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Samson stepped into his path. “No way you’re goin’ out there like this.”
Nick sidestepped Samson. “Get the fuck outta my way.”
He wanted to get one more look at the table Turner reserved. Crazy, but he had to see for himself that it wasn’t Cheryl.
“You go out there and you’re gonna get yourself in trouble. The last thing we need is you hitting that Hollywood hotshot.”
Nick glared at Samson, then huffed. “Fine.” Then swayed his way to the bar in the corner of the room.
“Yeah, good idea, like you need more to drink.”
“Either I go out there and pop Turner in his pretty boy face, or I sit in here and drink.” He threw his hands up. “Take your pick.”
Samson slid onto the barstool. “Every year it’s the same shit. How long are you gonna keep tearing yourself up?”
“So I got a little crazy out there.” Nick fumbled with a pack of cigarettes laying on the bar until he knocked one out. He flicked the lighter three times before he connected the flame with the tip of the cigarette. “At least it’s only once a year.” Nick flashed a shitty grin.
“Right, once a year you drink yourself stupid and the rest of the year you walk around like a goddamn robot.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“There’s no middle ground for you. No happy medium. You go from wanting the screw some bimbo on your desk to . . . finding something wrong with every woman you meet.”
“That’s what got me where I am. Gotuswhere we are. Middle ground is for pussies. If you want something in life you gotta go balls out all the time, right?” Nick twisted his lips in a scowl. “Right?”
“In business, yeah, but admit it. You got a checklist when it comes to women—tall, brunette with big tits—and big surprise they all resemble Cheryl.”
“Are you forgetting about Stephanie?”
“Excuse me, she was a tall,blondewith big tits.” Samson huffed out a laugh. “It doesn’t matter. You rarely see them more than once and half the time you don’t even get their names.”
Nick drew deep on his smoke. “You wanna be my matchmaker?”
Samson nabbed a cigarette out of the pack and lit up. “It’s been ten years since you last saw Cheryl. Every lead you put out came up empty. For all you know she may not even be in the country.”
Nick leaned his elbows on the bar and cradled his head in his hands. “I know it’s crazy, I know I should give it up, but?—”
“I think the reason you can’t give her up is because she’s the one who left. Every other woman falls at your feet and you can’t accept that she walked away.”
Even drunk on his ass, Nick remembered that night clearly, too clearly.
After Frank revealed he was Cheryl’s father, the mob boss gave Nick an ultimatum. He’d relinquish his hold on their Brooklyn nightclub, and give him free reign to open up in Manhattan if Nick never saw Cheryl again. Like usual, Frank turned the screws using his power to manipulate each of them in a different way.
“You gotta stop torturing yourself with shit that can’t be fixed,” Samson said. “Not fuckin’ healthy.”
Fucked up, but at the time Nick reasoned he’d bide his time then look Cheryl up and reconnect with her. Only the joke was on him because she completely vanished without a trace. He’d used all his resources to find her, but he hit a brick wall every time.
Her having an alias, a hidden identity or many identities wasn’t a complete surprise. Back in New York she made her living running cons and scams on some of the biggest players in and around the city.
“Just because you found the perfect woman doesn’t mean that love shit is for everybody.” Nick gulped the little bit of tequila he’d managed to get into the glass. “So stay outta my business.”
“Your business is my business and I’m sick of seeing you walk around half alive.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nick snapped.
Samson faced him, and they stared each other down. The heavy boom of the music from the club rumbled through the plush carpet. Tense silence.
Samson scrubbed his palm over his jaw. “A year ago we opened up Wicked and neither one of us knew how it was gonna go, but it’s a huge fuckin' hit and we finally have everything we always wanted.”
