Buyer Beware

by Colleen Charles

  "What did you do to them, Giovanetti?" I ask, but I already know the answer. Every single person in this world has an Achilles heel, and this bastard has goons to figure out every weak spot just so he can dig his finger in and twist.

  "Let's just say that they decided it would be in their best interests to institute a change of venue." He stops his gloating long enough to sweep his gaze around my modern office. I like clean lines and an expensive look. He's gaudy and old-school. From his suits, to his casino, to his pussy. "The Mona Lisa is so much classier than…this."

  My lips quiver and I want to hurl insult after insult into his smug face. But truth be told, I'm angry with myself for losing my cool a few seconds ago. When I do that, he gets the upper hand, and he knows it. I inhale a deep breath and struggle to remain calm, winning the battle but not the war.

  "Hmm…you do realize they're in breach of contract, so we'll be taking legal action."

  He chuckles, and for a second, I think he's going to wink at me. Such a blatant act of disrespect might serve as the beginning of my complete undoing. But he doesn't, and I'm granted a momentary reprieve. He just continues to laugh in my face. "You can try, but you won't be able to get an injunction before the concert date. You know how the Vegas court calendar is, all plugged up with hookers, vagrants, and junkies. It's tough to even get a spot on the docket in Clark County."

  Because you have every judge in your back pocket, you disgusting piece of shit.

  "Does their manager know there's a six figure fine for deliberate breach of contract? No legal action needed to collect that."

  Dante just stares at me and smirks. "He doesn't give a shit because I'm paying the fine out of my own pocket. You're such a dipshit, you didn't know what you had in the palm of your hand. I'm charging two-hundred bucks a seat and even more for the VIP section. You undervalued them. I won't make your careless mistakes."

  I remain silent. He's just trying to bait me, and I refuse to nibble this time. "Well, you're welcome to them. I don't want to do business with a band that can't keep their commitments. No matter how popular they are, word will get around that they're in breach of contract. The only party looking bad in that situation is Pink Autopsy."

  Troy pops his head inside, probably to make sure Dante's still breathing. I nod at him, and he walks in and stops a few feet in front of the mafia kingpin, looking the man up and down. "Good morning, Mr. Giovanetti, how's business over at the Mona Lisa?"

  Dante glances at Troy but dismisses him like he's an annoying fly buzzing around his head but not landing. "Business is booming."

  "I heard you caught some card counter at your high limit blackjack table." To anyone on the outside looking in, Troy appears to be making polite conversation, but I know better. No casino owner likes to be taken for a ride by a cheater and Dante's no different. He stiffens, and I can almost see the steam coming from his bristling body.

  Troy one, Dante a big, fat goose egg.

  "Yes, well, we caught him before he could do much damage."

  Troy coughs into his hand, and I see him trying to cover up a chuckle. "Really? I heard he was into you for almost a hundred thousand before your pit boss shut him down. Maybe you need to replace your eye in the sky."

  Dante's eyes narrow, and we've probably pushed him too far, but it's just too much fun to mess with him. I back off. In the split second I let down my guard for a laugh at Dante's expense, I forgot that it's the win at the end I really want. My strategy is to take the entire war and not just the occasional battle, since my dad's fucking legacy is on the line. I'll shoot the contract to my brother in NYC and see if I can't get something going right out of the gate to shake it all down. Dante seems to forget that my brother's one of the best lawyers in The Big Apple. I've been trying to drag Reagan's ass home for years, but he's attached to the lifestyle.

  "My employees are loyal and competent. I wonder if you can say the same." He says it like he knows something I don't, and it pisses me off before I can stop it. I'm so sick of his gaslighting and game playing I could puke, but I take it. For now. Dante's slippery, and in order to take him down for good, I'll grow Velcro all over my body if needed.

  I take a deep breath.

  "Yes, well, I'm sure they are." I spear Troy with a look to tell him to stop with the baiting and toying if only for today. He hates Dante as much as I do. My dad was like a second father to Troy, and an all-around great man to everyone he knew. He wasn't a weak man. But Dante taking and taking and taking, weakened him to the point he felt he could no longer go on. For that, Dante will pay with everything he holds dear, or I'll die trying.

