Finders Keepers Edie Baylis (phonics readers .TXT) 📖

‘I don’t know what’s happened, but I don’t fucking like it!’ Nero said, shaking his head in frustration.

Keith watched Nero stalk off and stared at his now empty pint glass. Nero wasn’t the only one who didn’t like it and he didn’t even know what it was.

He knew what he should do, but could he really betray his most long-standing friend and throw him to the wolves? Could he throw himself to the wolves at the same time? Because that’s what would happen.

Keith dragged himself back to the bar. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he would have to do something one way or the other.

WATCHING THE SHOW, Heath found it refreshing from the previous strip shows he’d seen - and there had been quite a few – mainly in low-end Soho clubs, strippers on stag nights and the slightly different range available in the strip and live sex shows he’d frequented during lads’ weekends in Amsterdam.

The show – or cabaret, as they called it at the Feathers, was an altogether different type of performance – a burlesque show; more tantalising than straightforward strip or pole dancing offerings.

Aside from the gorgeous, scantily clad women moving fluidly like mercury on the stage, the whole atmosphere was enjoyable. The immaculately turned-out staff, impeccable table service, luxurious and opulent surroundings and the well-dressed clientele – encompassing an even number of both men and women, made the Feathers more akin to the Moulin Rouge. Not that he’d ever been to the Moulin Rouge, but he’d heard about it and seen plenty of photographs. Either way, he was impressed.

But now it was the intermission, he’d check his messages to make sure he hadn’t received any frantic texts or voicemails from his father.

Heath frowned. Leaving work tonight, he’d had to make up some cock and bull about being invited to a mate’s posh work do, hence the request for the tuxedo, but he couldn’t help but feel paranoid that his father had found out what his real plans were. His father had almost had a coronary at the concept of going anywhere near the Feathers when he’d broached the idea as a possibility weeks ago.

Glancing at his mobile, he was relieved to see no notifications and quickly shoved the phone back in his pocket, then looked around, not forgetting the whole point of coming here wasn’t to ogle the gorgeous birds. The point was to gain insight into the nerve centre of the Powell firm where the latest boss spent most of his time - the member of the Powell family who was the most likely to have stolen the jewels from Dulcie Adams. The jewels that should be his.

By anyone else’s logic, a car salesman taking it upon himself to steam in to pilfer jewels from under the nose of one of London’s gangland firms might seem both insane and impossible, but Heath didn’t care. Ability was only ever hindered by believing there were limits. And yes, he may be a car salesman, but his grandfather was involved in this game, so it must run in his blood too.

Suddenly feeling fingers tracing lightly along his collar, Heath turned to find the woman from the reception leaning over his shoulder. As she moved her manicured talons to rest on the edge of the table, his gaze moved to the cleavage now directly in line with his eyes. Holy shit – this bird was as hot as shit off a shovel!

‘Hello,’ Lena purred. ‘I thought I’d see if you were enjoying the cabaret?’

‘Take a seat,’ Heath indicated to a spare velvet upholstered chair around his glass table and crossed his ankle over his knee, giving the impression of being laid back, when really he was desperately hiding his rapidly growing arousal.

He indicated to an ice cooler in the centre of the table. ‘Champagne?’

Mimicking Heath’s body language, Lena crossed one of her long legs over the other, the movement showcasing the length and shapeliness of her thighs. ‘That would be lovely.’ She allowed her full lips to part sensuously. ‘So, what do you think? Of the show...?’

Heath could barely bring himself to take his eyes off this ravishing stunner long enough to even think about pouring the woman a glass of bubbly. He must concentrate, but by God, this chick was so fucking sexy it hurt. ‘The show’s fantastic!’ he said, pouring Lena’s champagne. ‘Really good.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Lena said, her eyes purposefully moving to Heath’s mouth. Men loved it when a woman stared longingly at their lips. It gave their egos more of a hard-on than their cocks and she needed to get his cock hard as well as his wallet to make sure the Feathers benefitted from his business.

‘Tell me more about your work, Heath. The music industry, you said? Do you know any famous artists?’

Heath grinned cockily. Now this he could do. He’d spun this old chestnut so many times recently he’d almost convinced himself he was a music producer for real. ‘I’ve signed many well-known names,’ he boasted, the practised lies tripping off his tongue like honey. He leant forward conspiringly, wishing only that he could bury his face in the heaven between this woman’s massive knockers. ‘But I’m sure you appreciate I can’t give away names. Especially the artist I’m signing tomorrow.’

Lena feigned a look of impressed surprise and put her hand to her mouth to accentuate her alleged amazement of this egotistical prick’s abilities. ‘Wow! How exciting!’ she gushed. ‘Do you have parties to celebrate new signings?’

Heath leant back in his chair, like signing celebrities was an everyday occurrence. ‘Oh yeah, all the time and...’

‘Have you thought of hosting them here?’ Lena asked. No opportunity like the present. ‘Your Platinum membership gives you a substantial discount on catering or bar bill packages and I presume you’re aware that you’re guaranteed a booking for the VIP suite!’

Heath blinked. You thick shit, he thought. Why did you not think of this? ‘What a great idea. I’d