Page 19 of Beauty and the Bosshole
“I’ll have my accountant make the transfer.”
Ava goes silent, which is unusual for her. I’m discovering there’s not a lot I say that she doesn’t have a witty response for.
“Do you really have that much money to fritter away?”
It’s not frittering it away if it’s for her. I’ll give this woman my entire fortune if that’s what she wants.
I’ll have to pull some investments and my accountant will flip the fuck out, but if Ava wants a million dollars, then I’ll get her a million dollars.
“I have enough.”
She takes a moment to speak again, and I hope I haven’t scared her away. Most women I meet can’t wait to get their hands on my fortune, but I don’t get that from Ava.
“I don’t want it for me. I want the money to go to the Texas Kitten Rescue.”
“Done.”
If she wants to save every fucking cat on the planet, I’ll do it for her. Whatever Ava wants, she can have. This isn’t even about the photoshoot anymore. This is about giving my girl what she wants. And the reason she wants that money—not for herself but to save ungrateful felines that will snub you, scratchyour furniture, and piss on your carpet without even a backward glance—makes my heart squeeze.
My girl’s not only beautiful, witty, and smart; she’s kind and generous, too.
Ava will be perfect for our range. Exactly the confident, curvy, modern woman we want to associate with our products.
“What made you change your mind?”
She sighs. “There are only two things I’ve ever wanted from life. One is to keep up the family tradition of being married at twenty-four, and the other is to give cats a chance for a happy home. There’s no way the first one’s going to happen, but if my parading around with sex toys helps save just one kitten, then I’ve done something good for the world.”
She’s done something good for the world just by being in it. But she’s not ready to hear that yet.
I give her details about the shoot and promise to meet her back at the hotel when I’m done. I’m already five minutes late for Leon, and he’s not a man who likes to be kept waiting.
***
Thumping base and flashing lights accost me as soon as I step through the doors and into Viper Girls.
The man at the door speaks into his earpiece and then indicates for me to follow him. We pass through a glittery gold curtain that’s as tacky as the outfit the waitress who breezes past me wears. It’s all gold tinsel, fluffy boas, and painted-on smiles, reminding me of all the reasons I left Vegas.
The smell of stale beer mingles with cheap perfume in a funky haze of dry ice that hovers just above the raised stage. Two poles are positioned at either end of the stage where women perform to a bored audience.
The clientele are mostly men on their own nursing a drink, aside from one loud group wearing matching stag t-shirts that are way too drunk for this time of day. But hey, this is Vegaswhere all your dreams come true, as long as those dreams are day drinking and bored strippers.
As we move through the club, I note the exits and number of security guards in case I have to leave in a hurry.
It’s a risk coming here on my own but also a statement. I won’t be cowed by Leon fucking Anderson. Whatever agreement he thought we had, he needs to know it’s not happening and I won’t be bullied into a deal.
I follow his man up an open staircase and through a door to a private room that overlooks the club.
Two more guards are at the door and one of them frisks me as I step inside. The only weapon I’m packing is the hard wood I’m ready to shoot at Ava. I’ve come here in peace and plan to leave the same way.
Leon is facing a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over the club. His colorful shirt is held up with suspenders and a snakeskin bag sits at his hip. There’s a weird snakeskin scarf around his neck. The guy’s style is as eccentric as my mother’s.
Thoughts of my mother make my head ache. She’s the one who got me into this mess in the first place.
“Take a seat, Mr. Donovan.”
Leon turns around and the scarf around his neck moves. A tiny head slithers forward, and I see it’s not a scarf but an actual fucking snake. A Mojave desert sidewinder as anyone who’s grown up around here would know because you’re warned to look out for the venomous fuckers. One bite can kill a man.
“Thank you for flying all this way to meet with me.”