Chapter 7
NICK
I spent most of the day going over the upcoming schedule of parties for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. The thought of downloading it and sending it to Cheryl so she could see what I have going on next week crosses my mind. Then better judgment tells me that would be a dick move.
Along with everything else, I check my email every fifteen minutes to see if Graham sent over his proposal. To say I’m on edge is an understatement.
“So, who pissed in your coffee this morning?” Samson breezes into my office mid-afternoon with a huge annoying smile on his face.
“What are you talking about?”
“Jax said you were in a mood, and your expression confirms it.”
“Maybe Jax oughta mind his own damn business.” This is the downfall of doing business with two guys who’ve known me forever.
“Well?”
“Nothing, and speaking of Jax, did you ever find out why the fuck he was MIA for two days?”
“Said he had that stomach virus. Spent two days in the shitter.”
“And couldn’t even answer his fuckin’ phone?”
“He’s back now.” Samson nabs a cig out of the pack on my desk and lights up. “Any word from Pierce?”
“Not yet.”
My phone buzzes. I swipe it, then turn the screen toward Samson.
Samson nods, and I answer, “Yeah?”
“Good afternoon, Nick.” Graham’s polished voice sets my teeth on edge, but I stay silent. “Regarding the proposal… After going over everything, I think it would be advantageous for me to deliver it in person.”
“Yeah, all right. When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, around two.”
“See you then.”
I swipe away the call and meet Samson’s gaze. “He’s delivering the proposal in person tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“No fuckin’ clue. Just another shitty part of this already shitty day.”
“I’m guessing you and Cheryl were pissing at each other this morning.”
My next question is gonna make me sound like a pussy, but Samson knows me longer and better than anyone, including Cheryl, so I need his input, even though I’ll probably hate it.
“Do you think I’m no fun?”
“Yes.”
“Well, shit, brother, don’t hold back; just hit me square between the eyes.”
“I assumed you wanted the truth. If you want me to blow smoke up your ass, I’ll say, ‘Hey, Nick, you’re the life of the party, always down for a good time.’”
“You don’t have to be a wiseass.”
Samson draws deep on the smoke, then shrugs.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. You’ve always been the serious one.
Even when we were first starting out, it was you who had a head for numbers.
It was you who made it all happen. Frank put us in charge of the Oasis, but it was you who turned it all around.
That fuckin’ dump turned a profit for the first time ever, and then you transformed it into a top-notch club. ”
“I didn’t do it alone.”
“I know, but it was you with the ideas, you who kept the books in order. Shit, if it had been up to me, I would’ve taken those first profits and headed to Atlantic City with a couple of bimbos.”
Those days were all about survival. Samson and I waded through the shit, and somehow came out on the other side.
“What’s got you doin’ all this deep thinking?”
“Do you think I’m all about making money?”
“Hell, yeah, you’re cheap as shit, but that’s not a bad thing when it comes to business. How the fuck do you think this all happened?” Samson waves his hand to the one-way glass overlooking the club. “You worrying about and taking care of the money.”
“So, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that?”
“In business, no, but I’m thinking you’re talking about something else.”
“Cheryl’s been ragging on me about working too much and always talking about money.
” I usually never get into my personal life like a little bitch, but this shit is weighing on me heavy, so I open the drawer of my desk, pull out a long jewelry box and pop it open.
“What do you think?” The diamond heart necklace shines under the lights.
“Not really my style,” Samson deadpans.
I roll my eyes. “I dragged my ass down to Harry Winston’s and dropped a bundle so I’d have something nice for Cheryl after all our Christmases apart.”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful, but I don’t think that’s what she’s talking about.” Samson examines the necklace, then closes the box and locks eyes with me. “Just don’t fuck it up.”
“That’s your advice?”
“You wasted a long fuckin’ time torturing yourself without Cheryl, and now she’s back in your life.” Samson stubs out his cigarette in the cut glass ashtray. “Plus, you got Portia to think of too, so yeah, don’t fuck it up.”
“Thanks.” I hold out my fist, and Samson returns the gesture.
He pushes out of the chair and glances at his watch. “I got four big liquor deliveries coming in today, so I’m done being your shrink.”
