Night After Night (Seductive Nights #1)(27)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“Right? So I guess it’s all for the best that things aren’t happening with this other guy. He might turn out to be just like Dillon. I was an idiot for getting involved with him, and an even worse idiot for the way he scammed me.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, you can’t beat yourself up for not knowing Dillon was going to con money out of his employer and pin the debt on you,” she said, because that’s the extent of what she knew. Not that Charlie was a gangster, but that Dillon had swindled money from him. “That man should have his balls chopped off.”

“If I ever see him again, can I borrow those scissors?”

“I’ll order a better pair. A ball-snipping pair. But let’s talk about happier fates for balls. What’s this other guy like?” Gayle said, stopping her cutting for a moment to bump her hip against Julia’s shoulder, giving her a salacious wink in the mirror. “I want to hear all about him.”

She couldn’t help but grin at the memories that came racing back – images that warmed her heart, and sent her body soaring. Clay’s strong hands holding her down. His tongue working her over. His mouth claiming hers. Okay, now she was doing more than grinning. She was tingling something fierce. A sharp bolt of lust shot straight to her core. And then a burst of warmth surrounded her heart as she flashed on all the sweet things he’d said to her. “He’s the sexiest, dirtiest, smartest, and kindest man I have ever met.”

Gayle’s eyes widened. “More, more. Tell me more.”

She told her about their weekend. Not every detail, but enough to make Gayle’s jaw drop, and the tension to loosen momentarily in Julia. Just talking about him felt good. It was as close as she was going to come to being near him, because once she left this salon she was going back on lockdown. She’d tie her hands behind her back if that’s what she had to do to resist him.

Chapter Fourteen

Flynn’s jaw dropped when he saw the gift. A new set of five-irons that his junior partner had been eyeing for a few weeks. Talking about. Showing him pictures on the Internet. It had damn near gotten to the point of golf  p**n . But Flynn had sealed the deal with Pinkertons yesterday, and with the kind of dough the film producers were raking in, he was contributing quite nicely to the firm’s bottom line. That kind of dedication and drive needed to be rewarded.

“Holy crap,” he said as he reached for the set and removed one club, touching it as if it were some kind of rare treasure. He stroked it with his palm.

“Flynn, man. You can’t start feeling up the golf clubs in my office. If you do I’m going to need to take them back,” Clay joked.

“I can’t help myself,” he said, his eyes wide as he gazed at the club in his hand. “This is a thing of beauty. Almost better than a woman.”

“You haven’t met the right woman then,” he said, and his mind latched onto Julia, and how she’d seemed like the perfect woman for him. Smart, sharp, witty, and with that vulnerable side underneath. His mind flooded with images of their weekend – her curled up on his bench on the balcony, him washing her legs in the tub, that kiss in the rain that she’d insisted on. Then, to all the things they shared, her stories of her sister, his tales about Thanksgiving, and the easy way they had together. Like two people who were meant to have been matched. Until she walked out on a lie. His chest knotted up, and his shoulders tensed, both with anger and annoyance.

Damn.

This wouldn’t do. He didn’t have the real estate in his head or his heart to keep going back to her, and all the ways he’d wanted her. Good thing he was seeing Michele tonight. She had a way of keeping him focused on the present, not the past. “I’m out of here. Meeting a friend for drinks,” he said to Flynn, then grabbed his suit jacket and took off, making some phone calls when he hit the streets of New York.

First, he rang his buddy Cam about their poker game this week, and to check in on some information he’d asked him to run down on another potential client – a TV producer who’d seemed a little shady when he came to him, claiming his studio had screwed him over.

“I looked into your guy, and I can see how he might seem like a crooked bastard with the way things ended with his last deal. But you know what? I checked him out six ways to Sunday and that f**ker is squeaky clean as can be,” Cam told him.

“Good to know,” he said, relieved his gut had been wrong. It was rare when it happened, but that’s why he liked to do his homework and research clients in advance.

“That’s why you like me though. C’mon admit it. You love me because you never know if someone is a slimeball, but I can always find out.”

“That you can. And I guess I love you, in some pathetic needy way that makes me sick,” he teased.

“Aww, you’re so sweet when you shower me with compliments. So you gonna take this deal?”

“I probably will.”

“Then cigars are on you this week. I want the finest Cubans you can get your grimy paws on because I plan on winning all the money in your pocket,” Cam said, and Clay couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s brashness.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, then hung up to call Davis.

As it rang drops of rain began to fall. With his phone pressed to his ear, he navigated the rush hour crowds on Lexington Avenue. Women in skirts and heels and men in suits began to pop open umbrellas.

The rain wasn’t hard enough or heavy enough for him to worry about getting wet though. “Are they taking care of you across the pond?” he said into the phone.

“Of course. You know the producers love me,” Davis said.

“Modest as always.”

“Just like you,” he fired back.

“No troubles then? Anything I need to take care of?”

“You already got me that one day off a week clause so I could fly home and see Jill, so I’m doing just fine.”

“Ah, I guess that’s why I didn’t see you when you were in New York last weekend,” Clay joked, as he stopped at a red light.

“Amazing, isn’t it, how I’d rather spend time with her than you?”

“Shocking,” he said in a dry voice.

“What’s the latest with you? What happened with the woman you were hung up on?”

Clay clenched his jaw at the mention, frustration eating away at him. He didn’t feel like talking about Julia or how she took off. It had been more than a week now without a word from her. He hadn’t reached out to her, and he was doing his damnedest not to think about her. Burying himself in work, in contracts, in doing whatever he could for his clients. That was his focus. Head down in business and no place else. He could not tolerate a repeat of the Year of Sabrina, especially now that Flynn had reeled in the Pinkertons. He still felt guilty for losing Flynn’s big action-film director client that year when his focus had been tangled up in Sabrina’s troubles. Clay needed to train his associate right, and show him how to keep winning and closing deals. The Pinkertons were a prize, and he’d make sure they were treated right by his firm and given ample attention. “She was a piece of work,” he said vaguely as the light changed and he crossed, nearing the restaurant where he was meeting Michele. “I’m about to have a drink with your sister though.”