TWO
Jon
“Please tell me you’re not going to throw up all over your new potential client?” Tabitha said as her smile turned from sweet to evil in the blink of an eye.
My sister’s soft caramel curls which spilled over her shoulders gave the appearance of attractive yet approachable. The stylish navy and white suit screamed power and control. My sister was a smart little package of Hollywood agent perfection.
And I was the only one who knew the cold hard truth about her facade.
“I’m not going to throw up.”
I might throw up. The truth was, I drank a lot last night.
“Did you get wasted last night?”
Blowing air out of my closed lips, I snorted. “You must be joking. Do I ever get drunk on New Year’s Eve?”
I drank so much I was surprised I wasn’t dry heaving in front of Tabitha. But I held it together, barely.
“No, which has me wondering why you walked into the restaurant dripping with sweat when it’s barely freezing outside. Oh, and your complexion can best be described as Jell-O-mold green.”
Now I was thinking of Jell-O. Closing my eyes, I frowned and shook my head, hoping the water I sucked down on my way to the restaurant stayed in my stomach.
“Really? Must have been something I ate this morning. Now that you mention it, I’m not feeling myself. But that won’t stop me from landing Kaitlin Hickory-Moore. Just because you represent the actress, Niki Sargeant, and Kaitlin said she’s her biggest fan, doesn’t mean she won’t be swayed by my charm.” I leaned over the table and burped.
Ah, that helped.
“Such charm. Keep it up, little brother and Kaitlin will be the easiest client I have ever signed.”
Shit. She was right. I was a mess and it would take a miracle for Kaitlin to let me represent her. The biggest star on Vidtube right now had her pick of agents. Tabitha and I began Harrington Talent Agency together over five years ago when I managed to land the rock star, Hunter Six, as a client.
She had been considering starting her own agency and when I got Hunter; she talked me into starting the company with her. Tabitha already had a few clients who came with her after she left her former agency, so we were set from the start.
The only problem was we were fierce competitors—always had been. When we were little, we competed for Mom’s attention. In high school, it was who could get the best grades—which was me, I always brought home the As. Suck it, Tabitha!
Now we competed over who could land the client. The problem for Tabitha was, I was more of a success than she was. She put up a front that she was the more successful sibling, but I had the clients with the biggest names. If the talent I brought in walked, this company would crumble and Tabitha knew it.
That’s why she tolerated her annoying little brother.
“Tabitha, look at me.” I waved a hand in front of my face and down my chest.
“Do I have to?” she said and pursed her lips.
“Yes. I’ve got the handsome face, but not too good-looking that clients feel overshadowed. The perfect hair, the teeth,” I flashed her my pearly whites, “and I have the personality. That’s how I land clients. I become their best friend, their confidant. Sometimes, even their therapist, and I do it all with a smile on my beautiful face. Since I’d been an agent for six years, I have yet to lose a client. You, on the other hand—”
She held up her hand and I prepared for her to rip me apart like usual. But that didn’t happen. Instead, she stood and smiled.
That was odd. When had Tabitha ever missed a chance to tell me off?
“Ms. Hickory-Moore, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
I closed my eyes in horror. How long had she been behind me? When I opened my eyes again, I saw Tabitha roll her lips over her teeth as she held back a laugh or one of her evil grins.
I cleared my throat and stood. Turning, I discovered Kaitlin was tiny—she had to be under five feet. I managed to get my father’s genes on height, being six foot one, while Tabitha was more like our mom—all of five foot two. But Tabitha towered over the woman.
I held out my hand. “Ms. Hickory-Moore, I’m so glad you took time away from your busy schedule to meet with us.” I plastered on the sincerest smile I could come up with.
This was why I rarely drank—loss of control. As I sat here, there were two people at the table with more power than me, and I hated that.
Damn liquor. And damn New Year’s parties.
If I lost control, then I lost everything. That was the trick to being successful. A clear mind. No distractions.
