Danny swiped the micro beads of perspiration from his forehead and turned the pillow around, punching it. The rhythm of his heart banged strong and steady in his ears. He closed his eyes. The crisp twenty dollar bill lay rolled and waiting for him. His fingers twitched to touch it, but his muscles grew taut. No. His eyes flashed open, looking around the expansive master bedroom. Pinpricks of light from a large bay window attracted his attention. As he rolled over, his gaze fell upon a sliver of light coming from behind the bathroom door.
“Nia.” His voice was a strangled whisper. “Nia!”
She'd flown in claiming she'd missed him, but the plan reeked of Robert Gavel. He must've thought a little time with Nia would help him get ready for the late‐night interview on Harvey!
The slumber party had changed everything for him. Almost losing Beth had taken Danny to a depth of desolation he hadn't known. After taking the girls home, he'd cleaned the house of paraphernalia and given Nia an ultimatum. Him or the drugs. He'd been relieved when she hadn't even hesitated to choose him. But maybe she'd responded too quickly? Something at the edge of his senses prickled at him. Had she truly taken the pledge to go cold turkey, or was he another sucker on the endless list of people she fooled?
He called her name again, the desperation in his voice growing deeper. The door flew open to reveal a raven‐haired woman wearing black lacy boy‐shorts with a matching push‐up bra. She smiled seductively then pursed her magenta‐laced lips.
“Danny, what's wrong?” she said.
He welcomed the soft, feminine breathiness of her voice. “You've been in the bathroom for almost an hour. What were you doing in there?”
“Has it really been an hour?” She wrinkled her nose.
Danny nodded, pointing to the clock sitting on the nightstand.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Nope.” He closed his eyes and shuddered; the rolled‐up twenty still lurking behind his lids, waiting for him. “I've been resting my eyes the whole time.”
Nia walked around the bed and laid a well‐oiled leg across his stomach. “I was shaving my legs. You like?”
Danny rubbed a hand against the leg, enjoying the icy slickness. “Mmm.”
She pulled it back and sat on the edge of the bed. She wiped her hand across his forehead, grimacing at the sheen of sweat that coated her hand.
“Are you nervous about going on Harvey! tomorrow?”
“Um… No.” But he was, as much as he didn't want to admit it. This was his first late‐night interview in two years. Truthfully, he hadn't thought about his upcoming interview at all. He'd spent the day replaying the image in front of Gary's. He'd done nothing as those asshole cops handcuffed that woman. The fiery spark in that woman's eyes had been blown away. Nothing but deadness in a pair of beautiful violet irises. Danny had recognized that look—it was the universal cry for help.
“Babe, you're going to be fine. If you get some sleep, that is.”
“You ever feel like you're broken from all the fucked up shit you've done? And no matter what you do, you can't fix it?”
“Babe, what are you talking about?”
“Never mind.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her beside him. Wrapping an arm around her, he nuzzled his lips in the crook of her neck, tasting her luscious honey scent.
“Babe, again?” Exasperation filled her weary voice. “I've never known anybody to go beyond three rounds, and we've already gone five.”
He pulled back and cupped her face.
“I need you baby, and if it's not you, then who?” He let the seed he planted in her imagination run wild with the possibilities of other women. He was going to sleep with someone tonight, but he wanted it to be her. Sex helped him escape.
“Really?” Her eyes widened.
He gave her a lazy smile. “Babe, come on. You know me.”
She smiled and slapped his chest. “You can be such a jerk sometimes.”
Grabbing the hand poised to strike again, he trailed kisses across her knuckles.
Nia sighed. “Okay.”
Leaning backward, her tongue laid siege to his body.
Danny smiled in the vanity mirror at the sight of Nia between his legs. The perfect gift for unwinding before tonight's interview. Her hair splayed over his thighs and he moaned as Nia swallowed his cock. Arching, all his tension flowed from his body with each exhale. He gripped the arm of the brown leather couch as the pressure began to build and waft over him. Danny stretched his right leg across the black‐and‐gray checkered carpet. Grasping the back of her sleek black hair, he guided her lower, coaxing her to swallow more than just his head.
With each bob, Danny settled deeper into her throat. But Nia was a gagger. A reluctant sigh went through him when, with four inches covered, the gurgle of her throat halted the rhythm, like the beep of a commercial truck going backwards. She gripped his shaft with her right hand and where her lips left off, her hand took care of. She began to apply pressure as her hand slid up and down his base. His jaw tensed and his breathing slowed to a soft hiss.
The unmistakable woodpecker rap on the door told Danny, before he heard Robert's voice on the other side, reminding him it was time for his late night talk show appearance on Harvey!.
