“That’s the one you want?” Angela insinuated with a little nod of her head.
Witt was the obvious choice. It wasn’t such a big deal. She’d get him up to a room. They’d wait Angela’s requisite half-hour. She’d come back down. Done. Hammerhead satisfied.
Max’s hands started to shake thinking about it. Witt had told her he’d leave her if she continued on her present course. Well, he’d sort of said it. He was most certainly pissed. Would asking him to act as her john push him over the edge?
“Don’t ask me to do it tonight, Angela. I’m not ready.” She needed to talk to Witt first.
“Nobody’s ever ready.”
“I don’t know what to do.” A distinctly pleading quality bled through her voice.
Angela pursed her lips with another glance at Hammerhead. “If not now, when?”
She dashed a quick look at Witt. “Tomorrow night.”
“He won’t be here.”
“I’ll pick another.”
“Or maybe I’ll pick one for you.”
Shit. That wouldn’t work. She agreed anyway, buying herself some time to think it through. “Tomorrow. If he’s here, it’s him. If not, your choice.” She’d have to make damn sure Witt didn’t let her down.
“How do I know you’ll show up?”
It was her turn to regard Angela with her best enigmatic stare. “You don’t.”
Angela laughed. “You’re right. I might be giving the whole game away.”
Max wondered what the game was, but decided not to ask. She’d find out eventually anyway. Because she would be back. Being led by Cameron’s weird psychic forces, she really wouldn’t consider flaking out. “Trust me.”
“First lesson, working girls don’t trust.” Angela took a full mouthful of wine, rolled it around her tongue, then licked her lips. “Now I have to get to work. We’re on the clock, baby.”
Max had won the round. Thank God. “I’ll watch and learn.” She picked up her own wine, tapped the glass to Angela’s. “Can I choose him for you?”
“Sure.” Angela preened, stretching in her chair, the lapels of her jacket parting to reveal the swell of breast. Male eyes bugged. Even Witt’s widened. “Don’t make him a total dog, though. I feel like having at least a ‘doable’ tonight.”
Tearing her gaze from Witt, Max spoke without pre-thought. “That one.” She used her wineglass to point at the Greek God, whose head happened to be turned the other way.
“I said doable, not swallowable.” Angela groaned. “God, he’s looking at himself in the mirror. You’re asking a lot.”
“Think of him as a challenge.” The game suddenly became fun. Almost. Max hoped she’d assuage her curiosity about why the Greek God was there. Maybe even find out if he held another clue into the mystery surrounding Lance La Russa’s death.
“Okay, kiddo.” Angela’s use of the term was amusing since she was close to eight years Max’s junior. “Watch and learn.”
“Do you want me to leave so he’ll come over?”
Angela waved a careless hand. “That one won’t come. So to speak.” She fluttered her eyelashes.
Max inspected the various female heads aimed in the Greek God’s direction. Angela was right, he didn’t have to make a move. Prospects abounded. The two slinky dresses in the corner, giggling like teenagers though they must have been in their late twenties. A table of three businesswomen, smartly dressed, surreptitious in their glances.
Tipping her head from side to side, as if weighing her options, Angela licked her lips once more. Red lipstick muted, the wetness screamed sexy.
“I think the direct approach. A dance. I’ll get the feel of him that way.” Angela smiled at her pun. “He won’t think he should have to pay for it, either.” She turned her gaze to Max. “I’ll have to hook him like a fish first.”
“So show me. I’m in training, after all.”
“Watch my purse.” Angela was up and moving, no exaggerated sway, just a graceful straight line to her quarry.
Oh God, Max was alone. Panic. Sudden and overwhelming. What if Witt chose that moment to come over to her? It would ruin everything. She wouldn’t have a chance to brief him. She’d be caught with her pants down. So to speak.
She didn’t dare look his way. Instead, her grip tense on the stem of her glass, she studied Angela.
The direct approach was confident, as if to say Angela could have any man in the room, but she’d chosen him. That made him special. Max couldn’t read lips, not with the dimness and the distance, only body language. Angela spoke. He tipped his head back, smiled. More talk. This time he laughed. Greek God smitten in less than two minutes. Angela held out her hand, the ultimate contemporary woman going for what she wanted.