I didn’t respond.
For whatever reason, Richard, if Richard was even his name, had lied to me. Internet dating was trick, and, at times, frightening when faced with a mismatched date. I could empathize with a guy who was leery to declare his birth name right away. But I would have preferred no name to the wrong one. That was my first problem with our date. My other problem was with his appearance. My other other problem was his strange behavior—the way he hid under the ball cap like he didn’t want anyone to see him.
I tapped open the address book on my phone, found the name Tyler, and deleted it.
Farewell, whoever you are.
There was a knock at my front door. I slipped out of bed, slung a satin robe over my shoulders, and peeked through the hole. I unbolted the door and opened it. “Sasha, what’s the matter?”
She brushed past me and slumped down on the sofa, burying her hands in her face. Since grade school, I’d only witnessed her breaking down two or three times. As far as emotions went, she’d always pretended like she didn’t have any. To her, feelings were “sappy and unsavory.” Sasha preferred people not in her close circle of friends to see flawless Sasha, the one with the perfect life, the perfect husband, and the perfect house where she raised her perfect kids and had a perfect dog named Sammy.
Of course the Vegas lifestyle did come with its freedoms. Here, there was a code, an understanding, if you will, that extended to both residents and visitors alike. One could arrive on Friday, indulge in various sins over the weekend, and catch a flight back home on Sunday, leaving the sins behind forever. As for the permanent residents, it helped to have friends in high places. I was guessing Sasha’s frustration had something to do with her lawyer husband Damon—who indeed had friends in high places. He’d developed a reputation over the years, and even though it wasn’t a good one, no one dared be the first one to squeal on him.
I sat next to Sasha, dangling a glass of wine in front of her face. She shooed it away. “Ready to talk about what happened?” I asked.
“No!”
“Yes. Take a few sips of wine and spill your guts. I’m not asking.”
“He’s ... going to leave me.”
“Damon?” I felt the onset of joy. I suppressed it. “How do you know?”
“I found an email. Something he wrote to one of the chicks he’s sleeping with right now.”
“Does this chick have a name?”
“Nikki.”
She practically spit the name when she said it.
“What did the message say?” I asked.
She picked a piece of wrinkled, white copy paper out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Here. I can’t do it. I can’t read it again.”
The email included several exchanges between Damon and Nikki, wherein Damon promised Nikki he’d ask Sasha for a divorce so they could be together. From what I read, it seemed like Damon had been Nikki’s sugar daddy for months, putting her up in a condo, giving her a weekly allowance. The dishonest gestures took his dirt-bag status to a whole new level. He even called Nikki by some of the same pet names he used on Sasha. Disgusting.
“Do you know who she is?” I asked.
“I know where she works, but that’s it.”
“Does he know you know?”
“Not yet. I found them on his laptop a couple hours ago. He was in a hurry this morning and left it behind. I saw it and thought I’d take it to him at work. I was closing it to put in my bag, and there they were.”
“What are you going to do?”
“He’s leaving me. It says it right there in those messages. What can I do?”
“You put up with all of his shit for all this time, and you’re going to allow him to leave you?”
“What should I do? Ask him for a divorce before he says something?”
It pained me to see her so weak, so unsure of herself. Reminded me of the woman I’d been until recently.
“Sasha, even if he never leaves you, he’s going to keep on cheating. It’s become his drug of choice. He’s addicted. We both know that. When are you going to take a stand?”
“What about our kids?”
“Corinne and Lisa will be fine. But you won’t be if you stay. How can you be the best parent for your girls if you aren’t happy? Don’t think those kids don’t see what’s going on. Even if they don’t know how their dad really is, they know their mom is suffering.”
She sat there, silent, arms crossed in front of her.
“What would you do if Lisa got married one day and you found out her husband cheated on her?”
“I’d pack my daughter up and move her far away from him.”
“Exactly. What kind of example do you think you’re setting for her right now? When she gets old enough, she’s going to figure out what’s going on, because if you’re still together, he’ll still be cheating. When is enough enough?”
She massaged her temples with a hand. “I know.”
“In my opinion, he won’t leave you for this woman. Just because this is the first email you’ve found doesn’t mean there aren’t more he’s sent to other women in his past, promising the same thing. He pacifies them, holds them off. He’s good at it.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
I leaned in close. “First, we’re going to confront Nikki. Second, you’re kicking him out. For good this time. And third, we’re getting you a good lawyer, someone not connected in any way to Damon.”
Kenna and Callie met me in front of Big Bucks Camper and RV.
“I can think of better places to shop,” Kenna said when she saw me.
“Thanks for meeting me here. I need your help with something.”
I filled the two of them in on what was going on with Sasha.
“What’s your plan?” Kenna asked when I finished.
“Sasha said Nikki works in the boating department. We go in, find her, and confront her.”
“With threats?” Callie said.
“Whatever it takes.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Kenna said, “but you’re going about it all wrong. We don’t want to threaten the girl, we want to scare her.”