“Of course, I’m going to meet with the best agents in the business. Especially one with a beautiful face like yours, Mr. Harrington,” she said and shook my hand with a sparkle of amusement in her brown eyes.
My sister chuckled from behind.
I sighed and walked over to pull out her chair. She sat with a nod of thanks as her blond curls bounced. As I took my seat, smoothing down my blue tie, I asked, “How much did you hear?”
Heat crawled up my neck, which didn’t mix well with the hangover. But as much as I wanted to crawl into a corner with the hopes that someone took pity and threw a tablecloth over me so I could hide, I always owned up to the truth.
Kaitlin tilted her head back and forth, pondering what I asked. “From when you said you weren’t too good-looking that clients would feel overshadowed. That’s what you said, right?”
“Oh yes, you’re correct.” My sister leaned across the table and patted Kaitlin’s arm as if she just won the spelling bee.
I nodded. “Yes, sorry. I’m not totally myself today.”
Kaitlin smiled and waved a hand at me. “Don’t worry. I’m a little hungover myself. Had dinner with my family last night and had one too many wine coolers.”
My sister’s eyes widened for a moment before she quickly recovered. “Oh, yes. Wine. Cool. Ers.”
I sat back and watched Tabitha squirm in her seat. She was itching to laugh. I had a theory about my sister—she was Ernest Hemingway reincarnated. Not the writing talent, just the drinking. I was the one who could write, at least . . . I thought so.
She laughed at what she called “frou-frou” drinks and anyone who drank them. Wine coolers were very much a frou-frou drink to Tabitha.
“They are refreshing, aren’t they, Tabitha?” I clasped my hands under my chin, eagerly awaiting my sister’s response. But it had to wait as the waiter showed up with the pizza.
He set a tray beside the table and placed the pan on top. After setting plates in front of us and taking Kaitlin’s drink order, the waiter left.
“Another wine cooler?” I asked and stared at my sister who was now biting her lip. I wondered if she was drawing blood.
“It’s New Year’s Day. Why not. Normally, I don’t have alcohol, but I do allow myself to indulge this time of year. I hope that’s all right?” She looked like a puppy dog with huge brown saucer eyes filled with worry.
“Of course, it is. Maybe, I’ll order one, too.” I waved my hand for the waiter but he wasn’t around.
“I hope you don’t mind us ordering the pizza before you arrived. We knew you loved pineapple pizza, so . . .” My sister ignored my attempts to break her and began to plate a slice.
“I love pineapple pizza. That bit of sweet on the savory pizza is delicious. I haven’t been here before. Pizzeria Atlantic. But I heard good things,” Kaitlin said as she grabbed a slice for herself.
That’s when I caught a whiff. I stared at that pizza and my mouth began to water, but not in a good way. In a way that told me that if I didn’t make it to the bathroom in time, not only would I not land Kaitlin as a client, but I’d be banned from the pizza place.
“Excuse me.” I stood and weaved through the red checker cloth-covered tables and wooden chairs toward the back hallway. Slamming through the door of the men’s bathroom, I leaned over the sink, but nothing came. I stayed there for a moment just to be safe and then
turned on the faucet, splashing cool water over my face.
Finally, I stood and stared at myself in the mirror. What came to me wasn’t ideas on how to get Kaitlin as a client or how I was going to make it through the lunch smelling that disgusting pizza, but images of the disappointment and shame in Emmie’s eyes last night.
When I first met her in November at a dinner Willa and Hunter threw when they moved in together, she seemed nice, if not unattainable. One of those women that’s more than beautiful, they’re iconic.
Even if she was attainable, I’d very much doubt she’d be caught easily. Emmie was powerful and gave off an air of confidence that was a total turn-on. She’d never agree to my sexual demands.
Therefore, I made pleasant conversation when I was near her but never flirted. I was surprised when she let Hunter invite me to her New Year’s party, but I figured it was because I was also Willa’s agent. Since she was good friends with Willa, I decided I’d make an appearance and then head home to get some paperwork done.
