Drop Dead Beautiful (8 page)

One day while surfing the Internet, he’d come upon a site that featured young teenage girls. Somehow he’d managed
to enter their private domain, a Web site where they exchanged personal messages and wrote vividly about their thoughts and dreams. Most of their thoughts and dreams concerned boys, which Henry found boring. But he liked looking at the photos the girls posted of themselves. They were pouty and pretty; young, innocent girls playing dress-up with long, flowing hair draped seductively over one eye, and come-on expressions.

Henry was soon addicted. Every night he would sit at his computer checking them out. Until one night he realized there was something very familiar about one of the girls, and when he Googled her, he discovered who she was. The girl was Maria Santangelo Golden, Lucky Santangelo’s daughter.

The information astounded and thrilled him.

Chapter 10

Even though Lucky arose at five
A.M
., ready to work out with her personal trainer—so L.A. (but if she didn’t have Cole to kick her butt three days a week, she’d never do it)— there were never enough hours in the day to get everything done, especially as she flew to Vegas twice a week. After a vigorous workout she usually made her East Coast phone calls—business and family. Her son Bobby had recently opened a restaurant/club in New York, and Brigette was busy designing her own jewelry line. Neither of them needed to work, as they were both descendants of Greek billionaire Dimitri Stanislopolous, Lucky’s second husband, and had both inherited huge fortunes, although Bobby would not inherit the bulk of his until he hit twenty-five.

Lucky was happy about that. Bobby was smart and extremely good-looking—the burden of such a fortune was bound to influence him. She fervently hoped that in two years’ time he’d be able to handle the pitfalls that came with being ultrarich.

Bobby had dropped out of college after a couple of years because he was bored and wanted to get out into the world and do something. Lucky had encouraged him; as far as she was concerned, it was more important to get a street education. Not that opening a club was exactly street, but it
was
an education.

Every few weeks Lucky took a plane into New York to check things out. Brigette was doing well. She’d given up
her once-hot modeling career, and after a series of disastrous affairs and a bad marriage, at thirty-two she finally seemed to have gotten it together.

Brigette was the child of Olympia, Dimitri’s daughter who’d died from a drug overdose locked in a hotel room with famous British rock star Flash.

As one of the richest heiresses in the world, she’d always lived her life in the spotlight. Constantly dogged by paparazzi, written about in all the gossip columns, and envied by most mere mortals, not only was Brigette unbelievably rich, she was also a natural blonde with a willowy figure and an extremely pretty face. Brigette was every fortune hunter’s dream. Problem was she always managed to attract the wrong men. If there was a bad-boy loser around, send him in Brigette’s direction—she seemed to collect them. The last disaster was Carlo Vittorio Vitti, an Italian count who’d managed to turn Brigette onto drugs, married her, then attempted to murder her so he could inherit her enormous fortune.

Ever since that fateful marriage, there’d been a lull, and for the last few years Brigette seemed at peace. All the same, Lucky kept a close eye on her.

Bobby, on the other hand, was Mr. Cool. He had a Kennedy-esque air about him—great looks and charmingly self-deprecating. Girls fell at his feet and he took his pick, working his way through the pack.

“You’re my hero,” Gino Senior told him every time they got together. “Screw the Stanislopolous bloodline—you’re a Santangelo all the way, an’ doncha forget it.”

Gino, who resided in Palm Springs with his decades-younger wife, Paige, was crazy about all his grandchildren, especially Bobby, who reminded him of his own womanizing youth.

Lucky felt fortunate to have such a great family, but having a family didn’t mean sitting around doing nothing. Money had never been a problem for Lucky—her name said it all, plus she was a savvy businesswoman with all the right instincts. She was totally psyched about getting back into the
hotel business. The last hotel she’d built was the Santangelo in Atlantic City—a fine hotel—but Atlantic City wasn’t Vegas, so after a few years she’d sold it, garnering almost three times her investment. Now, in Las Vegas, she had created the Keys complex—a hotel casino with luxury apartments. It was her dream hotel, and she couldn’t wait for opening night, which was in a few weeks’ time.

