At least she thought she had until Angela’s next words. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
Thank God the bartender arrived with Angela’s drink—more personal service, it seemed, though not quite as quick—setting the wine down next to Max’s already half-empty glass. She hadn’t noticed Angela place an order. It might have been from Hammerhead. It might also have been a standing order. She returns, get her a glass of the same.
Dying to know what the wine was, Max kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want Angela, or Hammerhead, knowing how closely she’d been watching.
They were alone again, if you could call sitting in the middle of a semi-packed bar with ears and beady eyes all around being alone. At least the music was non-stop. Max tugged on her inner cheek, chewing as she considered her options.
“I’m a little short on cash right now.” It was the best Max could come up with right now. And it was the truth.
“Why not get a job?”
“My skills haven’t proved particularly marketable.” Lie.
Angela raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Even Burger King will do when you’re strapped.”
“I need a lot of money.” Lie.
“And you’ve heard we working girls make a lot, right?”
“Don’t you?” On firmer ground now, with questions and answers, Max felt better. She hoped she could keep Angela on that track.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
Angela tipped her head to one side, her lovely sable hair cascading over her shoulder. Max, briefly envious of the sable color, waited on the answer Angela finally gave. “Depends on who you’re working with, where you’re working, and whether you’re into drugs.”
“I’m not into drugs.” Max spoke too loud. The Greek God turned her way, but she looked down before their eyes met.
“Good. Drugs’ll get you out on the streets faster than a swift kick in the ass.”
The streets seemed to be anathema. “I wouldn’t dream of going out there.”
Angela nodded as if she approved Max’s choice. “Hammerhead’s a good business manager. This hotel’s got a good clientele. You can solve your money problems in no time.”
“Don’t you work anywhere else?”
Angela wound her hair around her finger, lifted her glass to her lips and sipped, relishing it with lowered lashes and a captivating smile. To her left, a portly gentleman stared, overtly fascinated by that finger, that lock of hair, the ruby lipstick stain. By Angela herself. “I like to stay in one location until I’m not welcome anymore.”
Still obsessed with knowing the name of that chardonnay, Max took a sip from her own glass. No one stared, she was sure. “And why wouldn’t you be welcome?”
“Management changes. People complain. Time to move on. You should never stay in one place too long.”
Unless a wealthy patron wanted her exclusively and was willing to toss in an apartment, gifts, and all the fine things she wanted. Like the sapphire tennis bracelet.
Max asked. She might never get another chance to find out if her theory held water. “What about having one guy who sort of ... helps you out?”
Angela tipped her head to the side, considering. “What, like some Pretty Woman fantasy?”
“Well, yeah.” It sounded equally as silly as when she’d said it to Witt.
Angela half-snorted, a soft sound which strangely ended up seeming almost ladylike. “I’ll take whatever’s thrown my way.”
Yep. Sort of beat the hell out of Angela Rocket’s motive for killing Lance La Russa.
It sure made Hammerhead look extremely attractive. As a suspect. His fifty-fifty meal ticket had been about to start playing house without him.
“Never stay in one place too long,” Max repeated. “Sounds profound.” Exactly how profound she was sure Cameron would elucidate upon later.
Angela tapped her nails on the table top and changed the subject completely. “Do you have a business card yet?”
“Business card?”
Reaching into her slim cream purse, Angela pulled out a gold holder and handed her card to Max.
“Angela Rocket.” Plus a number. And on the back, “Let Fantasy Become Reality.” Simple. Nebulous. Tantalizing.
“The card is for repeats. A cell number. Never give them a home number.” Another profound statement. “My recorded message promises a call within half an hour.”
“What if you’re in ... the middle of something?”
She laughed, the first time. “I can do a lot in half an hour.”
Max thought about the previous night. Angela had been gone for over two. What else had she been doing? Or had the blond simply begged her to stay?
Angela took the card, set it down. “That’s where you start.”
“Is that how you got started, by putting your card out?”
The woman looked over her shoulder. Hammerhead watched, an odd smile on his face. “Like I said, you can go a long way with a good manager.” She tipped her head to one side. “Is how I got started what you really want to know?”