You Can Trust Me, page 2
My folio is fat with cash from wallets and drink orders (sorry, Heidi, you’re going to get in trouble when the books don’t balance tonight), and I’m making my way back to the restroom when I see him. Oh, shit.
A uniformed officer is moving through the club alongside a plainclothes cop who is immediately recognizable as law enforcement for twenty different reasons. As I watch, frozen in horror, the plainclothes officer taps the shoulders of a pair of girls and leans down to speak with them. They pull IDs out of their purses and show them to him. He nods and moves on, beckoning to a group of college guys. They listen for a moment, then pull their wallets out.
He’s doing spot checks, carding people.
I have no less than ten stolen credit cards, a thousand dollars, and a stolen driver’s license in my server’s folio, not to mention the fake ID in my bra.
The fear comes with an image of future Leo, waiting outside the downtown hotel for a ride that will never come, followed immediately by another image: Leo when I met her, homeless, scrawny, uncared for.
I back up, bumping into someone. “Hey,” a male voice protests.
The uniformed officer lifts his eyes like he can feel my stare. Our eyes lock.
I flip the switch on a smile and ease back into the crowd. Once I’m hidden behind people, I spin and push through bodies, desperate to get out as quick as I can. “Hate cops hate cops hate cops,” I find myself whispering. Suddenly, the guy who’d dance-humped me when I first came out of the bathroom is in front of me again. His face stretches into a rubbery grin. “You never got my Sex on the Beach.”
“Not now.” I try to push past him.
This pisses him off. “I said, you owe me a drink.”
I survey the people around us. Drunk jock—no help to me. More drunk jocks—shit.
Think.
I reach forward and pinch the butt of the jock right in front of him. The guy spins, his face going Neanderthal. “What the fuck?” He steps forward, ready to fight.
“It wasn’t me,” Sex on the Beach guy protests, but I cry out in full girl-victim voice, “It was him! I saw him do it!”
The jock wheels on him, and the two go head-to-head, yelling and pushing each other into surrounding clubgoers. I risk a glance back at the cop, who’s now focused on the fight and is on his way to break it up.
I zip away like a snake, fast as water, heading for the back door. This is exactly why I scout out all the exits in advance. On my way, I grab my purse out of the bathroom, and then I’m through a door marked Employees Only, in a white-tiled hallway, and two seconds later I’m in the alley behind the club. I hurry for the street, untying my apron as I go. I feel like they’re chasing me, closing in on me. I won’t be okay until I’m back in the safety of my truck, speeding away toward Leo as fast as the roads will allow.
CHAPTER TWO
LEO
TUESDAY, JUNE 6
I clutched the banister on my way up the hotel staircase, my knuckles white against the black wood. These sandal heels were pretty, but they should be a human rights violation. I got out my phone and texted Summer a photo of the stairwell ahead of me. Going in. Wish me luck! I added a money bag emoji for luck.
Her reply came quickly. You got this.
She was right. My last few attempts hadn’t worked out, but tonight was going to be different. I took a deep breath. I needed to focus on the positive. It was a Tuesday night, and my heart was pounding adventure into my veins. Each time I did this, it was like visiting a new country. What would I discover? Where would the night take me?
I slipped my phone into my small, delicate purse, threw my shoulders back, and summoned my persona for the evening. Sweet, a bit innocent, a little shy. It had been ten years since I took theater in high school, but I still liked to imagine the characters I was playing. The one I used most often when working with rich men was the girl I was pretty sure all of them wanted: a young ingenue overwhelmed by the glamour an older, wealthy man could provide. As I envisioned her, I felt my facial expression soften, my eyes widen. Summer would approve. “Control his attention,” she always told me. “Find out what he wants, then decide when he gets it.”
I clipped up the stairs and through the arched doorway out onto the rooftop hotel deck. A bouncer stood at the entrance, a watchful look on his face. Behind him, the glass-surrounded area was classy and dark, the neon city sparkling below. Firepits dotted the space, and a pair of bars with dignified-looking, white-shirted bartenders had walls of bottles towering behind them.
I approached the bouncer. “Good evening,” I murmured.
He raised his eyebrows. “Joining someone?” He was already opening the rope for me. That was L.A. They didn’t care if you had a right to be anywhere as long as you looked like you did.
“Yes. My friend will be right behind me in a moment.”
“Enjoy.” His eyes lingered on my legs, and I moved past him with a you’re dismissed attitude I thought appropriate to the setting.
My eyes roved, landing on a gathering of men seated on a sectional sofa near a large firepit. A beefy man in all black stood at the periphery of the group, searching the room with suspicious eyes—hired security. Seated, a group of Asian men in crisp suits listened with great intensity to a white man in his late forties with dark hair going gray at the temples, dressed down in an old Radiohead T-shirt and ripped jeans.
This was my mark: Michael Forrester, billionaire tech start-up guy, entrepreneur, UN climate ambassador, global philanthropist, blah, blah, blah. His accomplishments were boring, but his assets gave me seven billion reasons to find him fake-fascinating.
