“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 longjewelry 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.”
