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“Right.” Nick waved his hand around the office. “I got a bigger office, more clothes than I can wear, more women than I can fuck, but it don’t mean shit.”
“Ohh, boo hoo, send yourself some flowers.” Samson shook his head. “You sound like a goddamn baby.”
“Aren’t you the supportive son of a bitch.”
“We even got Frank off our backs, but I swear to fuck I think sometimes you miss the drama. Blowing through everything in your way.”
“Wow, now you’re my fuckin’ shrink.” Nick snatched up the bottle of tequila, listed to the side, righted himself, and staggered around the bar.
“Do yourself a favor and forget about Cheryl,” Samson pleaded.
If only he could forget. If only he could block out the way her eyes welled up with tears seconds before she walked out of Frank’s office—and out of Nick’s life for good. The pain and disappointment of knowing they didn’t have a chance ate at him daily.
2
Cheryl Benson sipped her coffee on the balcony off her bedroom overlooking the water of the free-form pool she rarely used complete with a waterfall, hot tub, and cabana. To the right of the pool a putting green was etched into the grass which she never used.
The extravagant six thousand square foot home boasted five bedrooms, a media room, a sitting room, and an ultramodern kitchen in the exclusive gated community in the Country Club Hills section of Las Vegas, Nevada. Way more living space than Cheryl needed or wanted, but her husband Johnny Russo reveled in owning such a magnificent home. Johnny lived for anything that boasted about his wealth, or the size of his dick. Both very overestimated in Cheryl’s opinion.
Johnny also revered his position in her father’s organization. Although bragging about that wouldn’t be healthy. Working as Frank Barnett’s number one fixer was a title one didn’t put on a resume or a business card.
Cheryl reentered the bedroom, showered, dressed, and began her day as Marie Russo, trophy wife of Johnny Russo. She descended the stairs, entered her home office on the firstfloor, and eased behind her glass and chrome desk. She flipped on the three monitors and her world came alive with the flaming heart logo under the scrawling scripted words Selective Services. An exclusive escort service she and her best friend and business partner, Isabelle Torres, started in a seedy Los Angeles apartment all those years ago.
“Marie?” Izzy called from the foyer.
Izzy referred to her as Marie, but in her mind she’d always be Cheryl Benson. The hustler from Brooklyn who lived every day on the edge and ran some of the biggest scams in the five boroughs died the day she left New York.
“In the office.” Cheryl glanced at her watch surprised it was already noon.
Izzy’s high heels clacked against the marble flooring until she entered Cheryl’s office. She placed a plastic container with a chopped salad and strips of grilled chicken on her desk, then ordered, “Eat.”
“Always so bossy.” Cheryl flashed a smile.
“If I didn’t bring food, I don’t think you’d ever eat.”
“That’s why I have you to look out for me.”
“We look out for each other.” Izzy shot her a knowing look.
They’d met when Cheryl hit California alone and scared. They were neighbors in a dilapidated building off Sunset Blvd. The kind of place where drug deals went down in the hallways and the tenants ignored the random gunshots and cries for help in the middle of the night.
At the time, Izzy was working for a less than reputable escort service, and although she was ten years older than Cheryl, they formed a fast friendship based on trust and dire circumstances.
Izzy eased into the chair facing Cheryl’s desk. “How did the job at Wicked go last night?”
“Very well, but I think we need to take a closer look at Penelope. She disappeared for about twenty minutes last nightand I suspect she’s using coke. We can’t have that around our customers.”
“Agreed, I’ll set up a meeting with her today. Remind her of our rules and that breaking those rules will mean the end of her job.”
“It was a good idea I make these surprise visits.” Cheryl wrestled with the top of the take-out container.
“Especially after what happened a month ago.”
The last time Josh Turner hired their services things got a bit out of hand and two of her girls were stranded by the side of the road waiting for a car service. The Hollywood heartthrob had a bad temper, a huge ego, and an even bigger alcohol problem—never a good combination. Reason number one why Cheryl went along on the job last night.
“How was Club Wicked? I understand it’s the latest place to be seen,” Izzy added.
“Very nice, good service, the whole atmosphere screamed high end.” Cheryl tapped at her computer screen. “I found the website but it didn’t mention the owners’ names. Everything was listed under an LLC.”
