“Oh God.”

Her hand now gave mine a shake. “Babe, listen to me, the dresses, the phone, the car, the VIP section, not his MO. Wynkoop’s, definitely not. Intel is still comin’ in but it’s slow and there’s not much to be had. But if he was a man on the town, it wouldn’t be. People would see him and report back. They haven’t. His life is this club and his condo. The girls go there then the girls leave there and, more often than not, don’t come back. And they don’t go there for a steak, heart to heart conversation about their dead parents, a nap then he takes them out to eat and sends them home without a kiss. Nor, to my knowledge, does he show at their house in the middle of a night finally to get that kiss. He’s into you. If he was a big spender, his f**k buddies would be reigning supreme in one of these sections and doing it regularly. From what I heard, you are the first.”

I was rethinking having shared such detail about my Knight Encounters but, alas, too late.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this before we went out?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to see him with you to know what all the rest meant. Now I know. He’s into you and not for a f**k. He’s just into you.”

My eyes shifted over her shoulder and I muttered loudly, “Cocktail waitress, two o’clock.”

Viv let my hand go, turned to my side and I smiled as the waitress arrived and I accepted my San Pellegrino.

Viv turned to the cocktail waitress and asked baldly, “You know if Sebring set up any of his other women in their own VIP section?”

Oh God, Viv and her curiosity. She was an assistant catering and banquet manager at a swank hotel. She should have been an investigative journalist.

The waitress got pale, I could tell even by the club lights.

She swayed away but answered politely, “Mr. Sebring doesn’t allow gossip.”

“We won’t tell,” Viv assured.

“I can’t take that chance,” she replied. “I’m sorry but when I say Mr. Sebring doesn’t allow gossip, I mean, if he found out, I’d lose my job.”

Wow. Interesting.

Viv looked at me. “See what I mean?”

I gave her wide eyes and looked back to the waitress. “Sorry, she didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“If he asks, tell him I didn’t say anything,” she stated and I felt my brows draw together.

But I answered, “Okay.”

“It was a big thing, me getting a VIP section. He only picks the right girls for that. This is my first. He gives you a bonus if you get a section like this because sometimes the drinks are free or go on a tab and they forget to tip. Rich people, they do that a lot. Even celebrities, they get so much free stuff, they can be not such hot tippers. Or that’s what the girls say who’ve worked these sections. So Mr. Sebring gives a good bonus. Way beyond any tips you can make and he gives it even if you make tips, like your friends are giving tonight. I want to do it again. I have a kid. I can use a bonus, regular-like. So, you know, his woman, her friends curious, he might get that you’d ask me then ask if I spilled. You’ll tell him I didn’t, right?”

“Right,” I said quietly but she still heard me. I knew this from the relief on her face and I figured she was a dab hand at hearing stuff through loud music since she had practice.

“You need another water,” she tipped her head to my water then looked at Viv with her half-full martini, “or a Grey Goose martini,” she smiled gamely, showing she remembered Viv’s order, “you just call me. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Viv replied.

“And I’ll tell him you did a good job,” I added but she shook her head.

“You don’t have to. He’ll know. He watches. From his window. He sees everything or one of his boys does. That’s why I think he might ask you if I spilled, in case he sees me right now or one his boys does and reports it to him because they tell him everything.”

“Well, if you’re nervous, you don’t have to stick close, honey,” I told her.

She nodded. “No offense but Mr. Sebring’s rules are, no matter who the celebrity, everyone in the section gets attention so I should do a walkthrough.”

“Go right ahead,” I offered.

She nodded again, smiled then took off.

I looked at Viv to see she was looking after the waitress.

Then her head turned to me and she grinned.

“You’re a celebrity.”

“Uh, Viv, didn’t you think that was weird?”

“Uh, Anya,” she leaned in, “yeah. What did I tell you? The man keeps his shit tight.”

I didn’t like this.

“You don’t like that.”

I blinked, my head jerking and I stared at Viv.

“Get out of my head,” I ordered.

“Girl, I’ve known you eight years and you’ve been my best friend seven and three quarters of those eight years. It’s impossible for me not to be in your head. So I’ll repeat and use an example this time. Sandrine, we both have been watching for six years that girl trying to land the golden goose. You landed yours. No matter how bumpy the ride gets, listen to your Auntie Vivica, hold the f**k on.”

My back straightened. “Knight’s not a golden goose.”

She leaned in and her face was serious. So serious, I held my breath.

“He is. He absolutely, one hundred percent is… the… golden… goose. And that’s dresses, phones, shit-hot apartments, Aston Martins and a beautiful man who only has eyes for you and makes the world melt away when you two are together even if that together lasts five minutes. There are very few women who meet men like that in their lifetime because there are very few men like that alive. And there are fewer women still who recognize it, take care of it and move heaven and earth to keep it. Now, listen to me. Hold. The. Fuck. On.”

“Okay, Auntie Vivica,” I whispered.

She leaned back, grinned and ordered, “You waver, you call me.”

I sucked in breath.

Then I agreed, “Okay.”

Her eyes dropped to my hand then back to me.

“San Pellegrino?” she asked.

“Knight doesn’t want me drunk,” I answered.

She grinned again. It was slower. It was knowing. And her eyes got warm.

“You do the nasty, you also call me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t care if he makes you sign a contract and sues your ass for telling me. I wanna know how that man is in bed.”