“Do you have an idea in mind?”
Kenna suggested an even better plan, and we headed inside.
Finding Nikki was easy. Her shrill, deafening voice rang through the store like brakes being slammed on a train. Her highlighted-blond hair was trimmed into an A-line bob. Dressed in what resembled a pleated, white tennis skirt and a coral, button-up blouse tied in the front so it showed off her navel ring, she appeared to be half Damon’s age and demonstrated about an eighth of his IQ. She stood next to a ski boat, attempting to show off its best assets to an older gentleman next to her who continuously rolled his eyes while looking around for anyone else with a pulse. When a male employee strolled by, the man said, “Can I get some real help? I don’t have all day, and this one can’t answer my questions.”
A deflated Nikki skulked away, until she spied us nearby and regained new vigor. “Hi!” she said, making a beeline in our direction. “Can I help you?”
Looking at Nikki now, I was glad Sasha stayed home. She was young. So young she hadn’t yet developed a single wrinkle anywhere on her body.
“I’m planning a getaway for some of my girlfriends,” Kenna said, “and we thought renting a boat for the weekend would be nice. Do you rent boats here?”
“We do!”
“On second thought, maybe I’ll just buy one. I’ve been meaning to for months.”
The idea of an easy commission almost made Nikki foam at the mouth.
“What would you recommend?” Kenna asked.
Nikki showed us five different models in under five minutes, giving us the bare minimum in terms of details. When her rushed presentation was over, she cleared her throat and confidently asked which one we wanted today.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kenna said. “I’ll have to think it over.”
“I can’t guarantee the one you want will be here when y
ou come back. If I were you, I’d leave a deposit at the very least. The paperwork is super easy. Wouldn’t take long for you to fill it out.”
“True, you’re probably right.” Kenna dug inside her purse with so much tenacity and vigor, even I was convinced, and I knew exactly what she was doing. “Damn!”
“What is it?” Nikki asked.
“My wallet. I think I must have left it at home. I can’t believe it. I was going to think on it overnight but still leave you a deposit so you could hold it.”
“I can leave a deposit,” I chimed in, right on cue.
“Oh, would you?” Kenna said. “That would be great.”
I reached in my bag, wishing the next part could be captured on camera. With the slightest of movements, I unsnapped my wallet, allowing it to fall open. A business card tipped out, fluttering to the floor.
“Oops. You lost something,” Nikki said. “I’ll get it.”
As she dove for the card, Kenna and Callie glanced at me. We all smiled. Kenna was right. Her way was better.
Nikki snatched the card from the ground, scanning it as she adjusted herself back into a standing position. “Uhh ... here.”
She held it out to me.
I didn’t accept it. I tipped my head toward the card, peeked at the name on it, and sighed. “Do me a favor and toss this in the trash for me, would you?”
“The ... trash?” Nikki asked.
“Actually,” I said, snatching it from her hand, “on second thought, allow me.”
I ripped the business card into about twenty pieces and disappeared behind a nearby desk, hunching over and dropping the fragments into the can.
“You’ll have to forgive her,” Kenna said, an air of sympathy in her voice. “She’s had a rough day. Man problems.”
“Uhh ... what kind of problems?” Nikki asked, eyes wide.
“The STD kind.”
“The wha—”
“Can you believe it?” Kenna continued. “The guy she’s been sleeping with has syphilis. Told her she better get checked since she might have it too. He has a thing for sweet-talking his way out of wearing a cock sock.”
“Not Damon Chase, the guy whose name was on the card you just ripped up? You’re talking about someone else, right?”
One sneer from Callie, and Nikki knew we were all referring to the same guy.
Nikki’s face paled, her hands unsteady.
“You’re shaking,” Kenna said. “Are you all right?”
“Can you ladies ... excuse ... I need to ...”
“Sure, sure,” Kenna said. “Take your time.”
I wanted to high-five my girls right there. I had a feeling Damon’s steed wouldn’t be mounted tonight or any other night. Not by Nikki anyway. The three of us strolled back out of the store with our hands to our mouths, stifling our laughter. When we were a safe distance away, we let it rip. Even if Nikki eventually found out we were lying, it was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
“So, let me get this straight.” Veronica sat across from me, cocktail in one hand, California roll in the other. “This ... Richard lies to you about his name, suggests a different restaurant, shows up looking like a glorified bum, and then chases you out to your car at the end?”
“I know. I know. I thought I was finished dating douche bags. I really thought he was different. Are you disappointed?”
She tossed her head back and laughed. “Disappointed? I’m not your mother.”
“I know, but it didn’t go as planned.”
“What did I tell you?”
“Always be prepared for anything.”
“Nothing, no matter how much preparation goes into it, turns out how we expect,” she said. “Has he called?”
“He’s texted.”
“How many times?”
“Twice this morning and again about five minutes ago. I thought I’d blocked his number on my phone, but I must have done something wrong, but his messages are still coming in.”