That’s not what happened at all.
What went down last night at the party wasn’t me—I never did things like that. But Tucker, Hunter’s brother, kept egging me on, telling me to let loose and have another drink.
At one point, there was an inflatable alligator and I was riding it like a horse with my shirt off and my tie around my head.
I made a fool of myself and then Emmie said she had to show me something in her bedroom. That’s when she kissed me and what was I going to do? Not kiss her back? No. I may have been acting a fool, but I wasn’t an idiot.
But even in my drunken fog, I knew it wasn’t a good idea to go too far. At least, I thought I didn’t do anything I would regret. That only added to my sickness. I couldn’t remember what happened beyond the kissing.
I had no idea what went down in her bed. I woke up this morning tangled in her sheets with all my clothes off except my boxer briefs. We obviously did something, but what?
I took a deep breath and braced myself. There was one way to know if we had sex.
I reached into my back pocket to make sure I still had my condom in my wallet. If it wasn’t in there, then I knew I had gone too far. There was nothing when I felt around. Quickly checking every pocket, I realized with dread that I didn’t have my wallet on me.
My mind did its best to think through the sludge of the hangover to remember where I last had it. After a minute, it came to me.
I had pulled a condom out last night in Emmie’s bathroom.
There was a pounding at the door and I jumped.
“Just a minute,” I yelled as another round of cold sweat saturated my forehead.
Another bang. I groaned and grabbed a paper towel to clean myself up. As I threw it into the trash, I opened the door to find a teenager staring at his phone.
“It’s all yours.” I waved as I moved past him. He grunted his response.
I had to go back to her house and face Emmie. Was I sloppy and ridiculous when I had sex with her? It was a possibility if I was that drunk—yet another reason why I didn’t drink. Occasionally, I had a glass of wine or nursed a whiskey, but that was only during personal celebrations. Like when I landed Hunter Six as a client, the hottest rock star in the country. I celebrated that night with my sister at a bar with a bottle of champagne.
But a New Year’s party? They happened every year and nothing really changed when the clock struck twelve. Why drink when I could have been getting work done.
I took out my phone and thought about calling Hunter to see if he’d swing by her place to grab my wallet for me. I would face her one day—just not today or tomorrow or possibly over the next month.
When I looked up, with phone in hand, my heart began to pound in my chest as my cock twitched. I stared into a pair of heart-stopping golden eyes. They went wide and slid down my body. Her eyes dimmed when they arrived back at my face. As if whatever happiness she felt vanished after I appeared.
“Oh, hi, Jon. Didn’t expect to see you here,” Emmie said with a tight smile as she clutched at her off-white wool coat.
That made both of us.
THREE
Emmie
“You come here often?” Jon leaned against the dark wood-paneled wall and winked.
Did he just try the oldest pickup line in history on me?
“Sometimes, I guess.”
He frowned and his pale gray eyes shifted to the floor. We were silent and neither of us moved. A heavy uncertainty filled the air. Was it embarrassment? Regret? Or something very different?
For me, it was a lumpy soup of every emotion, but mostly shame. The way he couldn’t even look me in the eye spoke volumes.
His brown hair was tousled and sweat lined his brow. I cursed myself for imagining what he’d have felt like if he hadn’t turned me down. I assumed whatever we did together would be incredible . . . like a circus act but with sex. But I didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with sexual acts.
He had kissed me and I remembered it as if he had just pulled his lips from mine. I touched my mouth expecting to find swollen lips but only smeared my red lipstick on my fingers.
“Sorry, that came out wrong. I, uh . . . I wanted to talk to you about last night.” Jon scratched at his neck as if being in front of me was eating away at his flesh.
God, he regretted ever meeting me. I wasn’t the type of woman he went for, that much was obvious. I didn’t look like a sleek runway model. I had seen his picture before on social media sites where he attended celebrity parties, and every time he had some sexy, beautiful woman on his arm.
