Still In Love With Her (12 page)

“Everyone already sees you as the all-American boy,” I say. “You’ve dated enough actresses not to arouse any suspicions about the kind of shit you’re really into. Why change it?”
 

It appears that my question sobers him up. “The person sitting in front of you right now is the only Delta I want you to sell to the public, not that boring-ass fuck that Lou made me into. Maybe one day I’ll settle down with someone seriously—man, woman, dog—but that won’t be for a long while, and I’m tired of getting involved with a bunch of anorexic, psychotic bitches. I want a fake thing that’s going to last a long time so that I can fuck what I want and when I want without destroying my box-office take.”

He has a wayward dick, but he’s kind of smart.
 

“Monroe and I can get you the bells and whistles; just stop trying to have sex with us. We’re not your muses. We’re the professionals you’ve hired to keep your career afloat.”

Delta studies me then looks across the floor at Monroe, who keeps her eyes on her computer. “Okay, deal. Now let’s go eat.
Food
.”

“Let’s,” I say.

Monroe finally looks up. “Yes, let’s.”

On the way to the hotel restaurant, Monroe slaps my ass in appreciation of how I handled our spoiled boy/man actor. I slap her back because I’m proud of myself too.

***

Vincent Adams

Vince had just ended a call with Charlie. Charlie had asked if Vince had heard about the plan to get Belmont and Daisy back together. For some stupid reason, Vince didn’t want Charlie to think there was trouble in their paradise, so he’d lied and said that not only had he heard, but he planned to accompany Maggie to New Orleans on Saturday. Lying and spending the last two days without Maggie had given him a headache. But nothing was worse than the email he had read before Charlie’s call. It was a picture of Maggie, Monroe, and the actor Delta Foster.
 

“Is that even his real fucking name?” he had muttered bitterly.
 

They were in London. Maggie had been identified as the cousin of billionaire Jack Lord and Monroe as the daughter of the late Clara Richardson. The tabloid couldn’t distinguish which woman was Delta’s new fling, but that wasn’t what had pissed off Vince. He figured Delta Foster was probably their new client.
 

Robert had flown to London on Tuesday morning. He and Maggie were now in the same city. It was as if the universe and Vince’s bonehead decisions were trying to pull him and Maggie apart and put Robert and Maggie together. If only he had talked to Maggie about his issues with her before fucking Emily and trying to make Maggie submit. He could’ve saved them both a ton of grief.
 

Vince’s calendar was jam-packed for the day, and it would take upward of three hours to arrange a flight and then ten hours to arrive in London. But at least he didn’t have Emily hanging on him. To say that she had been furious he’d spent Monday night with Maggie would’ve been an understatement.
 

He’d taken every accusation Emily had flung at him like a champ. He was a selfish jerk who didn’t know what he wanted. He’d strung her along. He’d misled her on purpose. He would be old and alone. She was better than Maggie. Then her eyes had turned soft, and she’d begged him to give her another try. They could be happy.
 

There had been no need to say what he was thinking. It would’ve been cruel to reveal that he could never be happy without Maggie. It was the little things about Maggie that took up so much space in his heart. He loved her honest reactions. She had the best rants. She had a great head on her shoulders, and he found her “I don’t give a damn” attitude about all the shit that didn’t matter, which meant she wasn’t a nag, sexier than sexy. Although he hated how hard she worked, he loved that she was so damn good at her job. She could smile through a verbal assault without taking it personally. He had never met a woman more secure than Maggie Conroy.
 

His sisters hated the fact that Maggie drew breath, but they could stand to learn a hell of a lot from her. Vince also liked her family. He and Maggie, Jack and Daisy, and Charlie and Angelina were becoming as thick as thieves. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he and Charlie would become good friends, but Charlie was becoming a better friend to him than Robert had ever been. Robert had been riding his coattails since high school. It was time Vince shook him off and crushed him under his heel.
 

Emily wanted to stay with the company. She was fine with being the director of corporate PR, which was more her speed, so he’d recommended she fly back to L.A. as soon as possible. The air he breathed felt fresher after she was gone.

