by Susan Stoker
“What?”
Mina’s voice deepens to a purr. “Is he as hot in person as he looks on the screen?”
I grimace. I can’t lie to my best friend. “Hotter.”
“Fuck. You’re totally screwed. At least, if you’re lucky.”
“Mina! I don’t screw clients.” Not anymore.
“More’s the pity.” Mina types faster on her computer, the sound like falling water. “All right. I’ll get you what you need. You get your client on board.”
“That’s just it. I don’t know how.”
“You know how. Charm him.”
“I don’t do that anymore.” I touch my glasses.
She laughs. I don’t have secrets from Mina. “Not that way. But… there’s nothing wrong with using a little bit of what God gave you to win him over to your side.”
“No,” I hiss into the phone. “No. I’m a professional. Just because I’m blonde, doesn’t mean I’m a bimbo.”
“You don’t need to prove you’ve got brains, V. You got a bachelors and masters from two top universities. No one is disputing that you’re smart.”
I pull off my glasses and give them a polish, waiting for a chance to interrupt.
“You’ve also got a great body,” Mina continues. “Even if you don’t flaunt it. You’re not fooling anyone, hiding it under those suits. You are hot. There’s no changing that. Why not own it?”
I drum my fingers against the windowsill. A few hundred yards away, Blondie slinks around the pool, walking like a model and a stripper combined. She’s got Theo in her sights.
“You’ve got to charm him,” Mina says. “Or lose a client.”
“I don’t lose.”
“Then you know what to do.”
Once Mina hangs up, the pain in my head dulls to a resentful throb. I open the window a crack to get some air. Shouts of laughter waft up. The party is bigger. The music louder. The sun is hotter. It’s a nice day. Gorgeous, in fact.
Fuck it.
***
Ten minutes later, I teeter past the nymph statues in my Louboutins. Before descending to the pool, I undo the tie on my wrap dress and shrug it off. Underneath, I wear a black bikini. A little more than the pieces of string the other women are wearing, but not much. I hang the dress on a statue, and walk on with only the swimsuit and heels.
Who wears high heels with a bikini?
Me, to reel in a client.
“V-card,” Theo shouts from the diving board. The whole crowd takes up the chant, bursting into applause when Theo dives into the deep end. I grin, wave, and grab a drink.
I stalk to the end of the pool to stand next to another white marble statue. This one’s male, and well endowed. I toast him and his assets, and take a sip of liquor. When in Rome…
Two seconds later, Theo bursts from the water right in front of me. Water drips from his swarthy shoulders. His muscles bunch as he hauls himself out of the pool, and then he’s walking toward me, rivulets running down the toned contours of his stomach. The panther tattoo snarls from his hip. That panther is on the prowl.
“Looking good. Still need to lose the glasses.” He starts to reach for them and I shake my head, brushing his hand away. He gives me a panty-melting grin. “I guess the real party starts when they come off.”
He’s an asshole. He really is. But the way he says these awful things, tilting his head with just the slightest invitation in his eyes, I can’t help but feel a rush of attraction. There are layers to his playboy act, as if he’s seeing how much he can get away with. I’m just fooling around; his grin tells me. Wanna fool around with me?
Fuck, Vesper, you can pick them. I grip my glass tighter, give him a nod. “Mr. Kensington.”
“Call me Theo.”
All righty then. “Theo. Nice party you have here.”
“Glad you could join us. I see you’ve given up on me.”
“Nope,” I say, and tip back my drink. I hold his gaze as I drink. When I set down the glass, he looks at me with new respect. Finally. “We need to talk.”
“I like talking.” He leans against the statue, angling so I’m sheltered by his body. We’re in our own private world over here. My heart pitter patters. “I like doing other things, too.”
“I know. I’ve seen what you like to do.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen everything.”
“Is that so? Well, I’ve seen enough.” I morph into Miss Mavery. “There’s nothing wrong with a celebrity acting the fool. It’s allowed, almost expected. But you’re not a celebrity. You’re the heir to a fortune and the son of a princess.”