They all had shared three qualities—they were tall, skinny, and blond. Not that there was anything wrong with Jon having a type, but I was the opposite of everything he wanted.
I was average height, definitely inherited my mother’s hips, and had thick, dark brown hair. In other words, I wasn’t what Jon liked.
I blamed the alcohol and my awkward and totally ineffective seduction technique of stripping in front of him once he was in my bedroom. We kissed and when he pulled back, I stripped. Then I crawled—yes, crawled—around my room like I was a lioness ready to be mounted. Or whatever lions do to get it on in the wild.
There was only one inept person in that room last night and her name was Emmie. Who cared if he had a type? Even if I had been it, he still would have turned me down because only a crazy person acted like that. It was painfully obvious I didn’t know what I was doing.
Never in all the videos that I watched or the advice blogs I read did they mention in order to seduce a man, you must get naked and act like an insane cat.
I sighed, mortified by my behavior.
“I suppose we should,” I said and did my best to appear confident by holding my chin up even if I wanted to slink backward and out of the restaurant.
“I wanted to apologize for my actions last night. If I gave you the impression at any time that you should be with me in that way, I apologize. I had too much to drink.” He waved his hand between us. It felt like I was getting the school-mandated sex talk by the usually tough coach who was struck awkward with having to mention human body parts to a room full of hormonal teenagers. Full of uncomfortable pauses and not actually saying what would or wouldn’t happen when the time came.
“Okay, well, you didn’t seem that drunk.”
He tilted his head. “Really? Because I am feeling the aftereffects a lot right now.”
Jon was rather talkative last night and a bit goofy, but I thought he was normally like that. Not that I knew much about him. Was he drunker than I realized?
That made things so much worse.
If he was so drunk he couldn’t remember what happened, then that meant his drunk self didn’t want me. Drunk people had sex with strangers they never would even consider when sober all the time.
And yet, even wasted Jon didn’t find me attractive.
Wow. I can’t even bag a drunkard.
“It was me who took advantage of you.” I leaned in, lo
wering my voice. “I stripped in front of you. And what I did after, well . . . let’s just say I don’t think I can look you in the eyes anymore.” I tried to laugh but it came out as a whimper.
He snorted.
Great, he was laughing. I guess it’s better than him turning and running away screaming.
He shook his head, holding his hand up to his mouth like he was about to puke before lowering it again. “Sorry, I’m still a bit hungover. Don’t worry. I don’t actually remember anything, which makes this completely awkward on my part.”
That was probably an excuse for me to feel better. His green complexion had more to do with the idea of me naked than the alcohol.
That was it. He didn’t have too much to drink last night. That was all an excuse. Maybe it was his way of not embarrassing me. Act like he couldn’t remember a thing.
I should thank him, but it only made what happened pitiful. Jon had to pretend to be hungover so I wouldn’t act like an overly horny female beast ready to jump his limp dick.
“Why don’t we pretend nothing happened and start all over again,” Jon suggested, lifting his hand.
Heat crawled up my neck. “Okay.” I reached for his hand and when my fingers intertwined with his, a spark bolted up my arm.
I glanced into his gray eyes to see if he felt that too. His gaze turned rigid, and I knew if he felt anything, he wasn’t about to show it to me. A curiosity tickled my chest. Jon came across kind and understanding, even pretending not to remember last night, but his posture and more importantly, the way he looked at me told me something completely different.
“Admit it, you didn’t want me anyway. It was New Year’s Eve. You had one too many and thought it would be a hoot to strip in front of me as a joke.”
I rolled my eyes but went with it as I slid my hand from his. “That was it. You caught me. My yearly New Year’s prank.” I forced out a laugh. “It’s weird. I do weird things . . . But that’s just me.”
His gorgeous eyes, the ones that first turned my head at the party, narrowed in suspicion. I hoped it was suspicion. If not, then it meant I disgusted him.
Mogul (Price of Fame Book 3) Page 2