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“Remember what I said last night, about putting my foot down? This is what that looks like. I never said it was pleasant.”
“And you don’t care what gets crushed under your boot?”
He shrugged on his coat. “This conversation is over.”
I grabbed his arm. “You can’t just cut me off, Liam!”
He wrenched away, a muscle in his jaw pulsing. “I’ll do what has to be done.” He walked out, and the door thunked shut behind him.
I sank down onto the bed, shaking. Wrapped in the deafening silence.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
John scanned the shifting crowds. His face itched from the fake goatee, and he sweated heavily in the overheated hall as he listened with half an ear to the self-serving prattle of the blond slut singer.
He’d begun to fantasize about shutting her up definitively. After she’d delivered the services she was so blatantly advertising with the rolling eyes and the heaving tits. At least she wouldn’t be chattering while she did that. He’d keep that shiny pink mouth way too busy to talk.
Where the fuck was Nancy, anyway? He did not want to converse with these idiot musicians any longer than was necessary. He was good at improvising a smooth, convincing rap, but his ruse as a Hollywood movie producer was a thin one. Anyone asking the right questions would cop to it in no time.
Fortunately, Enid Morrow was too stupid and self-absorbed to ask the right questions. And Nancy herself would never get the chance to ask them. He fingered the transparent gel capsule in his pocket. A designer drug, exactly calibrated for her size and weight. But where the fuck was she?
He had to get on with it. Instinct was pricking and prodding, saying now, now, now. Even with people around, if he started the job at the right moment and pushed on through, hard and swift and decisive, they would probably be too absorbed in their own shit to figure out what was happening. All they’d notice would be a confusing kerfuffle, a brief swell in the noise level, and voilá. Back to normal. Nothing to see here.
“... sorry that she’s so late this morning. It’s totally unlike her,” the slut singer burbled.
He smiled, staring at her tits. She obligingly arched her lumbar spine to facilitate his view. “I just hope I have a chance to discuss it with her before I go,” he said. “I wanted to present this idea to my team in L.A. this afternoon. Get the ball rolling.”
“Of course,” Enid cooed. “It’s, like, fate! That you happened to be at the hotel by pure chance, and heard us play!”
“Yes, it is.” He scanned the room with his peripheral vision beyond the halo of blond ringlets in the foreground.
There! Looking pale and tousled and waiflike, her hair streaming loose. Last night’s makeup smudged around her huge eyes. She must not have even taken a shower. Probably had Knightly’s nasty spunk still inside her body. Dirty bitch.
His heart rate quickened, his mouth watered, his dick stiffened. His instincts, his senses sharpening. God, he loved this part. She was his succulent little rabbit, and he was the hawk, poised to dive and rend.
Enid craned her neck. The effort popped her bosom further out. “There she is! I’ll introduce you, Maitland—can I call you Maitland?”
“Of course,” he said. She hooked her arm around his elbow and towed him through the room. Aw. How sweet. His new little best friend.
“Hey! Nancy! This is Maitland! He’s the producer I was telling you about from MGM Studios!” Enid sang out.
Nancy looked over at her, her face oddly blank. “Huh? Oh. Enid, hi. Have you seen Liam?”
Enid’s jaw dropped. “Um, not lately, Nancy,” she said, in a warning tone. “Focus, please. Did you hear me? Maitland Sills? The guy from MGM Studios? Hollywood? Hello? Earth to Nancy?”
But Nancy kept rising onto her tiptoes, her gaze sweeping the room. “Hollywood,” she said faintly. “That’s nice. Could you folks excuse me for a sec?”
“Nancy!” Enid hissed. “Don’t be an idiot!”
“I’ll just be a moment. I have to check something in the hall.” She slipped like an eel through the crowd and disappeared.
The predator inside him howled and gnashed its teeth.
Enid caught the vibe and shot him a nervous look. “Um, alrighty, then. I’m sure she’ll be right back. Say, how about if you just meet with me and Peter? We can speak for ourselves when it comes to big career decisions, if Nancy’s not available. Just come with me.” She began to tug on his arm.
Nancy had disappeared. The moment might be lost. The slut singer babbled, with a smile he wanted to knock right off her doll-like face. She tugged harder.
His patience came to an abrupt end. He yanked his arm away, and she teetered backward on her spike heels. “What the hell?” she squawked.