He half-sighs, half-groans, glancing back at the party behind us.
I lean into him to catch his attention.
“Your father built something from scratch and you’re throwing it away. Usually it takes three generations to go from poverty to wealth back to poverty. You’ll do it in two.”
“I’m not going to have kids.”
I take a deep breath. “Then there’s the matter of your grandmother.”
Theo’s face goes blank, cold. The boyishness disappears completely, leaving an angry, bitter man. Still beautiful, though. “What about her?”
“She’d like to reconnect. She wants to—”
“No,” he says.
“No? Let me get this straight. The queen of Sweden is summoning you for an audience, and you’re going to blow her off?” I step close to him. One more step and my boobs would brush his chest. Charm him.
He shrugs.
“You’re not even interested in finding out why she wants to meet you?”
He dips his head, nuzzles my shoulder. “There are other things I’m interested in.” His lips brush my skin and set my body buzzing.
“So uptight. You need a good orgasm. I can help with that.”
“Maybe later,” I say in a voice as brisk as I can make it, ignoring the fact that my libido has gone from zero to one hundred in three seconds.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Theo says, and the promise makes me shiver.
I clear my throat and press on. “Your uncle is sick. He might die, and that leaves you in the line for the throne. You’ll be crown prince.”
“I don’t want to be a prince,” he murmurs. His hot breath licks up my skin. “I’m already a god.”
“You’re not a god.” I squeeze my arm between us, and push my glasses up my nose so I can give him a proper Mrs. Mavery glare. “You’re a male Paris Hilton.”
“Thank you,” he smirks.
“Cut it out.” I push at his chest. His rock hard, water slick chest that couldn’t be more perfect if it was carved by Michelangelo. “This playboy act has to get old. Even I can tell you’re smarter than this.”
He straightens, studying me with eyes the color of espresso. “So what do you want me to do?” He sounds serious.
“We issue a statement condemning the sex tape as an invasion of privacy. Direct the press attention to your success and achievements.”
“I don’t have any of those.”
“Your platform, then. You’re the son of an immigrant who worked his way into the Forbes top 100 richest people in the world. You have a good chance of becoming the heir to the throne in Sweden.” I try not to say it like I don’t believe it, but it seems crazy. This tall, dark-haired, tattooed stud standing inappropriately in my space is a prince. “You’re going to be in the news for a long time, Theo. It’s time to craft your message.”
He blows out a breath. “All right.”
“All right?”
“I’ll do it. The interviews. The statement. Whatever.”
“Really? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You convinced me. Does that surprise you?” He angles his head. Mine tilts opposite of his automatically. My chin goes up, raising my lips to his. “You are,” his hot breath caresses my face, “very convincing.” I close my eyes as a thrill goes through me.
“Theo!” One of the blondes calls, holding a margarita shaker. Somehow, she manage
s to simultaneously simper at Theo while giving me stink eye. “I have something for you.” She opens the shaker and pours the icy, sticky liquid down her chest. Her nipples pop like fighter pilot buttons.
“Gotta go,” Theo says, a wicked glint in his eye. He swaggers off, leaving me swaying.
I gotta go too, and craft a statement that will save my client’s image. The conversation we had is a huge win. But as I listen to the happy squeals of Blondie getting tequila licked off her skin by Theo’s ready and willing tongue, I have to admit, it doesn’t feel like one.
***
“What the hell are you doing?” Evans looks me up and down as I enter the mansion. I’m still in bikini and heels; I’d grabbed my dress but didn’t have time to put it back on.
“My job,” I answer, shrugging on my dress on and tying it up. “I’ve already crafted Theo’s statement to the press. I just have to hit ‘send.’ My media contacts will take care of the rest.”
Evans scowls. He’s old school, hired by Theo’s dad. He probably doesn’t approve of media consultations done by the pool.