Vince had a lot of interviews lined up. He couldn’t cancel them all. He shuffled through the resumes and saw that Linda was the last candidate of the day. For some reason, her name stood out. She was Maggie’s protégé. They always traveled together. Linda knew how Maggie thought and how she worked, and they shared a lot of the traits he liked about Maggie. He tapped the butt of his pen on the desktop. Why waste his time interviewing a bunch of people he knew he wouldn’t hire? The job would be Linda’s if she wanted it, and apparently she did.
 

Vince called Linda into his office before the next candidate arrived, then he called the charter company to schedule the quickest flight to London. Perhaps luck was in his court; they could have him speeding down the runway in an hour and a half.
 

Linda was visibly nervous when she walked into his office. “You wanted to see me?”

He smiled to put her at ease. It didn’t work. “Have a seat.”
 

She sat.
 

“I’m going to get this over with so you can relax. You applied for Maggie’s position, and it’s yours.”

She gasped. “The job is mine?”

“If Maggie puts her trust in you, then so will I. Your new position starts effective immediately. I’ll message Lena.” He was already putting his computer in his bag. “I’m supposed to interview six candidates today. You’ll interview them. If there’s any talent you want to explore, then find a place for them on your team. If not, tell them thank you and we’ll call them next week to inform them of our decision.” He winked.

Linda had turned red, although she remained as cool as a cucumber. “Yes, I will.” She stood. “Thank you, Mr. Adams.”

He hung his bag on his shoulder. “Can you not call me Mr. Adams anymore? I’m Vince.”

She beamed. “Yes, Vince. I’ll call you Vince.”

Vince grinned. It felt good to make a woman that happy. “Good. See you soon.” He bolted toward the door.

“Oh, Vince?” Linda said.

He turned to face her. “Yes.”

“Do you mind if I call Maggie and share the good news?”

Just hearing Maggie’s name made his pulse race. “No, I don’t mind.”

Linda frowned as if it took her a moment to realize he had given her permission to inform Maggie. “Thank you—for everything.”

He winked and went on his way. He couldn’t wait until Maggie heard the news. Maybe hiring her protégé would benefit him in more ways than one.
 

***

Maggie

It’s time to go to work, and boy, has my work attire changed. I’m wearing a white tank top, black leather miniskirt, and silver pumps. Monroe’s boyfriend, Dash, has shown up. I finally know what he does for a living. He’s our personal paparazzo.
 

Dash opens a suitcase and shows Delta and me his collection of cameras. He takes out the smallest one. “This baby is compact but powerful. I can get a good shot, hook it into my phone, load the images, and you’ll be on everyone’s radar within the hour.”

“Not before we have a verbal agreement on the contract with Francesca. We want to capitalize on this opportunity, but we don’t want to start something we won’t be able to finish,” I say.

“She’s not going to say no to me,” Delta says.
 

I study how self-assured he seems and hope he’s right. “Francesca will be five minutes behind us.”

“I know the drill, Maggie.” Delta tilts his head. “You’re uptight, but I like that about you. It’s sexy. And you look sexy tonight.”

I frown. “I’m not uptight.”

He nods. “Oh yeah, you are.”

“You’re uptight,” Dash says, pointing his camera at me.

“Whatever…” If that’s how they perceive me, so be it.

“What about you, Dash? What are you into?” Delta asks, staring at Dash’s package.

Dash snaps pictures of me. “Pussy.”

“Only?”

“Only.”

“Your loss,” Delta says.

 
Monroe struts out of the bedroom in a red bandage dress that’s only an inch away from showing her snatch. Her long hair is bone straight, and her eyelashes are longer and thicker than usual. Dash whistles his approval. Monroe poses as he snaps shots of her. I’m waiting for Delta to invite Monroe to sit on his face or something.

Instead, he points his hand toward the door and says, “Let’s hit the road.”

Monroe takes my arm. “Let’s go get her. Client number two.”

We get into the elevator, and Monroe and Dash start kissing. Delta looks at my legs. I frown at him inquisitively.

“A miniskirt?” he asks.

“What’s wrong with a miniskirt?”