“Get the fuck outta here.” I laugh around my words. “And when you see Jax, tell him to come up here. I have a few more questions about Pierce.”
Samson gives me a two-finger salute and leaves the office.
I grab my phone off my desk and swipe at Cheryl’s number. Some days, she works from her home office, but on Thursdays, she goes into her suites at the Bellagio. Which puts her right down the Strip from Wicked. Perfect for what I have in mind.
“Hey.” Cheryl’s voice was the perfect mix of honey and spice.
“You busy?” I want to feel her out first. See if she’s still pissed.
“I have a few minutes to talk. I just pulled into the garage at the Bellagio.”
“Why don’t you come to Wicked around five? Get Izzy to watch Portia, and we’ll have an early dinner at Cipriani before I have to go back to work.”
Silence. Fuck, she is still pissed, and I’m gonna have to work harder.
“I didn’t like the way we left things this morning.”
More silence.
“Samson says I’m no fun, boring as shit, and I’ve been acting a little like Scrooge, so I was hoping to change my image.”
More silence, then, “So, you’re doing this for Samson?”
“Fuck no.” I massage the back of my neck. “I’m really trying here, babe.”
“I get that.”
“So? Are we on?”
“Well, when you put it so sweetly.” Sarcasm drips off every word.
“You know I’m not the guy with the flowery words.” I huff out a laugh. “I thought that’s what you loved about me.”
“Mmmmm, that and your big . . . brain.”
“See you at five, smart ass.”
CHERYL
Nick was right, I do love his directness and his brain, along with another part of his anatomy, but we are both strong-willed personalities, or as Izzy says, “alpha dogs.” The past molded us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t bend, which made Nick’s call special.
Him trying to smooth things over calms me because, when things aren’t right with us, I feel out of sync, off-kilter.
I weave my way into my reserved parking spot, then turn off the ignition and get out of the car. Normally, I let the attendant park it, but the valet line was ridiculously long, and I have a lot to do today.
“Surprised to see me?” Graham rounds the rear of my car, then stops only a few feet in front of me. My natural street smarts tell me he’s way too close for comfort.
“Yes.” I force a smile. Never let them see you sweat.
“I sensed your hesitation yesterday about going with my company.”
I discreetly put some distance between us. Or as much as I could being sandwiched between two cars.
“Not at all. If you have the proposal worked up, we can head up to my office and take a look at it.” I make a move to go around him, and he moves with me.
“The proposal I have is different than what we discussed.”
“As I told you yesterday, dinner is out of the question, and I conduct all business in my office.” I square my shoulders. “Not in a restaurant or a parking garage.”
The same smarmy smile covers his arrogant face. “I don’t think you would want me to discuss what I have to say in your office.”
I’ve come up against all types in my thirty years, but Graham Pierce makes my skin itch.
His intense gaze is meant to intimidate, but I refuse to lower my eyes.
With me standing five-foot-six and wearing two-inch heels, he’s not that much taller than me, and I have defense skills I’m sure he’d never suspect.
“I’m very busy, so if you have something to say, just spit it out.”
“There’s that Brooklyn girl. I knew she was hiding somewhere under all that Chanel and Dior.”
Creepy since I was wearing a Chanel blouse with a fitted skirt, and carrying a Dior purse without any visible markings.
“But you’re right, I’ll get to the point.” He flicks his gaze to the ceiling and then back to me. “I had a meeting with Nick yesterday, and although he seems on board, his partner Samson is a bit hesitant.”
“What Nick and Samson do at Wicked has nothing to do with me.”
“Mmmm, I’m not so sure about that.”
“Cut the bullshit, or I’ll show you what a Brooklyn girl does when she’s pissed off.”
“Ahhh, priceless.” The bastard laughs. Right in my face. “I love your energy.”
I narrow my eyes as a vision of me nailing his little dick with my Louboutins takes shape.
“Here’s the thing. I want your account, and I want you to make sure I get Club Wicked’s account too.”
“I wouldn’t do business with you now if you gave your services away for free, and I just told you, I have nothing to do with what Nick does at Wicked.”
“Even if your dirty past is dug up and appears online or in the Review Journal?”
“What are you talking about?” My heart speeds up at what I know will be his next words.
