Page 37 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

A smirk quirks one side of Lucky’s mouth as he takes another quick drag before waggling the cigarette in mid-air. “You’ve heard of me.” He briefly flattens his palm against his chest before waving his hand in another gesture at her. “I’m flattered.”

Scarlett tilts her head to one side and gives him a closed-lip smile. “I’m flattered that you’re flattered. But tell me something, Lucky, because I’ve been wondering for a while.” She rights her head and jerks her chin at him. “Is that yourrealname?”

Lucky pulls in his chin and furrows his brow in obvious amusement. “‘Course it’s my real name.”

“Luckyisnotyour real name,” she retorts, still playful, andhello?I’m standing right here, and these two are having a total flirting contest. “Nobody isreallynamed something likeLucky.”

He lifts his brows and turns over his palm, causing the smoke from his cigarette to curl in a circle around his wrist. “How ‘bout Lucky Luciano?”

She bats her lashes again. “His real name wasCharlie.”

Lucky wags the cigarette again and grins widely. “Yeah, it was Charles. Good on you for being up on mob trivia.” Pulling his opposite hand out of his pocket, he holds out his upturned palm to her, and she doesn’t hesitate before shaking with him. “It’sVincentDe Luca,” he introduces himself, slipping his hand away and then pointing a finger gun at her. “And you’re Scarlett.”

“Yes, I’mScar-lett,” she replies, placing emphasis on the first half of her name. “But I kinda like the way you say it better.” She laughs lightly. “Scah-lett,” she drawls, mimicking Lucky’s New York accent. She pushes her elbow into my side, finally remembering that I’m still standing right fucking here. “I think we should switch to saying it like that.”

I clear my throat and open my mouth to offer something like,No, we shouldnotswitch to saying it like that because fuck this guy and his accent and his obvious intentions to get you in the sack, but Scarlett takes it as me requiring an introduction.

“Oh.” She turns slightly toward me. “Sorry. This is my manager, August Hawkins.”

I offer my hand as politely as possible. “Good to meet you, Lucky.”

“Likewise, likewise.” He gives my hand a quick, solid shake before letting go and slipping his back in his pocket. “I saw a vid of your girl’s number at the Cajun Zydeco Festival shortly before I made my way down here to the Big Easy, and I was hoping to talk a little business with her.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “What kind of business did you have in mind?”

Lucky rolls his hand at us again. “I’m looking to shake up my set and do some collaborations with up-and-coming artists who share my appreciation for that vintage flair. We’d start with live performance videos and get those out there to see what kinda interest they get. If people like it, we would pursue a studio album and potentially a tour. Whaddya think?”

“Oh. Huh.” My brows draw together. In terms of strictly business, it’s actually fuckingperfectfor Scarlett because Lucky’s already got an established following and fanbase. His brand and style are a great complement to what she’s going for, and it would also be cost effective because he’d likely be bankrolling it and giving her a cut. However, in terms of everything outside of business, I fucking hate this idea almost as much I hatehim. Based on the way they’re acting with each other a mere sixty seconds after meeting, I can just imagine what would go down if Lucky and Scarlett ever got some alone time. “It’s an interesting concept.”

Scarlett scoffs and swats the back of her hand against my chest. “Are you crazy, August?” She turns to Lucky. “That soundsincredible.”

A wide, white grin stretches across his face, and this guy even has fuckingdimples, and I hate those, too. “You think so? I thought so.”

“Itotallythink so,” Scarlett gushes while shegrabs his forearm, for fuck’s sake. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve wanted to do for a while.”

“Yeah, you’d be great for it,” he agrees with a single, deft nod, then cocks his head and slides his gaze to me. “You guys got a lotta great talent down here in ol’ New Orleans. It’s why I decided to pull up my roots for a bit.” He flicks his eyes back to Scarlett’s face. “I got me this swanky old creole townhouse just up Chartres from St. Louis Cathedral, and I got the whole first floor all set up like one big studio.” He lifts his palms to wave his hands in front of us like he’s a fucking magician or some shit. “Like with recording areas in each of the rooms, each with a different configuration of vintage instruments from different decades.” He slips one hand in his pocket. “The second and third floors are like a crash pad for anybody who’s coming to collaborate. Kinda like a musicians’ commune, but way fuckin’ swankier. I’d love to show it to you guys sometime.”

Scarlett’s been staring at him with sparkling eyes and a huge grin this whole time, and then she clasps her hands to her cleavage. “Oh myGod, I wouldloveto go see that!”

“Yeah?” A half-smile tugs one side of Lucky’s mouth. He pulls his hand out of his pocket just long enough to touch the base of her elbow before pocketing it again, and I grit my teeth so hard I’m shocked that they don’t shatter. “You guys got big plans for the night? We could go grab a drink and head over there. And then we could hammer out the particulars of a collaboration if you’re interested.”

I open my mouth to decline on both our behalf, but Scarlett beats me to it again. “Oh. Well, I think August was planning to go back home because I had to do like ten million interviews all over town today, but I wouldtotallylike to do that.” She blindly waves her hand in my general direction. “I’m sure he can set up an actual meeting with you about the whole collaboration thing.” A giddy smile stretches across her face. “I just wanna see this house of yours.”

“Oh…I mean…Scarlett…” I stammer out, completely caught off guard and freaking the fuck out at the idea of hergoing homewith this fucking guy, “I’m really notthattired, so if you want—”

She cuts me off with atsk. “You are, too. It’s all you’ve been talking about since we left Uptown earlier. It’s okay. I’ll just give Lucky your number and—”

“Will you excuse us for one sec?” I interject, grabbing Scarlett’s slender bicep and tugging her to take a few steps back from Lucky, who merely offers a nod and goes back to dragging on his cigarette.

When we’re out of earshot of him, I turn away and hold her by the shoulders. “Scarlett, donotgo hang out at that guy’s house without me.”

She squints at me, and this time, it’s not playful at all. “What? Why not?”

“Why not? Whynot?” I scoff and lower my voice. “Because of what happened only two weeks ago. That guy isobviouslyjust trying to get you alone so he can fuck you.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She takes a few steps backward and shrugs off my hands. “Do not do that. You’re looking at me through that damaged damsel filter, and it’s making you think I have poor judgement and can’t take care of myself. Both of which are completelynot the case.” Gripping my tie and pulling my face close to hers, she lowers her voice as well. “If you don’t think me working with him is a good career move, that’s one thing, and you can make that call. You’re the one in the driver’s seat of my professional life right now. I’ll give you that.However, you are not, nor will youever bein the driver’s seat of my personal life. So, if I feel like going to visit his super cool musicians’ commune and potentially fuckhimwhile I’m at it, that’smycall.” She releases my tie and crosses her arms over her full breasts. “You’re not my husband. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not even really myfriend. You’re just my manager. So that’s all you’re allowed to act like.”

Her words feel like a dagger to my chest, even though she’s one-hundred-percent correct, all because she’s become the latest woman I desperatelywant, but will never have. And we’re in the middle of packed, bustling Frenchmen Street on a Saturday evening, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone than I do right now.

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