The guy reddened, babbled an apology and scurried off. The mass of people grinding to a headache-inducing pop song swallowed him up. Lights above cast a red-violet hue on everything below, and here and there flashed streaks of metallic and glitter, glimpses of the tacky minis some women wore.
Sweat mingled with alcohol in the air and clung to Vivienne’s skin. She should be sleeping now on her soft 1000 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, not tolerating this.
She walked over to Keenan, whose grin was Cheshire. “I win.”
He slapped a crisp hundred-dollar bill into her palm and gestured to the bartender. “Two Long Islands.”
“No Coke,” she added.
Keenan shook his head, expression bemused and amused. “I can’t believe you actually managed it.” She’d scared off five guys in under an hour, more than the terms of their bet.
She shrugged. “It’s an acquired skill.”
Keenan laughed. “No, babe, you just open your mouth.”
“You never minded.” She slipped the money into her bra and smoothed down invisible wrinkles on her silk top. “Where is he? We’ve been waiting forever.”
"This one will challenge you," Keenan said. "He's smooth. There he is!"
Vivienne followed Keenan's gaze to see the man strutting across the dance floor like a palsied John Travolta. Like candy from a baby, Vivienne thought.
"Double or nothing?"
"Hey!" Keenan shouted above the music as he shook his friend's hand. "This is Vivienne!"
Keenan stepped aside, letting the dog see the rabbit.
"Vivienne?" The man asked. "What a perfect name for such a beautiful woman."
Here we go, Vivienne thought, rolling her eyes.
The man moved in closer. "Keenan told me all about you! By the way, I'm Evil Editor."
Vivienne's jaw dropped. As their lips locked, she managed to pull the hundred from her bra and hand it back to Keenan.