Chapter 5
Jonny dismissed Bambi, the redhead with the skills of a Hoover, then vented his frustration on the office door as he slammed it behind him.
Cheryl. His blonde fantasy girl had a name. She was the last damn person he’d expected to see again tonight, and that brought on a shit load of other questions. Like why Eddie never mentioned her and what was she doing here? Yeah, he gave her his card, and yeah, he’d said come see him—but two hours later?
A heat flashed through him, and he wrapped his hands around the cool brass railing and concentrated on the action below. He hoped that the bouncers communicating on their headsets, and the bartenders and waitresses who kept the party going, would make him forget how Cheryl’s voice jacked up his heartbeat and made him harder than Bambi’s blowjob.
Angela appeared at his side. “I’ve been looking for you all night.”
The vision of Cheryl vanished. “We’re slammed tonight. I got a lot going on.”
Club manager and part-time girlfriend, Angela was all pouty lips, dangerous curves, and constant demands. Although she ignored it when he strayed every once in a while, she kept a running tally in jewelry and designer clothes.
“I’m needed downstairs.” She waved a hand at the crowded club. “One of the girls has a costume malfunction, and as usual, I’m the only one who can fix things.”
He watched her walk away. Every guy in the place eyeballed her, but for him, the thrill was gone.
His phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket.
“Yeah,” Jonny grunted.
“You really ought to improve your phone etiquette,” Frank said.
He rolled his eyes.
“I have to tie up a loose end tonight, so I won’t be coming by the club.”
“Thank fuck,” he mumbled into the dead phone. One less headache.
An hour later he found himself in his office unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk. There, under a false bottom, lay his vice, his one guilty pleasure. He carefully removed the cellophane package, laid it on his desk, and inhaled. Good stuff.
Even after all these years, Yodels still returned him to his childhood. Money was non-existent, thanks to his jailbird father but somehow his mother, a Cuban immigrant with limited English, managed to keep the family together and have this special treat for him and his little sister.
He’d just wiped his mouth and threw the napkin in the trash when Eddie sauntered into his office.
“How do you know Cheryl?” he asked before Eddie was halfway into the room. “And where you been hiding her all these years?”
“She’s a friend from the old neighborhood.” Eddie pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
“And all this time you haven’t seen her?”
“Just random texts, and a few phone calls.” Eddie frowned. “We lost touch after I gave her shit about hookin’ up with Nicky Falcone.”
“Yeah, I saw that loser tonight. Still hasn’t paid up. Frank wasn’t happy.”
“Supposedly, she broke up with him.” Eddie settled on the leather couch across from Jonny’s desk.
“She looked like she was ready to bolt at the Oasis.”
“I hope so.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“Something’s off.” Eddie blew out a stream of smoke. “I told her she could stay in the apartment upstairs tonight. I’ll ask her more tomorrow.”
Yeah. He had some questions of his own. Like why would she be with that loser in the first place?
Eddie leaned in and flicked the tip of his cigarette into the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. “And what the hell were you doin’ with Bambi? I mean, she’s here less than two weeks, and she’s already screwed everybody from the bouncers to the DJ.”
“Geez, you’re kidding, and here I was gonna ask her to marry me and have my kids,” Jonny drawled, then uncapped a water bottle.
“You’re lucky Angela didn’t catch you.”
“It was just a blowjob.”
“It’s my experience most women don’t see the difference,” Eddie warned. “Angela knows a lot of what goes on here. I don’t think you want her pissed off and vengeful.”
“First of all, she doesn’t know that much, and second, I’m not gonna get caught.”
“If you keep getting sucked off in your office with the door unlocked, I’d say the odds are not in your favor.”
“Angela and I have an understanding.” He drained half the water bottle. “I do what I want, and Angela’s very understanding.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, and Jonny’s mind spun back to Cheryl. Her obvious surprise at seeing Eddie told him she didn’t know he was part of the club. So, if she didn’t come to see Eddie, she must’ve come to see him.
Interesting.
“And forget about Cheryl,” Eddie warned.
Fuckin’ Eddie could read his mind. Like he hadn’t wanted to forget her.
Wasn’t working.
~ ~ ~
Later that night, Jonny pushed through the large metal doors, exited the club, and inhaled the damp, night air. He found his limo and Max—his driver and longtime friend—waiting by the curb. At six-foot-three, two hundred and fifty pounds, Max’s duties went beyond driving, and made anyone think twice about giving him a hard time.
Max glanced in the rearview mirror. “You look tired, boss.”
“Long night.” He sunk into the leather seat and closed his eyes. His mind wandered as the limo moved away from the curb and headed for his Manhattan penthouse.
