“You have got to be kidding me!” Izzy throws back her shoulders. “You know I’m way smarter than to get between you two alpha dogs.”
Meeting Izzy years ago and saving her from her vicious pimp on the back streets of Hollywood gave us a bond as tight as sisters. What started as a way to help other women and get them off the streets, away from their abusive pimps, turned into Selective Services, an upscale escort business catering to discriminating businessmen and other select clients.
“Fine friend you are.”
“Honey, I’m into self-preservation. ‘Cause there’s no way either one of you is ever gonna make me take sides.” Izzy turns to Portia. “Are you ready for school,darlin’?”
“All set.” Portia sweeps up her backpack. I smile down at my beautiful daughter, proud of her overall happiness. Having her young and raising her on my own wasn’t easy, but we survived and grew together.
“Today isn’t even going to be like school. We have our holiday party, and then everyone in the concert has to meet for a final rehearsal.”
I’ve tried to show Portia the value of hard work, and having Nick back in our lives just makes it all much sweeter. I kept my pregnancy and Portia’s birth a secret from him because, at the time, it seemed like the best decision. When my father, Frank Barnett, sent me to California for my safety, neither of us had any idea I was pregnant with Nick’s baby. At the time, Nick was still involved in that life, and I couldn’t take a chance with Portia’s safety, so I kept her birth and her very existence a secret. With Nick still in New York and me in California, the deception was easy.
I lean down and peck her cheek. “Can’t wait to see your show later.”
Izzy ushers Portia out the door, and I head for my home office.
Then, six months ago, our lives collided. I’d opened up an office in Vegas, and Club Wicked became a client of Selective Services. Both of us were shocked at that initial meeting.
After a few rough spots, we managed to find our way back to each other, and Portia accepted Nick in our lives and as her father. Over the past months, the similarities between father and daughter have been scary. They both love anchovies but hate olives. Amusement park rides are a yes, and they both struggle with sitting still. In the end, they have formed a bond I could’ve only wished for in my dreams.
When I settle behind my desk, my computer flashes today’s schedule. An interview with a new girl we’re lookingto hire, then a meeting at our offices in the Bellagio with Graham Pierce.
He contacted me last week about looking at his portfolio of nightclubs. I’d hesitated at first, but he insisted he had some new clubs that could use our services. Not that I ever turn down new business, but right now, we were stretched thin between the L.A. and Vegas offices, and it would definitely mean hiring more people.
One of my business plans for the New Year centered around expanding the L.A. office, then moving the small suite at the Bellagio and my home office to a larger space. So attracting new businesses would certainly help with that plan.
The meeting is at five, and Portia’s recital would give me the perfect excuse in case Graham got too long-winded with his pitch—which is a definite possibility since it was almost impossible to get him off the phone the other day. That’s the main reason I granted him the meeting. Or worst-case scenario, he turns out to be another asshole who thought I was pimping prostitutes. Either way, I have a valid reason for cutting the meeting short—my daughter.
I begin ticking off the laundry list of items still left to do before Friday, Christmas Day. Maybe Nick is right—not that I would ever admit it, but five Christmas trees could be considered a bit excessive—even for me.
NICK
As I pull into the garage under the club, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I dig it out, make a face, then swipe at the screen.
“I don’t like missed appointments.” Graham’s smooth Ivy league voice eases through the phone.
“Couldn’t be helped.” I may want to do business with the guy, but I’m not about to fuckin’ grovel.
“Unfortunately, I’m booked for the rest of the day. If you had?—”
“What can I say? Shit happens.”
“Perhaps . . . I could squeeze you in at six.”
“Nothing earlier?”
“I have appointments all day. My last is up on the Strip at five, so I should be able to get to you by six.
“Yeah, all right.”
Graham and his organization finance and promote clubs all over the world. He’d skyrocketed nightclubs like Club Wicked to the next level, but I wanted to hear all the angles and make sure his pitch isn’t just another scam.
“Just make sure you’re there at six.”
If this guy thinks he can intimidate me, he’s fuckin’ wrong. I’d stood up to strung-out junkies, half-crazed enforcers and a mob boss—so not happening.
“I’ll be here.” I swipe away the call, telling myself I don’t have to like everyone I do business with, right?
