She lifted her gaze to meet his, their eyes locking for a long, lingering moment that left Aster wondering what he might expect in return.
“Wow . . . thank you.” She studied the envelope, wanting to believe it was a well-deserved prize, and not something shady that would leave her feeling dirty and compromised.
“I’m the one thanking you.” Ira watched her from a set of dark-blue eyes that saw much and revealed nothing. “You’ll find I can be very generous toward those who impress me.” He nodded toward the envelope, while Aster scrambled for the perfect reply, but nothing came to mind. “Though I warn you . . .” His gaze deepened like he could see through her dress, right through her flesh. He was old enough to be her father, and yet, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to kiss him. Not that she wanted to. She didn’t. Not even. But still, Ira made her string of former boyfriends seem like an embarrassing succession of underdeveloped, fumbling boys in comparison. “I’m rarely impressed by the same thing twice.”
His voice jerked her away from her thoughts and not a moment too soon. She rubbed her lips together and tugged her dress closer to her knees, hoping she hadn’t inadvertently revealed what she’d been thinking.
She nodded in reply, knowing she’d just played her one greatest hit on an otherwise empty playlist. First thing tomorrow she’d brainstorm—as soon as she got a decent night’s sleep. She stifled a yawn. Waited to see if there was more. But when Ira rose from his chair, she was quick to stand too.
He came around the desk to offer his hand—a hand that practically swallowed hers, capable of crushing her fingers without any effort.
“Now go get some rest.” He led her back into the nearly empty club, leaving Aster to wonder if he was going to walk her to her car. And if so,
was it awkward, sexy, grotesque? Before she could decide, he told one of the bouncers, James, to escort her outside, leaving Aster to tuck the envelope into her bag and make her way to her Mercedes. She waited for James to leave before she opened the envelope and thumbed through the stash of twenties and hundreds that certainly added up to—a lot. It wasn’t like she was dumb enough to sit alone in her car on Hollywood Boulevard, counting her fortune.
She tucked the envelope back into her bag and pulled onto the street. Reveling in the fact that she’d managed to gain Ira’s notice for something more than her looks.
Now, if she could just manage to sneak past Nanny Mitra, the night would be complete.
FOURTEEN
SEX AND CANDY
Tommy headed back inside the Vesper, aware of the girl following him—Serena, Savannah, Scarlet—he couldn’t be sure.
How long was it since he’d last been with a girl? It was too depressing to calculate, but he did anyway. Amy. His ex-girlfriend from Oklahoma. Right before he broke the news of his move. After that, it’d been nothing but tears, recriminations, and . . . it was better not to think about. Point was, LA had proved to be a long and brutal dry spell. The locals loved to complain about the drought; well, Tommy was smack in the middle of his own personal famine, and if this girl with the name he couldn’t remember was offering relief, who was he to turn it down?
He had nothing to feel guilty about. No one to answer to. Besides, a man could only go so long without sustenance. Allowing his eyes to feast on the bounty before him—the perfect breasts (probably not real, but who cared?), the slim waist curving into a pair of plush hourglass hips—he looked right at her and said, “You should probably go.”
She blinked, tilted a bit on those skyscraper heels. “You serious?” She looked like she couldn’t believe he was turning down such a delectable offer. He could hardly believe it himself.
Still, tempting as she was, he didn’t want to settle for a night with some hot girl he had nothing in common with. She had a groupie’s knowledge of music, which he could forgive, but so far she’d agreed with everything he’d said, which had become really boring, really fast.
“Sorry,” he said. “The club’s closed.”
“I can’t believe this.” She pouted adorably but made no move to leave.
“If it makes you feel better, neither can I.” He shrugged.
“Is this because of your girlfriend?”
He squinted, having no idea what she was getting at.
“The girl on the bike.” She hooked a thumb toward the door that led to the street.
She was offering a way out that would save face for them both, but not wanting to lie, he said, “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always.” She shot him a lopsided grin and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving him with the lingering scent of sweetness, promise, and girl, and it was all he could do not to race after her.
The bartenders were still cleaning up. The manager was somewhere in back. And since Tommy was too amped to return to his shithole apartment, he grabbed a spare guitar, took his place onstage, and started to play. So lost in his music, it wasn’t until the second song ended that he noticed Ira Redman was watching.
Tommy lifted the guitar over his head and placed it against the stool, shrinking under the glare of Ira’s harsh gaze.
“Needed to blow off some steam,” Tommy said, feeling the need to explain, but wishing it hadn’t come off so awkward.
“Funny you chose music over the girl.”
Tommy stared. How much had Ira seen?