Just The Tip - Cassandra Dee Page 0,25

connecting with the clothes, that sort of thing.

“What are you thinking?” I asked smoothly. My company’s sales numbers were none of this fucker’s business and there was no reason to share our proprietary information.

“I’m not even sure,” the other man chuckled. “There may not be anything for us to do, the girl’s so fucked and it’s all her own doing,” he rasped. “I have to say, it feels good, given my wife’s past with her sister. Jenna gets what she deserves.”

That took me aback. I knew Manning was a ruthless businessman but this girl was his sister-in-law and ex-fiance. What a fuckwad.

“What do you know about Green Guys?” I asked smoothly, ignoring Manning’s callous comments.

“A lot,” he said dryly. “I’ve got contacts in LA and Green Guys is dirty, sure, but you know how the celebrity sex tape business is. They take orders, just like everybody else, when the dollar signs are right.”

“I’ll give them a call,” I said shortly. “I’ll put my guys on it and try and find out who the girl was, if it wasn’t Jenna. What about the pictures?” I asked. “Is she claiming those aren’t her as well?”

The other man snorted again.

“Nah, she admits those are her,” he replied. “Can you believe it? Jenna pulled the poverty card, saying she had no money to pay law school tuition and was forced to do it. That’s fucking bullshit, I dated her at the time and she definitely didn’t act like she had nothing, in fact she was spending my money like water.”

Okay, this was a little more believable. At least the photos were real, there was some truth mixed in there. But I was done with this Manning asshole. I hated him already, the way acted totally blameless although he’d been the one to break off the engagement.

“I’ll make a call,” I repeated harshly. “We’ll figure this out.”

“No,” said Manning shortly. “You figure it out. The longer this bitch roasts in hell, the happier I’ll be. Make sure she never gets back to me or my wife,” he commanded before clicking off.

I don’t take orders well from other men but my professionalism kept me calm and cool. I owed it to Levast to figure this out … and I owed it to myself.

15

Rafe

The Los Angeles sunshine was unbelievably bright, the glare painfully reflected off of windows, cars, anything shiny. I felt out of place in my dark suit and mentally made a note to instruct Santino to pack something lighter next time. Of course, I’d hopped on my plane the moment I got a hold of Green Guys, so Santino hadn’t had much time, but I hadn’t expected the city to be so oppressive either.

Because it was. Hollywood was dingy, hardly the glamorous, bright lights big city made out in movies and books. Instead it was strip mall after strip mall, Korean grocery stores and Laundromats endlessly lining the faceless roads that seemed to go on forever.

I came to a square block of a building, painted pale pink, the attempt at Art Deco falling face flat, appearing like a decrepit dollhouse instead. The name Green Guys was emblazoned on the door in peeling letters and I knocked although what I really wanted to do was to bulldoze this place and then maybe torch it afterwards, it was so grimy and gross.

The lock clicked and I let myself in, going up to the second floor.

A blonde woman who was fake in all ways greeted me from behind a desk, her lips like Lisa Rinna on an acid trip.

“Mr. Connor, we’ve been expecting you,” she simpered, giving me her biggest smile. “Please come into the back.”

I followed her through a set of doors to a suite decorated with a desk, a couch, a video camera, and a big screen TV. Okay, this is how porn places outfitted their conference rooms. Made sense, I guess.

“Can I get you anything while you wait?” the blonde purred. “I’m Candy,” she added unnecessarily, batting her lashes at me.

“No thanks,” I replied shortly. The faster this blonde got out, the cleaner I’d feel.

“Well, just let me know,” she cooed, “I’m just outside.”

“Okay,” I said in a clipped voice, refusing to look at her. Ugh, were all LA girls like this? The receptionist was just so fake, big tits that joggled like balloons, a face that was straight out of funhouse mirror.

I paced in the small room and when the door finally opened again I spun around, expecting to see some seedy producer, probably