  "You're resourceful, whelp. I'm sure you've got an ace up your sleeve to replace Pink Autopsy. Of course, they'll be second class and second best, but you'll figure it out, so you won't have to cancel. How are you going to do it?" He actually looks as if I might answer his fucking question.

  He's so fucking done, a voice whispers in my mind, tempting me to reach across my desk and throat punch him.

  Something about the greasy Italian seems off today, even darker and more sinister than normal, but for some crazy reason, I don't feel like that darkness can touch me. My parents are angels watching over me — Reagan, Ford, Carter, and Lincoln, too. Nothing bad will ever touch my family again. Not on my watch.

  "I didn't really care for Pink Autopsy anyway," I admit, which is somewhat true from a personal standpoint. From a business aspect, this is a royal pain in my ass. "They were always my second choice. I really should be thanking you. Now you've freed up my time to book an act that will draw even more people to the Armónico."

  "Hmm." His hand strokes back and forth on his thigh like some kind of nervous tick. It's the only indication that I've finally gotten to him. He checks his expensive watch and stands. "I've got a lunch meeting, so I'll be leaving now. Good luck finding a new band on such short notice."

  "Have a nice day," I call to his retreating back. What I really want to say wouldn't be appropriate for Carol's ears, and I watch my mouth in front of her out of sheer respect. Besides, getting into it with him inside my casino is an exercise in futility and makes me look unprofessional. I need to apply patience because his time will come.

  "Piece of shit motherfucker." Troy isn't so forbearing.

  "You said it," I say, rifling through some papers on my desk. What I really want to do is take everything on top and sweep it onto the carpet in a fit of rage while Troy stamps his feet and squeals like we've reverted back to our playground days. But I don't.

  "Carol," I say, pressing the button on my phone. "Can you get Unique Talent Management on the phone? It's an emergency. See if Chris Stevens is available."

  "Sure thing." Her voice crackles, and I can barely hear her. "By the way—"

  I let my finger off early, and my head snaps up as the door opens to reveal the visitor that Carol had been trying to announce when I'd rudely cut her off.

  "I'll see you later, Troy," I say, dismissing him as I stare at the open doorway.

  He turns his head, then looks back at me with censure. I already know what he's thinking, but I don't really give a shit. I glare until he stands up with the muscle in his jaw popping. Actually, I'm grateful to have a steadfast friend that I can be myself around without apologizing. Everyone should have someone in their life like that.

  "I'll see you down on the floor." He nods at her as he walks by, and I will him not to brush up against her. I don't want to have to strike my best friend, but the only person who is ever fucking going to lay a hand on her ever again is me.

  "Miss Castillo, it's lovely to see you," I say, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk. She hovers by the door for several excruciating seconds. At first, I think she'll flee, but I don't break eye contact, demanding her compliance with just my gaze. After a few long seconds, she finally sinks into the plush chair. I choose to ignore the rudeness, cursing, and anger she showed the night of our dinner. If she doesn't bring it up, neither will I.

  "Mr. Caldwell…" H
er eyes flutter shut, and I'd give anything to reach across the expanse of my desk and tip her chin up to force her to look at me. I imagine her naked in my bed with her arms pinned above her head, forced to surrender to my every whim while watching me the entire time. Someday. "Why did I see Dante Giovanetti leaving your office?"

  I rear back in surprise. Of all the words to leave her lips, those are ones I'd never seen coming.

  "What?" How in the hell does she even know his name? My entire body stiffens. I don't want her sweet innocence colored by knowledge of that human piece of shit.

  She turns in her chair and points at the door to my office as if the subject of our conversation might reappear for visual verification. "Dante Giovanetti. I saw him getting onto your private elevator? Or was that someone else?"

  I roll a mask of calm indifference over my face. "No. You're right. He's a business associate of mine. He was just here to deliver some bad news."

  She frowns, and I'd give anything to stroke the creases from her brow. "I hope it wasn't too bad."

  "Not at all. One of my headliners had to reschedule, but we'll take care of it today. Mr. Giovanetti was just here to rub my face in it."

