Sasha
She was surrounded by fucking idiots. She was the only one with half a brain. She’d offered up Link Jacks on a silver platter to Peyton, and the dumb bitch couldn’t even get him to join her in doing one measly shot. So much for her being so in love with Link that she’d do anything to be with him.
Sasha looked back at her phone, reading the next text message from Peyton before firing back a response. “Fine, I’ll take care of it. He’ll drink the beer. You need to make your move in about fifteen minutes.” Sasha hit Send and turned back to her station for phase one of the evening.
She and Francisco sat at a corner table surrounded by tourists in tacky evening attire. No one on this side of the room was anyone worth meeting, just a bunch of wannabes taking pictures of themselves at the famous Hell-on-Earth hangout of the stars and beautiful people. Ugh, she wished they’d all go hang out at the Green Room and fuck themselves. She sipped her gin and tonic and twitched her fingers. She was sick of waiting.
“Calm down, baby, everything’s fine. I got the camera placed in the hotel, and Peyton knows what to do. As soon as he starts to fade, we walk him out to my rental car like a stoned guy and film her fucking his brains out. I’m hoping to get a few shots of that other girl seeing him leave with Peyton. Nothing like some scorned-woman rage to boost ratings. We will have a celebrity showdown worthy of a one-hour special for Mr. Snow.” Francisco beamed at her and reached for her hand. “This is just the beginning, baby. You and I are going to be rolling in offers.” He pulled her hand up and kissed her knuckles.
Yuck. She wished she could have left Frankie at the apartment. He stuck out with his cheap suit and drugstore aftershave. He had no class and no presence. If all went according to her plan, this afternoon was the last time she would ever have to touch Frankie or Jimmy Snow. She had enough film of Jimmy telling her to suck him off or fuck him if she wanted him to produce anything of hers. She was certain his wife or the studio bosses would love seeing that if he ever tried to double cross her.
Time to make her move. Sasha headed over to the busy bar area and counted the number of shots being filled on a tray. This was the right table’s order. She worked her thin frame between some guys standing at the end of the bar. “Excuse me,” she called to the bartender, pleased when he looked up and stared back into her eyes. His gaze dropped to her cleavage, and Sasha smiled seductively. The bartender overfilled one of the shot glasses and swore.
“Can I help you, Miss?” he asked, finishing with the last shot glass.
Sasha eyed the lone beer on the tray and appreciated the dark amber color. This would be perfect. She batted her long lashes and pouted her lips a bit.
“I was just hoping you could show me what brand of gin the house uses—the drinks you’ve made for my table tonight are scrumptious.” She touched her finger to her throat and waited.
“Ah yeah, sure it’s, um, just Beefeater,” he stammered.
Shit. She needed him to turn away from that tray for a second before the waiter came to grab it.
“Are you sure, because I’ve had that brand before but this drink was much better.” She shook her near-empty glass and pulled an ice cube out and popped it into her mouth. Good, keep watching and wanting asshole. The bartender turned to the well and grabbed a bottle. Sasha fluttered her fingers over the beer and returned her hand to run through her long hair.
“See, it’s Beefeater. Although we do carry some other call brands.” His hands displayed the bottle.
“Hmm, so it is. Thanks.” Sasha turned away and headed back to her table wiggling her hips triumphantly.