I let my eyes move past him. I could all but hear Summer in my ear, coaching me, cracking jokes as she did. We had different strengths. She did volume, clearing a room of cash in minutes. I played the long game, catching a big fish and keeping him on the line for a while before the release. Sometimes I made more than she did, but not usually. I was determined to change that with Michael Forrester. I’d never snagged a billionaire before. It was a new milestone.
But the main reason tonight had to be different was that we were broke. I had forgotten about some unpaid bills from way back in Fresno, and creditors had started stalking me. In the end, Summer had helped me pay them off and taught me about prepaying for everything. The guilt was eating me alive. It was hard enough for her to feed herself, but she’d taken me in, and I knew I’d been a burden.
But that was over now. In the spirit of manifesting, I took a deep breath and thought, I am going to snag us this billionaire. I am going to pay her back. Our luck is turning around.
I approached the bar, needing a drink in hand to dissuade all the scrubs from offering me liquor. Sure enough, I was no sooner at the bar than a young man with gelled hair and a cheap watch swooped in. “What are you drinking?”
I waved him off. “I’m good. Thanks.”
He frowned and backed off with a muttered, “Bitch.” I ignored this and signaled the sole female bartender.
“What can I get you?” she asked.
“Can you give me cold water in a martini glass with a twist?” I pulled a twenty out of my purse and slid it across the bar to her.
“Absolutely.” She shook the water with ice in a martini shaker and handed it to me with a wink.
I approached the firepit where Michael Forrester was deep in conversation, right hand outstretched. It was cold; I didn’t have to pretend. The black slip dress kept me as warm as a bathing suit, and the torture shoes left my feet basically naked. The moment I got close enough to warm up, the bouncer stepped toward me. “You need to do that somewhere else,” he commanded.
I raised my eyebrows. “Um…no?”
He looked like he was enjoying pretending to be a real cop. “Miss, you need to move on.”
I glanced back and forth between him and Michael Forrester’s group. “Are you serious right now?”
He palmed my upper arm and tried to guide me away. “Let’s go.”
“Get your hands off me,” I protested. “What is the matter with you?”
Forrester jumped up and put a hand on the bouncer’s shoulder. “Hey, man, chill out. She’s just cold.” His voice was melodic, and I realized he was more handsome than I’d registered from his photos online, with beautiful, long-lashed blue eyes. His dark hair was attractively messy, giving him the look of an aging musician.
“Thank you,” I said. “What’s up with this guy? Does he work for you or something?”
“Not anymore.” He gave the man a commanding flick of the hand. “Go home. Tell the agency to send someone else, someone who doesn’t manhandle young women trying to warm up by a fire.”
“I’m just doing my job,” the bouncer protested.
“Out.” His voice was so authoritative, I shivered.
The bouncer stormed away. Mentally, I gloated. I wished Summer could have seen this.
Forrester turned his eyes on me and smiled. “I’m so sorry. Would you like to go ahead and warm up now?” He made a sweeping gesture toward the fire and stepped backward, allowing me space.
“Thanks,” I said shyly, making a show of being embarrassed by the attention. “I’m waiting for my friend and just thought I’d stand somewhere warm. I’m freezing.” I waved a hand at my bare legs, my pedicured feet strapped into the delicate heels.
He followed my gesture with appreciative eyes. “By all means, feel free to wait here.” He sat down on the couch and returned his attention to the businessmen, who were watching this exchange with impatience.
I sipped the fake martini. An older man in a beautifully tailored suit walked by me, eyes raking down my body, and I gave him a little smile. If I struck out with Forrester, I’d try him next. No way in hell was I leaving this bar without the lead I needed.
The businessmen and Forrester stood up. They all started shaking hands, and they moved away from the fire toward the entrance. Shit. They were leaving.
Had I failed?
I sank into the couch Michael had vacated and let my eyes rest on the tongues of flame.
Maybe I’d lost my touch. Maybe I didn’t have what it took to live the life I’d signed up for. Despair gripped my gut. I needed to get my emotions under control. That’s one of the first lessons I’d learned from Summer: Stay in the driver’s seat, always.
The sentiment never rang true to me. It felt like a fool’s errand. The universe piloted the ship, and we were all passengers. She dealt the cards, we played the game, and the house always won.
“Your friend didn’t show up yet?”
I didn’t have to fake the delighted smile that spread across my face. Michael Forrester was back, and clearly, he was back for me. “No, she flaked on me. Did I take your spot?”
“Not at all.” He sat beside me and lifted his hands to the fire. “L.A. is funny. It’s so hot during the day but the nights feel freezing. This temperature wouldn’t bother me at all at home.”
“And where is home?”
“Palo Alto.”
“Ahhhh,” I said. “You’re a tech guy?” Like I hadn’t memorized everything the internet had to offer on him.
He laughed. “Yeah, it all makes sense now, right? Why I’m dressed like a homeless person surrounded by Chinese investors?”
“No, it’s not like that,” I protested, but he nudged my shoulder in a friendly way.
