence. “ Vivienne? ”
“ You played a good game, Maxwell. Can we leave it at that?”
“ I want to take you to dinner.”
“ When?”
“ Now.”
“ Now? ”
“ Yes. ”
“ But it ’ s two in the morning.”
“ I know a little place that ’ s open twenty-four-seven.”
“ Why?”
“ I need to explain.”
“ No, you really don ’ t. I don ’ t—”
He cuts me off. “ Please.”
I sigh and nod, following Max out of the alley as he calls for a cab with the unmistakable feeling I ’ m about to learn a lot more than I want to about the Thatcher family.