by Evans, Katy
“You’re saying cash is my language when clearly it’s more yours than mine. And I can talk Dollar just fine, like I said, but I have other interests too. Right now. For example. You.”
“Excuse me?”
“What if I decide I want you?”
My eyes widen and my lips part, and for a second, I feel a little vulnerable because I don’t know how to respond to that. I’ve never been come on to by a guy who tells it like it is in the way this devil does. It’s infuriatingly sexy, and it makes me want to negotiate with my body. Great. Like I’m the prostitute now? “Not an option,” I finally force out.
“Then I’m not interested.” He stands.
Wait. He can’t be turning me down. I offered him more than he probably makes in . . . I don’t know. A lifetime? I mean, he nearly killed himself for five hundred bucks, and he won’t help me for three months for two hundred times that?
He takes a step toward the door. Then another.
I’m losing him.
My heart races as I follow him. Is he serious? He’s leaving?
“Wait! James, wait!” I rush around to stop him and realize I’m out of breath when he stares at my rapidly rising chest. “Five hundred,” I blurt. “I’ll pay you five hundred thousand. But for that much, you’re going to have to agree to a few things.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“First, I’m not part of this deal. If you accept this offer, I’m your boss. You have to stop acting like you want to get in my pants 24-7, because frankly, it’s infuriating.” And I might have a moment of weakness and give in. “That’s not how a Banks man would behave. You have to have a little bit of decorum. Tact. Got it?”
He lets out a low laugh. “So a Banks man . . . doesn’t fuck?”
I ignore him. “Second, I know you’ve got your own business, and you’re building something for yourself. You have a lot of followers and people connect with you, and I respect that. What you learn with me can help you take it over the edge and make you into an even bigger success—but you’ve got to help me first. Your business is not priority now. For the time that you work with me, you’re exclusively on my project—which includes you NOT being Jimmy the YouTube guy and instead being James Rowan, the perfect man that I will teach you to be,” I say. “So. From now on, you have to be James, suave, sophisticated, and debonair. But I can’t have you dressed like a prince and getting in bar fights and doing crazy stunts while you’re working for me, or whatever it is that you do or are.”
“Daredevil.” He studies me for a long moment before scanning the corners of the ceiling, suspicion creasing his forehead for a long moment until he seems to be struck by a realization. He’s suddenly groaning, “Fuck this. Who put you up to this? Is this like a candid camera thing?”
He whirls. Takes another step toward the door. Definitely looking frustrated and annoyed by the thought of being played.
“A million!” I shout at his broad back. “Okay? One million dollars. But I won’t go any higher.”
He freezes. He doesn’t turn around. “One million?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
It’s another full ten seconds that he just stands there, frozen, before turning back to me.
“So, let me get this straight. You want to make me into an exclusive, hoity-toity dildo for a new clothing line? Is this some sort of joke?” His eyes darken, but I can’t tell if he’s pissed because he thinks I upped the price to avoid being in his bed or if he’s intrigued because $1 million in three months is a sweet deal.
“Look around. Does it look like I’m joking?”
“Yeah.”
I arch a brow. His smile fades when he realizes I’m serious.
“So as I asked before . . . do you have any questions?”
“One.” His gaze is intent, determined, lethal. “Why me?”
“Nobody else would do it. Any other questions?”
He eyes me. “Your boyfriend wouldn’t do it?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m waiting for the perfect man. The real version of what you’re going to play. Any other concerns?”
“One more.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Where do I sign?”
MAKINGS OF A GENTLEMAN
An hour later, I’m on the phone with Jeanine, whose law firm has helped Banks LTD on numerous occasions. “Can you draw up a contract for me, please?”
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” she says, so many times I’m afraid she’s stuck on repeat. “Do not tell me.”
“Come on,” I beg. “You’ll see. He’ll be good. He may be a diamond in the rough now, but when I get done with him, every socialite in the city will want to be on his arm.”
“Doubtful. But fine,” she huffs. “I warned you. What do you need?”
I set the phone down and call James into the room. “I’m sitting here with James Rowan, the man I told you about. You’re on speaker.”
“Technically, you didn’t tell me much about him. You just sent me a piece of his ass.”
“What’s she talking about?” James asks, a stern edge to his voice.
My face heats.
“James, meet Jeanine, my attorney, who failed to keep client privileges when she blabbed all about the picture—a snapshot of your ass, no less—that was sent to her earlier via confidential text messaging.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You took a pic of my ass?”
I give him an apologetic shrug.
“Right,” she says in a slow, sarcastic drawl. “Lizzy knows I like to see the people I’m working with. But not just their asses. Let’s go face to face?”
I snort. She only insists upon that when the guy is as hot as James.
“Hang on,” I say, pressing the button and propping up the phone in front of James while waiting to connect. “Okay, there.”
“Nice.” She focuses on James. “Can you turn around so I can get a better look at the merchandise?”
Exhibitionist that he is, he stands up, but I push him down. “Jeanine,” I warn.
“Relax. I want to see if he’s worth the mill.”
“I’m worth it, baby,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I want half the money up front.”
