"I'd like to grab two big handfuls," he says, a grin forming on his face.
I bet you would. Good luck with that. With the gold band on your finger, your receding hairline, and that gut protruding over your belt buckle, my guess is you don't have a chance in hell, I think to myself. But I don't say anything. Instead I smile. Schmuck.
Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out and look at the incoming number.
Shit. "Excuse me," I say, "I need to take this call."
"No problem, buddy," he responds, and smiles, "I'll just continue to take in the sweet, sweet view."
I push my chair out and stand up from the table, quickly walking outside. I bring the phone to my ear and answer.
"Linda?"
"It took you long enough to answer."
"I was—" I begin to say, but she cuts me off.
"You're not at your office; so let me guess … you booked a discrete room at the Carlyle for you and maybe a young intern of yours. You plied her with drinks, flashed your money and influence, and when your phone rang just now, you were taking your mouth off her tits?"
"So, that's what you think of me?" I ask, a smile forming on my lips. Two can play this game. "Give me a little more credit. I was taking my mouth off her pussy, not her tits."
"You disgust me."
"So, how can I help you today?" I ask, cutting to the chase. Hanging on the phone and cracking jokes with Linda isn't high on my list of priorities
today. "Were you calling just to inquire about my sex life?"
"I don't need to call you to find out about that, Drake. You're an open book."
"Is that so?"
"I know all about what happened between you, and Natalie, and Sloane," she says in a chilled tone.
"Well, aren't you the super sleuth," I say, trying to play it casual. But my brain is cranking in overdrive. How did she find out? Is she tracking me? Is someone tracking Sloane and Natalie? I make a mental note to get to the bottom of that.
"This isn't a joke."
"Of course not. So, shall I go ahead and give you an award for being so fucking astute now, or do we wait?"
"Go ahead and laugh, Drake, but consider for a moment what this can do to your reputation," she hisses into the phone, sounding exactly like a snake coiled and ready to strike.
"My reputation?"
"I won't hesitate to leak this to the media."
Now the fangs are coming out.
She continues, "And this sort of scandal would … ruin you," she drags the word 'ruin' out for emphasis.
"Unless?" I ask, because it's clear that there's an 'unless' lurking under the surface and that she wants something.
"Good. Now you understand," she says, and I can almost hear her face contort into a smile. Can snakes smile? I wonder. "Unless you remove your backing from Dirty Lil' Angels."
"I can't do that," I snap back. There's no fucking way I'm going to allow her to dictate my investments.
"Remove your backing or every major media outlet in the city will have this story on their desks," she says, "and believe me, reporters would salivate for a story like this."
"Like what, exactly?" I ask, calling her bluff.