Susan Phillips - What I Did for Love

Sasha sounded harried instead of her normal sarcastic self. “I left three messages. Why didn’t you call me back?”

Because Georgie had accidentally left her cell in her suitcase and only retrieved it on her way to the restaurant.

“We had a fire in the warehouse,” Sasha went on. “I had to get back right away.”

“Is everybody okay?”

“Yes, but there’s a lot of damage. Georgie, I know the Vegas trip was my idea. I’d never have stood you up like this if-”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.” Sasha was cool in a crisis, but she also wasn’t the tough nut she pretended to be. “Take care of yourself, and call me when you know more. Promise.”

“I will.”

After Georgie hung up, she gazed around the hotel’s jewel-like dining room with its silk-tented ceiling and view of Lake Bellagio. Several of the diners were openly staring at her, and she realized she was once again alone at a table for two. She left a hundred-dollar bill by her water goblet and slipped out into the casino through the restaurant’s star-studded entry. She kept her head down as she walked past the Monopoly slot machines.

“I swear, you’re stalking me.”

She whipped around and saw Bram Shepard standing outside Circo, the sister restaurant to the one she’d just fled. He was predictably gorgeous in jeans and a pinstriped dress shirt with white French cuffs, a mix of casual and elegant that should have looked awful, but didn’t. The casino lighting had turned his lavender eyes into mercury. He was like one of the Seven Wonders of the World-except he’d been tarnished by too much acid rain.

“This is so not an accident,” she said.

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“Yeah, right.” She moved quickly, trying to get away before anyone spotted them, but he fell into step next to her. “I had a benefit,” he said.

“I don’t care. Go away.”

“It was a corporate shindig. I got twenty-five thousand dollars for spending two hours at the company cocktail party mingling with the guests.”

“Not exactly a benefit.”

“A benefit for me. ”

“It figures.” She knew a dozen C-list celebrities who made a living like this, but not one of them admitted it.

She walked still faster, but it was too late. They were already attracting attention, no big surprise, since last week’s lunch date was splashed all over this week’s tabloids. She’d wanted positive stories she could control, and there was nothing controllable or positive about Bram Shepard.

They passed a circular bar with a rock band grinding out a Nickelback cover. She couldn’t get away now, so she plastered on a smile. It was time she let him know her pushover days were behind her. “Let me guess,” she said as they wound through the machines. “You’re heading for the bedroom of an aging corporate mogul’s third wife. She’s paying you for extra services.”

“Want to come along? Imagine how much she’d cough up to get it on with both of us.”

“Thanks for thinking of me, but unlike you, I’m still filthy rich, so I haven’t been reduced to selling myself.”

“Who are you kidding? I saw you in Pretty People. You sold yourself to make that bomb.”

She’d tried to convince her father the movie was a mistake, but he refused to listen. Failure was starting to cling to her like bad perfume.

“You should sue whoever did your costumes for that film.” He winked at a cute Asian blackjack dealer. “They’d have done better to capitalize on your legs instead of your bust.”

“While you’re pointing out my flaws, don’t forget my pop eyes and my rubber mouth and-”

“You don’t have pop eyes. And a rubber mouth hasn’t exactly hurt Julia Roberts.”

But Georgie wasn’t Julia Roberts.

His eyes slid over her. She was tall, but he was still half a head taller. “Nice look tonight, by the way. It almost hides how scrawny you are. April must still be styling you.”

“She is.” Although Georgie had chosen this V-neck sheath, which was printed in a black-and-white Jackson Pollock-splatter paint pattern. It hung straight from her shoulders, and the black leather belt slung low around the hips gave it a flapper feel. She’d arranged her hair in long, spiky pieces around her face and accessorized with a pair of chunky bangles.

He checked out a leggy blonde who was openly staring at him. “So tell me…Is the hunt still on, or have you found a guy stupid enough to marry you?”

“Dozens. Fortunately, I came to my senses in time. It’s amazing what a little electric shock therapy will do for you. You should try it.”

He thumped her once between the shoulder blades. “I’ll say this for you, Scoot. You still know how to get yourself in those embarrassing little jams. Walking in on your tender scene with Trev was the best time I’ve had in months.”

“Which only shows how sad your narrow little life really is.”

They’d reached the crowded lobby. Its gorgeously gaudy ceiling of Dale Chihuly glass flowers didn’t mesh well with the rest of the decor but was beautiful nonetheless. The buzz began immediately, and people stopped what they were doing to ogle them. Georgie plastered on her biggest smile. One woman lifted her cell phone to snap a picture. Great. This was just great.

“Let’s get out of here.” Bram grabbed her arm and pushed her through the crowd. The next thing she knew, they were in an elevator that smelled of Jo Malone’s Tuberose. He slid a key card into a slot on the panel and punched in a floor. Their reflections stared back at her from the mirrored walls-Skip and Scooter all grown up. For the barest fraction of a second, she wondered who was watching the twins while Mom and Dad had a night on the town.

The elevator began to move. She reached around him and pressed the button for the thirtieth floor.

“It’s not even eleven o’clock,” he said. “Let’s have some fun first.”

“Good idea. I’ll get my Tazer.”

“Still as prickly as ever. You’re all shiny package, Georgie, but there’s no present inside. I’ll bet you never even let Lance the Loser see you naked.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I was supposed to take off my clothes? Why didn’t somebody tell me?”

He rested his shoulder against the elevator wall, crossed his ankles, and gave her his expert bone-melting once-over. “You know what I wish. I wish I’d nailed Jade Gentry when I had the chance. That woman is pure sex.”

His comment should have devastated her, but this was Bram, so her fighting instincts kicked in. “You never had a chance with St. Jade. She picks all her men from the A-list, and Lance’s last film grossed eighty-seven million.”

“Lucky bastard. Dude can’t act for shit.”

“As opposed to your incredible box-office record. I have to admit, though…you’re looking good.” She patted her purse. “Don’t let me walk off without the name of your fabulous plastic surgeon.”

He uncrossed his ankles. “Jade called me a few years back, but I was so out of it I never called her back. That’s the real way drugs screw up your brain, but nobody ever warns kids about shit like that.” The doors opened on the twenty-eighth floor. He grabbed her elbow. “Party time. Let’s go.”

“Let’s not.”

He dragged her out. “Come on. I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.” She tried to dig her heels into the thick carpet that ran down the middle of the opulent hallway.

His grip tightened. “You must have forgotten what I overheard at Trev’s house, or you’d realize you’re basically my slave.”

She’d been the target of too many of Bram’s cat-and-mouse games not to see where this was headed, and she didn’t like it.