“You’ve been very busy the last ten years, taking care of your child, starting a business, and a murdering some lowlife in a rundown apartment off Sunset Strip.”
I slowly draw in a breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” When cornered, bluff and deny.
“Let me refresh your memory. A pimp was apparently attacking your now partner, Isabel Torres, and you came to her rescue?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago. Especially since my connections with the Los Angeles police brought me up to date. They are always so very reliable.”
Would my past never stop following me? Worse was Graham’s smug expression throwing it in my face.
“It’s still listed as a cold case, but my less savory connections outside the LAPD tell me it was a cover-up.”
And I would do it again if it meant saving Izzy from her violent pimp. I hadn’t intended on him losing his footing and falling down a flight of cement steps to his death.
“A cover-up orchestrated by Frank Barnett, your mobster father.”
True again. In desperation, I called my father, and he made it all disappear—until now.
“I’m not afraid of you and what you claim to know.” Maybe he is bluffing too, but I’m not about to fold.
“Then maybe you’ll care about another open case in Brooklyn involving the shooting of a Paul Santoro.”
My eyes widen at the mention of Nick’s father.
“Seems he was found in an alley not long after leaving a bar with Nick and your father. I’ve done some investigating, and I know Nick changed his name from Santoro to Sinclair.
I also know that, because his father was such a lowlife, the cops overlooked his death and didn’t give it much attention when your father made a sizable donation to the precinct.
That is until I had some of my associates do some investigating. ”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s where people like you always underestimate me.”
“People like me?”
“You, Nick, and that other thug, Samson. You all think you’re smarter, tougher than me, but in the end, my money and power coupled with your dirty past always put you in a compromising position. One I’m willing to take full advantage of.”
“So, the meeting in my office was all bullshit.”
“I have one of the best surveillance companies in the world on my payroll. I guess you could say they supply information that helps me close many high-profile deals with reluctant clients.”
“Why are you doing this? What have you got to gain from hurting me?”
“Two different questions with the same answer.” He cocks his head. “Because I can.”
“The evidence in both cases is long gone.”
“I have enough money and influence to open both of those cases. Especially if I start whispering in the right ears. It’ll be enough to start some very damaging gossip for you and Nick. Enough speculation to cast a shadow over both Selective Services and Club Wicked.”
“But why?”
“Because I don’t like to lose, and I’m willing to use a little incentive if necessary to acquire the business holdings I want.”
“Sounds more like blackmail.”
“Just a matter of semantics. I’ve found if you dig deep enough, everyone has a secret, and between Nick’s shady past in Brooklyn and your murderous ways, I’ve hit the jackpot.”
My brain spins with a comeback or a solution, but with Graham’s money and power, he could hurt both of us without breaking a sweat. Everything Nick and I have worked for incinerated in a poof of bad decisions.
“I see you realize the veracity of my accusations.”
“All I have to do is tell Nick about this, and he’ll—”
“He’ll what? Have me eliminated like the thug he is?” Graham spits out a cruel laugh. “You’ll say nothing of this to Nick. Or that beautiful daughter of yours who lives with you at Country Club Hills could have an unfortunate accident.”
I lunge at him so fast and hard, his back hits the side of my car. “Don’t you ever mention my daughter.”
“Ahhh, I’ve finally found your Achilles’ heel.”
“What you’ve found is a mother who would give her life for her daughter.” I ram my forefinger into his chest. “And since you know my past so well, you also know what I’m capable of doing.”
“Not if you want to keep your daughter out of the system after you and Nick are behind bars.”
My heart jerks against my ribs. The main reason I involved my father all those years ago was to keep Portia safe and out of the system. Just what I feared then has come tumbling down around me.
“I think I’ve made my point.” He sidesteps to the rear of the car. “Just make sure I have both your businesses in my portfolio by tomorrow, or Portia might be spending Christmas with social services.”
Graham turns and heads toward the back of the garage, and my breath saws in and out of my lungs at a furious speed. I want to pummel his smug face until my knuckles bleed, scream out every last breath in me, but instead I brace my palms against my car and suck in another deep breath.
All the calming techniques I know are of no use because that bastard just came at the most precious person in my life—Portia.