His Brother's Wife

by Mia Ford

  “If I hadn’t you would have been my first call,” I said with a grin. I pushed myself back from the laptop and turned to put my bare feet up on the little writing desk I kept in front of my bedroom window. “What’s up?”

  “I was calling to invite your over for dinner tonight?” he said.

  “Oh, Graham, I’ve had enough of dinner parties for a while.”

  “Not a dinner party, my dear. Nothing fancy, very low key, just you and me. I have something I’d like to run by you.”

  “Low key sounds great,” I said, stretching my arms toward the ceiling. I had been writing for several hours and needed a break. “Anything out of the public eye is good for me these days.”

  “I kind of figured you’d done your time in the public eye for a while,” he said, chuckling. “Need me to send a car for you?”

  “I can get a cab,” I said. “I’m not that much of a celebrity.”

  “The hell you’re not,” he snorted. “If your next book sells like we think it will your lovely face will be plastered on posters and billboards across the country. You might as well face it, my dear, you are a bona fide celebrity whether you like it or not.”

  “Whatever!” I said, cutting him off. I wasn’t comfortable with my celebrity and Graham knew it, as meager as that celebrity might be. “Need me to bring anything?”

  “Just yourself,” Graham said. “See you around eight.”

  I stared at the phone for a moment after he hung up, wondering what Graham wanted to talk to me about. I prayed it wasn’t about Mark. That was a topic I had no desire to discuss with Graham or anyone else.

  * * *

  “Glad you could make it,” Graham said, hugging me as I walked through the door of his uptown apartment. Graham did very well as an executive for Roland House. His place was larger than mine and much nicer. Graham had hit the daily double: he came from old money and banked one hell of a paycheck from Roland. His good fortune was well-deserved. Graham Elliot was a good guy in what could be a very shitty business. He’d saved my bacon on more than one occasion. He was the best friend this writer would ever have.

  “Did you enjoy the dinner last night? Roland House certainly knows how to blow money on large parties that no one wants to attend,” he said as he handed me a glass of wine. He nodded at the glass. “That’s an ‘84 Chateau Laffite Rothschild. Don’t waste a drop.”

  “I’ll certainly try not to,” I said, smiling as I took a sip. The wine was smooth going down and left a delicious plum and blackberry taste lingering on my tongue. Graham always had the best wines. He was a wine enthusiast who loved to travel and collect wines from every corner of the world. Some of them were too exotic for my taste, but the Rothschild was like drinking nectar.

  “I couldn’t wait to get out of there last night, I can tell you that,” I confessed as I took another sip. “And Carla… ugh! I can’t stand that woman! I tell her no and she keeps coming back like a rabid dog.”

  “Most people can’t stand Carla,” Graham said with a smile. “But she is very good at her job, one of the best PR reps in the business.” He stared at me for a moment, then brought his glass to his lips. “I could tell you were ready to get the hell out of there. Too long away from our cave, little hermit?”

  “Something like that,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Although I’d like to think of myself more as Cinderella in the tower than a hermit living in a cave.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, extending his arm. “Follow me, princess.”

  I looped my arm through his and followed him into the spacious living room, which was all glass along the exterior wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city at night. I settled in on the sofa and let my eyebrows go up behind the wine glass. “So, why am I here?”

  He smiled like the Cheshire Cat. Little alarms started ringing in my head. He said, “Good Morning Manhattan is looking for someone to fill a guest spot on an upcoming segment on young entrepreneurs. Mainly a fluff segment focusing on people who started with nothing and made it to the top of their game. Their goal is to get your basic insider tips for other entrepreneurs taking the same path, you know, something along those lines.”

  “And how does this have anything to do with me?” I asked the question even though I already knew what Graham was thinking.

  “They were thinking—and I was really hoping since the publicity would be incredible for the new book—that you might be interested in being one of their young entrepreneurs.”

