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could have had something special. Let me tell you what he didn’t,” Pamela said.
    “I am an Ivy league graduate. I have a Harvard MBA. I’ve opened casinos in Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and the French Riviera. I’ve worked for the Santangelo’s, the Lucchetti’s and the Gambino’s. I am the best at what I do, and I’m at the top of my game. I didn’t get here looking like Fuck Me Barbie either. We’re going to get you some new clothes.”
    Caprice crossed her legs. She thought her bright dress fit right in with the fun atmosphere of Atlantic City. She resented being called Fuck Me Barbie , but she didn’t say anything to Pamela. She would quickly see that she was much more than a bad bitch, as Aries had often referred to her.
    Pamela continued to talk as she drove towards Caesars. She talked just like she walked and drove…fast. Caprice found it difficult to keep up.
    “At four o’clock today, we’re going to walk into a room filled with horny old men who would rather fuck you than give you a dime of their money. Domani would never have the problems with investors that you are going to have. I cannot have you walking in there looking like a pin up girl.”
    Caprice rolled her eyes. She didn’t look like a bimbo, as Pamela was suggesting. She looked like a college educated twenty-two year old woman with great taste in clothes.
    “I’m not unfamiliar with board meetings and investors,” Caprice informed her. “This isn’t my first time to the rodeo.”
    Pamela gave a smart little giggle. “You’re talking about that little cosmetics company that you have in Miami? I’m talking about a two hundred million dollar casino. Don’t ever try to compare the two. When you’re as big as Covergirl, then we can make comparisons, okay?”
    Caprice’s mouth snapped shut. The words “two hundred million” made her suck in her breath. Two hundred million dollars to build a casino in Atlantic City? What the fuck? She decided not to say anything else unless she was asked. One of the last things Domani had said to her was,
    “ Don’t give Pamela any of your shit. Just shut up and listen .”
    Besides, the sound of two hundred million dollars was still swirling around her head, making her speechless.
    Caprice spent the next three hours in the Michael Kors store at The Pier Shops trying on skirts, blouses, and jackets and trying to remember all of the names and credentials of the investors as Pamela fired them off. For the first thirty minutes, every dress or skirt that Caprice chose was met with a stern disapproving glare from Pamela.
    “No pink! No yellow, no orange! You’re not in Miami! Gray, black, navy, cream, white…those are your colors,” Pamela had yelled from across the shop. “More Olivia Pope, less Basketball Wives, understood?”
    When Caprice had changed into a solid black fitted blazer and matching skirt, with a sleeveless silk blouse, Pamela smiled her approval. As Caprice admired her new look in the mirror, she remembered something Diesel had said to her, before their world was turned upside down.
    “ You look like the next CEO of Bank of America .”
    She certainly felt like it. And the five grand worth of new clothes were definitely CEO clothes. She made arrangements for her new wardrobe to be delivered to her condo. She and Pamela headed to the Taj Mahal for their dinner meeting. They were twenty minutes late.
    Pamela talked and Caprice listened as they walked into Robert’s Steakhouse.
    “First thing,” Pamela advised, “never be on time with this group of men. They’re all assholes who think they’re more important than they really are. Show up late to let them know you don’t give a shit about their time because your time is more important than theirs will ever be. The only time you’ll need to meet with the entire syndicate is when something is wrong.”
    “And something is wrong?” Caprice guessed. “This isn’t just a ‘meet the new boss’ kind of meeting, is