“Hold on,” he sighs.
“Hello?” Sarah comes on the line. I hand the phone to Tiny who carries on a short conversation with her. After she hangs up, she gives me a nod.
As I help her out of the booth, she says, “You have some good lines, but it’s still pretty bad you don’t remember her.”
“Are we back to Melinda? My guess is that she’s sadder she lost her VIP access than anything else.” I place my hand at the base of her spine, just under her blouse, enjoying the feel of her warm skin against my palm.
“That’s cruel.”
“Maybe, but more than likely the truth.” I shrug. I’m not interested in discussing a random woman I slept with and have since forgotten. The only woman I care about is standing in front of me. I press a button on my phone to signal that Steve should bring the car around.
“Wait.” Tiny gasps. “She’s right there with Howe.”
I follow her arm and spy a tall, thin brunette standing right next to Richard Howe, who apparently hasn’t yet left the bar. He has a hand around her bare waist and she’s dressed in a backless tank and a tiny mini. They’re talking at the base of the VIP stairs. It’s hard to say whether they’re arguing or whether this is Richard’s move to get her to have sex with him in one of the plunge pools or a banquette.
Her appearance sparks a vague memory. “I think I dated her for a period of a couple months—maybe three—several years ago.” She looks generic to me. At one time, early on in my success, I slept with models and aspiring actresses and any other lady who turned my head. As I got older and needed something more than physical interaction, I started dating women in finance. Bankers, lawyers, and writers. The pillow talk was more interesting, as was dinner conversation. But still, none of them held my interest and I’d always moved on.
“What’s she doing with the scumbag?” Tiny scowls, her forehead crinkling angrily. We watch as Richard’s hand dips down over the model’s ass and cups it. From our superior angle, it’s easy to see his fingers disappear under the girl’s skirt. She looks surprised and then resigned. Her fingers run up and down his lapel. Even if she doesn’t want him, she’s willing enough.
“He’s a meal ticket. Modeling is a tough gig.” I apply light pressure on Tiny’s back to urge her forward. I don’t really care what Howe is up to tonight. He can f**k a hundred models as long as he doesn’t look Tiny’s way.
But there’s no way to avoid Howe as we exit, since he’s standing at the base of the stairs. Both he and the model turn toward us, and Howe gives Tiny an appraising look that makes her shift slightly to use my frame as cover. I reach behind me and draw her to the opposite side, away from Howe.
“I see your taste in women still runs toward the trashy side.”
Melinda gasps, but Tiny only squeezes my hand.
Kaga wouldn’t care if I laid Howe out on the floor with a punch to the jaw, but I’m not going to give Howe ammunition for an assault charge. The one thing you learn when dealing with cops is to never throw the first punch.
“Your inability to judge quality when you see it is why you are a failure, Howe. In the future, it’d be good for your health to pretend Tiny and I do not exist. Remember what I said before. Your time here is limited.”
I give a short nod to Melinda. She reaches out a hand toward me, but I shift away so that it merely brushes my sleeve.
“Someday you’ll pay for all this,” Howe says.
“That day is never going to happen.” Kaga’s place is too successful, and the packed crowd is preventing us from making a quick escape.
“He’s not worth it.” Tiny directs this to Melinda.
“Not all of us get Ian Kerr to take us home,” she says sadly.
“You could do better.” Tiny reaches out a hand. “Trust me. You’re an amazing girl. Don’t settle.”
I stifle a laugh. Nothing could be more insulting than for two gorgeous women to be completely ignoring Howe. It’s better than a punch in the face because it hits him where it really counts—his vanity.
Howe’s face turns livid as the model allows herself to be drawn away.
“You’re right.” She visibly straightens her shoulders. “You’re so right.”
Leaning forward, she gives Tiny a kiss on the cheek and sends me another sad smile before drifting into the crowd. I take Tiny’s hand and push through to the exit. Howe is left behind us, completely alone.
NINE
“IS SEVEN TOO EARLY?” TINY asks.
“No, but if my meeting runs late, just start without me.” I glance at my watch. “How do you want to run this meeting? You know that the likelihood that he has anything of your mother’s is almost nil.”
“I’ll regret it if I don’t at least go and hear him out.”
“He wants something,” I warn.
“I know that. I know he’s not a good guy. I lived with him, remember?” she shoots back with asperity. “But wondering if he does have something of Mom’s will bug me far more than if I let him bullshit us for a couple hours. You don’t have to come.”
“I’m coming.” The clock hasn’t magically moved backward since I first called her. Reluctantly I agree, knowing she’s right. “But I’m going to be late.”
“We’re going to be in a public place. There’s nothing he can do that can hurt me. Words, Ian, can’t hurt me. I don’t care enough about Mitch to let his opinions about anything bother me. Go forth and be your bad investment self.”
After telling her I love her, I hang up and hurry to the conference room. Today’s meeting is with the wearables firm. They have ideas for everything from clothes that change colors depending on your mood to shoes that provide differing cushioning depending on the walking surface. The meeting runs longer than I anticipated but a few glances at my watch has them hurrying to wrap it up.
Because of the overlong meeting, I’m not able to head home to get ready. Instead I make my way to the en-suite bathroom attached to my office and pull out a dark suit suited for the stuffy Plaza environment.
Quickly, I finish dressing and call Steve.
“Mate,” he answers.
“Where are you?”
“Idling outside 14011”.
That’s the address to my home in the Meatpacking district. “I’ll call for a car to take me up to the Plaza. Can you keep Tiny in the car until I get there?”