Twenty-five minutes later, the mirrored doors of his private elevator parted with a whoosh. Happy to be off the confines of the elevator, he admired the view of the East River from the wall of glass wrapped around the corner living room. He’d lived here for a year, yet it still amazed him. A big jump from the dump he and Eddie shared down by the docks, furnished with Salvation Army furniture and cockroaches that outnumbered them one hundred to one.
“How’re you doin’, Killer?” he asked as his black and white striped cat curled around his ankles and through his legs. She purred and pushed until he scooped her up and nuzzled the stub that used to be an ear.
He’d rescued her one night on the pier when some punks were using her as a science experiment. They’d already cut off one of her ears, poked out one of her eyes, and were in the process of dousing her with gasoline when he’d intervened and threatened to do the same to them. Skinny, dirty, and full of fleas, he’d named her Killer to boost her confidence. After a visit to the vet and a few weeks of regular feedings, she’d gained weight and thrived. Now, she strutted around his penthouse like the queen of the palace. He hugged her, then let her jump out of his arms, thinking they’d both done pretty good for themselves.
He walked into the bedroom, flipped on the light, and flinched.
“You’re awful tense.” Angela rose from the chair and went to the bar in the corner of the room. “Who were you expecting?” The accusation in her voice was unmistakable.
“No one. I’m just surprised.” She poured Johnny Walker Blue into two tumblers. Her perfect figure filled the La Perla Black Label negligée he’d given her the last time she caught him screwing around.
“It's Friday, and we spend the weekend together, right?” She crossed the room and handed him the intricately cut glass.
“Why were you sitting in the dark?”
“I was enjoying the view.” She motioned to the floor to ceiling windows featuring another view of the East River. “That cat of yours hissed at me when I moved her off the bed.”
“Jealous?” he joked.
“Me or the cat?” Angela quipped.
“You’re a lot alike.” He sipped the smoky liquor, enjoying the hot burn in his throat as he headed toward the bathroom.
She stepped in his path. “You remember when we first met?” Her manicured hand clung to his arm.
“Taking a shitload of Frank’s money to the Caymans, and you were scared of flying. You had me in a death grip until I got a couple of shots of tequila in you.”
She arched her back. “I did not.”
“Yeah, you did,” he teased.
“We were young then.” Her finger traced the front of his shirt.
“We were never young.”
Angela’s trip down memory lane was her way of dragging him backward, so they could move forward.
She undid his belt buckle, and he watched her, rigid and tense with arousal, but instead of Angela’s brown eyes he saw Cheryl’s green ones. She slid her hand inside his pants and stroked him. His hips twitched, but he didn’t know if it was from Angela’s hand or visions of Cheryl.
“Sometimes I miss the old days and that hot, wild, tough guy who was so wound out.”
“Things change.” He hadn’t meant to say it. He should’ve given her the answer she wanted. Eddie was right. Keeping Angela happy was good for business, but lately . . .
“Someone saw Bambi go up to the offices tonight.”
“Maybe she didn’t feel good and had to lie down.”
“As long as she wasn’t lying under you.” Her grip on him tightened.
He gently removed her hand. “We said a long time ago we weren’t gonna ask each other those kinda questions.” He stepped back, refastening his belt.
“What if I did? What would you say?” She lifted the tumbler to her lips but didn’t drink.
“I’d say we don’t ask each other those kinda questions.” Game over.
She lowered the glass, her eyes sharp as she stared at him.
“We had a good run but—”
“A good run?” She slammed the tumbler onto the granite bar top. “What am I a goddamn horse?”
“It’s just not working for me anymore.” He swallowed a big gulp. Why the fuck did he start this at two in the morning?
“You’re breaking up with me?”
His casual shrug lit a fire under her. She slammed herself into the bathroom and returned a few minutes later fully dressed.
“You can spend the rest of the night with that damn cat. I’m out.” Then she flung the negligee at him. “And you can give that to your latest whore.”
She huffed out of the bedroom slamming that door too, and Jonny released a sigh of relief.
He refilled the tumbler and sipped deeply. Whatever they’d had died a long time ago. Their relationship centered around making the club a winner, and they’d competed for every ounce of success. Sure, she had a bangin’ body, and in the beginning it worked, but Angela’s first love was money, and they’d both used each other to get what they wanted. Now, it was just business with benefits, nothing more.
It did surprise him she left so easy, but revenge was more Angela’s style.
He stepped over the negligee and gazed out into the dark night, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. Time to move on, time to—Cheryl popped into his brain again. The gutsy way she barged into his office and threw his shit back at him. A savvy, in-your-face confidence, with none of Angela’s manipulation. Yeah, if Cheryl stabbed you, she’d show you the blade first.