Milo had a big smile for me.
I didn’t even try to hold myself back.
I flew around the couch and then threw myself into his arms.
He scooped me under my butt and twirled me in a circle as I peppered his face with soft kisses.
“Worried about me, huh?”
“Only a lot,” I admitted, pulling back to smile at him. “You’re okay?”
“It was a business meeting, baby,” he reminded me, fingers squeezing my butt.
“With Frank.”
“I think Frank is only a threat to people who are smaller than him. He’s a sniveling little coward around other men.”
“He’s going to sign?” I asked.
“Lawyer should have the paperwork done tomorrow,” Remo said, popping the champagne. “From there, it’s two to five days before shit goes official. Then six or so months until Frank takes a vacation somewhere tropical. With a hilariously inept police force. Couple months after that, it’s all fucking mine. And you, Miss London—”
“Langston,” Milo corrected.
“Right. And you, Miss Langston, will be set for life.”
“Wait. What? Me?”
“Well, your man here and I got to talking. And decided that you will be on salary.”
“For singing?” I asked, surprised at the rush of disappointment I felt.
I loved singing.
I didn’t think I’d evernotwant to sing.
But singing at the lounge meant living in Atlantic City. And some silly, romantic part of me was kind of hoping to get to know this place called Navesink Bank.
“Well, you’re free to come sing anytime you want. But no. Just on salary. We can give you some bullshit title. Or a real one. Head of… entertainment or some shit. I don’t know. Whatever will look good for the law. Santino irons that shit out. You can work remote, if you want. Or you can just collect your check.”
“But if I’m not doing anything…”
“You did enough,” Remo said, clearly high on his success and not thinking clearly. “We settled on one-twenty a year. Seems fair for a fake job.”
One-twenty?
To do nothing?
When I’d been standing on a stage in icepick heels singing for six to eight hours straight for minimum wage?
“I mean, you won’t need the money. Way I hear it, Milo is one of the best earners back home. But I think everyone should always have a little something-something that is just theirs. It’s good for your peace of mind. Champagne?” he asked, waving around the bottle that cost more than I made in a shift.
“I probably shouldn’t. I had those pills this morning.”
“Oh, you’re fine,” Remo said as Milo finally set me down so I could accept the little plastic cup of champagne. “Let’s toast.”
“To what?” I asked.
“To taking over this fucking town,” Remo said. Then, looking at me and Milo, added, “and to you two meeting and falling in love and shit.”
