Page 40 of Fallen Angel

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

Alec doesn’t move toward her, but his eyes shine with tears. She wants to comfort him, and she wants him to comfort her. Instead, she walks past him again and retrieves her coat and her handbag.

There’s one more person she needs to end things with tonight.

Chapter Twenty

Violet uses Billy Barton’s name to get past the velvet rope at The Standard. Whoever says there’s no shortcut to success is an idiot. And probably not successful.

She called Billy from her apartment an hour ago—at the same time her performance would have begun at the Blue Angel if she hadn’t been fired. He didn’t sound very happy to hear from her; when he’s with one his celebrity friends, he doesn’t like being reminded of his dirty little secret. But she insisted that he meet her and he reluctantly agreed.

She makes her way through the buzzing, shadowy entranceway to an elevator, waiting alongside people she knows are vaguely famous but whom she can’t identify because of their bland, generic attractiveness. She can tell they’re checking her out and wondering who she is. They think she’s someone, that much is clear from the way they’re pretending not to look at her.

When they reach the club on the top floor, she finds Billy at a table in the back talking to a female hip-hop artist. He shoos her away as soon as Violet appears. She’s fascinated by how different he is at the club, in his element—Billy Barton, arbiter of cool. Oh, if these people only knew!

She slides across the banquet to face him.

“You didn’t want to introduce me to your friend?”

He glances around in discomfort. “Why are you here?”

Violet looks around for a cocktail server. It takes her only a second to get someone’s attention, and she orders a bottle of Krug. On Billy’s tab.

“This is unprofessional,” he says in a low voice.

“Actually, Billy, I’m the ultimate professional. In fact, no one is more aware of your tastes and proclivities than I am.” He squirms noticeably. “And while I find you physically abhorrent, we do share one common interest.”

Billy’s face is bright red. Violet doesn’t know if he’s going to slap her or have a heart attack. Maybe both. But after a few seconds pass, he simply says, “And what’s that?”

“Burlesque, of course.”

His shoulders drop half an inch as he lets down a bit of his guard.

“What do you want, Violet?”

The impatience in his voice is insulting. This makes what she’s about to say so much more pleasurable.

“I want to open my own burlesque club. Something like the Slit, but more exclusive.”

“Great,” his says blandly. “Sounds good. Go for it.”

“I intend to. But I’m not here for your cheerleading.”

He leans forward and says quietly. “Then why the fuck are you here, Violet? Because I feel like we’ve been talking for too long and I still have no idea.”

She smiles. “I need you to bankroll it. We’d be partners.”

He looks at her like he’s not quite sure what she just said. And then he processes it and shakes his head slowly.

“Violet, I have no interest in owning a burlesque club. They aren’t exactly cash cows. And besides, I’m putting everything I have into keeping Gruff afloat. Do you have any idea how difficult the magazine market is right now? The last thing I want is a vanity project on the side.”

Violet nods. “All you need to do is write a few checks. I’ll run the day-to-day, recruit the talent, the PR people. You can use your contacts in the press to make sure the club opens as the biggest thing to hit Manhattan since Studio 54. Or you can choose to be a silent partner and just let me worry about making it a success.”

“I just told you, I don’t have the cash flow to open a club right now. Even if I wanted to, which I do not.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. But unfortunately for you, I’m not willing to take no for an answer.” Adrenaline rushes through her like a building orgasm.

“Look,” he says, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what kind of fantasy you live in. But out here, in the real world, people like you don’t tell people like me what to do.”