The A-List Collection. Victoria FoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
what do I do?’ Cole slumped into a chair, exhausted.
‘You wait.’
‘Just find her,’ he said stonily. ‘Find her and bring her back to me.’ He pointed to the floor beneath his feet.
Rita nodded. ‘Anyone’s gonna get through to her, it’s me. If you’ve been calling, stop. No pressure, nada. Let me deal with it.’ She left the room to try Lana’s cell again.
As soon as she was gone Marty slid over to Cole, quick as a snake.
‘What’s going on?’ he said hoarsely. He was perspiring with the excitement of it all.
Cole looked up wearily. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean …’ He looked about him. ‘Isn’t this what we wanted?’
Cole leaned in, careful to keep his voice down. ‘You’re an intelligent man, Marty, a very intelligent man. Why you’re behaving like the world’s biggest fuck-head is beyond me.’ He turned on him. ‘It’s another man’s baby. Do you understand what that means? My wife is carrying the bastard of some asshole off the street. And that asshole’s got a death wish: whoever goes behind my back with my wife has got to have a spare pair of balls.’
Marty sat back. ‘When you’ve calmed down, we’ll talk.’
‘I am calm.’
Marty turned his head to check Rita was out of ear-shot. ‘Then think about it a second, would you?’
Cole glowered.
‘You’ve still got the contract, right?’ said Marty. ‘You’ve still got her and you’ve still got everything she has. Infidelity’s a hell of a bargaining tool, my friend. If you want it, Cole, this baby’s yours.’
Las Vegas
It was scorching hot in Vegas. On the Boulevard Lana decided to quit the cab and walk, past the crowds swarming at the spectacular Bellagio fountains, the tourists gathered by the sparkling waterfalls of the Mirage, their attentions absorbed. Lana felt like part of it, sewn in, invisible. There were enough distractions here to make a person disappear.
Feeling suddenly hungry, she ducked into a burger joint close to the Venetian. It had been years since she’d got fast food, just queued up with everyone else to put in her order for a double cheese and fries, unwrapping the sticky, sweaty paper and sinking her teeth into the cheap, oily meat. It tasted delicious and awful at the same time, a far cry from the high-end, low-carb, small-portioned food she was used to.
She kept on her glasses and cap, her chestnut hair secured beneath. An overweight couple wearing Hawaiian shirts kept looking over, the woman nudging her partner who was more interested in finishing his meal, one time so hard that his strawberry shake spilled all over the counter. Just as the woman seemed to have summoned the courage to approach, Lana screwed up her wrappers and made her way out, tossing them in the trash on the way past.
Back on the street she caught sight of the Orient’s central pagoda, a gold-tipped peak piercing the deep blue sky. There was no time for nerves–she knew what she had to do. By now Cole would know she was gone. When she imagined his fury she wanted to run and run and never dare to stop.
Entering the giant hotel amid a mass of tourists, she went straight for the foyer washrooms, her overnight bag slung over one shoulder. She kept her head down, trying to forget the last time she’d been there.
Inside one of the cubicles she stepped out of her pantsuit and brushed her hair loose. Drawing a compact mirror from her purse, she applied a curl of mascara and some vanilla lip balm. She had to go for it and it had to be now. If she waited, the momentum would break and she’d never see it through.
At Reception she asked for Mr St Louis, but explained she didn’t have an appointment. The concierge was scribbling something on a piece of paper. As the corners of his mouth lifted in a sympathetic smile, she knew he was preparing to fend her off. He was used to women asking for the boss.
When he looked up and saw who she was, the smile dropped. He cleared his throat.
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly, picking up the phone. ‘Should I give a reason for your visit?’
‘No,’ she said, with as confident a smile as she could summon. ‘To be honest, it’s a bit of a surprise.’
‘Logistics,’ explained Robert. ‘Two of our guests are staying here–Lana Falcon and Cole Steel. We need a limousine out back; the drive round will give them the best approach to the carpet. It’s to be timed to the second.’
Robert and Alberto were walking the Orient. He had deliberately kept the Desert Jewel clear of the premiere–the Parthenon would house their A-list guests while the screening and after party took place here–so he had requested his friend’s assistance in managing the floor.
They passed a dealer and Robert nodded an acknowledgement. ‘We’re closing the Strip,’ he went on, ‘so there shouldn’t be any trouble.’
Alberto stopped outside the auditorium. ‘Can you do that?’
‘We just did. I don’t want Sam Lucas getting stuck behind a goddamn busload of weekend gamers, do I?’
Alberto glanced behind him. ‘And Elisabeth’s performance?’
Robert put his hands in his pockets. ‘After the show. Free liquor’s what a lot of them are here for anyway.’ He grinned. ‘She’ll get a happy audience.’
‘She sounds wonderful, you know.’
Robert eyed his colleague. ‘I know.’
‘I have heard her in rehearsal,’ he said softly. ‘She sings like an angel. Tell me, St Louis, have you?’
Robert tensed. In fact, he hadn’t been around for any of Elisabeth’s preparations–he’d been too busy with his own. Still, he didn’t like the old man’s attitude.
‘What are you implying, exactly, Bellini?’
Alberto leaned back, folding his arms. ‘Exactly nothing.’
‘I resent your tone.’ Robert kept his voice low. ‘Don’t use it with me again.’
Alberto matched his gaze.
At last Robert clapped the older man on the shoulder as he might the flank of a horse, their professional relationship resumed. ‘Let’s walk.’
The men made their way through to the casino. An orchestra of gaming instruments hit them with wild, discordant song: slots switching and flashing; the patter of chips as they spat into trays and were tossed into buckets; the brittle roll of the roulette wheel; and the shouts of the players. And above all, that smell, sweet and sharp, the aroma of changing luck.
‘Tell that jackass he’s had enough to drink,’ Robert instructed his casino manager. He nodded to a man with thick ginger hair and small crab-eyes who kept slipping off his table stool. ‘It’s not a free bar in here. If he’s not happy, get security to take him out.’
His manager followed orders. There were 130,000 square feet of Orient casino–his guys had to survey the tables like hawks.
Alberto walked quickly to keep up. ‘Elisabeth did tell me she was having trouble getting you alone. You spend too much time in the casinos, St Louis.’
‘I’ll spend time where I like.’
‘She wanted to talk to you. She said—’
Robert turned on him, his patience expired. ‘I’ll say this once, Bellini: my relationship with Elisabeth has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it. Christ! If it’s not Bernstein, it’s you.’ It bothered him to think that Elisabeth had been