by Cassia Leo
Edible
The Sex Tape
Cassia Leo
Contents
1. The Meeting
2. Bye-bye, Birdie
3. The Dirty Truth
4. The Sex Tape
5. No One Will Ever Know
Thanks!
Knox
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Also by Cassia Leo
About the Author
Copyright
The Meeting
Present Day
At twenty-six years old, I was pretty proud of the fact I’d never actually been on a job interview. In fact, I was so proud of this that, as I walked into the lobby at Pringle & Windsor Management, I was certain my confidence alone would get me a contract. It didn’t matter that Pringle & Windsor was the most prestigious entertainment agency in the business. It didn’t matter that I was coming in here asking for representation after a falling out with my previous agent. It didn’t even matter that I was fresh off a two-year stint in county lockup. I was certain the moment I walked into that office and turned on my charm, Barry Pringle would sign me right there on the spot.
I’ve never been more wrong.
The lobby at Pringle & Windsor’s Manhattan office is modern and cold. The boxy gray sofas with no arms and asymmetrical glass coffee table look like they could take an eye out if you tripped in here. I approach the receptionist with her sleek black hair pulled back in a ponytail and her blunt-cut bangs half covering her vibrant blue eyes.
“I have a ten o’clock with Mr. Pringle.”
She raises her eyebrows and draws in an exasperated breath as she shakes her head. “You obviously didn’t check your voicemail. Mr. Pringle had a family emergency. He tried to reschedule all of his appointments last night. He’ll be back from his ranch in Montana in eight days. You can wait until then or you can meet with another one of our agents. There are a few who’ve agreed to take his appointments.”
“I came to see Barry. I can’t reschedule. I can’t book another trip to New York. And I can’t talk to another agent. This is my career.”
She tilts her head looking unimpressed. “Those are your two options, sir. You can reschedule or you can see another agent.”
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. “Fine. What are the names of the other agents?”
“We have Fred Burton, Jacob Waterstone, and Elara Brinkley. They are all taking Mr. Pringle’s appointments in the interim.”
My lips curl into a warm smile as I run my hand over my half-inch of dark stubble covering my head. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
She stares at me for a moment, unable to speak, then she shakes her head. “I’m Olive.”
“Olive? What a beautiful name. Olive, I’m not sure if you know who I am.”
“I do. You’re… You’re Max Milan…. You just got out of jail.”
I nod slowly. “Correct. Do you listen to my music?”
“Yeah. I love ‘Whipped.’ That was my favorite song last year.”
I try to ignore the physical pain in my chest that comes when someone reminds me how popular I was last year. I was in prison last year. But during my twenty-two months in jail, the landscape of electronic dance music changed. There are more opportunities out there for EDM musicians than ever before.
But I don’t want to take just any job. I want my penthouse back. I need an agent who can get me another Vegas contract.
“Well, Olive, then you’ll appreciate how important it is that I meet with the right person today. Of the three agents you just named, who’s the youngest?”
“Elara. She’s, like, twenty-six or twenty-seven and she just started working here a few months ago.”
“And Barry trusts her with his clients?”
“She’s really good. If you go with her, you’ll like her.”
I hook my thumb into the pocket of my jeans and discreetly point to my crotch to focus Olive’s attention on my sizable bulge. “Do you think she’ll like me, Olive?”
She blinks as she shifts her eyes away from my crotch to look me in the eye. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. She’ll definitely like you.”
I wink one of my green eyes. “Good. Let’s reschedule with Elara.”
Olive nods and picks up the handset on her corded phone. “Miss Brinkley? I have a Mr. Milan here to see you. Are you available?” Olive’s eyes dart toward my face and I wink at her again. She tries to suppress a smile as she goes back to staring at her phone. “Yes, of course. I’ll let him know.” She hangs up the handset and appears breathless as she looks up at me. “You can go right in. Her office is through that corridor,” she says, pointing at a beechwood door to the left of her desk, “the third door on the right.”
“Thank you very much, Olive,” I say, my eyes locked on hers. “I won’t forget your kindness.”
I can actually see her blush through all the pale makeup caked on her face. I slip through the door and into a bland hallway. From here, I can see the end of the corridor opens onto an open lounge area where they probably all congregate to eat their sack lunches of turkey sandwiches or leftover Chinese, finished with a cup of espresso from their coffee pod machine while bitching about their famous clients. Boring office life. I don’t know how people deal with it.
In fact, that’s what got me into trouble two years ago. People do the darndest things to break up the monotonous patterns of their lives. I should have known the good times would be over soon when my ex-girlfriend, Bridget Kazarian, the sweetest ass I’d ever fucked suggested we make a sex tape. So sweet I had to pretend to be monogamous to keep her. So sweet and always game to try something new. We used to role play all the time. I think one of my favorite scenarios was when we pretended that I was her teenage boyfriend who’d just climbed through her window and stumbled upon her slumber party pillow fight. That scenario required us to enlist a third party.
