Hush. Jo Leigh

marble, the artwork on the walls Warhol originals.

      “This is the Pop Room,” Piper said, her heels clicking across the floor. “It’s three-thousand square feet. There are two bedrooms, three baths, butler, secretarial and limo services. It was designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier. Our other penthouses were done by Stella McCartney, Donatella Versace, Zang Toi and Vivienne Westwood. The bridal suite was done by Vera Wang.”

      “That’s a hell of a list.”

      “Good PR,” she said. “They’re all coming to the opening, as are their favorite clients. We’re having several photo spreads done. The GQ will be out next week.”

      “So it’s to be celebrities all the way?”

      “They get the press.”

      “But they don’t pay.”

      “Not in the beginning, but they will. They’ll spend oodles of money here because every star worth his salt wants the world to think they’re the hottest studs to walk the earth. It’s going to be a badge of manliness to come to Hush. And where there are hot, hunky men, hot, horny women follow. It’s as elemental as the tide.”

      “There’s nothing here that these people can’t get at any other hotel.”

      “Why don’t you shove, uh, wait on that opinion until you’ve experienced the entire hotel.”

      “You think I haven’t seen a vibrator before? Come on, Piper. I’m not convinced.”

      “Well, then why don’t you just leave? Go back and tell Nicholas that I’m a very bad girl who doesn’t deserve a penny.”

      “That would be way too easy,” he said, his smirk so annoying she wanted to scream.