“Manny...buddy...it’s cool,” I continue, flashing my most charming smile, “if there’s a cost, my publicist will cover it.” Cory makes a sharp sound at my side, then shuts up. He’s still waiting for Buford to acknowledge his existence. Emmanuel takes a moment to think it through, then grins.
“Sure thing, Mr. Colt, I’ll see to it right away,” he says before turning back to the tables. The crowd in the room barely notice as his team beginning clearing and packing the food. Shannin is pressed closer to my side now and I’d be lying if I said she didn’t feel pretty damn good against me. She’s linked her hand through my arm and is running her fingers up and down my bicep.
“So are you going to tell me the secret?” Buford’s gravel tone breaks in again. He glances at the girl plastered against me but doesn’t seem perturbed. He clearly has enough to share. “I’ll make it worth your while...” His words are an odd echo of Shannin’s original invitation, and I wonder if he didn’t put her up to it in the first place.Pimping her out to get to me? I don’t care either way. I’m starting to think I might just take them up on the offer.
“I told you, it’s magic,” I repeat. He snorts, his features darkening.
“Mr. Buford, if you want to know more about Mr. Colt’s performance, perhaps you’d like to book a private viewing?” Cory breaks in, determined not to be ignored. Buford finally turns to look at him.
“And you’d be the one to discuss that with?” he asks. Cory nods eagerly.
“If you’ll give me your card, I’ll be sure to contact your office first thing in the morning, sir,” Cory says. He’s almost as breathless as the blonde. But not half as pretty. The girl is rubbing her tit against my arm and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel an answering twitch in my groin. Clearly been too long since I got any action.
Buford chuckles. “If you’re worth your salt, you have my details already,” he says to Cory, then locks those flat, cold eyes with mine. I say nothing, but raise my glass and empty it in three long swallows. Itisthe good stuff. Crisp and icy. I realize I haven’t had a drop to drink since before the show. I’m parched. The empty glass is whisked from my fingers before I can look for a place to set it. I dip my head at Buford, spin on my heel and head in the direction of my crew. The golden girl is still at my side.
“Make sure Mr. Colt getseverythinghe needs, girl,” Buford calls out behind us, and I feel her give a little skip.
‘That might just suit me fine,’I think.