  I shot him a panicked look. I hated speaking in public and Graham knew it. It was my biggest fear because I literally melted down when speaking to more than a few people at a time. My hands shook, my voice quivered, my knees went weak. I could barely make it through a book reading and had to force my hand not to tremble during book signings. And now he wanted me to go on live TV and talk about what a big success I was? Holy crap...

  “I don’t know, Graham,” I said quickly as I felt my mouth going dry despite the wine. “I mean, I don’t really consider myself an entrepreneur. I write books for a living…”

  “Right. You write books and you travel and live a lifestyle most people only dream of living, but at the end of the day you run a very successful business. Think about it,” he said, narrowing his dark eyes at me. “You could share your tips about building a successful publishing business, marketing, blogging, even discuss some of your failures, not that you’ve had many, and… well… I kind of already told them you’d do it.”

  “You what?” I stammered, nearly dropping the wine glass. “Graham! You cannot be serious!”

  He frowned to let me know that he was. “Before you freak out, let me add that I also convinced them to give you time to plug the new book, Pleasing Him. The show’s producer has read an advance copy and loved it. Not only that, she told me that she read it in one sitting and it got her so steamed up she attacked her poor husband in the middle of the night.”

  “Wow, my book as foreplay… who knew…”

  “The point is, my dear teller of dirty tales,” he said, scolding me with his eyes. “The exposure for Pleasing Him on GMM will help propel it to the top of the bestseller lists. They have a huge audience. And I’m sure their viewers—and all the struggling writers who watch—would love to hear how you come up with the ideas for your stories, especially the story in Pleasing Him. That story is... well… pardon my French… fucking hot.”

  He made me blush without meaning to. “Really?”

  “Zoe, you are the epitome of a success author and entrepreneur. Your books are your products. You are the business. You are well qualified to talk about the subject. You in the one-percent of authors who actually make a great living writing their own books.”

  “Maybe…”

  He held out his glass, extended a finger at me, and let his head slowly bob. “I think you have a lot more to talk about than you think. I might be able to convince them to do a longer segment on you. Maybe even a fully produced piece. There are a million questions readers and other writers have for successful authors such as yourself. Hell, you’re leaving for Costa Rica, for crying out loud, to research and write a book! Who else do you know that gets to travel to exotic places and gets paid to lounge by the pool and write? People love hearing how dreams come true. They are looking for that magic piece that will bring them success. Some tiny piece of the puzzle and you of all people, Zoe Maxwell, can show them the way.”

  I laughed at his enthusiasm, and misconception of my life. Lounge and write? Is that seriously what he thought I did? Sure. That’s all I do. My lounging life. I only wish.

  “So, this is why you lured me over tonight? To get me to agree to go on Good Morning Manhattan? Because if there’s no food involved I’m going to be pissed.”

  “There’s food, don’t worry,” he said with a smile. He let his eyes drift down to the wine glass in his hand. He swirled the wine and watched it go around the glass. “I also wanted to ask you about last night.”

  I hid behind the glass, knowing what was
coming. “What about it?”

  “You left suddenly, like you couldn’t wait to get out of there. I know you hate those things, but you really seemed upset.”

  I put on a happy face and sipped the wine like it was no big deal. “Sorry for rushing out like that, but it had been a long day and I really just wanted to get home where it was quiet. And get away from leeches like Andrew and Carla. People like that just bug me to no end.”

  I hoped the lie was good enough to convince him to drop the subject. He knew Mark and I were on the rocks and so far, had shown the decency not to pry. Somehow, I felt that might be changing as he studied my face, looking for a crack in my armor.

  “Are you sure that’s all it was,” he asked after a moment. He looked past me to stare out the window at the twinkling skyline to avoid looking into my eyes. “I saw Mark come out of the ladies’ room. I figured you two had been at it again.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, working up my best insulted face.