But that was Bridget; always putting me first. Which is why she quit her internship in California to live with me in my Vegas penthouse. I was doing four shows a week at the MGM Grand when she moved in. And, of course, it was Bridget who had the idea to make the sex tape. She even titled it Edible.
Not that I put up much of an objection, but I’d just like to state for the record that it was her who brought it up. How the fuck was I supposed to say no? I wasn’t. The only problem was that, once our tape got leaked online, she didn’t want to make any more videos. And I needed a sequel.
That’s the biggest mistake you make when you get a taste of something that tastes so good but is so bad for you. I should have let it go. Just accepted that Bridget and I would not be making any more sex tapes. But I couldn’t. And it all went downhill from there.
I reach the third door on the right and it’s open just a few inches. Pushing it inward, I mentally prepare myself to knock this interview out of the park. So what if Barry Pringle isn’t here. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to call me and tell me he had a change of plans. He just pawns me off on one of his new agents whose name I’ve never heard before today.
No doubt Elara Brinkley will be some amateur junior agent, maybe even an intern, who knows nothing about booking EDM shows and securing sponsorships and deals. At least I’m more than guaranteed a contract now that the interviewer is young and female. Women can’t resist me. There’s a reason they used to call me DJ Edible. I’ll have Elara eating out of my hand before this interview is over.
I push the door all the way open and my jaw drops. “What the fuck?”
“Is that how you greet your ex-girlfriends nowadays, Max?”
“You’re not, Elara!”
“Yes, I am.”
“You changed your name?”
“So did you, Harry Johnson!”
I
glance behind me to make sure no one heard her speak my real name, then I hastily shut the office door. “Is this some kind of trick?” I say, turning back to Bridget, or Elara. Whatever the hell she’s calling herself nowadays. “Did you set this up to get back at me?”
She cackles as she leans back in her white leather desk chair. “Oh, puh-leeze! How did they even fit you inside a jail cell with a head that big?”
“Same way I got inside you. Lots of lube, baby.”
“Get out!”
We stare at each other across the glass desk for a moment. I take in her new wavy chestnut brown locks. I used to love her blonde hair, but she looks even hotter as a brunette. Her blue eyes are burning into me, daring me to make a comment about the change in her appearance or her new name. She’s hiding… because of me?
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but all I’m thinking of is that sex tape. It was her idea to record us having sex. Not mine. But, of course, I was blamed when someone hacked my computer and stole the video. I was just as surprised and angry when the video ended up on TMZ. Though, I must admit, a small part of me felt it was my duty to show that tape to the world. A sexual encounter that hot, between two devastatingly delicious human specimens, should not be kept hidden away on a laptop. It must be studied and savored the world over.
I can walk out of this office and walk out on my chance to work with the best entertainment agency in the business. Or I can suck it up and put all the bullshit in our past behind us for the sake of my career. I mean, she obviously knew I was coming. The receptionist just rang her office to tell her I was here. And she didn’t order the receptionist to throw me out onto the street. In fact, the receptionist mentioned that Elara’s only been working here a few months. She’s probably desperate to land a hot client. Maybe we can behave like civilized human beings for the sake of both of our careers.
But first, I have to make sure she knows she doesn’t have the upper hand in this situation.
“Fine. If you want me gone, I’ll leave.” I turn around and grab the door handle then look at her over my shoulder. “You look beautiful, Birdie.”
I push down on the handle and pull the door inward. I have one foot outside her office when she calls out to me.
“Wait!”
Bye-bye, Birdie
Four Years Ago
Geezer was supposed to meet me in the penthouse at six to give me the bird, but he’s late, as usual. I know I’m not supposed to get mad at a sixty-three-year-old man for having a small lapse of memory, but Geezer isn’t like most old folks. He’s my grandfather and he’s one badass motherfucker.
He was born Gerald Johnson in 1947 to Irish immigrant parents in Minnesota. My mom once told me that Grandpa Jerry came out of his mother’s vagina with his middle finger pointed at the world. It was no surprise to his parents when he got his Native American girlfriend pregnant when they were both just nineteen years old. My mom, Julissa Johnson, popped out nine months later while Grandpa and Grandma were protesting the Vietnam war in California.
They decided to settle there with Baby Julissa, who really had no chance growing up in a household with hippies. My mom practiced free love and snorted a lot of cocaine until the late 80s. She didn’t know whose name to put on my birth certificate in 1988, so she decided to take out her frustration on me by naming me Harold Gerald Johnson. Harry Jerry Johnson. Just let that sink in for a minute while you imagine my school years. It’s really no wonder I dropped out at the age of fourteen.
But it all worked out for me. Having an enormous leg-up in the party scene helped me become one of the best DJs in Southern California. By the time I was seventeen, I was booking gigs at the hottest clubs in Hollywood. Back then I was DJ Edible. Terrible name, but girls couldn’t resist my soft seventeen-year-old skin. I lost track of the number of girls I’d fucked by my eighteenth birthday. That’s when I decided to change my name to Max Milan and get an agent. The next four years were kind of a blur.