“Not a chance,” she says.
“It’s fine, Jeanine.”
“I’m in charge here, Lizzy,” Jeanine says, looking out for my interests. “What experience do you have, James?”
“What kind do you need?” The brash, hard-driving alpha cocks his sexy head, and his eyes darken.
“Um . . . being photogenic? Acting?”
“I have it all, lady.”
“References?”
“Plenty.” He shoots me a crooked smile. “Check my YouTube comments.”
“YouTube? Oh boy,” she mutters. “Lizzy, give us a few minutes to work out the details.”
“Perfect.”
They discuss our contract while I pace the living room. When they’re finished, I hear him say, “Deal.”
I blink. Holy shit. Did I just get myself the face for our Banks LTD new menswear line? This bearded, crass, dirty-talking daredevil? Where the hell am I going to even start with the guy?
“We have a little under three months total, including one month to teach you the basics before we start touring and paying visits to the biggest store buyers in the country. The two biggest shows are West Coast, in five weeks, and New York, a few weeks after that. There’s also an ad photo shoot. After that, you’re off the hook.”
“I’m not doing shit until I get the money that lawyer just promised me,” he dares me as he flings open my fridge and takes out a quart of milk.
I swallow and take out my checkbook. “Do you . . .” My mouth runs dry. I’m nervous. “Do you take checks?”
“Checks, cash, sex. As long as it’s smoldering-hot grunge sex.” He’s undressing me with his molten eyes, and I squirm in my seat.
What exactly is grunge sex? It sounds positively divine. I cut my gaze up at him. With this man, any
kind of sex would be earth shattering. “What did I tell you about that?”
“I’m kidding, Lizzy.”
He called me Lizzy. My heart sort of flutters. It sounds as sweet as the aforementioned sex, the sex that he claims to joke about.
The sex that I need.
The sex that I can’t stop thinking about.
SEX WITH HIM.
“Of course, if you’re interested, say the word, and I’ll make it happen.” He guzzles down the milk directly from the carton, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve as I give him a warning look. “And yes to the check.”
“Great.” I’m glad he clarified. He keeps this straight face as if he wants me to wonder how far he’d go, how far he could take me.
“You won’t hear from me again until it’s cashed.”
“Wait, what does that mean? Where are you going? Remember, you have to keep this under—”
“Relax. I don’t want people to find out I’m your paid monkey-suited Banks puppet any more than you want people to find out.”
“How do I know you won’t back out on me? I need some insurance. And don’t drink directly from my milk quart! You’re so much work already!” I groan, already feeling my stress level rise. I mean, I told him, stop it with the coming on to me 24-7, and he’s clearly not following that part of the deal. Will it be as hard to get him to follow any of my directions?
James takes another long guzzle, then covers it and shoves the carton back in the fridge, walking back to me as he digs into his back pocket and takes an envelope out of a torn wallet.
“Inside that envelope is one of my most prized possessions. I’ll be back for it when my half a million dollar check is cashed.”
I pick up my phone and read Jeanine’s text:
Pay him half but send him on his way with some firm instructions. If he owes back rent, utilities, anyone or anything, have him pay his bills. This guy is the face of your new line. He should look the part. Talk later.
“Top cabinet, to the right. That’s where the glasses are. For your milk.”
He ignores me, still holding out the wrinkled envelope. There’s a new somberness in his eyes. I take the envelope, staring down at it, tempted to open it but somehow feeling like I have no right to. I set it carefully aside, and we stare.
“Deal?” he asks, his gaze intent.
“Deal.” I slip my fingers into his large, long tanned ones, palms connecting as we shake.
It’s like I’ve got a hold of temptation’s hand, and that comparison drives me to release him and say, “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Rowan.”
“Jimmy.”
“James.”
THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF JAMES’S LIFE
We exchanged phone numbers before he left, and now I’m heading to work, angsty as I reach the Banks corporate building. A part of me is hopeful about the deal I just made, while another part is still blown away by my ballsy move.
My whole life I’ve tried my best to be as perfect as possible, but I’m never really sure that I buy my own act. I’m not sure my dad buys it either. Hence, my desperate need to prove myself to him.
Though our menswear suits line was my idea, that’s not enough to satisfy my dad’s need to know that I can handle this business—in every aspect. And I don’t want to disappoint.
I’m fretting over how to introduce James to my dad. He will ask about progress. And I’m not ready to introduce them yet. I need time. I step into the elevators of the Banks corporate office, chewing on my inner cheek as I try to think of what to do, when LB steps into the car with me.
Ugh.
Nearly a head shorter than me, balding, and always simpering with his beady little snake eyes, LB Lee, my dad’s right-hand man, always goes out of his way to derail my perfect plans. As thirsty to be CEO as me, his success rides on my failure. Right now, he’s the last person I want to see.
“Going up to the executive floor?” he asks, obviously noticing the lit button.
I nod.
“Appointment with your dad?” he presses.
“Nine a.m. sharp. You?” I feel special because I’m his first.
