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“Or—why don’t you get me and my friends some more girls for the night?” Turner challenged while making a frat boy gesture with his hand.
Samson laughed without humor, as the heat of the liquor burned through Nick’s veins.
Josh shoved Nick’s shoulder again. “I bet my pal here could set us up with some real hot babes who like to party and suck dick.”
Nick jerked out of Josh’s hold and shoved his chest with his palm. “I’m not your fuckin’ pimp, and if you call me ‘pal’ one more time . . .”
Josh staggered back a few steps, probably not used to violence without a stuntman at his side. His eyes widened in fear, his mouth gaped open, and Nick doubted the skinny prick had ever been in a real fight.
Nick advanced getting in Josh’s face. “You wanna fuck with me?”
Josh shrank back further and raised his hands. Not to fight, but to cover his face. Probably worried about his capped teeth.
“That’s what I thought.” Nick sliced his hand through the air. “Fuckin’ punk.”
“Whoa, c’mon now.” Samson nudged Nick to the side, stepped between them, then signaled Vanessa. “Escort Mr. Turner back to his table and bring him another bottle of Patron Platinum on the house.”
Josh threw Nick a wide-eyed look before escaping into the crowd and returning to his table on the other side of the VIP. The strobe lights flashed across the other faces at his table and Nick froze. For a split second he swore he saw Cheryl—his Cheryl at Josh Turner’s table.
Samson grabbed his arm. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“I think I saw Cheryl.”
“What?” Samson angled him out of the VIP and down the side hall to the offices.
“I swear to fuck it was her.” Nick craned his neck in that direction.
“With all the booze you’re pounding I’m surprised you aren’t seeing pink elephants.” Samson tightened the grip on Nick's arm.
“I think she was sitting with that asshole, Turner.”
“Geez, shut the fuck up already,” Samson hissed through clenched teeth.
“Do you think it could be her?” Nick pulled out of Samson’s grasp.
Samson heaved the office door open and shoved him inside. “What I think is you’ve had too much damn tequila and you’re seeing shit.” Samson pinned him with his hard, ice blue eyes. “Now, stay in here until I come back.” Then he slammed out of the door.
Nick found himself drunk, pissed off, and confused, standing alone in his office. The crush of people, and the dim lighting distorted shit, but swear to fuck—it looked like Cheryl.
When the door opened a few minutes later, he expected Samson, not one of the starlets from Josh Turner’s entourage strutting in, full of attitude.
“Have you been sent to your room for being a bad boy?” She flicked her head and a waterfall of wavy red hair framed her face.
“Story of my life, babe,” Nick grunted. The room tilted and he leaned against the desk for support.
“I heard you tell off Josh.” She grinned, her perfect white teeth gleaming.
“The guy’s an asshole.” Nick realized he was repeating himself but asshole summed up Josh Turner so perfectly.
“He sure is.” She smiled wider, then stripped her top off. “I have the displeasure of being his date tonight.”
“You have my condolences.” Nick threw out the flip comment but he couldn’t ignore her perfect, firm breasts swaying at eye level. Maybe too perfect, and probably fake, but fuck who was he to complain.
“It’s his money. He hired the escort service.”
Wasn’t a surprise. High-class escorts were almost impossible to pick out and were the norm at plenty of Hollywood circles.
“The other women at his table—was one of them named Cheryl Benson?”
