Chapter 2
CHERYL
“I can’t believe you had another tree delivered.” Izzy enters the foyer from the home office on the other side of the staircase. “It is beautiful though.”
“Where were you ten minutes ago? I could’ve used someone on my side.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Izzy throws back her shoulders. “You know I’m way smarter than to get between you two alpha dogs.”
Meeting Izzy years ago and saving her from her vicious pimp on the back streets of Hollywood gave us a bond as tight as sisters.
What started as a way to help other women and get them off the streets, away from their abusive pimps, turned into Selective Services, an upscale escort business catering to discriminating businessmen and other select clients.
“Fine friend you are.”
“Honey, I’m into self-preservation. ‘Cause there’s no way either one of you is ever gonna make me take sides.” Izzy turns to Portia. “Are you ready for school, darlin’?”
“All set.” Portia sweeps up her backpack. I smile down at my beautiful daughter, proud of her overall happiness. Having her young and raising her on my own wasn’t easy, but we survived and grew together.
“Today isn’t even going to be like school. We have our holiday party, and then everyone in the concert has to meet for a final rehearsal.”
I’ve tried to show Portia the value of hard work, and having Nick back in our lives just makes it all much sweeter.
I kept my pregnancy and Portia’s birth a secret from him because, at the time, it seemed like the best decision.
When my father, Frank Barnett, sent me to California for my safety, neither of us had any idea I was pregnant with Nick’s baby.
At the time, Nick was still involved in that life, and I couldn’t take a chance with Portia’s safety, so I kept her birth and her very existence a secret.
With Nick still in New York and me in California, the deception was easy.
I lean down and peck her cheek. “Can’t wait to see your show later.”
Izzy ushers Portia out the door, and I head for my home office.
Then, six months ago, our lives collided. I’d opened up an office in Vegas, and Club Wicked became a client of Selective Services. Both of us were shocked at that initial meeting.
After a few rough spots, we managed to find our way back to each other, and Portia accepted Nick in our lives and as her father.
Over the past months, the similarities between father and daughter have been scary.
They both love anchovies but hate olives.
Amusement park rides are a yes, and they both struggle with sitting still.
In the end, they have formed a bond I could’ve only wished for in my dreams.
When I settle behind my desk, my computer flashes today’s schedule. An interview with a new girl we’re looking to hire, then a meeting at our offices in the Bellagio with Graham Pierce.
He contacted me last week about looking at his portfolio of nightclubs.
I’d hesitated at first, but he insisted he had some new clubs that could use our services.
Not that I ever turn down new business, but right now, we were stretched thin between the L.A.
and Vegas offices, and it would definitely mean hiring more people.
One of my business plans for the New Year centered around expanding the L.A. office, then moving the small suite at the Bellagio and my home office to a larger space. So attracting new businesses would certainly help with that plan.
The meeting is at five, and Portia’s recital would give me the perfect excuse in case Graham got too long-winded with his pitch—which is a definite possibility since it was almost impossible to get him off the phone the other day.
That’s the main reason I granted him the meeting.
Or worst-case scenario, he turns out to be another asshole who thought I was pimping prostitutes.
Either way, I have a valid reason for cutting the meeting short—my daughter.
I begin ticking off the laundry list of items still left to do before Friday, Christmas Day. Maybe Nick is right—not that I would ever admit it, but five Christmas trees could be considered a bit excessive—even for me.
NICK
As I pull into the garage under the club, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I dig it out, make a face, then swipe at the screen.
“I don’t like missed appointments.” Graham’s smooth Ivy league voice eases through the phone.
“Couldn’t be helped.” I may want to do business with the guy, but I’m not about to fuckin’ grovel.
“Unfortunately, I’m booked for the rest of the day. If you had—”
“What can I say? Shit happens.”
“Perhaps . . . I could squeeze you in at six.”
“Nothing earlier?”
“I have appointments all day. My last is up on the Strip at five, so I should be able to get to you by six.
“Yeah, all right.”