“If you want me to respect your lines, then you can’t make it so fucking easy to get to.”

I look down at myself. “Shit, I didn’t even consider the fact that you’re like a spoiled child who lacks self-control when I dressed myself for the night.”

Monroe chuckles into Dash’s mouth. Delta snorts and shakes his head, apparently appreciating my sarcasm.

The hotel has a subterranean level, and our car waits for us there. We load up. Delta pours us a drink, and we toast to his forthcoming transformation.
 

Sorbet is a club located in an eighteenth-century row house with six floors. The club is trendy, busy, and loud. We take the stairs to the top level, which is by invitation only, so that fans can stroke Delta’s inflated ego along the way. He waves, takes photos, blows kisses, and winks, eating up the attention. The racket his presence stirs is rivaled by the buzzing coming from the lower floors. Francesca must’ve arrived.
 

We make it to the top floor, and Delta gawks at the four scantily clad women performing on a stage in the middle of the room. They’re rapping in French, and their music is just as sensual as the dim lighting and red-velvet ottomans, sofas, and booths set up throughout the room. There are a lot of people up here, and Delta greets those he knows with a kiss on the lips. One guy wearing full eye makeup whispers in Delta’s ear.

“You’ve had your turn, bro!” Delta says without braking. He likes being the big man on campus, and he’s basking in the attention.
 

We arrive at our reserved booth and take seats around a white table that changes colors. Delta turns to the server and places an order. I can’t hear what he’s saying over the music, but the guy nods and scurries away.

Delta puts his face too close to mine and rubs my thigh. “Are you still uptight?”

I’m monitoring how close he gets to my goods. “What if I am, and what if I’m not?”

He sneers, studying me. “What was that? A riddle?”

“It’s just a question. My answer depends on the result.”

Delta laughs and shakes his finger. “Right…”

I lean toward Monroe. “What’s taking Francesca so long to get up here?”
 

In my mind, the night will be short and to the point. We’ll have a drink or two, ask Francesca a couple of questions to make sure she isn’t a psycho, and see if there’s marketable chemistry between her and Delta. If they have enough of a connection, then we take the next step. If they revile each other, then we’ll move on to the next candidate—although I’m positive Francesca is the one.
 

“Patience,” Monroe says. “It can’t look like we set this up, Mags.”
 

I try to relax and appear as though I’m here for pleasure and not for business. Delta is doing a lot of talking, but I can only make out parts of what he’s saying. He’s telling us about the first time he visited this nightclub. He mentions the band, and, if I’m not mistaken, he says, “Mounds of blow.”
 

“What did you just say?” I shout.

Delta doesn’t hear me. The waiter is back with a cart loaded with bottles of alcohol on racks, and he gives Delta a metal plate. Delta takes a small bag of coke out of his pocket and sweeps the substance into the indentations on the plate. He prepares his servings with the ease of pouring a glass of water. Then he sniffs one line, two, then three.

Delta hands the plate to Monroe. “Dig in.”
 

She pinches one nostril and inhales a white line with the other. I’m not shocked that she sniffs coke. Delta gives me an impish look. I’m waiting for him to pressure me to take a hit, but he doesn’t.

The girl band brings their song to an end, and “Let’s Dance” by David Bowie cuts on.

“Let’s dance,” Monroe says and grabs Delta’s hand.
 

Buzzed, they prance their way to the dance floor. I lose sight of them in the crowd, so I check my phone to see if Vince has called or texted me. Instead there’s a message from “the Scoundrel.”

“Where r u,”
it says.

I’m hesitant about replying. I want to put distance between us, but sitting alone in a noisy nightclub waiting for shit to happen makes me restless.
 

“I’m in London,”
I write.

“Me too. Where?”

I roll my eyes. Robert is clearly screwing with me.
“Sorbet.”

“Only a few blocks away. Meet me outside.”

My eyes expand.
“Don’t believe you.”
 

“Believe me and meet me.”

I scratch my forehead. Is this really happening?
“Why?”

“To talk.”

I’m on the verge of writing,
“About what?”
but I already know the answer. Yes, we need to talk.