Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [91]
And before Armand could object, he made a swift exit.
Fouad is a pathetic excuse for a man, Armand thought. Why do I continue to put up with his inadequacies, his American wife and his stupid children?
Not that he’d ever met Fouad’s children; truth was, he’d only encountered the wife on two occasions. A blonde from Tennessee, she was boring and bland and not even that pretty. She’d ruined Fouad, turned him into a sheep incapable of functioning properly in the world of business. That’s why the meeting to buy The Keys had failed. Fouad’s wife had cut off his balls, rendering him weak and ineffectual. Lucky Santangelo had sensed weakness and used it against him. Conniving whore.
Yes, Armand was sure of it. Now it was up to him to make certain the sale happened.
He paced around the living room of the villa – not nearly as luxurious as the Presidential Suite he had occupied at The Keys.
After a while he laid out several lines of coke and soon imbibed all of it. Fortunately he always travelled with a full supply – courtesy of his New York dealer who took care of keeping him well stocked.
By the time Fouad sent up the information on Lucky Santangelo, he felt ready to not only rule Akramshar, but the rest of the world too. He was flying high, angry and resentful. He needed to vent his frustration at not getting what he wanted.
Picking up the phone, he called Yvonne Le Crane.
Yvonne was not pleased to hear from him. She did not appreciate her girls being stiffed. If they failed to receive the full amount of money they were due, it meant less commission to tuck into her latest Prada purse – Prada being her current obsession. When Armand Jordan got on the phone and demanded more girls, she was less than friendly, especially since a certain important person in Vegas had been asking questions about him.
‘You didn’t pay my girls everything they were due,’ she accused.
‘The two women whom I did not pay for extra services were inexperienced and unprofessional,’ Armand stated coldly. ‘It does not reflect well on your services.’
‘My services are the best in Vegas,’ Yvonne retorted, quite insulted. ‘My girls are clean, beautiful and honest.’
‘Your girls are filthy whores,’ Armand sneered.
‘If that’s what you think, then I suggest we cease doing business and end this conversation.’
‘No. We will not end it,’ Armand said sharply, his anger building as he leaned over the coffee table to snort another line of coke. ‘You will send me two girls. Big breasts. Thirty thousand. Cash. Have them here at six. I am now at The Cavendish.’
Yvonne was silent for a moment. She didn’t trust Armand Jordan, and even though she’d never met him, there was something off about him, something she didn’t like. Several of the girls she’d sent to him before had all complained that he was a crass pervert, and for them to complain was quite unusual.
However, it occurred to her that she didn’t have to send him her girls; there were other places she could obtain talent. Armand Jordan was a sicko; he wouldn’t know the difference since all he chose to do was debase and humiliate them, so what the hell? Above all else she was a businesswoman, and thirty thousand dollars was a tempting amount of cash.
Yes, Yvonne decided, she would send Armand Jordan exactly the type of girls he deserved.
Chapter Thirty-Three
After the board meeting, Lucky met with Danny who filled her in on Armand’s furious exit. ‘What a misogynistic asshole!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s demented. A crazy man. Who is he anyway?’
Danny had printed out everything he could find about Jordan Developments, but as Lucky flicked through the thick file, she discovered there were no personal details about Armand at all. Wikipedia supplied scant information; there was nothing about where he was born, just a brief mention that he came to America at the age of eight, the schools and college he attended, and that his socialite mother, Peggy, remarried an investment banker – since deceased. Who was her first husband? Obviously Armand’s father. There was no