What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(13)

“Who are you kidding? I saw you in Pretty People. You sold yourself to make that bomb.”

She’d tried to convince her father the movie was a mistake, but he refused to listen. Failure was starting to cling to her like bad perfume.

“You should sue whoever did your costumes for that film.” He winked at a cute Asian blackjack dealer. “They’d have done better to capitalize on your legs instead of your bust.”

“While you’re pointing out my flaws, don’t forget my pop eyes and my rubber mouth and—”

“You don’t have pop eyes. And a rubber mouth hasn’t exactly hurt Julia Roberts.”

But Georgie wasn’t Julia Roberts.

His eyes slid over her. She was tall, but he was still half a head taller. “Nice look tonight, by the way. It almost hides how scrawny you are. April must still be styling you.”

“She is.” Although Georgie had chosen this V-neck sheath, which was printed in a black-and-white Jackson Pollock–splatter paint pattern. It hung straight from her shoulders, and the black leather belt slung low around the hips gave it a flapper feel. She’d arranged her hair in long, spiky pieces around her face and accessorized with a pair of chunky bangles.

He checked out a leggy blonde who was openly staring at him. “So tell me…Is the hunt still on, or have you found a guy stupid enough to marry you?”

“Dozens. Fortunately, I came to my senses in time. It’s amazing what a little electric shock therapy will do for you. You should try it.”

He thumped her once between the shoulder blades. “I’ll say this for you, Scoot. You still know how to get yourself in those embarrassing little jams. Walking in on your tender scene with Trev was the best time I’ve had in months.”

“Which only shows how sad your narrow little life really is.”

They’d reached the crowded lobby. Its gorgeously gaudy ceiling of Dale Chihuly glass flowers didn’t mesh well with the rest of the decor but was beautiful nonetheless. The buzz began immediately, and people stopped what they were doing to ogle them. Georgie plastered on her biggest smile. One woman lifted her cell phone to snap a picture. Great. This was just great.

“Let’s get out of here.” Bram grabbed her arm and pushed her through the crowd. The next thing she knew, they were in an elevator that smelled of Jo Malone’s Tuberose. He slid a key card into a slot on the panel and punched in a floor. Their reflections stared back at her from the mirrored walls—Skip and Scooter all grown up. For the barest fraction of a second, she wondered who was watching the twins while Mom and Dad had a night on the town.

The elevator began to move. She reached around him and pressed the button for the thirtieth floor.

“It’s not even eleven o’clock,” he said. “Let’s have some fun first.”

“Good idea. I’ll get my Tazer.”

“Still as prickly as ever. You’re all shiny package, Georgie, but there’s no present inside. I’ll bet you never even let Lance the Loser see you naked.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I was supposed to take off my clothes? Why didn’t somebody tell me?”

He rested his shoulder against the elevator wall, crossed his ankles, and gave her his expert bone-melting once-over. “You know what I wish. I wish I’d nailed Jade Gentry when I had the chance. That woman is pure sex.”

His comment should have devastated her, but this was Bram, so her fighting instincts kicked in. “You never had a chance with St. Jade. She picks all her men from the A-list, and Lance’s last film grossed eighty-seven million.”

“Lucky bastard. Dude can’t act for shit.”

“As opposed to your incredible box-office record. I have to admit, though…you’re looking good.” She patted her purse. “Don’t let me walk off without the name of your fabulous plastic surgeon.”

He uncrossed his ankles. “Jade called me a few years back, but I was so out of it I never called her back. That’s the real way drugs screw up your brain, but nobody ever warns kids about shit like that.” The doors opened on the twenty-eighth floor. He grabbed her elbow. “Party time. Let’s go.”

“Let’s not.”

He dragged her out. “Come on. I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.” She tried to dig her heels into the thick carpet that ran down the middle of the opulent hallway.

His grip tightened. “You must have forgotten what I overheard at Trev’s house, or you’d realize you’re basically my slave.”

She’d been the target of too many of Bram’s cat-and-mouse games not to see where this was headed, and she didn’t like it.

He steered her around a corner. “Do you have any idea how much money I could make selling the story of sad, desperate Georgie York begging a man to marry her?”

“Even you wouldn’t do that.” Except he might.

“I guess it depends on how good a slave you are. I hope you’re wearing some sexy underwear because I’m in the mood for a lap dance.”

“I’ll make a phone call for you. There are a lot of desperate girls in Vegas.”

He rapped on a door with the back of his knuckles. “I’m only admitting this to you, Scoot, but I’m pretty much shit-faced from all those martinis they were pouring down my throat. Since I want to be cold sober for your lap dance, I’m sticking to club soda for the rest of the night.”