“You hired me to do a job,” I defend myself. “I’m doing it. Theo—Mr. Kensington agreed to my course of action.”
Evans blinks. “Really?”
“He’s ready to clean up his image. I’m setting up a few interviews for him now. He promised he’d do them.” Right before he stuck his tongue in a woman’s cleavage.
“Is that so?” He touches the ear piece in his ears, listens for a moment, and then strides to the door.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Mr. Kensington just left with his entire posse. Last time he did this, they almost burned down the Hampton residence.”
“Shit,” I breathe, and scramble to follow.
Chapter Four
A hair-raising drive later, the orange Maserati pulls up to a curb, parking illegally. Evans motors up behind it.
I unpeel my fingers from the dash and seat. Theo drives like he’s doing time trials for the Indy 500, and Evans stayed on his tail the whole way. The head of security must have tons of practice. And a judge in his pocket to pay off Theo’s speeding tickets.
“Where are we?” The city block has nothing I recognize, besides a few rundown shops and a few ugly buildings amid a concrete jungle. We’re north of Manhattan, a few streets over from the upper crust area, bleeding into a slightly seedy neighborhood.
“Skate park. Mr. Kensington bought the empty lot and had it put in, a month after he received his inheritance.”
“Of course he did,” I mutter, watching the tall, tanned figure leave the Maserati, skateboard under his arm. “Because he’s twelve.”
“I thought you broke through to him.” Evans frowns at me.
“I thought I did too,” I say, and head in. Theo drops his board to talk with a few guy friends who pulled up in a jeep. Soon they’re all doing tricks, rolling up and down the concrete ramps.
To the right, a catering company has set up a long row of tables, covered in white tablecloths and mounds of food. Canapés and other finger food, plus a whole dessert table, with a tower of cupcakes. The women sit by and watch, careful to keep their sundresses from touching the gang tags on the concrete.
Theo flips his skateboard under his feet a few times before zooming up and down the ramps. He balances his big body with grace and ease as he executes some moves. He’s actually good.
“Won a competition when he was sixteen,” Evans tells me.
“Really? That might be useful.” I make a note to get Mina to dig on that.
Evans stands up and signals his security team. “We have visitors.”
Some scruffy kids have shown up, t-shirts untucked, jeans slouching. They hold beat up skateboards and eye the elite group who have encroached on their territory.
“Wait,” I say. “They’re like ten years old. Don’t kick them out just yet.”
A few of the boys creep towards the food table. When no one stops them, one grabs a chicken satay stick and runs back to his friends.
“Theo,” one of the girls whines. “They’re taking our food.”
“It’s all right.” Theo waves. “They can have as much as they want.”
“Stand down,” Evans says into his ear piece.
The neighborhood kids swarm the tables. The caterers rush to bring out more plates. One of boys reaches over the sea of desserts and grabs the top cupcake.
“They’re eating it all,” Blondie cries.
Theo looks up for a second. His shirt is off. Again. Tattoos in glorious display. He shrugs. “Let them eat cake.”
Pouting, Blondie stomps back to the car in her designer jean cutoffs and ridiculous high heels.
The kids demolish the food. Theo joins them for a mini hamburger, and then they all head over to the ramps.
I inch closer, listening to Theo rule the court, having the kids take turns on the ramps.
“Hey, can I borrow your phone?” I ask one boy. When he hands it over, I start snapping pictures. Theo crouching to examine a skateboard while three kids look over his shoulder. Theo pointing to the court, explaining the best way to hit the ramps. I take a little video and tweet it, adding Theo’s most popular hashtag.
“What’d you do?” the kid next to me asks when I hand back his phone.
“Made you famous,” I tell him. Using his phone versus mine will make the media leak look more authentic. “Some news vans are going to be here, and they’ll want to talk to you. Go ask Theo if you can get a picture with him. If you can, I’ll take it.”
“Cool!”
