Maybe he’d darted down a dark hallway out of sight. Perhaps, he was lying in wait for her. Ready to pounce.
She picked up the pace.
Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was imagining things, but her heart was beating a frantic rhythm. As soon as she reached the room, she called Clay, locking the door, and bolting it shut as his number rang.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Friday, 2:36 p.m., Los Angeles
He hated ignoring Julia, but his client was in tears.
Tears of happiness, but still. He didn’t want to be a dick, and cut Grant off while the man was having his moment. Besides, Julia was probably calling to share good news about her Farrell meeting, and good news could keep for five more minutes.
“Grant, I couldn’t be happier for you. This is what we wanted—to get you back in the saddle,” Clay said as the cab driver dodged and darted L.A. traffic.
“My wife is crying too. She’s so damn happy,” Grant said in a blubbery voice that pulled even harder at Clay’s heartstrings.
“I’m just sorry we couldn’t get Comedy Nation to go up. Had to take a bit of a hit on some points, but Gino’s a tough one,” Clay said, deliberately softening his report on the negotiations. Gino wasn’t merely a tough one—that was a euphemism. Gino was an ass**le. A grade-A, top-choice, piece of f**king work that reminded him of an angry gorilla in a suit. Come to think of it, Gino looked a bit like a gorilla too with hair everywhere. Clay chuckled to himself at that picture, and it did wonders to tamp down his anger over being shoved into a corner during that deal.
“Don’t apologize,” Grant said. “I wanted this deal no matter what, and you got it for me. That’s what matters. I would have taken half the money and still happily signed, so there. You should feel like you doubled my money.”
Clay smiled, and already Gino’s jackass ways were fading into the rearview mirror. “All right. He’s sending me the contract, and I’ll take a final look Monday morning and then send you a digital copy to sign. You go out and celebrate with your wife. Give her my best.”
“I will. And if there’s ever anything I can do for you, let me know. I owe you big time,” Grant said. “Now aren’t you supposed to be in Vegas this weekend?”
“I am. And I should be there in about an hour. Talk to you soon,” he said, hanging up just as an email landed in his inbox from Etsy. The screen flashed the message—Package en route to Allegro Hotel. Will bring to room by seven p.m.
Damn.
That wouldn’t do. He’d have to get back in touch with the buyer and have the box left at the front desk, as he’d specified when he placed the same-day delivery order. But first things first. He wanted to talk to Julia, so he clicked on her number.
When she answered, her voice sounded strained.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
“I honestly don’t know,” she said.
“Wait. Something is wrong?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” she said, a worried sigh following her. “I’m probably overreacting or freaking out, and you’re going to laugh at me, but I promised you I’d be honest with you and not hide things,” she started, and he was both thrilled that she continued to lay her heart on the line every day, but also nervous about where she was going. Words like freaking out and hide things weren’t his favorites. Call him crazy, but they didn’t usually signal the good stuff in life. But still, given the troubles they’d had in the past over truths and lies, he needed to be supportive.
“What is it Julia? I’m not going to laugh,” he said gently, as the cab hopped over a lane, then sped down the exit ramp leading to the Van Nuys airport where the jet was waiting for him.
“Okay, so I was just with Tad from Farrell at the poolside bar, and when the meeting ended I had the weirdest sensation that there was a guy watching me.”
“I take it you mean more than checking you out because you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire city of sin?”
She didn’t even laugh at his compliment, or sass him back. “No. I felt his eyes on me. Like the guy was watching me and following me, Clay. When I left and walked down the hallway to the elevators, I swore he was behind me. I turned around, but he must have moved so quickly because then he was gone.”
“Well that’s good that he was gone,” Clay said as they passed a sign for the airport.
“But do you think . . .” she said, letting her voice trail off and he knew what she meant.
“That it was one of Charlie’s men?” he supplied.
“Maybe?” she offered up, uncertain, unsure.
“I doubt it, Julia. Charlie, strangely enough, is a man of his word. He said he’d leave you alone. Was it just hotel security, maybe?”
“Maybe,” she said but didn’t sound convinced. “I did sit down at one of the poker tables before the meeting. Met a sweet couple from Florida celebrating their anniversary. I played a few hands and won all of them, and they didn’t even blanch when I took their money. Even asked me to teach them how to play better.”
He laughed. “Of course you won. And now the Allegro is probably watching out for the newest poker shark in town, so the casino will have eyes on you.”
“I suppose it was nothing then,” she said, and she seemed to believe it this time.
“It has to be nothing. There’s no reason for anyone to follow you. Besides, Charlie’s been expanding into New York, and we’ve never had any trouble there. I don’t want you to worry, and I would never say you’re worrying for nothing, but I think it’s just that this hotel is teeming with security. Brent even told me so. New hotel, high-end, lots of money coming through. He has some friends that run security firms in Vegas and they were practically tripping over themselves to get the contract. His buddy won the contract though, so let me call Brent, and I’m sure he’ll say the same. That it’s nothing but the hotel having extra precautions with all the attention it’s getting,” he said, swaying to the right as the driver took a sharp turn on the road to the airport.
“Okay. I’m sure that’s it. I’m not going to worry about it.”
“Good. Now tell me about Farrell,” he said, and she gave him a brief update about meeting Tad Herman, mentioning that the guy was super concerned about making sure she was “above reproach.”
“He actually used those words. Above reproach. And he wants me to sign a morals clause. Do you think they know about the way I used to spend my Tuesday nights?”