“It’s fine. I know what I am.” He grinned, good-natured. He was really cute. He leaned closer. “Confession time. I think I recognize you. Are you an Instagram model?”
As though his liking my post wasn’t exactly how he’d caught my eye, I replied, “No. Just a regular person who takes way too many selfies.”
“You’re as beautiful as any model I’ve ever met.”
The line was too smooth. I almost laughed at it. I raised my drink to my lips, but he reached out, took the hand that held it, and brought it to his nose.
“I knew it!” he cried. “Water. Why?”
I’d never had a man notice this, and I didn’t have a ready answer. I went with the truth. “I don’t drink. But if I don’t have a glass in hand, a million men will try to sponsor me.”
“And you don’t want a sponsor?” The air between us felt suddenly hot.
I met his eyes. They were very blue. He was waiting with bated breath. I had him. He was a fish on the hook.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to meet people. I just don’t want to meet them.” I waved a hand toward the bar.
He clearly liked this answer. “What’s your name?”
When he smiled, I felt things. I remembered the businessmen, so captivated by him, and I understood. He could talk about any boring thing all night and I’d be interested. “Leo. Short for Leoneli.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That’s an unusual name.”
I shrugged, having heard that a million times. “What’s your name?”
“Michael.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I offered him a hand, and he took it, not shaking it but holding it for a long moment, thumb running softly across the knuckles. It gave me chills.
“Where are you from, Leo?” he asked, looking up from my hand into my eyes.
“A suburb of Fresno. It’s not exciting, I know. Lots of cows, lots of open space. A river, though, which was cool.”
He looked intrigued. “You’re a country girl?”
“A little bit.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Just meeting a friend for a drink. Same thing everyone else is doing here.”
“No, I mean, what are you doing in L.A.? Are you looking to break into the industry?”
I laughed. “No way. Absolutely not.”
“Well then, why?” He wasn’t going to let it go. From his expression, I had the feeling he got answers to every question he asked.
“Why not L.A.? Why not anywhere?” I found myself grinning unrestrained, my too-wide smile that showed my crooked canine tooth. It was difficult not to be myself with him; he seemed so interested in me. Some men liked the idea of a spontaneous, bohemian girl as long as she didn’t challenge them in the wrong ways. It was that manic pixie dream girl thing they purported to like until she had opinions or desires that conflicted with their own.
But that was fine. I wasn’t in this douchey hotel bar to find true love. I was here to bring home the bacon. I was glad to be a sanitized dream girl if it paid the bills.
He sat back in the cushions and looked up at the sky. “Why not anywhere indeed,” he murmured. “Do you know how much of my time I spend in, like, three different places? And then an assortment of hotels around the world where I never see the city I’m visiting. Tokyo looks like Hong Kong looks like Paris when you’re in the same curated spaces.”
I relaxed into the cushions and looked at the sky with him. There were no stars downtown, but two beams of light crisscrossed above us, then moved on, then came back together.
“Where are the three places you spend most of your time?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he turned to me, head resting on his hand. “I’m assuming you like to travel?”
“I just don’t like being in one place too long, that’s all.”
He leaned in like I’d said the most interesting thing in the world. The tension between us was thick. I could reach out and touch it if I wanted.
This was my moment.
I pulled my phone out of my purse and checked the time. “I should go. It’s getting late.” I set my glass on the table and stood, making sure he got a good long look at my legs.
“You’re leaving just like that?”
I tossed him a careless wave. “Have a good night, Michael. It was nice meeting you.” I turned and left, and I could feel his eyes on me the whole way to the door.
CHAPTER THREE
SUMMER
TUESDAY, JUNE 6
I pull up to the curb by the hotel valet. Before the red-vested man can approach to see if he should park my Land Cruiser, Leo hurries out of the glass doors, saying something to him as she passes. He looks blindsided by her, which is a common reaction. It’s fair; she is stunning tonight, all lean, tanned legs, brown hair brushing her collarbone, and smoky, billionaire-catching eyes. She lets herself into the passenger’s seat and pulls the door shut behind her.
“How’d it go?” I ask.
She’s glowing, face flushed. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“You all set for Round Two?”
“Yes, ma’am. And how was the club?”
I make a face as I pull into downtown traffic. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
She laughs her loud laugh, with her crooked canine tooth, and the polished veneer slips a little, the Fresno peeking through. “What’s wrong, you tired of the Chads?”
“So tired. Ugh.” I groan as yet another asshole in a BMW cuts me off on the one-way street I’m crawling down toward the 110 freeway. “I hate L.A.,” I grumble.
“You are such a grinch tonight.”
“I told you, I’m getting old.” I’m only half joking. I think I’m about thirty-two—thanks to my nontraditional upbringing I have no clue when my actual birthday is—which makes me roughly six years older than Leo. I’m going to age out of my club thievery at some point, and then I’ll have to figure out something else.
I contemplate this as I get on the freeway and head south. We sleep near the beach whenever possible. Leo chatters while I drive, telling me about her encounter with Michael Forrester.
“He’s so much hotter in person,” she’s saying. “He’s got this aging rock star thing going on. His eyes!”
