Playing for Love

by Mel Curtis

  “Don’t we all?” Amber sighed, tilting her head at Blue. “I don’t suppose you had any luck getting Gemma to open any files or divulge secret passwords?” They’d traced some of their father’s internet banking transactions as far as contractor number, amounts and dates yesterday, but they had to assume the paper trail was locked up tight in the drawers behind Gemma. Amber was stealing herself to do her Queen’s guard impersonation, standing over Gemma until she gave Amber what she desperately wanted.

  “Gemma said soon,” Blue said, his eyes taking on an excited spark. “Guess what? I gave Jack Gordon my cell number last night and he called this morning. We’re having a late dinner with Evan Oliver tonight.”

  A late dinner? That sounded more romantic than business-like. Amber refused to dredge up the way her nipples hardened with Evan’s face nestled between them. She would not remember the heat of Evan’s lips pressed demandingly against her own. Or count back to the last time she’d worn sexy lingerie – much less rhinestone studded stilettos – to bed.

  Not only did Evan Oliver ping her pong, he was a camera magnet. The kind of man Amber avoided.

  Wait. What was she worried about? Amber was the CEO here. She could throw her weight around a little. Amber raised her chin and met Blue’s gaze squarely. “You’ll be going alone, Blue.”

  “Jack Gordon requested you, remember?” Blue dragged his leg and Mr. Jiggles around the side of her desk, giving Amber a brief once-over. He tossed her ball cap onto the desk.

  “Hey! Someone might recognize me from the window.” Her skin prickled as if someone was watching her, waiting with a camera for just the right incriminating shot.

  “These tinted windows are too dark to take a picture through during the day,” Blue said scornfully. “Tell me you won’t be wearing that to dinner tonight.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?” Amber looked hip in a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a Farennikov form-fitting T-shirt, with a pair of red Fendi slingbacks. Trina would have liked that Amber was showing her curves…if she’d left the zippered velvet Adidas hoodie at home. Or at least unzipped.

  “Did you see how Oliver went for you? We need to bring out the heavy artillery.”

  “Okay, that was wrong on so many levels.” Amber settled the ball cap firmly on her head and considered putting her sunglasses on. “My days as Chief Entertainment Officer were short but now over.”

  Typically, Blue ignored her. “Tonight you dress up, put on a bit of perfume. We buy Oliver a drink or two. You get him to open up and talk about himself and we’re bound to get some results.”

  “Results?” Blue scared her. “Have I told you I’m considering becoming a nun?”

  “God didn’t give you what he gave you…” Rare color bloomed on Blue’s chiseled cheekbones. He looked away. “Maybe I’m saying this wrong. The Flash is a high profile client. We need to look like we’re worth the money.”

  The gist of Blue’s message was similar to Trina’s. Only when Blue said it, Amber felt sick. “You’re not pimping me out.”

  Blue held firm. “You know how important this is. We can’t survive without Dad’s existing clients. This is the only business client we found in that file drawer of yours.”

  “We’ll find another way.” Although what that would be she had no idea.

  “The Flash is our biggest client.”

  “You don’t know that. We won’t know for sure until we see the records.” Amber leaned sideways until she could see Gemma at her desk. “Gemma! We need those files. Now.”

  “Think about it, Amber. This takes a big chunk out of our sales goal.”

  “Our sales goal?”

  “Amber, I thought we were partners.”

  Sometimes Blue looked so sincere that Amber almost forgot he could be a jerk. Like the time she was sixteen and Blue stole her diary (the one with the panty nibbling event in it) while they were visiting their dad over Christmas break. He brought it to school, shared it around and eventually sold it to a sleazy online tabloid. That rag hadn’t printed panty-boy’s guilt, choosing instead to expose Amber’s unrequited love for teenage star, Kent Decklin.

  “If we don’t get the Foundation back on track we won’t have anything,” Blue said. “You heard what Jack Gordon said – a two year contract.”