  “Nothing,” he said, shrugging with his eyebrows, bringing the glass to his lips. He let his eyes swing back to mine. “So, can I tell the producer at GMM that you’ll do it? It would be great for the new book, and the backlist.”

  I took a deep breath. Graham was a shrewd negotiator. I could either agree to do the show or he’d continue to press me about Mark. Son of a bitch was good, I had to give him that.

  “Fine. Okay. I’ll do it.” My voice was less than enthusiastic, but Graham didn’t seem to care. If it was anyone other than Graham, I would have definitely said no freakin’ way. But Graham was my best friend, my mentor, and savior. He was the one who gave this struggling writer a chance all those years ago. He introduced me to my agent, got me my first publishing contract, bragged about me to critics, and was always looking out for me, even when he didn’t agree with my actions, like getting involved with Mark. His advice and guidance and connections had been just as important to my career as the writing. There was no way I could turn him down.

  Graham held up his wine glass and smiled. “They are going to be over-the-top excited to hear you’ll be on the show! I literally can’t wait to share the good news!”

  “Well, don’t get too over-the-top excited about it,” I said. “I could be a total train wreck on camera.”

  “I’m not worried at all,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see if they will give you a little extra time at the end of the show to do some Q&A with the audience. And I’ll make sure to send over enough books so that everyone in the audience will get a copy of your new bestseller. Maybe they’ll let you sign the books after the show.”

  “More good news,” I said, shaking my head. I hated book signings, even though they were a necessary part of the process. “So, when is the taping?”

  “Monday morning,” Graham said as he dabbed wine from the corners of his lips with the tips of his manicured fingers. “They’ll send a car for you at 7 A.M. and you’ll go straight into hair and makeup. The show airs at 8 A.M. and your segment will be around 8:45.”

  “7 A.M… Fuck, Graham, you know I don’t get up before noon,” I said.

  “It’s a morning show, my darling,” he said with an unsympathetic smirk. “Just take it easy this weekend. No big parties. No drunken orgies. No binge drinking.”

  “I wish,” I said, rolling my eyes. I finished the wine and held out my glass. “The things I do for my art. And for you. More insanely expensive wine, please.”

  Graham smiled as he stood up and offered me his hand. “It’s tough being you, I’m sure. Come on, let’s see if a nice filet mignon can make you feel better.”

  “Who are the other entrepreneurs that will be on the show?” I asked as he led me into the dining room, where his cook had set out a wonderful dinner for the two of us.

  “The producer didn’t know for sure,” he said, holding out my chair. “The whole thing seemed very last minute. I got the impression that they were hustling to get guests on because the guy from Shark Tank canceled. She mentioned someone flying in from Los Angeles, but I didn’t catch the name.”

  “Well, at least I don’t have to fly clear across country for a two-minute interview,” I said, holding out my glass for a refill. Graham refilled both our glasses, then tapped his glass up to mine.

  “Here’s to a stellar appearance,” he said with a broad smile. “And to your next bestseller.”

  Chapter Four: Chad

  “Welcome to New York, sir!” the doorman at the front entrance of the Mark Hotel said as he held open the door for me.

  “Thanks,” I said as I walked through the doors and across the black and white marble floor toward the front desk. A young Asian woman standing behind the desk smiled at me. “Hello, sir, may I help you?”

  “Chad Walters,” I said, stepping up to the desk and letting the carryon bag slide from my shoulder to the floor. “I should have a reservation.”

  “Yes, sir, one moment.” Her thin fingers flew across the computer keys looking for the reservation. She frowned at the screen for a moment, then looked up and smiled, as if she realized who I was.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, resting my arms on the counter. I glanced at my watch. I’d been on the plane for eight hours. Even though I had flown first class all the way, my back was screaming for a massage and I desperately needed a shower and a drink. If this reservation was fucked up, I was gonna go ballistic on some poor soul.