  "Oh. So you're not friends?" Her tone is hopeful, and I wonder why she would even care. After the way I've behaved — treating her like a trophy to be won and owned — she probably thinks I'm just as bad as my arch enemy. Regret punches me in the gut as I consider that she might think of me residing in a gutter instead of on a pedestal. In that moment, I want her to know the truth. To see the real me, so I rush in to explain.

  "No, that evil mafia bastard and I are most definitely not friends. I'm afraid I can't stand the man."

  She doesn't respond, only sits there, her fingers twisting in her lap. After she's wrung her hands together a few seconds, she looks at me again. "I'm sorry about the other night. I was rude and inappropriate. It won't happen again."

  I don't like the fact that I've made her uncomfortable. She really hasn't done anything to apologize for since I've done nothing but act like an asshat in front of her in a desperate and futile attempt to tamp down the born again lust she’s inspired. "Don't even worry about it. You just continue working with Lincoln, and I'll make sure I stay out of your way. I never meant to upset you. It's just that…"

  She chews her bottom lip, and I get a glimpse of her white teeth. I wish she'd smile at me, but it's rare. After what she's already been through in her young life, I'm not surprised. I've been fighting the same demons. The ghosts of the past haunt your dreams and steal your smiles before they can even reach your lips.

  "What?" she asks.

  "Well, Lincoln is raving about you, and I just wanted to make sure that you stay. You were right about my intentions. They were purely selfish. It's not easy dealing with his disability and he's had three paras this past year. Each time he gets attached and they leave, it breaks his little heart."

  Compassion washes over her face before something else takes over. Pure stubbornness. She stands, looking me solidly in the eyes. "I'm not a quitter."

  Chapter Thirteen – Marcella

  I stand in front of the most attractive man I've ever met, trying to hold everything I'm feeling back when all I want to do is scream until my throat can no longer voice my frustration. Since I met Nixon, my emotions have gotten the better of me. I just don't get this guy. He's hot and cold. He's passion and indifference. Light and shade. I never read that fifty shades book, but this dude's at least a thousand hues of that dull, lifeless color. Probably more like a million. I'm off kilter because I can't control any situation I'm in that includes him, and I don't like it which makes me not like the guy who's causing it. Dante Giovanetti is a piece of shit, and my intuition is telling me that there's no reason for him to be at the Armónico unless they're in cahoots with each other.

  It's now my job to protect Lincoln, even if that protection is from his own brother. The sweet, little munchkin already owns a part of my heart. I don't think I've ever met a kinder child in my entire life.

  "I'm glad to hear it." He says the words, but he's not looking at me. Instead, he's shuffling papers around on his desk like he wants nothing more than to have me out of his sight, and I'm not taking the hint. It rankles, and I find my ire rising like lava from a volcano that's been silent too long. I try to tamp it down, but my heart throbs and my fingers twitch with the need to do something. I'm not sure what it is about Nixon Caldwell that gets me so wound up. He finally glances up, an eyebrow raised. "Is that all?"

  That's it. This new dismissive tone of his wafts over me, and red colors my vision. A vibrant, vivid shade of crimson that represents all the anger I've ever felt in my life, and it's directed at him.

  "You're a damn liar."

  I start to shake and will myself to stop, but my body has a mind of its own. I delight in the look of shock that crosses his mask of cool disdain. There's nothing I'd like more than to lean over his chrome desk and mess up his perfect spiky hair. There's not a fucking hair out of place, and it pisses me off. I want to take everything that's perfect in his life and fuck with it.

  In a fit of anger, and something else I'm not ready to examine, I take the stack of papers he's shuffling and sweep them off his desk. As they flutter to the plush carpet, I stare at them floating ever downward. I hope they were important and are now out of order because of me. Nixon just sits there like some human mannequin. Not speaking. Not looking. Not fucking nothing. How dare he not start yelling and screaming before ordering me out of his office. Fire my impudent ass. Anything.

