Page 5 of Flag On The Play
“I need a favor.”
Candy arches a brow, intrigued.
“Can you give the rest of this to Lux? No note, no message. Just give it to her.”
She looks at the envelope, thick and heavy with cash, and then back at me.
“You got it,” she says, slipping the envelope into her clutch without question.
I grin, leaning back in the chair as she walks away.
Two grand.
Maybe it’ll piss her off.
Maybe it’ll help her.
Either way, the thought of Nova Wilde opening that envelope and knowing it came fromme?
Yeah.
That’s satisfying as hell.
CHAPTER 3
NOVA
“He just handed this to you?”
Finlay. Fucking. Reed.
Of course he did. What a presumptuous asshole.
“Yep,” Candy says, calmly applying another coat of mascara like she didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb in my dressing room. “Told me to give it to you. No note. No message.”
Of course not. He thinks his money is the message.
I glance at the envelope. Two thousand dollars.
Does this prick think he’sRichard Gereand I’mJulia Roberts? Does he think I’m going to wait for him to come riding up in a limo and make all my dreams come true? Does he really think I’m going to be grateful for this? That I’d feel anything other than insulted and cheap, like a hooker.
Granted, I’d have to fuck him for it to technically qualify as hooking but that’s not the goddamn point.
The point is, he still thinks he’s better than me.
And I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“I don’t need or want his money,” I mutter.
Candy looks over at me through the mirror with a soft smile. “Kinda sweet he did that, don’t you think?”
I swing my eyes to her like she just suggested I marry him.
“Sweet? Candy, no. That man is anything but sweet. Condescending. Arrogant. Cocky. Self-righteous. Pig-headed. All better words to describe Finlay Reed.”
I slap the envelope down on the vanity and start changing out of my club clothes. I came in for an hour today because they were short a girl. I normally don’t work the early afternoon shifts. Not enough crowd or money.
“He did this because he wants to prove something. Like, look at me, big shot quarterback handing out pity cash to the poor stripper. Like I need saving. Like I’m some damsel in distress who needs his hero complex.” I scoff. “I’d rather ride a rubber dick in Times Square than take a dime from him.”
