Chapter 4
MY LUCKY NIGHT
BANKS
My dick hasn’t even had a chance to deflate when my phone rings thirty seconds later.
But you never know who’s calling. Could be Mom, or my sister Emily, or my landlord telling me a pipe’s burst. I guess pipes bursting are on my mind.
I adjust myself surreptitiously in the booth, even though no one else is in this back corner of the bar.
The phone bleats again as I wrestle it from my pocket.
It’s…
It’s a 415 number.
My heart sprints.
It’s the number of the San Francisco referral agency I met with a couple hours ago right here in this hotel where they conducted interviews with a few key candidates about a highly specialized contract job for a hush-hush client, they said.
I flew up from Los Angeles for the meeting.
Signed an NDA in advance, even though they didn’t share details of the client.
But that’s par for the course in my field, where discretion and subtlety are mission critical.
When the meeting ended, the guy told me they’d get back to me soon about the opportunity.
I figured that meant when the fuck ever, so hurry up and wait.
But a call mere hours later has got to be good. I try to tamp my excitement, but already I’m feeling damn good. Meeting a sexy-as-sin woman I vibe with and scoring a plum gig for our new firm in one night?
I’m not a guy who believes in luck. But maybe I should. I answer it. “Banks here,” I say, cool and professional.
“Hello, Banks. It’s Liam Halperin,” the man says. “We met earlier.”
I laugh lightly. “Yes, I remember.”
“Of course.” He clears his throat. “Listen, our client was impressed with your credentials, and they’re moving quickly on the project. Everything has come together quicker than expected. You know how it goes.”
In the booth, I sit up straighter, zeroing in on the call as my hard-on vanishes. It’s business time now. “I do.”
“We need to move fast and provide a full suite of services. And they’d like to hire your firm,” he says, then rattles off the parameters of the job and drops a key detail at the end. “And it’s a high-profile assignment.”
No surprise. Most of them are. That’s the nature of my business. “You’ll have our utmost discretion.”
“Excellent. Let me send you some more details over email. Then, we can connect you with the folks in the Los Angeles offices who handle logistics.”
“Perfect,” I say.
We hang up, and I pump a fist quietly.
This is fantastic. Dean is going to lose his mind.
We set up shop a year or so ago after working for others for years and have been eager to land some marquee clients.
But I’ll tell him later. For now, I’ve got five minutes to grab a condom and get to Ripley’s room.
Then I’ve got all night to take care of her before my early morning flight.
As I slide out of the booth, snagging my tablet and the butterfly, my email pings. Love a quick-moving client. As I’m walking through the bar to the front desk, I click open the email.
I read the name of the client. Ruby Horizons Film Productions. The work is on an upcoming movie.
Sweet.
We’ve been making inroads in the entertainment business, but this will help us make further strides for sure. A perfect area for Dean and me.
I scan the email as I stride across the plush carpet but set it aside before I can finish reading. I’m at the front desk now and a cheery man with red hair and redder freckles smiles my way from behind the gleaming marble counter. “Good evening. What can I do for you?”
I scan his name tag. “Evening, Spencer. Any chance you have condoms behind the desk, or anywhere nearby?”
He gives a crisp nod. “Yes, we do. One minute.”
Guess this isn’t his first time at the didn’t-bring-protection rodeo.
As he steps away from the desk and disappears behind an open door into a small office, I return to the email, reading the rest of the details.
The film shoots in Darling Springs. Production starts in a month. The lead actress is Haven Addison.
There’s a picture attached. I download it right as Spencer returns from the office with a condom. Actually, three. Well, someone has a lot of faith in me. He hands me the trio. “Just in case.”
I flash him the smile that a perfect wingman deserves. “Thank you, brother.”
I pocket the condoms as the photo opens and the floor falls out from under me.
In a heartbeat, all the evidence of tonight adds up as the name Ripley reverberates in my skull.
Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Ripley from Alien. The Talented Mr. Ripley.
Ripley’s gotta be the fake name that Haven uses. Because I’m staring at the image of the woman upstairs. The one expecting me to throw her onto the bed in less than thirty seconds.
And she’s my new client.