Graham and his organization finance and promote clubs all over the world. He’d skyrocketed nightclubs like Club Wicked to the next level, but I wanted to hear all the angles and make sure his pitch isn’t just another scam.
“Just make sure you’re there at six.”
If this guy thinks he can intimidate me, he’s fuckin’ wrong. I’d stood up to strung-out junkies, half-crazed enforcers and a mob boss—so not happening.
“I’ll be here.” I swipe away the call, telling myself I don’t have to like everyone I do business with, right?
We’d gone down this road before with guys promising the world, then not delivering. That’s why it’s imperative to have a sit-down and iron out all the facts beforehand. That way, there were no surprises like the promotor wanting way more of a percentage than they deserve.
I punch the elevator button for the offices on the third floor, then enter the glass-enclosed space, allowing me to survey the two levels of the empty club. The twenty-thousand-foot space always fills me with pride.
After Samson and I broke away from Frank, we came out to Vegas and started Club Wicked from the ground up. Our success wipes away all the late-night beatdowns on the Brooklyn piers, all the times we had to toe the line and make sure we kept the mob boss happy.
Now that the bad days are behind us, the only way to go is up.
The doors whoosh open, and I walk the short distance to Samson’s office. I knock, then shoulder through the door, and he turns from the one-way glass overlooking the club.
“Is Jax here?” I ask. “I didn’t see him on the way up.”
“Nah, he called in sick the last two days,” Samson says. “Maybe it’s that new redhead he’s seeing.”
“The one who dances over at Ecstasy?”
“Yeah.”
The Serpents MC own Ecstasy, a strip club in North Las Vegas, and lately Jax has been spending time there, so maybe Samson is right.
“I got nothing against him getting his dick wet, but I wanted him to sit in on this meeting with Pierce since he was the one who did all the research on the guy. Make sure you have a talk with him tomorrow.”
Along with security, Jax vets all new employees or business contacts. His savvy tech skills allow him to do a deep-dive in backgrounds, and according to Jax, Graham Pierce not only checks all the boxes, but has a solid business plan when it comes to promotion.
“That deadbeat, Sal, showed up last night again.” Samson settles on the couch in his office and knocks a cigarette out of the pack on the coffee table.
“What the hell could he want after all these years?”
“No fuckin’ clue.” Samson flicks his lighter. “The first time he showed up last week, he was asking questions of the bartenders and the bouncers. Telling them he was an old friend of ours from back in Brooklyn.”
“Friend? That’s a fuckin’ joke.”
Sal was a small-time player who ran the Pit, a strip joint in Brooklyn where Cheryl had worked as a waitress. The place was a dump, and he treated his workers like shit. The kind of place with daily fights at the bar and weekly stabbings. Ironically, it was also where I met Cheryl the first time.
“I told the bouncers to keep him out.” Samson leans back against the couch cushions.
“Agreed. He’s most likely looking for a handout. The fuckin’ guy was always behind with his bookie.”
“Probably out here sniffing around ‘cause he’s burned all his connections in New York.”
“Let him do his sniffing somewhere else.” I nab a smoke out of the pack and light up. “The last thing we need is his brand of trouble here.”
“I was thinking . . . maybe Frank’s behind Sal hanging around?”
“Nah, I doubt it. Sal was way too low on the food chain to interest Frank.”
“Still, Sal was definitely one of Frank’s lackeys back then. Maybe he sent him to keep eyes on us.”
“No way.” I ash my smoke in the cut glass ashtray.
“You never know.”
“Frank gave me his word six months ago when I got back with Cheryl that he’d stay outta our shit, and leave Club Wicked alone.”
“And you believe him?”
Samson and I let those words hang between us. Frank definitely still has East Coast ties, but when mob wars began breaking out, he moved west. Now, he spends most of his time in L.A. overseeing a string of jazz clubs he opened up and down the Pacific coast.
“He wouldn’t do anything to put Cheryl or Portia in danger.”