  His silence and stillness heighten my already rising emotions. I walk around his desk and hover so close I can feel scorching heat emanating from his body, feel it sinking into mine. I raise my fingers to grab his fancy pen, and his hand snakes out and encases mine in an iron grip. I feel the barely contained emotion simmering just beneath his polished exterior. He's like a black panther, crouched and waiting to strike a death blow. I close my eyes and wait for him to hit me.

  But he doesn't.

  For electric moments, we remain still, locked within the vice-like grasp of some roller coaster of emotions that neither one of us acknowledge. I blink, and as soon as my eyes close, the searing heat of his mouth captures mine, his tongue sliding between my parted lips. I fall forward into his lap and can feel the steel of his throbbing erection pushing against my hip. He's huge, and it scares the shit out of me, but the fear flies away in the face of my rising lust. All I want is to get rid of this racing emotion I feel whenever I'm around him, so I kiss him back with all the pain and hope inside of me.

  He tastes like strength and passion, and I find myself leaning into him, relishing the depth of lust he's feeding me, lapping it up before giving back some of my own. Outside of a few hurried pecks from past boyfriends, I've never been kissed. Not like this. I push back, wanting more, deepening the connection, but he stays urgent and controlling. He's taking what he wants again, and this time, I let him. I'm hypnotized with the taste, feel, and heat of Nixon Caldwell. Having never felt something this intense, I want to take it all and drink it in. It's like someone flipped a switch, and my body's come alive for the first time as an adult woman.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing even closer to him. My t-shirt is flush to his cotton dress shirt, but that's not close enough. I want to feel his skin. He moves his hand from my thigh to my hips, and in one tug, I'm straddling him. But he doesn't break the connection with his lips, just keeps devouring my mouth. His hands roam my body as he takes and takes and takes. I start to rock against him, and it causes a guttural sound to rip from the depths of his body, like a lion roaring to his pride.

  His grip on me grows firmer as tension rises inside him. He wants something, but I don't know what it is. I can't bring myself to even try to figure it out with all the wonderful new sensations cascading through me. As I grind my hot, wet sex into his crotch, the entire world fades into oblivion. The only thing left is blinding emotion. There's a precipice, and I'm racing
toward it. What would happen if I let myself fall?

  "More," I plead, pulling away from his mouth for a moment before latching back on to his lips. My hands go to his hair, wanting to hold on to him until I never have to let go. I spread my legs wider, grinding harder, as his hot mouth moves down between my breasts, nuzzling them through my bra and t-shirt. My skin feels like it's being licked by a raging inferno.

  "I'm so hot," I say on a moan. "Too hot. Please..."

  I'm not even sure what I'm begging for. His hands push at my shirt, pulling it down to expose my lacy pink bra. When he moves his fingers to the edging, I feel like I'm going to jump right out of my fevered skin. His deft fingers dip inside, and I finally feel the intimacy of his caress on my naked flesh. It's heaven. My head falls back, and I hear a tortured moan that must be my own because his mouth has moved to the tender skin of my neck, branding me.

  He kisses down my neck, unphased by my pleas for something I can't articulate. Nixon's fingers move the cup of my bra out of the way, and the cooler air kisses my skin. After tasting my exposed nipple, he blows on it.

  "Is that better?" he asks, and all I can manage is another groan of pleasure. His teeth graze me there, and the throbbing between my legs increases. I push down on his core again, trying to calm my urges. I feel wild and feral, and I want to beg him to claim me even though I have no idea what that feels like.

  My heart throbs against my chest with such a powerful rhythm it borders on discomfort. I squirm on top of Nixon, seeking an end to the physical torment he's caused since the first day I saw him. Every nerve ending in my body awakens and fires with fierce intensity. His hand moves down my rib cage and lands on my thigh. My core contracts in response. God, I want him to touch me so bad. Just when I think he's never going to move it, he does.

  Releasing my swollen nipple, Nixon leans in closer. His breath against my ear sends a little shiver down my spine.

  "I want to feel how wet you are," he whispers.

  "Yes," I say, the word sounding more like a strangled moan. His hand hovers over my heated slit, but before he can touch me, a thought pierces through the fog of lust. "Truth or dare."