A few hours passed before I was riding the elevator up to Ricky’s penthouse. It really hadn’t been too difficult finding out where he was staying. A quick call to Mr Pushkin had taken care of that, and when the doorman called up to see if I had permission to visit, I was shown right in. I adjusted the fabric of my dress again in the mirrored wall of the elevator. Sure, the blood in my head was still pounding uncomfortably, and all my muscles were screaming obscenities, but damn did I look good. Queenie was the real superhero.
As the floors dinged by, I tried to slow my breathing, but I wasn’t having much luck. I was going to see Ricky. Ricky.
Man, had I been in love with that boy back in the day. Puppy love, sure. But even the cute canine version was pretty strong stuff. For the most part, growing up, boys had been weird around me. They were either spoiled bluebloods who could never seem to muster up much interest in anything other than themselves, or they were too nervous to speak to me like I was a regular person, and not a St. James. Not Ricky, though.
I looked at the glowing numbers clicking by on the elevator wall. Almost there. I caught myself smiling remembering the first time I had met Ricky. It had been at our estate down in South Beach. I hadn’t even noticed the new guy skimming the water when I walked out that day in my polka dot bikini. Well, at least not until the new guy noticed me. It was hard not to pay attention to him then—what with his grabbing his chest like the sight of me had given him a heart attack. He even fell to his knees. Yup, Ricky always knew how to make an impression. I swallowed hard.
Pretty unforgettable.
Just then the elevator dinged and opened … at the exact same moment, the doors to the penthouse swung wide.
Whoa.
Big, big, Ricky … I mean, Big Ricky Shot … I mean, just Ricky. My heart picked up its pace just at the sight of him. Muscle memory, I guess. Goosebumps. ‘Well, hello,’ he said, voice warm, manly. ‘Welcome.’
I walked the few steps towards him, taking in the face of the boy I once knew. He had definitely become a man, a big, filled-out, handsome man. He had naturally tanned skin, warm brown eyes, and, now that he had washed out that stupid slicked back bouffant thing he had going on, his hair looked quite … touchable … and damp, like he had just showered. I resisted the urge to lean closer to breathe in his freshly washed smell. I needed to focus. Truth was, all memories aside, I didn’t know Ricky … not anymore. In fact, the only thing I knew for sure was that he was working for my father.
I slid past him into the penthouse, ignoring the heat I picked up from his body that made me shiver. My goal was to basically find out everything Ricky knew about my father’s plans. The tricky part would be finding it all out in twenty minutes or less. I peeked down at the little device nestled in my cleavage. We knew my father would be watching Ricky, and Bart had figured out a way to put a bubble around the building to interrupt all wireless communication, but only for about twenty minutes. After that, I was on my own. The special frequency pager I was hiding would give me a five-minute warning.
Time to do this thing.
‘Well,’ I said, looking around the enormous room, ‘this is … loud.’
By far the best part of the penthouse was the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the electric cityscape. The inside, however … well, the inside was very Rock Star! The dark blue loft was filled with rich leather furniture, a bar, and over-the-top art pieces. I took a step forward, snagging my heel on a white shaggy carpet—the kind that made you want to go barefoot … or not. Gross things had probably been done on that carpet with Ricky and one of his groupies … maybe more than one groupie. The room kind of had that feel.
‘Do you like it?’
I swirled around to see Ricky’s signature I know what you got under that dress smile. ‘Um, I’m not so sure about that lamp over there,’ I said, furrowing my brow.
‘You mean Betty?’
I eyed the smooth metal floor lamp, its base the shape of a naked woman. ‘Yes, Betty.’
‘Then Betty’s out,’ he said, turning to the lamp. ‘Sorry Betty. It’s been fun.’
‘And,’ I said, eying the near room-length bar with its glowing aquarium base, ‘is that some sort of water snake?’
‘You don’t like the snake?’
‘I’ve had some bad experiences lately.’
‘Wow.’ He covered his heart with his hand. ‘That one hurts, but for you Bremy, the snake’s gone.’
I flashed him a sidelong glance. ‘Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Ricky?’