  Trapped, Amber considered pounding her head against the wall. She didn’t want to see Evan again. Just thinking his name sent her body throbbing down memory lane, calling her a liar. Her body begged to see Evan again. Three years without sex was starting to wear on her. “Okay. If I agree to this dinner meeting tonight, you have to promise not to leave me alone with Evan Oliver.” Six-foot six inches of hard bodied temptation. Amber shivered.

  “I’m not going to abandon you.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Scouts honor.” Blue held up three fingers.

  “I’d feel a lot better if you’d actually been a boy scout.”

  Blue’s grin was unrepentant.

  Gemma dropped a very small stack of colorful file folders on Amber’s desk. “These are the current clients.” She dropped an even smaller pile of yellow folders next to it. “And these are our service providers. Now, I need to study for a test.”

  “That’s okay,” Amber said, extending an olive branch. “As long as you keep answering the phones.”

  Gemma turned up her nose. “According to my contract, I don’t have to ask you.”

  “Flexible jobs like this are hard to find,” Blue pointed out before Amber could challenge Gemma about having a contract. “Do you think you could wear a pair of shoes that you didn’t buy from Army Surplus tomorrow?”

  Being as tall as she was, Gemma wielded a mighty glare. Lucky for Amber it was directed at Blue.

  The phone rang.

  Gemma continued to stare Blue down.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Blue raised an eyebrow.

  “Here’s your stupid password.” Gemma tossed a pink Post-It at Amber and then marched to her desk, each step an earthquake to the coffee shop below them. Mr. Jiggles galloped after Gemma, freezing obediently when she spun on him and said, “Don’t!”

  “That was impressive,” Blue commented, reaching for the service contractor files as Mr. Jiggles trotted back to gnaw on his pants leg. “I can’t get that dog to do anything.”

  Amber stared at the small pink square. Welcome1. She should have known her father would use one of his Rules. Now they had everything they needed to make the Foundation work. Relieved, Amber powered up the red laptop and entered the password.

  Gemma, who lacked a warm phone voice to begin with, practically barked at their caller. “What do you want? We’ve got a serious shoe situation here, buddy. Miss Rule can’t deal with your nocturnal hang ups.”

  Amber didn’t know whether to reprimand Gemma for her phone manners or thank her for keeping the riff-raff of L.A. away from her. She shuddered to think what all her new Facebook friends were going to post.

  “Uh-oh.” Blue opened a file and perused the contents.

  “No. No uh-ohs allowed.” Amber clutched the arms of her chair. “I’ve already had two uh-ohs today.” Without her wanting to, her eyes cut to the sports page still sitting on the corner of her desk and then back to her Facebook page.

  Blue shushed Amber. “Gemma? Can you come here a minute?”

  The young receptionist clomped back down the hall to Amber’s office, just as Dooley’s laptop played the opening Microsoft chords.

  Blue shut the laptop from his side of the desk.

  “Hey,” Amber protested.

  “This is more important,” Blue said, an edge to his voice. “We do have a sex therapy coach, don’t we, Gemma?” Blue angled his chair so he was facing their receptionist, who stood in the doorway. “The question is, why didn’t Gemma tell us that?”

  Amber fell back in her chair.

  Gemma crossed her arms over her chest and stood in the doorway, but the stance lacked much of her earlier defiance.

&nbs
p; “Spill it,” Blue demanded.

  “You didn’t ask.” Gemma’s chin jutted out, but her gaze drifted to the window. “And Amber told me to turn all those calls away.”

  “After some guy offered to lick my body like a melted popsicle.” And people wondered why Amber had given up on the spotlight.

  “You could have recommended he sign up for our sex therapy program.” Blue dropped the file on top of the sports section. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because no one asked. They all just want to have sex with her.”

  Mortification beat out anger at the stubborn receptionist. Amber cradled her face in clammy palms. “There must be a convent somewhere accepting applications.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Blue’s voice dropped to a deadly low as he stood and stalked Gemma, the poodle scrambling for purchase on his foot. “When these perverts call, you’re going to take down their contact information as if they’re going to have a private session with Amber.”

  “Blue,” Amber croaked. “No pimping. Remember?”

  Blue stopped when he was nose-to-nose with Gemma. The receptionist’s eyes were saucers behind her glasses.