Damn. Danny pulled back the cuff of his sleeve to look at the light blue titanium watch. 10:55 p.m. blinked back at him. He only had five minutes before he was on the air. The nerves he'd released earlier, jumped back into his body, settling in their usual favorite haunts—around his neck, below his temples and in his fingers.
“Okay, I'll be out in a minute.”
With a sigh, he pushed Nia off his cock, zipped up the gray slacks and tucked in his white cotton shirt. They would finish later. He couldn't afford to be late for the interview. Robert would chew him a new one if he snubbed it.
“Thanks, babe,” Danny helped Nia off her knees.
He crushed his lips against her forehead, lingering for a second before heading for the door.
“See you in a few,” he said, turning to look back at her from the doorway.
“Break a leg.” She stood, adjusting the skirt of her one shoulder pink and white inkblot‐patterned blouson dress.
Danny's lips curved into a sneer as he pivoted down the hallway. She thinks I need luck? He shook his head at the thought. Luck had nothing to do with his career. Getting the lead in an Oscar‐nominated movie had nothing do with luck, it was about skill. Even while he was in rehab he worked his ass off, making sure he filmed with Hollywood's highest‐awarded director. Thanks to Robert securing day passes, he'd lobbied and won two acting gigs back to back for six months. Instead of resting, he'd setup a studio in his room at Habit Relief and dropped two albums on the pop charts—garnering Grammy's for both. Who the hell did she know who could do that with luck?
The Harvey! audience would love him no matter what he said. All he had to do was flash his pearly whites, just like Rob showed him. Not too much, he didn't want to seem overconfident, but not too little either, or else they'd think he had problems. His smile needed just the right combination of confidence, charm and joy—the Goldilocks complex.
He waited in the wings for his call‐on cue to walk onstage. As he focused on calming his body, the floor manager, the set, and the audience behind the curtain, faded to a gentle background murmur. He wanted to be calm and clear‐headed when he walked on.
At the floor manager's cue, he strutted from the darkness into blazing light. He flashed his three‐quarter smile at the audience before taking a seat next to Harvey Kroy's desk. The forty‐something‐year‐old host clasped his hand in a limp handshake fit for a toddler. Danny stared into the host's blue eyes then returned his own crushing grip. Harvey's plucked eyebrow raised a sliver of an inch upward as he sat back in his black leather seat.
“What was it like being stranded on a desert island with your co‐star Miranda Kawalski?”
“Well,” Danny leaned forward conspiratorially on the edge of the sofa arm. “Miranda was great, especially when she realized I didn't know how to swim.”
“You? Or the character?”
“Me. I didn't know how to swim. I had to learn in order to do the scene where I save her from the ring of sharks.”
“Wow, now that's some acting. I couldn't even tell it was your first time swimming,” Harvey said. “Were you scared?”
“For that scene we had a twenty‐foot shark in the water with us.” Danny paused, letting his words sink in with the audience. “So,” he raised an eyebrow. “I did have some performance issues.”
As if on cue, laughter erupted from the audience.
“So what's next? Now that the movie is over, are you going to return to Peru? Are you even allowed to leave the country, or is that something you've got to take up with your probation officer?” The drummer hit the high hat, signaling for the audience to laugh at Harvey's joke.
Danny's lips twitched as he looked at Harvey's malicious grin. The late‐night host was proving tougher than he thought. This interview was supposed to be about his career comeback, but if Danny didn't know better, he would've guessed it was a comedy roast in his honor.
If Harvey made one more crack about the time Lima deported him for drug abuse, Danny was going to jump across the desk and punch him. He flexed his right hand into a fist and released it.
Relax. Rob's counting on you to do this right.
He turned to look at the audience for a beat. He gave them an expression that said ‘Can you believe this guy?'
“No,” he turned back to Harvey. “I'm not on house arrest, and I don't have a curfew anymore. My twelve-month stay in rehab has given me a clean legal record.”
“And a clean bill of health too, right?”
“I'm one year sober as of yesterday.”
The audience clapped, and a few catcalls pierced through the clamor.
Harvey leaned back in his seat, and Danny felt the pressure he'd been putting on him lighten.
“I hear you've settled in New York. Is it a big shift from living in California?”
Danny smiled. He hadn't moved. He'd run to New York, but it could have been any city. Any place that didn't remind him of what had happened to Emily.
Danny breathed a sigh of relief as he walked back to his dressing room. Rob would be proud, he thought chuckling to himself as made his trek down the hallway. He reached his room and his heart began pumping, the blood rushing into his ears.
“Nia.”
She sat in front of the coffee table. The razorblade shuttled coke back and forth into a straight‐line.
Nia turned around to face him. “Hi, babe.”
She placed her nose against the mirror and sniffed. “You want a line?”