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Her slim, well-manicured hands flitted over the keyboard, and then she flipped the laptop’s screen in his direction.
After numerous photos and what he assumed was her well-rehearsed sales pitch, she moved from the laptop to the folder that rested on her briefcase.
“Now, I’d like to go over the figures and how the percentages will work planning a party whereyoucultivate the clientele as opposed to my bringing the patrons to you.”
She pushed computer printouts and graphs in front of him, explaining each in excruciating detail. He was familiar with how the percentages worked but he was impressed with the depth of her knowledge—plus he fuckin’ loved the sound of her voice. The low, smooth tone could probably have him coming in his pants.
“I’ve got many clients in LA looking to have after-parties, birthday parties, bachelor and bachelorette parties in Vegas. Businesses want something different for their company events. And some are just looking for something to do on a Saturday night. It’s a short flight, and most clients aren’t worried about the price tag.”
“Best kind of clients to have.”
“I’m sure you know steady, repeat customers and a packed house are important, but the real revenue comes from special events held at the club. Companies with unlimited resources just looking to throw their money at you.”
Samson enjoyed the passion in Lisbeth’s voice. Her enthusiasm proved she was invested in her job. She’d come a long way from the shy, timid girl who walked into the Oasis looking for a job.
Lisbeth was an accomplished woman who owned her own business, so hooking up with him again might not be part of her plan. With how she looked and presented herself, Samson doubted she had any trouble getting a date. His fantasies of seeing her again had him so wrapped up that he never thought of her being attached. For all he knew, there was someone back in LA, but even if there was, what they had was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.
She stopped talking, and he shifted in the chair again, moving his painfully hard dick away from his zipper.
“I guess that about sums it up. As you can see, my agency is capable of handling this account, and personally, I’m looking forward to it.”
Lisbeth stared at him with those crystal blue eyes, and he wanted to reach across the table and tell her all his secrets. Shit, not touching her was torture.
“Do you have any questions?” She tilted her head like she was trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with him.
“Nah, it all sounds good.” At least the parts he heard did when his mind and dick weren’t mentally undressing her.
“I’m sure you’ll want to discuss this with Nick.” She pushed more papers at him. “I’ll be in LA for the weekend, so why don’t we touch base again on Monday?”
“Sure.”
She turned off her laptop, closed it, then stuffed it and the remainder of the papers back into her briefcase. She pushed back her hair, and Samson reached across the table. “Don’t go.”
Her head popped up, and her lips parted, but she said nothing.
“I wanted to show you around—kinda behind-the-scenes stuff. Then I’m having some food sent up to my office. Figured you should sample it to know what we offer.”
“Yes, of course, but private parties hosted here may bring in their caterer. You allow that, right?”
“Sure.” Was it the second or third time he’d spit out the word “sure”? He sounded like a fuckin’ moron teenager on a first date.
Lisbeth stared back at him for a split second, then stood and slung her briefcase over her shoulder. “I’m ready when you are.”
After a tour of the kitchen, DJ booth, and VIP rooms, one larger than the room she was in on Saturday and one smaller for more intimate parties, he guided her to the elevators, and they rode to his fourth-floor office.
* * *
Samson seemed distracted during her whole presentation. He had very few questions, and her usual confidence wavered. Maybe getting this account wasn’t as guaranteed as she suspected.
She enjoyed the tour, and although Club Wicked wasn’t as large as some mega clubs they’d managed, the space was used wisely. Lisbeth was again impressed by Samson’s relationship with the staff, which she would label as friendly respect. She’d often seen bosses in the entertainment industry who wanted to befriend their employees, and it never ended well.
Maybe Samson learned his lesson after their unfortunate parting.
When they exited the elevator, Lisbeth caught a glimpse of the back hall where Samson threw the guy around like he was a rag doll the other night. He’d seemed like a different person, but there was no mistaking it was him, all brute force and threats. It made her wonder how much of the old Samson from New York still lived within him.
She’d never been fooled into thinking he didn’t have a dark side. He’d indulged in underground cage fighting, in New York, but she’d never gone, hating brutality and sheer violence.
While Samson unlocked his office door, Lisbeth’s eyes traveled over him, noticing how the low-rider jeans, Rolling Stones t-shirt, and engineer boots suited him much better than last weekend’s fitted designer clothes.
