Naughty, Dirty, Cocky

  “Did anyone have any luck finding out anything about our incoming client today?” I stepped into our break room. “Anything at all?”

  The majority of the team shook their heads, but Bob raised his hand.

  “I did,” he said pulling a mini notepad from his back pocket. “This detail is from Heather at Ransom & Company. And I quote, ‘He’s sexy as hell and I wish I would’ve fucked him before we parted ways. But I would never work with him again’.” He closed his notepad. “Oh, and apparently he has a ‘huge cock’ that she used to stare at from time to time during their strategy meetings.”

  “Thank you so much, Bob.” I rolled my eyes. “That really, really helps.”

  “You’re welcome.” He laughed. “Do we honestly care what this guy does, though? He gave us three million dollars in advance, and last time I checked, that’s enough to keep us afloat for a while, especially since Drew is relentlessly poaching from us again. As long as he’s not a crime boss or a murderer, who gives a damn?”

  The rest of the staff murmured in agreement and I returned to the conference room. I watched the secondhand tick by on the wall clock—half excited, half worried.

  Please don’t be a crime boss ... Please don’t be a crime boss ...

  Four o’clock passed. Then four thirty. Then five. Then finally, five thirty.

  Convinced that today’s signing session was some type of elaborate joke, I pushed my chair up to the table and headed into my office. I decided to work on the files for our clients who existed in real life, and when six thirty arrived with no sign of RD LLC, I called the bank. I needed to make sure the manager froze that three million until further notice.

  The receptionist was putting me on hold, when a loud knock came to my door.

  “Come in!” I said, and Tina stepped inside my office.

  “Um ...” She cleared her throat, and I noticed her cheeks were a bright pink. “Our potential client just got here.”

  What? “Does he know that he’s two and a half hours late?” I hung up the phone. “Go ahead and send him in.”

  She walked out and the door opened seconds later.

  I forced myself to smile, prepared my lips to say, “Hello and welcome to Lauren & Associates,” but the second the “client” stepped into my office, I felt all color leaving my face.

  “My apologies for being late,” he said. “My board meeting was—” He stopped mid-sentence and stared at me, letting that familiar, sexy smirk from last night slowly form on his lips. Today he was wearing a three-piece black suit with a sapphire blue tie, and he looked even sexier than he did last night.

  As he continued to look me up and down, I bit my lip to prevent my jaw from dropping—silently hoping the floor would suddenly open beneath my feet and swallow me whole.

  “I was told this was someone named Penelope’s office.” He stepped closer to my desk, his eyes moving from my face to my silver nameplate. “Last night, you told me your name was Rachel. Did you not?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. —” I stood up and extended my hand to him, “What exactly is your name, sir?”

  “My name is the same as it was hours ago when we were fucking,” he said. “Ryan. Dalton is my last name, though.”

  “Well, it’s nice to finally get an actual name from you, Mr. Dalton,” I said. “And it’s very nice to meet you for the very first time in my life, because we have never met before this exact moment in time. You can have a seat.”

  He smiled his perfect pearly whites and sat in the chair.

  Tina walked in and set a few glasses of water and a fruit tray on my desk before leaving us alone again.

  “Mr. Dalton, is there any reason why you didn’t tell us exactly who you were instead of using a coded LLC name?”

  “There are plenty of reasons.” His eyes met mine. “Before I go there, though, is your real name Rachel or Penelope?”

  “It’s Miss Lauren.”

  “Okay, Miss Lauren,” he said. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had the best luck with publicists in this city and my reputation tends to precede me everywhere I go. I wanted a chance to introduce myself personally instead of letting the words of the tabloids and the press do it for me.”

  He leaned back in the chair and it suddenly hit me. Ryan Dalton of Dalton International Estates and Realty. The self-made real-estate tycoon and owner of over a hundred commercial properties and vacation properties. A revered billionaire, yet a complete and utter playboy.

  I’d never paid too much attention to the tabloids or the lifestyle section in the newspapers, but I’d heard stories here and there about certain socialites who made me happy that I didn’t have to represent billionaires or clients who attracted such a high level of media scrutiny.

  “Are the images of last night finally coming back to you?” he asked. “Is that why you’re staring at me?”

  “Nothing happened last night. If it had, I think I would remember it.”

  “You don’t remember orgasming five times?”

  “No.” I blushed. “Let’s get back to talking about you.”

  “I left you an important note on your dresser.”

  “I never got it.”

  “You never got it, or you never read it?”

  “Both.”

  He laughed his deep, sexy laugh and stood up—pulling an envelope from his breast pocket. “These are my terms. I need you to agree to them before we can go any further with talks.”

  “What?” I was confused. “You’re asking us to represent you and you think that you can set the initial terms before we even get to the real initial terms? With all due respect, that’s not how the client-publicist relationship works. We need to talk now.”

  “We can talk after you sign my NDA.” He pushed the envelope closer to me. “You also need to agree to comply with my company’s representation terms for legal reasons. Surely you can understand why someone like me would need that.”