I got a record deal and did shows all over the world until I settled on a Vegas show that would pay me double what I was making on the road. And I’d still get to fuck girls from all over the world since people flocked to Vegas from everywhere. It was a no-brainer when I accepted the Vegas contract.
I guess I didn’t really foresee the fact that a significant part of my set would not be related to music. The producer of the show wanted me to have an exotic bird on stage with me. Tourists love to see performers interacting with animals. I tried to tell them to go to hell when they suggested I perform the whole set with a black eagle perched on my shoulder. But my reluctance to submit to their crazy suggestions didn’t last very long. I wanted to keep this gig. I’d hate myself if I threw away the opportunity to make fifty-grand a show. If that meant letting an eagle shit on my shoulder every night, then so be it.
So this morning Geezer offered to take my new best friend, Killer the black eagle, to get groomed. He was supposed to bring Killer back by six p.m. so I could be at the MGM by seven for sound check. But it’s 6:12 p.m. and I’m standing in the lobby of the Mandalay Bay waiting for Geezer because he got sidetracked and had an hour-long conversation with the bird groomer. Killer needs his talons filed every week or the leather jacket I wear on stage won’t protect me.
I’m leaning up against a large column in the lobby with my hood pulled tight over my head, trying to keep my head down so I’m not recognized. But, as usual, it never works.
“Max Milan?”
I look up and find a group of five girls lugging designer suitcases and staring at me, their mouths gaping. If I didn’t have a show in three hours, I’d take all five of them up to my penthouse right now. But I’ve never missed a show. I don’t know what would happen to me if I did miss one, but I’m sure it would involve me giving up the penthouse and Killer.
“Good evening, ladies.” I flash them my sexiest smile and I can practically hear them creaming in their panties. “What brings five beautiful ladies such as yourselves to Vegas?”
The tallest girl with the pink streaks in her hair speaks first. “A bachelorette party.” Her voice is a bit raspy and I imagine her crying out my name in that voice as I fuck her hard from behind. “I’m the bride,” she adds with a smirk.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I reply and they all chuckle. “It was nice meeting you ladies, but I have a show to get ready for. Enjoy your evening of debauchery. And make sure you stop by the MGM to see my show.”
I head toward the exit where Geezer has just entered with a birdcage covered in a black cloth. His wrinkled skin is flushed pink from the 110-degree heat. I take the cage from his hand and pat his shoulder.
“Take it easy, Grandpa. You know old people are more likely to die of heat stroke.”
“Who are you callin’ Grandpa? I warned you about that, son.”
I chuckle as I peek under the black cloth to make sure Killer is looking okay. “All right, Geezer. Go get yourself an ice-cold Ensure and ask Grandma to change your diaper. I’ve got a show to do. See ya later.”
“You wish, bird-fucker,” he grunts as he heads for the exit.
I shake my head as I make my way toward the elevator lobby. I manage to avoid being recognized, but when I reach the lobby I find a gorgeous blonde waiting for the sliding doors to open. I’ve been known to convince many hot elevator companions to come up to the penthouse with me. It’s hard to resist pussy when it’s practically served up on a platter. But I don’t have time to get sidetracked. I have to be at the MGM in forty minutes.
The blonde glances at me, her sleek hair bouncing as she turns her attention back to the elevator. She’s wearing a skin-tight black dress that’s draped low on her back. Either she’s not wearing a bra or she’s wearing some of those stick-on bra pads that girls wear under their tits when they wear backless clothing. I stare at her round ass for a moment before the elevator dings and she heads inside the cabin.
I follow her inside and she smiles as she watches me set the birdcage down on the floor. Killer is
making soft rustling noises as he moves around inside his cage.
“I can’t help but notice you staring at my bird. Would you like to touch it?”
She looks up at me like I’m crazy. “Excuse me?”
“I’m going to have to ask you to wash your hands and put on some protective gloves first. I’m using him in a show tonight.”
She still looks confused for just a split second, then something registers in her striking blue eyes. “What kind of show?”
I flash her my sultry half-smile and her mouth drops open a little. “I’m Max Milan. I work in the MGM. I have to be there pretty soon for a show. I’m a musician.”
“What kind of musician?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.
This is too easy.
“EDM: electronic dance music. The future of music.”
“EDM?” Her smile fades. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“That’s okay. Come up to my penthouse and I’ll play something for you. And I’ll even let you touch my bird.”
She chuckles as the elevator stops on the 19th floor. The doors slide open and she stares at the elevator lobby as she contemplates whether or not to take me up on my offer. Finally, she turns to face me, one eyebrow cocked skeptically.
“You have a show here in Vegas? You must be pretty famous.”
I let out a brief chuckle. “You may not know me now, but I guarantee you that won’t last.” She looks a little taken aback by my confidence. “I just mean that my first album with a major label hits next month.”
“Major label?”
She smiles as she lets the elevator doors slide shut, then we both stand in silence as the cabin climbs to the penthouse level. This girl is probably a gold digger or, even worse, an attention whore. I should stay far away from her. Especially since I have a show in a few hours. I don’t have time to fuck her the way I want to fuck her. But I can’t stop looking at that ass.