‘It’s only going to get thick—’
‘No,’ I said, channelling Queenie. ‘No.’
He flashed me another slow, lazy smile. A moment passed, a hot tingly moment. ‘So,’ I said, drawing out the word. ‘Where do I even begin? The coat? The museum? Bremy St. James day?’
‘Let’s start there,’ he said. ‘Did you like it?’
I pressed my lips together.
‘We watched that movie together. You remember?’
Yes, I remembered spending a day watching movies with Ricky. It had been one of the best days of my adolescent life. I nodded.
‘You always liked eighties movies,’ Ricky went on, watching me. ‘Guys like me never had roles in those chick flicks though. They were always gardeners or pool cleaners … oh wait.’
I wagged a finger at him. ‘Ricky, you know I’m not here to rekindle whatever it was we had back then. I’m …’
Ricky quickly crossed the distance between us and lifted my chin with one finger before I pushed his hand away.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Checking for the hickey.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘The Hickey from Hell is long gone.’
‘That is a shame. I was trying to mark you for life.’
‘You are not a dog, and I am not a hydrant,’ I said, with what I hoped looked like some disdainful rapid blinking and not a seizure. ‘And hickeys are not cool.’
He dropped his hand and met my gaze with an unusual degree of sincerity. ‘Actually, I just wanted to make sure you couldn’t tell yourself later that it never happened.’ He turned his back to me. ‘It must have been hard for you to live with yourself after you made out with the pool boy.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I said, pushing him on the shoulder. ‘Your being the pool boy was never the problem. Your desperation to be a playah was sometimes a problem, though, Big Shot.’
‘You like the name?’ he said with a game show-worthy smile. ‘I came up with it myself.’
‘It’s a little … over-the-top.’
‘Exactly what I was going for.’ Ricky stepped closer again. ‘You know, even though that hickey got me fired …’ He paused and shook his head. ‘That day was worth it.’
Electricity crackled between us.
I shook my head and moved away. I needed to get this conversation under control. All these memories were making me feel warm and fluster-y when I was supposed to be feeling all cool and manipulative-y. The clock was ticking. I looked down again at my boobs. All quiet on the cleavage front.
I sidled back over to Ricky who had moved to stand in front of the windows. I put a finger on his chin this time, guiding his gaze from the cityscape to mine. He studied my face, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight hitch to his breath. I moved my eyes to his mouth, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. Oh, I was good. ‘Can we talk about your recent path to greatness … Ricky?’
For a brief moment, I was certain I had him under my spell, then he said, ‘What are you doing?’
I cocked my head. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
The corner of his mouth shot up in a half-smile. ‘The finger?’ he said, looking down at my hand still at his chest. ‘The biting your lip?’ He moved closer still. ‘I liked that one, by the way. Keep it. But, Bremy St. James, I do believe you are trying to seduce information out of me.’
I held his gaze for a moment longer before I cracked. ‘Dammit!’ I flung my hand away and hopped up and down angrily before kicking the sofa. ‘Why can I never do the femme fatale thing? I mean, I already kind of decided I didn’t want to be that kind of super— I mean, never mind. But I’d still like to be able to do it. You know what I mean?’
‘You lost me about halfway through,’ he said with a playful sidelong look. ‘But don’t be so hard on yourself. I never said it wouldn’t work. But a man has to have a little self-respect. I just need you to know that I know what you’re doing. Now continue,’ he said, closing his eyes with a very pleasure-filled look on his face.
I just looked at him.
He rolled his hand in a carry on gesture.
‘Forget it. I told you that’s not going to be my MO anyway.’ I sank into the couch by Betty the lamp, before scooting over a bit. Headless naked lamp ladies made me uncomfortable. ‘Not that I even know what my MO is.’
‘Don’t be sad, Brems,’ Ricky said, kneeling in front of me. ‘If you wanted information, all you had to do was ask.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘Come with me,’ he said, standing up and offering me a hand. ‘I want to show you something.’
‘Alright,’ I muttered. ‘But if that something is in your pants, I’m not going to be impressed.’