In the meantime she had Gino’s ninety-fifth birthday party to plan. She wanted it to be ultraspecial, so she’d hired a party planner to take care of all the details. Gino would love being the center of his own party; he lived for action. At almost ninety-five he was as active as ever, full of energy and a zest for living.

Gino the Ram was his nickname when he was a teenager running riot on the streets of Brooklyn.

As a kid, Lucky couldn’t wait to hear all about Gino in his wild days—clawing his way up from nothing, making his fortune, scoring with dozens of beautiful women, until one day he’d met Maria, and she’d turned out to be the love of his life.

Maria. Lucky’s mother. Brutally butchered and left for five-year-old Lucky to discover floating on a raft in the family swimming pool, the blood draining from her lifeless body.

Her mother’s death had forced Lucky to be strong and independent. It had taught her how to be alone and to never be scared again.

The violent and unforgettable tragedy had taken away her childhood and all the good memories, but screw it—even after Dario was murdered and then Marco, she’d never allowed herself to get beaten down. Never.

No. Lucky’s power was in her strength, and nobody could take that away from her.

Nobody dared.

Early Thursday evening Max bounced into the den where Lucky was busy working on the security list for Gino’s party, and Lennie was jotting down random notes on the script of his upcoming movie.

“Hey, Mom,” Max said, employing her best conciliatory tone of voice. “I just came up with a totally cool idea.”

“Really?” Lucky said, hardly looking up.

“Yes,” Max replied. “Y’see, I have the perfect solution.”

“You do, huh?” Lucky said skeptically.

Max nodded, full of confidence. “I’ll drive to Big Bear
tomorrow
, then come back Sunday morning like
way
in time for Grandpa’s party. How’s that?”

Lennie glanced up from his script. “You’re going to Big Bear?” he said. “I used to love to ski.”

“And your lovely daughter doesn’t,” Lucky said crisply. “Besides, Max, there’s no way you can miss dinner tomorrow night. Gino’s driving in from Palm Springs, and Bobby and Brigette are coming from New York. It’s a big family reunion dinner, and I’m cooking.”

Max groaned inwardly. Friday nights Lucky made a point of everyone sitting down for the whole family dinner thing. Why did
she
have to be there? Surely she had enough of Gino Junior and his lech friends all week?

“But Mom—” she began, working it hard.

Lucky shot her daughter a look. Friday nights were important, especially
this
Friday with everyone arriving. She’d planned on taking over the kitchen herself and making the one dish she excelled at: pasta and meatballs with her special sauce. It was Lennie’s favorite meal, and preparing it was her favorite therapy. Besides, she’d always encouraged her kids to bring their friends, so why was Max so intent on giving her a hard time?

“You should be here,” she said, throwing her daughter another long, steady look. “Everyone wants to see you.”

Max frowned. This Friday-night family deal was totally lame, she was so not into it, even though her friends couldn’t wait to come over for Friday dinner. “Damn, girl!” Cookie was always informing her. “You actually, like,
have
a family. All I’ve got is my dad, an’ all
he
has is a different bigboobed skank like every other
second
. An’
he
gets to fuck ’em.
I
have to talk to them, so Friday night at your house rocks!”

It infuriated Max that both Cookie and Harry considered Lucky and Lennie the coolest parents ever.

“
You
don’t have to live with them,” she would often point out. “They’re not that easy. My mom can be a total pain. When I got that tattoo on my thigh she went total ape shit.”

“I’d swap ’em for mine any day,” Harry would always reply. “At least they notice you’re alive.”

Max had to admit that on the very few occasions she’d seen them, Harry’s parents were quite scary. And as for Cookie’s dad, Gerald M., he was a major sex addict.

“Everyone will see me on Sunday at the big party,” Max said, flashing Lennie a pleading look. “Dad …”

“What’s the deal?” Lennie asked, finally putting down his script.

“One of Cookie’s friends is having a blowout birthday thing Saturday night,” Max said, words tripping over each other. “And Mom says I can’t go. But if I’m back in time for Grandpa’s party …” She trailed off, continuing to gaze pleadingly at Lennie, all intense green eyes and innocent expression.

