Diana glanced over at Set, seeing her quarry slip from her grasp. He wasn't quite running off, but any straying from Paparazzi's tractor beam of attention bothered her on some vague, unimportant level. In a California bar like this, where the girls had worse boob jobs than their nose jobs and there was blood in the bathroom sinks, anything could happen.
Walking by him, she slipped a finger into the waistband of his pants and tugged lightly, pulling him towards a table. "C'mon, Red, entertain me."