Since moving west, the mob boss has kept a low profile. Did I think he was totally clean? No. Did I think he would still off somebody who crossed him? Yes. Did I think he would put his daughter or granddaughter in jeopardy? Absolutely not.
I hold up my phone. “I made another appointment with Pierce for six o’clock today.”
Samson nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“I don’t know why you’re so against this guy.” Might as well get this shit out in the open. One thing about our business partnership: we never hold back, and we never hold any punches. If something needs to be said, we spit it out.
“Different shit I’ve heard.”
“From who, Joker?” I ask.
Joker, VP of the Serpents, and Samson went back to their cage-fighting days in Brooklyn.
“Pierce approached them too about Ecstasy. He said they got a wonky vibe from the guy.”
“Two different things. The Serpents use Ecstasy to wash their dirty money, so of course they don’t want anyone poking around in their books. Wicked is completely legit, and if we can bring it to the next level, it means more money for both of us.”
Samson and me having a difference of opinion isn’t anything new.
When it comes to business, I’m the aggressor.
When it comes to busting heads, nobody’s better than Samson.
I wear tailored designer clothes, and he wears ripped jeans and a band t-shirt like he should be straddling a Harley with the Serpents, yet our partnership works.
“Maybe, or he’s just another smooth-talking prick who thinks who he is cause he’s got a shit ton of money.”
“I’m not asking you to go to bed with the guy.” I spread my arms wide. “I’m just asking you to listen to what he has to say.”
“I guarantee he’s just another fucker who promises all this shit, then slaps us with a huge percentage.” Samson cocks his head. “Or did you forget about my wife’s ex who promised the same shit and turned out to be a total fraud?”
“And that’s why I wanna meet up. Find out what his deal is, see if he can give us some real legitimacy.”
“What the fuck you talking about?” Samson says. “We are legit.”
“Nah, I mean working with a top-notch promoter. A guy with class who has the kind of pull to bring the real players into Wicked.”
“Did you forget about the sold-out VIP last month for Spielberg’s latest release?”
“That’s nothing. If everything I’ve heard about Pierce is true, he can get us guys who would use Spielberg as their driver.” I lean in. “I’m talking about real money. The kind of people who’ve had money for generations.”
“And what if he can’t deliver or wants a piece of the club like the last guy?”
“If that’s what he wants, then we’re done, and he’s out the door.”
Samson stretches his arms over the cushions. “Huge waste of fuckin’ time if you ask me.”
I shrug. “What else you got to do today?”
“You’re fuckin’ kidding me, right, with five big parties in the VIP between Christmas and New Years?”
“Yeah, I’m busting balls, but what if we pass this up and we miss out on something good?”
“Whatever.” Samson shrugs. “You’ve already made up your mind, and one thing I’ve learned over the years is that there’s no changing you.”
“Ha, I wish Cheryl felt that way.”
“Yeah, what the fuck was goin’ on over at your place this morning?”
“She’s got it in her head to make this the best Christmas ever.”
“I guess for Portia, right?”
“Yeah, sure, but seriously, I think just as much for her.” I wave my hand between Samson and me. “You, me and Cheryl came from the same place; we had fuckin’ nothing. We fought our way out, and it wasn’t easy, but it’s like she’s trying to make up for it all in one week or one day.”
“So, what’s the big fuckin’ deal? Let her decorate and do her thing.”
“It ain’t you living with five different trees all decorated to match the rooms they’re in, and blow-up snowmen on the front lawn. A snowman in the desert. She ordered the deluxe package from the guy who strings outside lights, and now I gotta wear sunglasses just to walk up to the front door.”
Samson barks out a laugh. “It’s funny, Lisbeth is the complete opposite. She wants it all simple and quiet.”
Samson’s woman had a modest upbringing, and although their meeting was unusual, and Lisbeth and Samson are complete opposites, she’s the calming force in Samson’s life. The one who keeps him level.
“Lucky you, I gotta walk past a mechanical Santa every morning in my foyer.”
“Geez, lighten up, fucker. You’re starting to sound like Scrooge.”
Shit, Cheryl said the same thing an hour ago.