by Marni Mann
All three departments made up The Agency, a company I’d opened five years ago with my three best friends, and it was now the largest entertainment agency in Florida.
“Jesus Christ,” I groaned. “I’m not listening to this shit again. We know how well you’re doing. Give it a fucking rest.”
“Why, Brett?” Jack asked. “Having a hard time with second place?” He leaned into the leather couch and crossed his arms behind his head. “When are you pussies going to bring me a real game? You’re making this shit too easy on me.”
“Ten thousand says I’m number one next month,” Max said.
“I’ll take that bet,” I said, loosening my tie.
The R&B singer Max would be signing next week was one of the top in the world. Her contract would be impressive but still not as large as Smith’s. And, when I added Smith and BMW to my forecast along with the renewal of the TV judge, Oscar winner, reality star, and the other deals the agents on my team were negotiating, it would be one of the acting departments largest months.
“Fuck that,” Jack said to Max. “I want your Vanquish, and then we’ll have a deal.”
The Aston Martin Vanquish was Max’s baby, and it was one sexy fucking baby. The car had more horsepower than all three of Jack’s cars combined.
“He went from ten grand to three hundred thousand,” Max said to me, laughing, and then he looked over at Jack. “Not going to happen, buddy. What else do you want? A bigger set of balls? I bet Brett would even chip in for that.”
Jack leaned forward and said to Max, “Hope’s personal cell number. That’s what I want.”
Hope was a country star and Max’s top producing client. Every time her name was mentioned, Jack made it no secret that he wanted to fuck her.
I didn’t blame the bastard. She was one of the hottest clients we represented.
“Done,” Max said.
“Oh, it’s so fucking on,” Jack gloated, now reclining even further back than before.
I held my glass in the air in a silent toast, knowing I had them both beat, and took a swig. When I set the tumbler down, I said, “Where’s Scarlett? She should be here by now.”
Scarlett was our CFO and fourth partner, and we’d all grown up together. Since small kids, living in rent-controlled apartments in Boston, we’d been talking about opening this company. So, we’d all gone to the same college and then to an agency in Los Angeles. Once we’d acquired a solid client base and Scarlett had learned how to run the financials, we’d relocated to Miami to start our own.
That was five years ago, and our success only continued to grow.
“Her text said she had a little more work to do and she’d be late,” Jack said.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to check the screen. The number wasn’t stored in my phone, so no name appeared next to it, just a message that consisted of two words.
Hi, you.
I smiled, looking up to see if the guys had noticed. They were talking to each other, so I typed my reply.
Me: Forgot my name already?
“Excuse me,” a woman said.
I glanced up and realized the woman was standing next to me. Within a second, two more joined her. They were all in short, tight dresses with plumped lips and tits the size of fucking cantaloupes.
“What can we do for you?” Jack asked.
“My friends and I have been watching you guys from across the bar,” the first woman said, glancing around the table until her eyes landed on me. “We’re visiting from Kentucky, and we’re looking for some”—her eyes lowered to my chest and to the zipper of my suit pants and slowly back up—“handsome gentlemen like yourselves to show us a good time.”
I wondered if girls from Kentucky liked to suck cock and which of the three would be better at it. I knew Max and Jack had the same thought in their minds.
None of us had a chance to respond because Scarlett walked up, glared at all three women, and said, “Beat it.”
The women’s eyes shifted over to me.
I laughed, and I heard my buddies do the same.
“She’s the boss,” I told the girls. “I’d do what she said.”
“Cockblock,” one of them snapped at Scarlett before she walked away.
Scarlett waited until they all disappeared, and then she took a seat next to me. We kissed each other on the cheek.
“I’m glad you’re back. These fools”—she nodded toward Jack and Max—“have been driving me crazy.”
“We’ve just been submitting so many contracts, her department can’t keep up,” Jack said.
“My department has no problem with keeping up. It’s your team that doesn’t fill out the paperwork correctly.”
The screen of my phone lit up with a text.
James: I’m a little sore…and I could use some healing.
Me: If I were in LA, my tongue would be all yours.
“Brett, I saw Smith’s contract before I left the office,” Scarlett whispered. Her quiet tone was because I’d texted her from the plane and told her to keep it a secret from the guys. “You had some tough competition. LA was determined not to lose him. New York has been scouting him for months. I’m damn proud of you.”
I smiled at her. “That one negotiated hard.”
“But you got what you wanted, and so did he.”
“Hey,” Max yelled. “What are you two whispering about?”
Scarlett turned toward him and said, “Brett was just telling me about the new curtains he’s buying for his living room.”
“What the hell?” Max snapped. “You’re such a fucking liar.”
I squeezed her shoulder as I laughed.
James: Get on a plane.
Me: I just got off one.
As I gazed up from my phone, I saw the owner of the bar walking over to us.