Sure enough, thirty minutes later, the paparazzi show. Cameras flash. Theo poses with the kids. He trades his designer t-shirt for one of the boy’s faded one. The boy glows. They all do tricks, and when one of the kids pulls off a fancy twist, Theo gives the boy his skateboard.
A few of the ladies get into it, handing out bottled water and the rest of the cupcakes. Blondie still sits glowering in the Maserati. I smirk at her before crossing to the news people to give a quote. This little detour has been quite a success.
When I return, Theo motions me over.
“Mr. Kensington?”
He pushes closer, dips his head towards mine. It’s then I realize he’s livid.
“What the fuck? You set me up.”
I blink at him.
“It’s a fucking media circus,” he says. “Did you call the press?”
“No. I took a picture and tweeted it with your hashtag. You’re hot right now.”
“I’m always hot.” Still flirty, under all his indignation.
“Hot news I mean.” I flush. My stupid body senses his anger and thinks it’s exciting. The chemistry between us cannot be denied. “You promised me a few interviews and then took off to here.”
“Thought you would get the message.”
“Did you expect me to give up so easily?”
“Yes.” He pushes closer, and his scent washes over me. A bit of sweat at his temple turns his silky hair black.
“Well, I’m not going to.” I stand my ground. “I’m going to do my job, like it or not. I’m a fixer. I’m used to difficult situations.”
“I don’t want to be fixed.” He looms over me, his body heat hitting me like a heatwave.
“Well, too bad.” My fucking pussy is dripping. We’re so close to each other, you could barely run a knife blade between us. There’s more to this fight than Theo’s distaste for the media. He’s finally met someone who will stand up to him. It doesn’t hurt that I’m someone he wants to fuck.
“You used these kids as part of my own personal photo shoot. And now I hear you told the media I come out here and skate with them regularly? A way of giving back?”
I shrug. “It’s not a bad idea? You built the park, you like to come here.”
“I’m not running a charity—”
“Actually, you are. As of three p.m. this afternoon. The lawyers are working on adding Boards for Boys and Girls to the Kensington N
onprofit Fund. You’re giving one million to start a skateboard after school program for inner city kids.” I give him a fierce smile. “I already told the kids you’d be here next week. Unless you want to back out…”
He shakes his head, but I hear his teeth grinding.
“Relax, Theo. This is good press. It’s good.”
“I didn’t fucking come out here to—”
“I know you didn’t. But, like I said, the kids showed up and you were nice to them. Because you’re a nice guy.” I poke him in the chest. It hurts my finger. His muscles are hard. Too late I realize I just poked my boss in the chest. But it’s not my fault. The force field between us is activated.
I pull my hand away. “You’re a nice guy,” I repeat.
“No, I’m not.” He backs away, shaking his head. He’s even hotter when he’s mad. I don’t tell him that. “Don’t pull this shit again.”
“Mr. Kensington!” A man in a white polo and slacks jogs up. I practically jump between him and Theo.
“No interviews,” I say, hoping Theo tones down the hostile body language before the cameras swing this way. That’s all we need—Theo throwing a punch at a reporter. “Mr. Kensington isn’t interested in giving a statement at this time.”
“I’m not with the press.” The man holds up his hands in mock defense. “I’m Roger White. I run the Kids Club over there.” He points to a low, grey building alongside the park. “I wanted to thank you all for coming and interacting with the kids.”
“It was my pleasure,” Theo says, shaking Mr. White’s hand. All the anger has drained out of him. He stands tall and proud, inclining his head, as gracious as if he were the president accepting an award. “Thank you for the work you do. This afternoon was a drop in the bucket compared to that.”
“I don’t know about that. For example,” he nods to two preteens who look like identical twins, “I’ve known Billy and Kenny since they were toddlers. Their mom works late, so they’re in our programs every day. The older they get, the more they disengage. What you did today, it means a lot to them. And to me.”
“Mr. Kensington has a non-profit that’s interested in partnering with local kid’s clubs,” I put in.