  “We’re going to arrange some special sessions for these guys over at Wicked Tantric – ”

  “Wicked Tantric?” Amber reached for the yellow file Blue had discarded. Wicked Tantric was the hottest studio in L.A., offering yoga, meditation and sex improvement classes. There was a contract attached to one side of the file and a blank page titled Services Rendered attached to the other side.

  “But don’t let the callers know that,” Blue continued. “Not yet. Let them think it’s with Amber. Are we clear?”

  Gemma nodded.

  The phone rang.

  “Now, answer that as if Dooley was still alive and you loved your job,” Blue directed.

  Gemma’s retreat was much quieter, her phone persona more pleasant. “It’s a great day at the Dooley Foundation. This is Gemma. How can I help you?” There was a pause while Gemma listened. “We’re currently making a list for our next round of sex therapy sessions. Can I get your name?”

  Blue and Mr. Jiggles returned to their chair.

  “You’re the receptionist whisperer,” Amber said. “Maybe we should offer coaching in administrative staff management.”

  “You just have to show them who’s boss.” Blue gave Amber a look that seemed to say: Not you.

  Amber chose to ignore him. “Wicked Tantric is a coup. They’re hotter than hot right now.”

  “But Senge Tenzing is a fake. I heard he’s from New Jersey or something. He sure as hell isn’t a former Buddhist monk.” Blue tapped the Services Rendered page in the Wicked file. “There’s nothing here. We’ve been paying Senge ten thousand dollars a month for the past six months with no record of services rendered.”

  “If there’s no record of him providing a service, I say we ask for a refund.” Amber scanned the Duties section of the contract.

  “This isn’t like buying shoes at Barneys, Amber. You can’t ask for your money back.”

  “Not so fast. It says right here that Senge will be paid as long as he coaches a minimum of one client a month.” Amber spun the file so Blue could read the fine print. “Why don’t you go down and see Senge this morning? Looks like he owes us about sixty thousand dollars.” Amber opened the red laptop, feeling better than she had in days. “Do you think we can apply that to our sales quota?”

  Blue closed Dooley’s laptop again. “I can’t go.”

  “Why not? You’re the VP of Sales. And you’re dating Portia Francis.” The blond child star who’d bloomed into a sex kitten.

  “Not anymore.”

  “Blue, you didn’t.” Amber wondered if she should tell Blue she’d met a group of his ex-girlfriends that were out for his blood. But it had been such a trying past few days, filled with Blue’s digs and reminders of his betrayals, that Amber couldn’t dredge up the energy to tell him. “When did this happen?”

  “This morning. Portia didn’t like Mr. Jiggles,” Blue explained.

  Amber’s jaw clenched. “You don’t like Mr. Jiggles.”

  “I like him three million times more than she does.” Blue reached down and patted the little devil, who only growled louder. “So, when you go see Senge today don’t worry about anyone paying attention to you. Everyone knows you haven’t had sex since Kent Decklin dumped you.”

  “That’s not true.” Amber shook her pen in Blue’s face. “The sex part, not the Kent dumping me part, but he was two-timing or three-timing…Why am I explaining myself to you? Even if the no sex part was true…” Which it was but she sure as heck wasn’t admitting it to Blue. “…it’s better to take some time off than to hook up with any guy who buys me a drink at Tingle.”

  Blue snatched her pen away. “There, you see. You hang out with a secondary crowd at a secondary bar. No one cares about you or your sex life.”

  “Tingle is a great nightclub.” Now was the time to tell Blue she co-owned the place, but that wouldn’t help her argument at all. Blue was right. Tingle was the hangout for the less hyped heirs to Hollywood. It lacked paparazzi and name dropping cred. It was just her kind of place...when she went out, which wasn’t often anymore. “Go see Senge.”

  “Amber, Senge teaches tantric sex. He specializes in helping guys with quick release problems. If I go there today, everybody’s going to think that’s the reason Portia and I broke up.” Blue made those sad eyes men so often plied to coerce women.

  Amber wasn’t buying it.

