Double Lucky (61 page)

Max decided not to argue. She knew what Frankie was like, and if Cookie was intent on taking that road, there was nothing she could do about it. Cookie was hardly a virgin; she'd been around Hollywood all her young life.

“Whatever you do, don't screw him,” Max warned. “He's not someone you wanna hang with. Believe me, I
know
.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Cookie responded sarcastically. “I'll call you guys later.”

“You do that,” Max said, checking her watch. It was already two
A.M.
“An' don't do anything you'll regret,” she added.

“Good-bye.” Cookie giggled. “Shift your asses outta here.”

Max grabbed Harry's arm. “You cool to drive?” He nodded. “Then let's go.”

Sometimes one had to quit on an argument one wasn't about to win, something her dad, Lennie, had taught her when she was five.

She'd learned a lot from both her parents, and there were times she appreciated their wisdom. But still, she couldn't wait to get out on her own.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Freedom suited Billy Melina just fine. Being married to a superstar was a major kick for about fifteen minutes, but after a few months of everyone worshipping at her feet, the thrill was gone.
He
was a huge movie star, but when he was out with Venus, nobody gave a crap. This was not a big ego booster. Oh no, not at all.

When Billy wasn't with Venus, the attention came fast and furious. Girls galore. Fans everywhere. Respect from agents, managers, and lawyers who realized his potential. After all, he had only just hit thirty; his entire career lay ahead of him, and his latest release was already breaking box office records.

Billy was over six feet tall, with bleached-by-the-sun hair and a surfer's tan all over his ripped and taut body. Abs were his thing. He worked out two hours a day to make sure they were rippling perfection. He liked seeing himself in the magazines under the heading
BEST BODY ON THE BEACH
. Eat your heart out, Matthew McConaughey. Go crap yourself, The Situation. Billy Melina was King of the Abs. And with his upcoming divorce from the Queen of the Divas, he—along with his soon-to-be ex—was currently on the cover of every magazine.

Covers were satisfying. Covers validated his existence. Covers gave him a positive vibe.

So did blow jobs. There was nothing like a polished blow job to put a smile on his face. Lately, now that he was free, his big kick was picking up some random girl, taking her back to his rented house, and having her blow him out by the pool. There was something about strange lips enclosing his cock, with the shimmering blue of the swimming pool in the background and the sun beating down on his body, that really got him off.

Venus was under the impression that he'd hooked up with his recent costar Willow Price—a bodacious young blonde with pillowy lips and a burgeoning career. But that was not the case. Willow was good to be seen with at parties and award shows, but they were in no way involved. Willow preferred her sex served lesbian-style, and he was not attracted to her, so being seen together suited them both.

Feeling horny, Billy hopped on his Harley and set off on a hunt.

It didn't take him long to find exactly what he was looking for. The girl he spotted was walking along Melrose wearing a denim skirt that barely covered c-level, a skimpy tee with
I Like It Fast and Sweet
emblazoned across the front, and wedge-heeled sandals.

“Yo,” he greeted her, pulling up alongside her on his bike. “Didn't I see you last night at Soho House?”

She stopped, checked him out, recognized him, and couldn't believe her luck. Twenty minutes later she was in front of him, on her knees beside his pool, servicing him as best she could.

When it was done, he called her a cab and sent her on her way.

Billy never had any trouble finding girls.

*   *   *

Breakfast in Malibu was Lucky's favorite time of day. She loved to sit out on the deck overlooking the ocean with a glass of fresh orange juice and a dish of cut-up papayas, figs, and mangos. Since she was an early riser, always up before the rest of her family, she took advantage of the solitude. Early morning was her time for making plans, deciding what she wanted to do next. Right now everything about The Keys satisfied her. Even Gino was impressed with what she had managed to achieve. She'd built the ultimate prize, the most magnificent complex in Vegas, encompassing everything from a major casino to a one-of-a-kind hotel and luxury condominiums. “Put in a racetrack an' you're all set,” Gino had joked.