  “Right ...” I stared at the envelope and stood up as well. “So, honest question. Why did you even bother requesting a signing meeting if you knew you were only going to drop off a stifling stipulation contract?”

  “Well, for one, I’ve already paid you three million dollars for your services.” He looked amused. “Two, I like to personally meet whoever I’m going to be dealing with, to ensure that they possess the proper temperament and stamina to handle me.” He looked me up and down again, sending my nerves into a frenzy. “Although, if I had known I would be meeting you again, I would’ve been more than aware that you’re capable of handling every inch of me. Repeatedly.”

  “Mr. Dalton ...” I hated the way my body was reacting to him right now. “I really would prefer if we at least talked a little bit today. This just isn’t how I normally do business with my clients.”

  “Are any of your normal clients paying you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Then I think I’m more than worthy of an exception,” he said. “Read the contract. If you’re open to accepting the terms, meet me at my Manhattan headquarters tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. The address is stapled to a business card I’ve included and we can discuss things in my office where there’s actually more than ten square feet.” He looked around my office. “I think the terms are quite fair, so I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Miss Lauren.”

  I still didn’t answer him.

  “Should I assume that you’re going to continue to pretend as if we’ve never previously met?”

  “We haven’t.” I crossed my arms. “I’ll look at the contract and tell you my decision either way, Mr. Dalton. Have a great day.”

  He smiled and looked me over one last time before walking out of my office, placing the final cherry on top of what was now officially the worst day of my life.

  ONE DAY LATER

  THE CLIENT

  RYAN

  There has to be a way I can get out of these boring ass meetings ...

/>   I pretended to pay attention as the members of my board discussed the same ten topics they’d discussed for the past two months. Global Initiative. Press Plan. Stock Options. Repeat. It was as if they needed to incessantly reassure themselves that they’d voted to do the right thing, and I was wondering if I could go back in time to when I was nineteen years old and turn down their start-up funding.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee as the financial officers began reading their monthly report, letting my thoughts drift to the only thing I was truly able to focus on this morning: Penelope.

  Images of her puffy red lips and that black dress she was wearing yesterday were replaying in my mind every five minutes. They’d seamlessly joined the images from the night we ‘didn’t meet,’ when she rode my cock for hours and let me fuck her against her bedroom wall.

  I loved the way she screamed my name when we fucked ...

  “Are we boring you, Mr. Dalton?” The lead board member, Nathaniel, interrupted my thoughts. “I’m scared to ask whether you’ve been paying attention to anything we’ve said.”

  “You should be,” I said. “I’ll look at my brother’s notes later to see if anything new was said today.”

  “Ugh ...” He groaned. “Plenty of new things were said, but we’re making sure that we are all on the same page in regards to the global initiative. You know, that initiative we hope to launch as soon as possible, as long as our beloved CEO can make a needed turn around with his public image.”

  “Your beloved CEO refuses to make any promises.”

  His face reddened and he looked as if he was going to launch into one of his usual, “You are so damn impossible” tirades, but my brother held up his hand.

  “I’ll be happy to let you all know that Ryan is meeting with a brand new public relations firm today,” he said. “He’s assured me that they seem like a perfect fit for him.”

  “Like that means anything.” Nathan mumbled. “Same shit, different day. They’ll quit like all the others, and my money is on two weeks. Max.”

  There were murmurs of agreement around the table, and Leo shot me a “Please don’t fuck this up” look.

  Thankfully, he steered the subject toward our goals for the rest of the year and brought the meeting to a much-needed close minutes later. As the board members filed out of the room, he motioned for me to stay behind.

  When the last of the members was gone, he let out a breath and loosened his tie. “What’s the name of this new firm you’ve hired?”

  “Penelope Lauren and Associates.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.” He pulled out his phone and tapped his screen a few times. Then he rolled his eyes and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Ryan, this firm isn’t even in the mid-level class of PR firms, and they have a staff of five. Well, six if you include the founding partner.”

  “I’m very impressed with your reading abilities. Please read me some more.”

  “It takes ten people to handle the logistics of a single month for you,” he said. “Twenty when you start talking about multiple conferences and travel plans. So, please don’t tell me that this is the only firm you could get on the phone.”

  I didn’t answer. We both knew that was the case.

  “What about Drew & Associates?” he asked. “I found them yesterday and they’re almost a first-tier firm that seems to be doing pretty well.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled a few words on the back of a business card. “Whenever this Lauren & Associates firm realizes they can’t handle you, which will probably be minutes after meeting you, give this Drew firm a call.”

  “Good to know you have good faith in my decision-making skills.”

  “I only have faith in your business decisions, not your personal or publicist ones. Speaking of which, where were you Sunday night? I didn’t see you at the Oasis ribbon cutting ceremony.”

  I smiled, but I didn’t answer.

  “Ryan,” he repeated, looking confused. “Where were you Sunday?”

  “You told me to stop telling you about my sex life months ago. I’m remaining silent because I’m honoring that request.”

  “Jesus Christ ...” He held up his hands in a mock surrender and headed toward the door. “You’re lucky I’m your brother and CFO.”

