Page 88 of Dirty Dealer
“Stop,” De’Shaun says, his tone serious. “No negative thoughts. Our plan is brilliant, and you are going to get your man.”
“But what if I don’t?” I bite my bottom lip, my stomach twists, and my leg bounces faster. Maybe Cora’s horrible driving is partially responsible for my sudden spike in nerves. If this goes badly, there’ll be public humiliation—which I can handle—but spending the night alone in an empty hotel suite that cost a week’s worth of my salary might push me over the edge.
Cora swings the Hummer into the hotel drive, hopping the curb to find a parking spot. “You’re going to get your man.” She turns in her seat once the shifter is in park, and levels me with a stare. “But if not, we’ll get drunk on tequila, eat Doritos, and watch ‘80s movies.”
“Doritos? Really?” De’Shaun sticks out his tongue, then holds out his hand. “Phone?”
I place it in his hand, everything loaded into my social media channels and waiting for the push of a few buttons.
“Cora, honey. The rest is in your hands.” De’Shaun hands her the note I wrote earlier, the one that asks Jude to come upstairs. “Don’t forget to add the key.”
“You ready, Rae?” she asks.
Fuck. Here goes nothing.
51
Jude
The hotel opening is perfect. There’s champagne and shrimp. B-list celebrities, investors, and all the usual suspects. I mingle. I smile. I fake being okay, when deep down my mind is far away—stuck in the past. A reality in which I leave with the woman I love. I get the girl. This isn’t Hollywood, and I don’t get the happy ending.
“You brought my artist.” Darlene Sheehan, the owner of the hotel says, stopping by to give me a kiss on the cheek and gush over Chance.
“I am honored to create another piece for your hotel,” he says, ever the charmer.
“Another Chance Bateman original. It’s the centerpiece to this lobby.” She’s right. It’s stunning. What was a hunk of metal and trash only weeks ago, is now eye-catching, unique art. I may have given him shit about the bottle caps, but they really make the piece.
“I know the expedited timeline wasn’t easy to accommodate,” she says, smiling between us. “I’m sure Jude passed on my token of appreciation.” A five-thousand-dollar bonus.
“Yes, he did.” Chance lifts his glass. “Thank you.”
We toast and offer our well wishes to her new venture, though it’s not needed. Darlene’s business savvy makes all of her projects profitable investments. I should feel fortunate to be in the room of successful people; gratitude or self-appreciation at the very least. But instead, a deep dissatisfaction seeps into my mind. None of this matters. Not really. Not anymore.
Not without her.
“Hey, I think I’m gonna head out,” I say to Chance when Darlene moves on to chat with another guest.
“Jude.” He lifts his brows and glances around. He doesn’t say it, but I know he wants to. I’m bailing too early. This event is perfect for courting new clients, for making connections, and otherwise enjoying the fruits of my labor.
“Stay. You should be here. I’ll catch an Uber,” I say.
Chance blows out a breath, his disagreement obvious.
“Excuse me. Jude Lawrence, right?” A woman interrupts, touching my suit jacket. It’s Cora Bentley, an actress, a very popular one, and personal friends with Trent Donovan. She’s the person he passed Rachel’s information to when I called him for connections in the industry. She’s tall, blonde, and exactly the type of woman I would have been interested in before Rachel. Hell, she probably knows Rachel.
“Yes, it’s nice to meet you.”
“The same.” Her face brightens with a smile. “Do you have a second?” I don’t know if she wants to know for professional reasons, or personal. My bet is the latter, and I can’t get away fast enough.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” I say. “I was just leaving.”
“Wait.” She hands me an envelope. “Please read this before you go. It’s important.” The way she put emphasis onimportantcauses me to pause. There’s no sexual innuendo to her words or actions. It’s that and the fact she turns away without another word that feeds my curiosity. I’ve been handed hotel keys before. This isn’t a proposition.
“Open it already,” Chance says.
I grit my teeth, wanting to tell him to fuck off, but focus my irritable energy into ripping open the envelope. Inside is a note and a hotel key. My interest deflates like a balloon stabbed with a needle. I hand them over to Chance, annoyed at myself for anticipating anything different. “I’m out of here.” I pass through the crowded lobby and pull out my phone to request a ride.
Fuck this night. Fuck getting over Rachel. Maybe this was my penance. A lifetime of discontent for deceiving the woman I love.
