Her face is sympathetic. The kind of sympathy that almost hurts. I raise my hand to my chest. It kind of does hurt.
She nods. “That’s one of the reasons people come to therapy. To learn more about themselves. How much time have you spent learning about Scarlett? Not Mom, not Dad, but Scarlett? Her issues? Her fears?”
I press my lips together. The answer is none, of course. “I never had time.”
“That’s very common for a young person with your history. And it’s not your fault,” she says with a reassuring smile. “The great thing about getting older is, you change yourself. And what’s healthy and appropriate, you nourish.”
I nod, embarrassed to find I feel relieved. I’m not a freak who doesn’t want a relationship. I just never really thought that one was possible. It makes sense.
She looks up at the clock behind me, and I’m surprised to find almost forty minutes have passed since I walked through her door.
“Do you find yourself in Vegas very often?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” I hedge. I sigh. “Not really.” I feel my cheeks flush, and I tentatively say, “I wish I did. It was kind of nice talking to you.”
She smiles. “Well I asked because I have an office in Los Angeles. I know it’s not a speedy drive, but it is in driving range from the Napa area.”
I nod, and she asks, “Would you like to talk again sometime?”
“It depends on how much money I get,” I say, smirking. She hands me her card, and I put it in my purse.
“Give me a call sometime if you’d like. I’d like that. And Scarlett?” I turn with my hand on the door-knob. “Don’t hesitate to come back if you’d like to talk again before you go.”
Chapter 20
Hunter
EVEN AS I’M playing, I know Lady Luck is with someone else tonight. I imagine the headlines, stupid puns arranged in that kind of cadence that journalists and bloggers like.
West doesn’t know which way is up in tourney
Bourbon heir floats in first-day tourney
What-the-fuck-ever.
I screwed up last hand, and I’m screwing up again this time. A zen master couldn’t play with all the shit I’ve got bouncing around in my head. I want to tell that to the annoying blonde holding the camera. She looks a little too much like Priscilla for my liking, and I’m having trouble not snapping as she pushes her mic into my face.
Today has sucked. Scratch that. Everything has sucked since the other night at the Joseph.
For starters, Priscilla didn’t really go to Canada. Today she rode down to San Luis and Julie tailed her, but she didn’t seem to do anything except have dinner with a client at a swanky hotel.
I’m obsessed with her now. Priscilla. Obsessed with bringing her down. I go over every detail of her conversation with Lockwood at the gala again and again, and the worst thing is, without a recording, we’ve got no proof. Zip.
Doesn’t help that Lisa from the FBI stopped by this morning to ask if I’ve ever been to Sarabelle’s house. I don’t say a word. I’ve got nothing to hide, but I’m not dumb enough to cooperate when I’m clearly emerging as suspect número uno. There are a million ways your words can be used against you once they leave your mouth.
Then there’s Libby. Libby, Libby, Libby. I know she’s been in Vegas, but Dave hasn’t been able to find her. I finally broke down and texted Loveless an hour before play began.
‘Elizabeth DeVille still with you?’
She texts me back near the end of the second hand, and I read her messages between the second and third hands.
‘Who?’
‘Elizabeth.’
‘I don’t know who that is. R u ok, Hunter?’
‘Elizabeth,’ I punch furiously. ‘You were with her the other night at the Jo.’
When Loveless doesn’t text me back, I take a few minutes during a commercial break and call Marchant.
I was right about my luck tonight. I lose the game.
I’m so furious I don’t even give a shit.
Elizabeth
THE BIG DAY is a busy one. So busy, in fact, that I have almost no time to think of what’s coming. I’m grateful for that as I’m waxed, worked out, fitted, and eventually sent to my room with a red lingerie set I’ll wear for bidding.
I review the contract, which is a lot longer than I anticipated but appears to contain everything that Richard and I worked out. The winning bidder is paying for six hours of my time, either at Love. Inc. or at another location. I can bring bodyguards. I will provide vaginal intercourse. OH MY GOD, it sounds so technical this way! But luckily, I am only required to do this once to fulfill the contract.
If I provide only oral stimulation, the bidder will be refunded ninety percent of their bid. If my hymen is torn but I stop intercourse before the bidder reaches climax, the bidder receives a forty percent refund. Love Inc. takes a cut of my final total, regardless.