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Cheryl’s attention to detail made her perfect for behind the scenes. Taking care of scheduling, accounting, and making sure every appointment went off as planned.
“Way ahead of you.” Izzy scrolled through her phone. “Already have them on the top of my list of clubs to solicit, but you’re right, the only listing I could find was the corporate name, 86th Street Dream.” Izzy tapped at her phone. “I also interviewed three new girls this morning. Always good to have backups in case we have to let Penelope go.” Izzy turned the phone screen to show each girls’ picture.
“And?”
“They seemed smart, had good references, but the best judge is how they relate to our clients.”
Cheryl trusted Izzy’s instincts explicitly. When they started out, Izzy recruited some of the better girls she worked with who were looking to get away from violent pimps and go straight. Izzy’s talent for choosing and vetting only upscale women made Selective Services very popular with discriminating businessmen along with various levels of Hollywood’s elite. In fact, Izzy was Cheryl’s inspiration for starting a company where women could work and feel safe and protected.
Cheryl knew the anxiety of living day to day. She knew the fear of needing money and being desperate enough to do anything to survive, but desperation never led to good decisions. Not having marketable skills herself Cheryl had to resort to less than legal devices to get by in the past, but that was in another lifetime. The life she led before leaving Brooklyn.
“I’ve also set up other appointments with some new clients in Vegas,” Izzy said. “Club owners who want to add our services to their menu.” Izzy removed the top off her own takeout container. “Along with the Serpents MC.” Izzy waggled her brows. “Apparently, the outlaw motorcycle club is interested in our services for a nightclub they recently acquired, and might even have another client with the same needs.”
“Hmm, an outlaw motorcycle club?” Cheryl crinkled her forehead. “And they understand what we do is completely legal?”
“Their nefarious dealings don’t include Ecstasy, their strip club or the new nightclub on Eastern.”
Escort services were legal in California and Nevada as long as a contract stipulated no sex in the agreement. In Nevada, prostitution was only legal in certain counties and Las Vegas in Clark County was not one of them. The loophole lied with what two consenting adults did after the expiration of said contract.
Izzy waved a hand at Cheryl’s salad. “Eat before it gets all wilted.” She pointed to the monitors. “Let your rich clients wait until you’ve at least had your lunch.”
Cheryl pushed away from the monitors and focused on her salad. “I promise, I’m eating.” She cut up the chicken pieces then forked a piece into her mouth. “But let’s not forget where those rich clients got us.”
Izzy rolled her eyes. “Tell your husband that, he seems to think all this is his doing.”
“Let him think what he wants. We know the truth.” Cheryl munched on more salad. “Although I wish we weren’t having such a big party tonight. We’ve only been in this house five weeks and Johnny insists on entertaining. More like obsessed with showing off to everyone in Vegas what a beautiful home he owns.”
“Typical Johnny. Such a user.” Izzy raised her eyebrows. She pulled no punches about anything in Cheryl’s life and certainly not about Johnny or her marrying Johnny.
“Or we used each other.”
Marrying Johnny was nothing more than a marriage of convenience or a marriage based on abject desperation.
Izzy’s expression sobered. “I still don’t know why you did it.”
“Yes, you do.” Cheryl reached over the desk and squeezed Izzy’s hand. “And I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
Izzy bit her bottom lip, then swiped at her eyes as she concentrated on her salad.
“What’s in the past stays in the past.” Dragging up old issues never solved anything. Cheryl learned long ago to always look to the future and not dwell on the past. She had no regrets rescuing Izzy from a desperate situation—even if it meant involving her mob boss father, Frank Barnett, and marrying Johnny Russo, a man she didn’t love.
“Igotta admit you look better than I expected after last night.” Samson gave Nick the once-over before he settled on the leather couch in his office over Club Wicked.
“One night a year I go off the rails. Big fuckin’ deal, right?”
“Sure.” Samson shrugged. “Just don’t understand why after ten years you’re still?—”
“Save it.” Nick held up his palm. “I heard all your opinions last night.”
“Fine.” Samson leaned forward. “So, Johnny Russo?”
“Can you fuckin’ believe it?” Nick sat in the chair across from Samson. “After all these years his name pops up.”
“What’s he doin’ in Vegas?”
“No fuckin’ clue.” Nick knocked a cig out of the pack and lit up.
“Did Frank contact you about going to this thing tonight?”
