Chapter Nine

Rob

Los Angeles

I have to admit – Cordy was right. She kept hounding me about getting out of the house and I finally decided to appease her by heading out to one of LA's trendiest hot spots – Delirium. It's the place where the rich and famous, the movers and shakers, and Hollywood's A-list went to see and be seen. And up to now, I've been having a better time than I'd expected.

Not being a nightclub guy normally, I was surprised by the controlled chaos outside the doors. When I pulled up and handed the keys to my Lamborghini over to the valet, the collection of paparazzi standing behind a barrier, started snapping pictures and shouting questions at me as I walked up the black carpet to the front doors.

Idiots didn't realize that I'm not anybody special. I'm not an actor, a director – I'm not Tinsel Town royalty.

Though, sitting here in my private VIP room on the second floor, with a floor to ceiling window that lets me overlook the club – I kind of feel like royalty, to be honest. The dance floor below is packed with bodies writhing and undulating in time with music that's pumping so loud, it's making the window vibrate.

“So, what do you do again?” Shelby asks.

“Business,” I say. “Construction. Casinos. I like do a little bit of everything.”

She bites her bottom lip and looks at me, a flirtatious little smile upon her lips. “I'll just bet you do.”

The woman – girl, really, she can't be more than twenty-two or three – is the stereotypical California girl. Long blonde hair, tight, toned bikini-perfect body, big green eyes, and skin that's golden brown. When I look up those long, sculpted legs that disappear beneath a tiny little skirt, I can't help but feel myself getting hard.

I am, after all, a red-blooded man who enjoys a beautiful woman.

I'd met Shelby in the lobby of the club, near the bar. She was with a group of her friends, but she ditched them when we started talking. And it wasn't long after that I invited her up to the VIP room.

“You must make a lot of money,” she says. “That suit's not cheap. And I saw the car you pulled up in. That thing must've cost a pretty penny.”

I shrug. “I like to think I do alright.”

She arches an eyebrow at me. “You have two goons outside the door to protect you. You drive a Lambo,” she says. “I'd say you do a little more than alright. Why do you have bodyguards anyway? I don't know many guys in construction who need bodyguards.”

“Old habits, I guess,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

I stand up and walk to the window, staring down at the mass of humanity bumping and grinding out on the dance floor. I look at the small clusters of people scattered around the booths and tables off the dance floor. I see a few celebrities I recognize chatting it up with some I don't – people I imagine are other Hollywood elite. Directors. Producers, or whatever.

“Do you ever envy them?” I ask, pointing down to the people. “Do you ever wish you were famous?”

“Well, duh,” the girl says. “That's why I go on auditions like every day.”

“So, that's your goal?” I ask. “To be famous?”

She smiles. “And rich, of course.”

“Of course,” I say.

“Girlfriend?” she asks. “Wife? Both?”

I laugh. “Neither, actually,” I say. “Work usually keeps me pretty busy.”

“Well, all the better for me then,” she replies. “But, you know what they say about all work and no play...”

“So, I've been told.”

She languidly crosses her long legs, making sure to give me a show. Looking at me with dreamy eyes, she runs the tip of her tongue around her lips suggestively. The girl is gorgeous, there's no doubt about that. But, I have to admit that I'm a little turned off by her obsession with money. With how much I make. How much my suit cost. What I drive. Status, status, status.

But then, I have to remind myself that she's young. And she's trying to break into an industry that's very image conscious. An industry that was built on the superficial. It's not her fault – she's just a product of the industry.

And I have to keep reminding myself that I'm here for fun. A good time. To not take everything so seriously and to stop overthinking every damn thing– which is something my mom always used to tell me. She always said that sometimes, I need to step back and just have fun. That life is to be enjoyed.

“I know that with your money you have to know somebody that would be interested in my talent,” she said as she moved to pull down the neckline of her top.

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

“What, you won’t help me a little? I can make it worth your while, I promise,” she pleads as she walks over to me and throws her arms around my neck.

Gently I remove her arms, “I think it’s time for you to go, Darling. You are barking up the wrong tree here.”

“You Son of a B…”, she screamed as she picked up a bottle of water to throw at me.

Oh yes, get out, mingle, have some fun. Some fun.