She'd smiled. Not such a bad idea. But then Gino always thought big.

She decided that her next project would be persuading Lennie to take a well-deserved break. He was such a workaholic, skipping from one movie to the next. They had a fantastic marriage, but spending more time together would not be a bad thing. There were days and nights she really missed him.

Her cell rang. It was her New York attorney, Jeffrey Lonsdale.

“Yes, Jeffrey, what's up?” she asked, wondering why he was calling her so early.

“Have you been putting out the word that you want to sell The Keys?” Jeffrey inquired.

“
What?
” she said, frowning. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I keep getting calls from a man representing Jordan Developments. He claims you're prepared to sell, and that Jordan Developments is ready to buy.”

“That's total bullshit,” Lucky said. “And who the hell is Jordan Developments?”

“A big real estate company. I'm looking into it. Just needed to make sure.”

“Jeffrey,” Lucky said patiently, “surely you know that if I were prepared to sell, you would be the first to know.”

“Of course. But Fouad Khan, the Jordan Developments representative, seemed very sure and very persistent.”

“Well, tell Mr. Khan to go persist elsewhere. The Keys is not for sale. Not now or ever.”

“Message received loud and clear.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I must say, Lucky, I thought it had to be a joke. Everyone knows you put your heart and soul into building that complex, so I was certain there was no chance you'd be putting it on the market.”

“You got that right.”

“I'm glad we've cleared that up.”

“We have.”

“Then enjoy your day.”

“You too, Jeffrey.”

“Unfortunately, it's raining in New York.”

“Sorry to tell you, but it's brilliant sunshine here,” she said, gazing out at the vast expanse of blue ocean.

“Ah, Lucky, you always know how to stick it to me.”

“You're the lawyer,” she said, smiling. “You should be used to people sticking it to you.”

“Trust
you
to point that out.”

“You're flying to Vegas for the board meeting on Friday, you'll get plenty of sunshine then.”

“In a boardroom?” Jeffrey said dryly.

“Stay the weekend,” Lucky suggested. “I'm throwing a birthday party for Max. It'll be fun.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe, Jeffrey. Say yes. Bring your wife.”

“We're getting a divorce.”

“Then bring your girlfriend.”

“I don't have one.”

“Okay, okay, enough about your love life. But if you do decide to stay over, let my assistant know. He'll take excellent care of you.”

She clicked off the phone, thinking what a crazy way to start the day.

The Keys was her ultimate achievement. She would never sell. Never.

*   *   *

Bobby got up early and left the apartment before Denver was awake. He had an important meeting in Vegas with Russian investors who, according to his partner, M.J., were ready to close on a deal to put up all the money for branches of Mood in Miami and L.A. He'd decided to personally show them the star that was Mood, Las Vegas. The Russians were not easy to deal with, but they were the ones with the money to do things the way he wanted. After finishing with the Russians, he had more meetings in New York, then after that he'd hop a plane and be back in time to pick up Denver and take her for a romantic Vegas weekend.

He was getting in way deep with Denver. The more time he spent with her, the better he liked her. She was so damn normal, and smarter than any girl he'd been with.
And
she was beautiful—inside and out. There was an incandescent quality about her that he couldn't get enough of.

He wanted her to spend more time with Lucky, so that the two of them could get to know each other. It was important to him that his mom approve of the girl he was becoming serious about. Not that he'd told Lucky anything; it was up to her to discover how great Denver was, and the birthday party weekend would be the perfect time.

The next step he planned was buying a house in L.A. where they could live together. Denver's apartment was too small for him. He needed more space. He'd brought the subject up a couple of times, whereupon she'd informed him that it was too soon to think of living together.

“But sweetheart, I live here when I'm in L.A.,” he'd pointed out.

“No, you
stay
here,” she'd corrected. “That's not the same as living together.”

Man, she could be difficult. Most girls would go nuts if he offered to buy a house for them. But part of Denver's charm was that she was not most girls, and that was another thing he loved about her.