He stopped in between my couch and Jack’s and said, “Brett, Scarlett, Jack, Max, thanks for joining us tonight.”
“Always a pleasure,” Scarlett replied.
“How’s everything this evening?” he asked. “I hope your cocktail waitress, Natalie, is treating you all right?”
“No complaints,” I said.
“She’s doing a fine job,” Max said.
“Good to hear,” he said. “You know we’re happy to reserve a table for you any night of the week, so if there’s anything I can do, anything you need at all, don’t hesitate to reach out. You all have my personal cell number.”
I shook his hand, and then my eyes went to my phone.
James: Will this help persuade you?
A picture of James loaded onto my screen.
Fuck me.
It only showed her from the waist down, the small freckle on the inside of her thigh proving it was her. She had on the sexiest pair of lace panties, and her hand was reaching into the front of them.
She was touching herself.
Me: It doesn’t hurt.
“Texting anyone important?” Jack asked.
When I looked up, the three of them were staring at me. I turned my phone around, so the screen faced my lap and said, “Nah, just a client.”
“Now, he’s the one lying,” Max snapped.
“Scarlett, take his phone, and check out who he’s been texting,” Jack said.
“We all know Brett would never hand over his phone,” she said. “And, even though I think I’m a badass at the gym, there’s no way I’m strong enough to pry it from his fingers.” She smiled as she gazed at me. “Just fess up. Did you meet someone in LA?”
My eyes scanned all three of their faces. “Maybe.”
“I fucking knew it,” Jack said. “Who is she?”
“She’s nothing yet,” I replied.
“Not what I asked,” he came back with.
“I know what you fucking asked, Jack, and right now, that’s all you’re getting.”
“You’re so stubborn,” Scarlett said.
There were lots of comebacks I could make, but Scarlett didn’t deserve that. She was
speaking the truth; I was fucking stubborn.
That didn’t mean I was going to say a word about James. As far as I was concerned, that conversation was locked.
James: When can I see you?
I scrolled through my Calendar app and went back to the text conversation.
Me: Couple of weeks maybe.
James: I hate waiting.
Me: We have that in common.
James: Tell me something good.
Me: I’m going to look at your photo while I stroke my cock tonight.
James: I wish I could see that.
“Looks like you’re running a little low,” the waitress said, holding the empty bottle in her hand after only refilling Jack’s glass.
“We’ll have another bottle,” I told her.
“Shit,” Max groaned. “It’s going to be a long night.”
5
James
“James, turn your face a little to the left,” the photographer said.
Even though the position was extremely uncomfortable, I shifted my neck in the direction he’d asked and tried to keep the rest of my body still.
“Good,” he said. “Now, make your smile bigger.” He paused while I adjusted. “Just like that.” A few more clicks of the camera and then, “Look down just a smidge.” He shifted to the right and then straight in front of me. “Yesss. Don’t move.”
I wasn’t moving.
I wasn’t breathing.
I was just sweating under these super-bright set lights and sticking to the white table they had my arms propped against, hoping the towel wrapped around me wouldn’t fall. Even though the set stylist had told me she clamped the pins extra tight, I could feel them loosening.
“Bigger, bigger,” the photographer complained. “Show me passion; show me emotion.”
Whenever I did a shoot for Dior, I always worked with this photographer, so I knew what he expected from me. This time, it was to show their new line of eye shadow. The picture chosen from today’s shoot would run in an international campaign with billboards, product displays at all department stores that carried the brand, and online ads, and there would be a digital screen displayed in Times Square.
And my face was melting off.
I couldn’t imagine how much retouching these shots would need.
“Turn, turn—no, the other way. Yes, turn that way. Turn, turn, turn. Now, stop.” He continued to look through his lens, but I didn’t hear the clicking of the camera. “Uh, makeup?” he called. “Where’s makeup? James is looking shiny.”
“I’m here,” the makeup artist said, running over to blot my cheeks and powder the spots that needed blending.
When she finished, the photographer looked through his camera again and said, “Let’s take twenty.” He pointed at the makeup artist. “Clean her up. Start over if you have to. The powder caked to clammy skin isn’t a pretty look, sweetheart.” He looked at the group of set assistants. “One of you, get James a fan.”
I reached around to my back and grabbed the towel, so it wouldn’t fly open when I stood.
The makeup artist went behind me and said, “Here, let me help.” She readjusted each pin to make it tighter and then handed me a robe.
“Thank you,” I said, tying it around my waist.
“Let’s head back to the dressing room, so I can touch up the rest of your makeup.”
I followed her into one of the back rooms, the same place I’d left my clothes and purse, and I grabbed my phone before taking a seat on the high stool. While she slathered more concealer over my forehead, I scrolled through my texts.
There was one from Eve, asking how the shoot was. I typed back that it was going okay and I would see her later when we met for dinner. Then, I opened the message from Brett, which was a reply to the question that I had asked him earlier—Are you going to tell me what you do?