  “Come on. I’m your brother. Take pity on me.

  “Like you took pity on me at the Forum?” But Amber laughed. “Let’s look at the rest of the files, both clients and providers, before we start to bargain.” There were bound to be some clunkers in those piles, perhaps some even worse than Wicked Tantric.

  Blue nodded and Amber thought she caught a brief flash of grudging respect in his gaze.

  A short time later neither one of them was happy.

  “So,” Amber pushed back in her chair. “None of dad’s outside service providers have been fulfilling their contracts, yet they’re all happily collecting retainers, most of which is chump change, other than Wicked Tantric.” Amber drummed her fingers on the red laptop case, itching to explore it. “And these five clients are dad’s personal cases.” Five clients. Wasn’t that depressing.

  “Priority one is to straighten out the situation with Senge and ramp up the personal coaching,” Blue said. “We can tackle the rest of the contractors in the next couple of weeks after things settle down.”

  Amber agreed.

  “Great. You take Evan Oliver, Lyle Lincoln, Ulani Mott and Senge Tenzing at Wicked Tantric. I’ll take Winnie Tiegler, Harry West and Mary Copeland.”

  “Wait. What?” Amber forced a laugh. “Lyle Lincoln from the Happenings column? How come I didn’t see that file?”

  Blue produced a file from the bottom of his stack. “I didn’t want you to freak out.”

  Amber had an out of body experience where she whacked Blue over the head with the thick dictionary on the credenza. When she shuddered back into the present, she managed to croak, “No-o.” Amber drew a deep breath, swallowed and tried again. “That’s worse then sending me out on the court with Evan Oliver and all those cameras. Nope. No way.”

  “Come on. I just broke up with Portia. I’m fresh meat to a guy like Lyle.”

  “And I’m not? I didn’t see your picture on the front of the sports section.”

  “I’ll take an extra client from you. This one…” He read the folder. “Ulani Mott. It says she needs relationship counseling.”

  “You know nothing about healthy relationships.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You can’t get out of as many relationships as cleanly as I have without knowing something about relationships.”

  Amber bit her lip. Blue’s delusions had to end. The Malibu Barbies were out to get him. “Uh, Blue. I think you should know – ”


  “Besides, I can charm women like nobody’s business.” Blue gave Amber his school boy grin.

  “How can we coach anyone when we don’t know what we’re doing?”

  Blue scoffed. “Nobody needs coaching on their first meeting.”

  Amber sighed. They could kiss Ulani’s business goodbye.

  “So that leaves you Evan Oliver and Lyle Lincoln to coach and Senge Tenzing to negotiate with.” There wasn’t a trace of gloating in Blue’s voice. He probably knew gloating would have sent Amber over the edge. “You can call them this morning and schedule something fairly quickly.”

  Amber’s mouth went dry. Wicked Tantric was a paparazzi pit and Lyle Lincoln had regularly written about what a wreck her father was. Amber would be fresh meat. She glanced down at her chest to make sure it didn’t have a bull’s-eye painted on it.

  It was on the tip of Amber’s tongue to argue some more, to tell Blue no, to tell him about the women who were plotting (albeit under the influence of too many martinis) to make his life miserable. But that was petty stuff compared to what they had to accomplish with the Foundation. Maybe she could talk some sense into Senge. Buying and returning stuff was every woman’s forte. How different could that be from contract negotiation?

  Besides, Blue was right. Being seen at Wicked Tantric would hurt Blue’s fragile male ego. She needed him up and running.

  “Okay,” Amber said. “But you owe me. Big.”

  Blue frowned. “Not bigger than – ”

  “No, but still big.”

  Chapter 11

  “How do you want to play this one?” Cy Maxwell, Evan’s agent, met Evan in the parking lot of the Flash’s practice facility in El Segundo, looking So-Cal under-styled in an untucked gray button-down and artfully faded jeans. He’d rushed over as soon as he heard about Jack insisting Evan meet with Amber Rule. “This Rule woman…I don’t like it. Say the word and I’ll tell Jack we’re not taking any of this life coaching crap.”