Flooring his new silver Lamborghini Murciélago LP 640, he blasted Jay-Z and headed for Vegas.

*   *   *

“I fail to understand your problem,” Denver's best friend, Carolyn, said, rocking the stroller next to her in the garden of her small West Hollywood house, situated behind Pavilions supermarket on a quiet street. “Bobby is a fantastic guy, and it's blatantly obvious he's wild about you.”

“You think?” Denver said, sipping from a mug of coffee.

“I
know,
” Carolyn responded, pushing back a lock of honey-blond hair. “He's great, and he's been so nice to me.”

“Why wouldn't he be?” Denver said, placing her coffee mug on a rickety outdoor table. “Let's not forget you were caught in a terrifying situation. Kidnapped, taken hostage, and pregnant…”

“Then along came you and Bobby like the cavalry—rescuing my sorry ass,” Carolyn said, making light of what had been a very perilous situation.

“Couldn't have done it without Bobby,” Denver said. “He was a big help.”

“Without the two of you…” Carolyn trailed off, trying not to think about the ordeal she'd survived. Working in Washington as an assistant to the very married Senator Gregory Stoneman, she'd become involved in a torrid affair with him. Just like most married men, the senator had promised to leave his wife, but of course he'd had no intention of doing so. And when Carolyn had informed him that she was pregnant, he'd panicked, and set up her kidnapping in the hope that she would lose the baby. Thank God for Denver and Bobby; they'd found her just in time.

After spending a few days in a hospital recovering, she'd fled Washington to L.A. She gave birth to her baby—a boy she'd named Andy—and vowed that she would never speak to Senator Stoneman again. Not that he was exactly running after her; she hadn't heard a word since she'd left. And she didn't care. Andy was all hers. She would never allow Gregory anywhere near her son.

“My problem is Bobby's mom,” Denver ventured, anxious to vent her feelings. “She's so … well, how can I describe her?”

“Go ahead and try,” Carolyn said briskly.

“For a start, she's drop-dead beautiful,” Denver began, attempting to paint an accurate portrait of the incredible Lucky Santangelo. “I mean, she's tall, olive-skinned, with incredible dark eyes and hair. She's an absolute knockout in a very earthy Italian way.”

“What's so bad about that?” Carolyn remarked. “She certainly passed on the good genes to Bobby.”

“She's also extremely accomplished,” Denver continued, wondering how she could possibly live up to the force of nature that was Lucky Santangelo. “She builds her own hotels, once ran a major movie studio. She gave birth to three children, and if that isn't enough, she's an insane cook, does everything herself, and has a long-lasting and apparently very happy marriage to Lennie Golden.”

“The movie star?”

“He was. Now he writes and directs extremely successful independent movies.”

“Sounds as if
Bobby
has a lot to live up to.”

“Lennie's not his father,” Denver explained, picking up her coffee mug. “I thought I told you—his father is a deceased Greek billionaire ship owner. Hence the company plane whenever Bobby wants it. Something else to intimidate me.”

“Stop it, Denver,” Carolyn said firmly. “Nothing should intimidate you.”

“So,” Denver said, grimacing, “Bobby's mom is perfect and I'm not.”

“Oh my
God!
” Carolyn said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Will you listen to yourself?”

“What?”
Denver said, aggravated that Carolyn wasn't getting it.

“
You're
incredible, Denver. You have a terrific career doing something meaningful. You're young, smart, and beautiful,
and
you have a great boyfriend.” Carolyn paused for a moment, then added, “It's a given that your cooking skills are nil. But I've got a strong suspicion Bobby is not with you for your culinary assets.”

Denver couldn't help laughing. “I'm not beautiful, and I'm not so young anymore, but I
am
smart,” she admitted.

“Oh yeah,” Carolyn said. “Twenty-seven is
really
getting up there. And let me correct you—your beauty is not magazine perfect, it's warm and natural, made all the better 'cause you damn well have no clue how great-looking you are.”