Free Poor Little Bitch Girl by Jackie Collins

the cab or go with Chip.
    Chip honked the horn.
    Moron . The last thing she needed was attention. Thrusting money at the cab driver, she turned around and headed for the Mercedes.
    “Where exactly were you?” she demanded imperiously, sliding onto the back seat.
    “Traffic,” Chip whined. “It’s a miracle I got here as fast as I did.”
    “You’re fired,” she snapped, taking out her frustration on her erstwhile driver.
    “No way,” Chip said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. “’S’not my fault this city has more traffic than a nest fulla ants.”
    She was silent.
    “You don’t look so good,” Chip ventured, narrowly avoiding a meandering jaywalker. “You feelin’ okay?”
    “Just be quiet,” she muttered, seething with anger. “I pay you to drive, not talk.”
    Chip swallowed a smart reply. She’d fired him once; if she did it a second time, she might actually mean it. And he didn’t want to lose his job. It was some cushy set-up.
    * * *
    Sharif Rani was in the middle of an important business meeting when one of his many cell phones began to vibrate in his jacket pocket. Excusing himself from the conference table, he took out the vibrating phone, and realized it was his sex phone – the one he used to arrange all his liaisons. Sharif Rani had a very jealous, very young, fourth wife, not to mention a slew of business acquaintances who would love to get something on him. Hence the sex phone, which was listed under one of his minions’ names, and used only to set up his ‘special’ appointments. The caller ID identified Belle Svetlana.
    Goddamn it, why was she calling him? Belle was only supposed to use this line to confirm his “appointments.” And the rest of the week was all taken care of – a different woman every other day – women hand-picked for him by Belle. She knew what he liked.
    He contemplated not answering the phone, then decided it was probably wiser to do so in case Belle had to change one of his appointments.
    “Yes?” he said, lowering his voice as he moved toward the door of the conference room.
    “Sharif?” Annabelle questioned, her voice quivering with the fury she would soon unleash on him.
    “What do you want?” he said irritably.
    Annabelle was in no mood for a sharp retort. Surely Sharif Rani knew exactly what she wanted? He’d set her up with a sex-mad teenage monster – certainly not a virgin. Now he had to suffer the consequences.
    “I . . . can’t believe what you did to me,” she said, almost tripping over her words, she was so angry.
    “What do you want?” he repeated, his tone getting icier by the second.
    “I want . . . I want . . .” Trailing off, Annabelle realized that she didn’t know what she wanted. An apology, yes, that was it – an apology for setting her up with such an uncouth piece of crap, Sharif’s so-called son. And another thing – she wanted the boy to apologize too! Boy! Ha!
    “Your son is a pig!” she blurted. “He treated me badly. He was rough and rude and disrespectful. You told me he was a fifteen-year-old virgin, and you know that’s not true. I want—”
    Annabelle was so busy complaining that she didn’t hear the click on the other end of the line.
    When she discovered he was no longer there, she was enraged. Rani Sharif had hung up on her! The man’s manners were appalling. Just who exactly did he imagine he was dealing with?
    A little voice in her head whispered, “Hooker. Whore. Prostitute.”
    These were words she did not wish to contemplate. She was none of those things. She was a stylish, rich New Yorker, who’d succeeded on her own without any help from her movie-star parents.
    Tears of frustration filled her eyes. Where was Frankie when she needed him?
    * * *
    Frankie was in a strip club getting a lap dance from a sulky redhead with huge fake breasts and a very active tongue. The stripper was busy licking his neck when it suddenly occurred to him that getting pissed at Bobby and M.J. was a waste