  She kept smiling at me. “Oh yes, Mr. Walters, I have your reservation right here. We have the penthouse suite all ready for you sir. Your suite has amazing panoramic views of the city skyline and Central Park, and of course, a staircase that leads to your own private outdoor terrace, a conservatory, a fully stocked wet bar, and a library lounge. It also looks like you have requested a car and driver for your stay.”

  “You sound like a brochure,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

  The smile didn’t break, but she pushed her eyebrows up. “Sir?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Anything else?”

  She batted her long eyelashes at me and pursed her lips. “Is there anything else you need, sir? Anything I can do for you?”

  I smiled. She was hitting on me. Fucking groupies. They were everywhere. “No, not at the moment,” I said, holding out my hand. “Just need my key.”

  She tried not to look too disappointed. “Yes, here you are, sir.” She slid the key into my hand, then picked up a slip of paper and scribbled her name and number on it. She folded the paper and slid it across the counter to me. “That’s my number, in case you change your mind. I’m here till 6 A.M.”

  “Good to know,” I said, picking up the slip of paper and tucking it into my back pocket. I picked up my bag and smiled at her. You never know, I might get in the mood for a little Chinese takeout later tonight (okay, that joke was too corny even for me).

  “The elevator is across the lobby and down the hall,” she said, pointing. “You’ll need to insert your key to access the penthouse. Please let me know if you have any other… needs.”

  “I will,” I said with a smile. “I definitely will.”

  * * *

  The elevator opened directly into the penthouse and I walked through the cavernous space with my mouth hanging open. The place looked like an extravagant New York City apartment. I didn’t want to think about what the place was costing me per night. Mark took care of business. I just showed up and did my thing. However expensive it cost would come back to me a thousand-fold if the appearance on Good Morning Manhattan did what Mark thought it would do.

  The place was decked out to the max, from custom kitchen cabinets, granite countertops, marble floors, sound-proof windows, stainless steel everything, heated towel racks, a shower that would hold six people… the list just went on and on.

  I dropped my bag on the bed, then went back into the kitchen and found a bottle of Coors in the fridge and popped the cap as I walked through the penthouse to the rooftop terrace. The view was nothing short of amazing. The view alone was worth whatever the p
lace cost per night. I could imagine sitting up there smoking a nice cigar and sipping brandy, a naked blonde with big tits rubbing the tiredness from my shoulders….

  Sometimes I wished that I had someone to share these moments with. I wished that I could find the perfect woman. The thing was, I wasn’t ready to settle down just yet. I knew I didn’t want kids anytime soon, and pretty much every woman I met—other than the groupies who were just out to fuck a famous guy— had the white picket fence and babies on their agenda. That’s one of the things I liked about Bree. Then again, she was not someone I could see myself with for the long haul. After blowing her off the other night, I’d probably never hear from her again. Sad to say, but I was just fine with that.

  I liked being able to call up a woman, have a night of mutual rough sex, and send them on their way. Married or unmarried, straight or bi, they all seemed to want a piece of Chad Walters. And why not? I didn’t train this hard and sculpt this body for nothing. And I sure wasn’t going to turn down a hot pussy when it invited me to come in (no pun intended).

  I don’t mean to be cocky, but I could literally walk down the street here in New York and have horny bitches following me like the Pied Fucking Piper. Trust me, I’d done it many times back in L.A.

  I’d even had multiple bitches at once more times than I could count. One fuck-fest in particular stood out in my mind. I couldn’t even recall their names because I was also a little fucked up at the time. It doesn’t even matter since they were just two random models who were in California for a photo shoot. They were sent to me for a quick workout before the shoot. They got one all right.

  In no time, I had them right where I wanted them and they were eager to please. Being new to California, they trusted and relied on every word that came from my mouth that day. I could have lied my brains out, but I didn’t. I kept it real. It’s crazy how a few sexually-implied, sarcastic comments lead to dripping pussy’s craving to be fondled, fucked and eaten. Is this a great country or what?