Lennie got the message. “Hey, Lucky,” he said. “Whyn’t you let her go? What’s the big problem?”

“No problem,” Lucky responded, suddenly feeling like the uptight mother figure, a feeling she did not appreciate. “I guess as long as she’s back for Gino’s party it’s okay.”

“I, like,
so
will be,” Max dutifully promised, vainly attempting to subdue her triumphant expression.

“We’ll need the number where you’re at,” Lucky said, sensing that somehow or other she’d just lost out. It pissed her off when Lennie overruled her without even a discussion about what they should do. Parenting was supposed to be a joint venture—something Lennie didn’t seem to get.

Lennie winked at his willful but quite beguiling daughter. “Happy now?” he asked.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, giving him a quick hug, then hurriedly fleeing before Lucky changed her mind.

On the way to her room Max made a mental note that the
next time she wanted anything she should ask while Lennie was around; he was way easier to deal with than her mom.

Upstairs she called Cookie. “It’s on!” she announced. “I’m driving up there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Cookie said. “Doesn’t that screw up Friday dinner at your house?”

“Dinner’s a no-go,” Max explained. “I told them this thing in Big Bear is for one of your friends, so natch you’ll be coming with me.”

“But I won’t,” Cookie stated blankly.

“
I
know that, and
you
know that, but
they
don’t. So you’ve got to lay low, an’ tell Harry the same.”

“
Crap!”

“What?”

“Missing dinner at your house like major sucks!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that
my
hot date messes up
your
weekend,” Max drawled sarcastically.

“Okay, I like
get
it,” Cookie answered crossly. “No need to freak out.”

“Who’s freaking out?”

“You are.”

“I am
so
not.”

But inside she was, just a tiny bit.

Shutting her cell, she hurried over to her laptop and quickly logged in. “
I’ll be in Big Bear Friday afternoon
,” she tapped out. “
Where shall we meet?”

Within minutes Grant had e-mailed her back. “
Meet me in the Kmart parking lot. Stay in your car. I’ll find you.
”

I’
ll find you!
How romantic was that?

She rushed to her closet, desperately trying to decide what to wear. Skinny jeans or short skirt? T-shirt or sexy tank? Bra or no bra? Strappy heels or flats?

She finally decided on tight jeans and a layered T-shirt— best to go the casual route, she didn’t want to look as if she’d tried too hard.

How tall was he? She’d forgotten to ask.

It didn’t matter. This weekend she was doing the deed with her Internet hottie.

Oh yeah! She was doing the deed and there would be no regrets.

Sorry, Donny. You blew it
.

“Remember the first time we met?” Lucky murmured later that night as she and Lennie lay in bed.

“You think I could forget?” Lennie responded. “It was Vegas, an’ if I recall correctly,
you
tried to rape me.”

“You thought I was a hooker,” she said indignantly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, laughing. “And a
very
expensive one.”

“Screw you,” she said, pretending to be mad. “I wanted to sleep with you and
you
turned me down.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I did?”

“You
know
you did.”

“Yeah, well, didn’t we make a date for later and
you
failed to show?”

“As if I
would
after the way you treated me.”

“
Then
you had me fired,” he said, mock-frowning at the memories. “Nice. Very nice. I was out on my ass with nowhere to go but down.”

Lucky smiled as she remembered. Lennie had been working stand-up in the lounge of the Magiriano, her hotel. She’d felt restless and lonely and he was there and available, so she’d invited him up to her suite, and when she’d indicated that she expected a lot more than conversation, he’d walked out on her.

“The thing is I’d heard you were such a major
playa
,” she teased. “So how come you rejected
me?”

“ ’Cause you came on like a guy,” he said, reaching over her for a bottle of Fiji Water.

“Something wrong with that?” she said, challenging him with her dark eyes.

“Whyn’t you shut up an’ c’mere,” he said, putting the bottle down.

“Okay, mister,” she said, playing along. “Take off your pants and show
me
some action.”

“Thought I just did.”

“Oh,
my
bad,” she said, laughing softly.

“How quickly they forget,” he sighed.