  “I’m well aware.” I tucked the Drew & Associates card into my pocket and headed to the elevator, taking it straight to the top floor.

  “Good morning, Mr. Dalton!” Linda greeted me as soon as I walked by her desk. “Your eleven o’clock just made it through security downstairs. Should I have her wait a bit when she arrives to our floor or send her right in?”

  “You can send her right in,” I said. “Did the interns set up the coffee bar and contract tools like I asked?”

  “They did, sir.”

  “Good. Thank you.” I let myself into my office with my keycard and looked around, making sure everything was exactly how I preferred it. Then I realized, once again, that my office alone was twice the size of Penelope’s entire firm.

  I wasn’t sure why I appreciated the fact that her staff didn’t immediately start giving me a rehearsed pitch like the other firms, but I found that quite refreshing. Not only that, but not a single one of them sent me a string of follow up emails with that annoyingly familiar and overused, “So glad you came to see us today!” subject line.

  I walked over to my windows and pressed a button—forcing the curtains to draw open and expose a gray and rainy view of Manhattan below. I pushed the coffee cart over to my desk and picked up two cups for me and Penelope.

  As I was setting out the sugars, Linda’s voice came over my speakers.

  “Miss Lauren has arrived to the floor,” she said. “I’m sending her in now.”

  “Thank you, Linda.”

  The door opened seconds later and Penelope stepped inside wearing a light beige dress that made me completely forget what the hell we were supposed to be talking about. Her full lips were painted in the same ruby red lipstick she was wearing when we first met and they perfectly matched the apple colored heels she was wearing.

  I could literally stare at you all day ...

  “Good morning, Mr. Dalton.” She walked over to me and extended her hand.

  “Good morning, Miss Lauren.” I shook her hand and resisted the urge to pull her closer to me and initiate a much-needed round two. “You can have a seat now.”

  “You have to let go of my hand first.”

  I let it go and waited for her to sit down before doing the same. I watched as she pulled a few colored folders from her briefcase and set them on my desk. She bit her bottom lip and mumbled a few words to herself before looking up at me.

  “Would you like some coffee before we begin?” I asked.

  “No, not at all. I don’t plan to be here that long.”

  “Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrow. “Did you need more time to read over my terms?”

  “No, I read them all just fine.” She slid the yellow folder to me. “Here’s the non-disclosure agreement you asked me to sign, so no worries. If another firm calls to ask me about you, I won’t dare tell the truth or let them know that you’re practically a borderline psycho.”

  This better be some type of joke ... “Come again?”

  “You heard me.” She opened another folder, a blue one. “I spent all night researching you and your issues before I read over your terms, so I find it quite ironic that you’re the one who needs a firm to help clean up your public image and work on your behalf, but the things you’re demanding make that completely impossible. In fact, most of what you’re requesting is worth far more than three million dollars, and I can now see why you paid it upfront.”

  I started to ask what the hell she was talking about, but she continued to speak.

  “First of all, you demand that we don’t book you for any interviews, and you refuse to practice getting any better at them?” She flipped a page. “This is coming from the man who said he can’t live without ‘fucking’ on live morning
television last year? I don’t think so.”

  “Furthermore,” she said, talking a mile a minute, “I’m not sure why you think you’re above attending strategy sessions with the team, but I’ve never allowed any client to skip those and you won’t be the first. Huge bank account or not.”

  “Okay, Penelope, Rachel—whatever you want your name to be today.” I’d had enough of this shit already. “You can get the hell out of my office now.”

  “I can get the hell out when I’m finished.” She glared at me, parting her sexy ass lips and I lost my next words.

  At that moment, Leo stepped into the room, but he didn’t make his way over. Instead, he simply stood by the door and stared at us, staying far out of Penelope’s view.

  “Second of all,” she said, looking down at her folder once more. “You demand that someone from my team be available on a twenty-four-hour basis to personally make your coffee, ensure your dry cleaning is handled, and fetch your breakfast and lunch whenever you ask for it. That is never happening at Penelope Lauren & Associates. We are not interested in being a second branch of personal assistants for you.”

  “Did you miss the part where I said you could get out of my office?”

  “Third ...” She ignored me. “You have some nerve to make a list of over fifty ridiculous demands that must be met on a weekly basis. They’re so beyond realistic, that I’ll be surprised if any firm agrees to this.” She tossed the folder onto my desk and narrowed her eyes at me. “Even though this has made me see that you are unbearably cocky and impossible, I’ve done you a favor and made a list of things that I think will help soften your image over the next few months. I’ve also printed out the definitions of a few important terms you should know whenever you start searching for your next PR victim.”

  I wanted to interrupt her never-ending rant, but I was aroused with every word that fell from her ruby red lips.

  “Finally,” she said, standing to her feet. “I wish you all the best in your search for a publicist, Mr. Dalton. And so we’re clear on the last checkbox of your term sheet, I’ll verbally confirm it as you require: No, I will not represent you, and no, I will not agree to agree to any of your outlandish rules. Also, for the record, no I did not receive your handwritten note.” She finally took a breath. “I’ll be sending you a refund of your payment later this afternoon.”