“Nine fifteen. I’m early.” He shoots me a boastful smirk as if this makes him better than me, his eyes glinting in glee.
Early . . . or snooping? I want to ask.
I don’t think anyone aside from HR really knows what LB stands for, but all I know is he’s worked here since I was in elementary school. I like to think his initials stand for “Little Bitch” because, well, the reference fits. LB is a yes-man and kisses Dad’s ass for sport. To make matters worse, Dad relies on LB for just about everything, which must only fuel LB’s belief that one day he’ll hold the corporate reins and close to a billion dollars in assets.
Sometimes I dread that if Dad doesn’t take me seriously . . . LB will succeed.
When we arrive at the top floor, I step out and notice my dad’s office doors are wide open. Which means he isn’t in.
I take a seat in one of the chairs outside in his waiting room, greeting one of his two secretaries with a smile.
LB goes up to kiss her ass and pulls out a candy from his briefcase for her. Like one of those pervert strangers that offer poisoned treats to kids or something.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, when suddenly the elevator opens, and my dad steps off, zooming straight toward his office doors.
“Good morning, Mr. B.” The secretary hurries around her desk to greet him.
“Elizabeth,” is all my dad says, ignoring LB as he disappears inside.
I leap to my feet and follow him inside.
“Good news, Dad. I have secured the perfect man for our campaign.”
Dad shrugs out of his crisp black suit jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair before taking a seat. “Is it Johnson? Where is he?”
He’s looking around as if I have him stuffed in my briefcase.
“Well . . . no . . .” I glance around the collectibles in the office as if I lost my explanation somewhere there. “He’s going to cash the check, so it’ll take a few days to get the contract squared away.”
I exhale after that. That will at least buy me a few days.
“Right, then. I expect to meet him. Next week?” He flips on his phone to check his calendar, as if ready to schedule me. “Anyone I know?”
“No. Which is even better. He’ll be fresh to the market and blow any of the options I previously showed you out of the water.”
He lifts his head, his bushy eyebrows flying up in wonder. “Really? I’m intrigued.”
I nod happily, nerves curving like pretzels in my stomach. “Yep. Prepare to be wowed.” I use my hands to make an exploding motion.
Okay, Elizabeth, this is overkill, and he’ll know something fishy is up. Stop overselling!
I’m rescued by the phone ringing on his desk, and I exhale a ragged breath as Dad picks up with a brusque “Yes? Aha. Put him through.” He listens to the other end, his expression darkening. “That’s correct. If it’s ready for me to view, I’ll take a flight out today. Don’t make me waste my time,” he warns before he disconnects the call.
“That was Steven Marx on the phone. We’re well underway on the final expansion of our Minnesota warehouses. I’m flying to Minneapolis. I’ll be home in a few days—if I don’t decide to tour some of our other storage facilities afterward.” He stands and summons his secretary, who appears at the door with LB.
Dad waves LB into his office, and I cringe when LB says, “Mr. B., Elizabeth. Always a pleasure to see you both so early in the morning.”
“What a fraud,” I whisper under my breath, but Dad’s scowl proves I was louder than necessary.
“LB, I want you to be Lizzy’s second on this menswear-line launch. It’s our biggest launch in years, and it has to be perfect.” I feel LB’s superior smile as my father looks at me. “I want you to keep him up to date on the preparations. All preparations. West Coast Fashion Week is not very far away. Do you understand me?”
He motions to his secretary about needing to book a flight to Minneapolis, ASAP.
After Dad collects his laptop and some files, he plants a kiss on my cheek. “If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
“She’ll be fine,” LB says.
I want to deck him until Dad beams. “Of course she will. She has you.”
On second thought, decking is for sissies. I want to kick him. In the balls. But I smile politely and give my dad a beaming smile.
“Please. I’m a Banks. I don’t need anyone to be fine. I’ve got everything under control. Don’t worry, Dad. Leave everything to me.”
“And LB,” he reminds me, as if everything I just said went in one ear and out the other.
“Right,” I mutter. UGH.
LB smiles at me. “Elizabeth, we should set up a meeting later to go over everything you’re working on.”
Grrrr.
I step out and leave them to their business, heading to a lower floor, to a temporary office I’m using for now.
I’m thinking hard as I head to my desk.
Dad’s business trip couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s just what I need to get James on the straight and narrow gentlemen’s path. But how am I going to get LB off my case?
Suddenly, it comes to me. There are two main things I’m tasked with for the new menswear launch. First is getting our new face photographed and ready for the events. Second is scheduling all the meetings with various buyers to introduce him around. If I handle the first one and give LB my list of buyers so he can schedule our meetings, then he won’t be able to tell my dad I’m keeping him totally in the dark. And if he asks to see the model, I can fudge a little.
I can do this.
I spend all day working on the plans for the big launch as well as reviewing our designs, then head home at five p.m. Pulling out my phone, I text Jeanine as I ride in the back of a company car home.
Any news on my guy?
Jeanine: You mean sexy Thor with dark hair and perfect ass?
Me: I checked my bank statement online. He hasn’t cashed the check. I need that to happen asap so I can get started.