Brett: I’m an attorney.
Me: What kind?
Brett: One who always wins.
The thought made me smile, as it didn’t surprise me one bit.
He had so much power in his body, I was sure he brought even more to the courtroom.
I could picture him in a custom-tailored suit, like the one he’d worn to Chateau Marmont, walking up to the stand to completely demolish a witness’s testimony.
Me: Maybe I need to hire you.
Brett: For what?
Me: For something in LA that requires your immediate presence.
Brett: Immediate isn’t possible, but I can help in the interim.
Me: How?
Brett: Take that thumb you’re using to type and run it down your body until it hits your clit, and then…
I went to the Home screen and pressed the icon for the camera, holding the phone up and to the side to take a selfie.
I attached it to my text and typed.
Me: I’m at a photo shoot.
Brett: Fuck, you’re gorgeous.
Me: Fuck, I want to hear your voice.
In the month we’d been talking, he hadn’t sent me a picture of himself, but we’d video-chatted a bunch of times. One of the things I loved about that was getting to see his eyes. It had been too dark in the bar that night to notice their color, and I’d been too preoccupied at his condo to really take a good look. But, now, I knew everything about them. His irises were a piercing sea green that darkened to emerald near the pupil, and there were tiny specks of gold that weaved through the middle and stretched to the outer edge.
I was obsessed with them.
He knew that.
But he also knew I loved his voice, and I always wanted more of it.
The text screen changed to an incoming call, and Brett’s name appeared.
“Hello?”
“Is this what you wanted?”
My face started to blush. It was his tone, the deepness of his words. The way they ended in just a tiny growl, reminding me of the louder ones he’d made that night at his place.
“Yes,” I answered.
“What are you shooting?”
“Dior makeup.”
“What’s underneath the towel?”
The makeup artist turned on a portable fan and pointed it at me, and then she returned to powdering my cheeks.
“A little more than what was underneath my dress.”
“Fuck,” he hissed. “I need you to show it to me.”
“Tonight,” I promised. “Hey, you told me your assistant would be working on your travel schedule today, so what week are you coming?”
“Do you want me to surprise you?”
The anxiousness in my chest made it hard to sit still. “What does that mean? You’ll show up at my door? At my next shoot? That you’re outside right now?”
He laughed, and that was another sound that drove me mad. So deep and honest and manly.
“It means, something you won’t expect.”
“Now, I’m kinda nervous.”
“I’m not coming to scare you, James. I’m coming to give your body more pleasure than you’ve ever felt.”
I turned down the volume on my phone to make sure the makeup artist couldn’t hear what he was saying. “You mean, it can get better than that night?”
“Yes.”
That was hard to believe.
Since Abel had been my first, I’d learned everything from him, and we’d had great sex. He’d pushed me to try things that I hadn’t thought I’d like but ended up loving.
Like anal.
I was sure Brett was well experienced with that. Still, I wasn’t sure I could handle a dick as large as his without a ridiculous amount of prepping.
The thought made me squirm a little.
When I had been with the Malibu hotel guy, I’d tried to relax and enjoy the feel of his foreign hands. But, after being with Abel for so long, most of it had just felt wrong. I couldn’t get Abel out of my head, and half of the time, I had pretended it was him and not Malibu.
And then there was the night I’d had with Brett, and that was completely differe
nt than anything I’d had before.
It was hotter.
More intense.
It’d consumed me to where I no longer had control over my body.
And, now, he was saying he could give me more than what he already had.
“Wow,” was all I could say.
One of the photographer’s assistants poked her head into the room and said, “We need you back on the set in two.”
The makeup artist pulled her brush off my eyelid and put it back in the holder she wore at her waist. “I’ll see you out there,” she said.
I watched her leave and got up from the stool, moving over to my purse.
“You have to go,” Brett said.
“I do,” I said. “Can I call you when I get out?”
“I’ll call you.”
He said good-bye and hung up, and I slipped the phone back in my bag and returned to the set.
Since the break, someone had removed the table, and now, there was a white rug on the floor and a green screen behind it.
“You’ll be standing for this part,” the photographer said.
I handed the robe to the makeup artist, and she checked the pins behind me to make sure the towel was secure. When I felt it tighten, I dropped my arms to my sides.
“Now, look over here”—the photographer snapped his left hand above his head—“and give me that million-dollar smile.”
It was more like three million, which was a half-million-dollar raise from the last Dior shoot.
“More left, more left. Yes, like that. Now, look at me from over your shoulder,” he ordered.
I took a step back to position my body, and as I pointed my chin across my shoulder, I heard a beep. That was followed by a chime and a siren, even a bark—all sounds coming from the phones in this room. It became even louder as more cells received whatever messages were coming through.
Everyone looked around, and I could tell they were questioning whether they should take out their phones.