Veronica popped another sushi roll into her mouth. “And you won’t respond because he lied about his name?”
“I don’t like liars.”
“Did you ask him why he lied?”
“I was irate. I didn’t care why he lied. I left.”
“Before you dashed off in a huff, did he make any attempt to explain?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, maybe he has a good reason,” she said. “You’ll never know if you don’t hear him out.”
“I thought you’d tell me I did the right thing by leaving. Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. But you could be ruining a great thing over a simple misunderstanding.”
“There were several warning signs during our short date, if you can even call it a date. Lying is lying. It’s not okay.”
Veronica sipped her drink. “Did he happen to mention his last name?”
“Brannigan.”
“He claims he’s Richard Brannigan?”
I nodded. “Why? Do you know him?”
The last roll she’d swallowed seemed to catch in her throat. She clasped a hand to her neck. I stood, cursing myself for not knowing how to perform the Heimlich maneuver. “Are you all right?”
A woman at an adjoining table rushed forward. Veronica waved her away, leaned back, and swallowed two large gulps of her cocktail.
“There. I’m fine,” she stammered. “No need to make a scene. Nothing a bit of alcohol can’t fix.”
She took a few deep breaths, leaned over, and lifted an iPad out of her bag. She clicked it on and handed it over. “Let me see his profile.”
“You know him, don’t you? Who is he?”
“Show me the profile. I’ll explain after I see if we’re talking about the same person.”
I logged in, pulled up the profile, and then handed the iPad back to her.
She took one look at Richard’s main profile photo and said, “Hmm, I can’t tell from this picture.” She scrolled through the rest, and when she got to the last one she snapped the cover of her iPad closed, apparently not needing to investigate further.
“Well,” she said. “I can say this—I think I know why he lied.”
“He’s a billionaire?” I asked.
Veronica nodded.
“What the hell is a billionaire doing on an online dating site?”
“He’s single, just like everyone else. Are you thinking because he has money, he can’t possibly find love on there? He found you. Even men with money need help finding the right person. And the truth is, they probably need more help than the rest of us.”
“I just thought—”
“He wouldn’t have a need for a dating site, right? He must have women falling all over him.”
She assumed right. It was exactly what I thought.
“You tell me,” she continued. “Why would someone like him want to date you?”
“Because he’s tired of tall, leggy supermodels?” I joked.
“You may not walk the runway, my dear, but you’re every bit as pretty. Try again.”
“Because he’s tired of dating models without a brain?”
“Without a brain. You assume much and know little. All supermodels aren’t clichés. What is he after, really?”
“Love. Unless he’s lying about that too.”
“There. Love. The same thing you’re after. It’s possible he’s never found what he’s been looking for and decided to try something new. Maybe he’s been hurt, used by all the wrong women who only date him for his money. You should ask him.”
Something about the way she mentioned the possibility of him being used struck me. “You know something about him. Tell me.”
“All I’m saying is you should give the man the chance to explain.”
“Please, Veronica. If there’s something I should know, I’d rather to hear it from you.”
“Why?”
“I trust you.”
“Well,” she said, folding her napkin over her plate, “I might know one thing.�
��
I leaned in.
“Three years ago, Richard was engaged to a girl named Rachelle.”
“Richard and Rachelle. How perfect,” I sneered.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?”
I nodded.
“It was a whirlwind romance. He knew her only three months before he proposed.”
I thought of Kenna. “What happened?”
“He received an interesting phone call.”
“From who?”
“Her husband David.”
“Wait—what?”
“David admitted he’d married Rachelle two years earlier when she moved to Hollywood, thinking she’d be the next “it” girl. The thing is her career never took off. Not really. She had two-bit parts and then nothing. No auditions. No call backs. Everything dried up.”
“Then how’d she meet Richard?” I asked.
“Just because she wasn’t playing with the big boys didn’t mean she didn’t know how to woo one. She hung around in all the right places, spreading lies about her starring in some completely bogus movie that hadn’t started filming yet, and more than a few men bought it.”
“It took three months for her husband to become suspicious?”
“She lied to him as well, saying she had rehearsals all night, every night for a Lifetime movie she was co-starring in. When it all came out, the press painted Rachelle as someone who had just been after Richard’s money. Of course, she denied it, swearing she’d secretly been trying to divorce David all along.”
“I imagine Richard didn’t take it very well,” I said.
“He was crushed.”
“So what’s your opinion? Was she was using him?”
“In my opinion, Rachelle really was planning to divorce her husband. Later I learned the reason she hadn’t done it sooner: she feared how David would react after the divorce papers were served. He had a hot temper.”
“You would think since Richard understands how gut-wrenching it feels to be betrayed, he wouldn’t have put me through what he did.”
“He does understand. But now he also understands what it means to be cautious. Do you want to know why I think he told you his name was Tyler? He wanted to be sure you like him for him, not because he’s Richard Brannigan, billionaire.”
Sweet Dreams (Vegas Dreams Book 1) Page 4
