Million Dollar Road Read Online Free

fact, Con decided, the clients were on the verge of begging for it.
    Pouring the last of the wine into Hiro-san’s long-stemmed glass, he said casually, “And of course, we’ll want your letter of credit before the close of business on Tuesday. Let’s get the paperwork done back at the farm, and then later I’ll pick you all up at your hotel. We’ll do dinner tonight in New Orleans.”
    Set the hook, Obi-Wan, you scoundrel, Con thought as he gave the group a broad wink. “You enjoyed Rick’s Cabaret on your last visit, right?” Rick’s was the ultimate lure, a French Quarter strip club of no small renown where the girls were young, agile, and frisky. “We’ll hit Bourbon Street,” Con said with an easy smile, “once we’ve finished our business, Hiro-san.”
    â€œYesh,” the older Japanese man slurred. “Very fine, hai .” He raised his glass in a toast.
    Done. All done except for the signatures. Con breathed a little easier, although he hadn’t been particularly worried about this deal. The bill for lunch came to $648.09 plus tip, but you had to spend it to make it and Alligators times Demand equals Money. Big Money.
    After he paid the check and put the receipt in his wallet, Con waited outside by the Lexus with his jacket over his shoulder, watching while the thoroughly tight Japanese weaved like addled ducklings across the torrid parking lot. Tina’s square-jawed face was determined as she herded them toward SGE’s gleaming black Escalade, but the Japanese weren’t stumbling, not quite, and the farm manager somehow got them all loaded up into the car in creditably short fashion.
    Con lit a cigar, tossing the spent match into the Lemon Tree’s landscaping, and waved good-bye to Demand as the Escalade pulled out of the lot. Alligators he had. Demand he would satisfy.
    Hell, he was beginning to sound like Yoda now. It had been a long, boozy lunch. Con had unlocked the car, letting the pent-up heat escape, when the door to the restaurant swung open. The hostess poked her blond head out, searching for someone. Her professional smile melted into delight as she spotted Con.
    â€œMr. Costello! I’m so glad I caught you before you left. One of your guests forgot his phone.” Jennifer tripped out to the Lexus, her high-heeled sandals exaggerating the length of spray-tanned legs Con had judged to be perhaps a little on the meaty side. She held a tiny, state-of-the-art cell phone in the palm of her hand.
    â€œThanks, Jenny,” Con drawled. He took the phone, his fingers brushing hers. Those hazel eyes were set a blink too close together, but her long, long lashes shaded cheeks the color of sun-kissed apricots. Nice, Con thought. Very nice indeed.
    â€œSay, feel like getting a drink with me sometime?”
    Jennifer smiled, looking surprised and happy. “I’ve got a double shift today, but I get off at eleven tonight.” Those shining eyes. “And tomorrow night, if eleven’s not too late,” she said, her voice shyly hopeful.
    Tomorrow? Friday night. Too bad, Con realized. Fridays belonged to his wife, to Liz, but he’d find a way to ditch the Japanese before Jen got off work tonight. Rick’s scene was getting a little old anyway. Like a cruise-ship buffet, the club’s staggering abundance of girl flesh rendered the spread somewhat less than truly appetizing.
    â€œMaybe I’ll see you later tonight.” Con’s intimate smile was just for her.
    â€œThat would be great .” Jennifer waved on her way back inside the Lemon Tree.
    Alone in the parking lot, Con puffed on his cigar for another minute, grinning, and then he climbed in his car. He cranked the engine. The CD player picked up where it left off, Mick Jagger wailing above the Lexus’s throaty purr.
    But if you try sometimes, you get what you need.
    Hey, Mick—Obi-Wan always gets what he wants.

    â€œNot