Dirty Girl (Dirty Girl Duet #1)

by Meghan March

  “He was runnin’ his mouth about a woman.”

  The old man sinks onto the kitchenette bench, drops the bottle of water onto the table, and runs a hand through his thinning gray hair. “For fuck’s sake, Cav. A piece of tail ain’t worth your reputation.”

  That’s where he’s wrong. Especially when she’s a hell of a lot more than a piece of tail.

  “It’s a long story.” I want him to drop it and save me from getting sucked any deeper into the life I left behind.

  “Enlighten me.” The steel in his gaze has made its way into his voice, but I don’t follow orders any more.

  “Not important.” A lie. Because it’s damn important to me.

  “Important enough to put your career at risk. Come on, kid. Spill. Maybe I can help before you make this into a bigger mess.”

  Mitch is the only guy I’ve met in this business who has ever made me an offer of help, expecting nothing in return. That’s not something I can buy, and the knowledge pushes me to loosen my tight grip on my secrets.

  “There’s a girl I was hung up on back in the day. She put herself front and center in the news, and DeLong was looking to cash in on what he considers an easy score.” Little does DeLong know, nothing about Greer Karas is easy.

  Mitch cranks open his bottle of water, his eyes never leaving mine as he sucks half of it down. He replaces the cap, his brain working over everything I’ve told him before he finally speaks.

  “Is this going to be a problem?”

  I follow his lead, drinking and considering before I answer.

  “I think DeLong got the message loud and clear.”

  Mitch lays an arm on the kitchenette table and leans forward. “Fuck DeLong. Is this a problem for you? Because we’ve got two days to wrap this project so I can start my vacation.”

  Mitch’s daughter is taking him to Italy for some relaxation over his birthday. No one on this set will let filming slip even a day because no one wants to be responsible for fucking that up for him. Me included. Even when all I want to do is get on a jet and get my ass back to New York so I can shake some sense into that girl.

  “No, man. My head’s in the game. I’ve only got the one scene left, and I’m done. I ain’t holding up shit.”

  “You sure? Because you’re goddamn lucky I don’t need Peyton’s face anymore.”

  A twinge of guilt slips into my chest. I didn’t even consider whether Mitch did or not before I popped DeLong in the nose with a jab. He’s lucky I didn’t swing with a right hook, or he would have a broken face for sure.

  Mitch waits for an answer, his attention fixed on me.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Good.” He pushes to his feet. “If that shit happens again on one of my projects, I’ll make you wish you’d never stepped foot in Hollywood, regardless of how much I like you.”

  I say nothing as he turns and shoulders open the trailer door, letting it bang shut behind him as he mutters to himself.

  “Fucking kids these days . . .”

  Mitch is old guard, from a dying breed of directors. I know I’m lucky to have a chance to work with him, not just on this film but the first one he used to drag me into this business and out of being a glorified crash-test dummy. Disappointing him wasn’t on my schedule for today, but the guilt remains regardless.

  Slumping against the back of the recliner, I fish my phone out of my pocket. I don’t know why I pull it up again, but I can’t help it.

  What the fuck were you thinking, Greer? God, but I want to shake that girl. She’s not the slutty little princess this ad makes her out to be.

  I read through it again, stumbling over the part about her giving great head. I wouldn’t know. We hadn’t made it that far, no matter how badly I wanted her lips wrapped around my cock back then.

  Screw shaking her—I want to take her over my knee and turn that luscious ass red. She’s begging to be taken in hand, and in my gut, I know this ad was a direct shot aimed at me.

  Greer Karas, sister of the legendary billionaire Creighton Karas, has no idea how effective that shot is.

  My cock pulses against my jeans when I think of her on her knees, her pouty lips wrapped around my dick as I teach her how to swallow it down. Greer might think she knows how to give good head, but I’m not one of the trust fund kids she’s used to.

  Three years ago, I knew she needed a man to keep her out of trouble. Seems that some things haven’t changed. As soon as this project is wrapped, I’ll be on that jet to New York, and Greer Karas and I are going to get reacquainted. Intimately.

  Three years ago, I walked before I could dirty up her pristine little world. But now? All bets are off.

  I step off East 53rd into the building that houses Sterling & Michaels, and I swear even the security guards are looking at me funny. It shouldn’t be a surprise. I’m an Internet sensation.

  Creighton kept me out of the press for years, but even he won’t be able to bury this disaster, which I’m sure he’s trying to do, even though I keep letting his calls go to voice mail. By its very nature, something viral can’t be undone. My brother knows that as well as anyone.

  There’s no choice but to brazen it out as I stride across the gray and white marble floor in my most conservative pinstriped skirt suit with my heels clicking with every step. I might not be able to hold on to my job, but I will maintain my dignity at any cost.

  When I swipe my badge at the turnstile, it flashes green, admitting me to the elevator bank. Surprise and optimism fill me because if I were fired, I wouldn’t even be able to get up to my office. It’s a highly effective measure for not having to deal with people you don’t want to deal with.

  The elevator seems even more painfully slow than normal as it climbs to the forty-seventh floor, allowing me too much time to play out the scenarios in my brain. I’m so screwed.

  The cherrywood-paneled walls with brushed gold lettering greet me as I step out with faux confidence, holding my chin high. The receptionist’s automatic smile falters once she realizes who I am.

  Her name is Jade, and she started here the same day I did. We share the same birthday, the same love of Holly Wix and Boone Thrasher’s country music, and under different circumstances, I could be her. She’s going to college at night while she works here during the day, and raises a toddler alone after her boyfriend bailed without a word or a dime.

  I tried to talk her into letting me use Creighton’s PI to track down his sorry ass so she could get child support, but Jade freaked when I suggested it. She claims having him out of their lives is for the best, even if she’s struggling to stretch every paycheck to make ends meet.

  Jade glances from side to side to confirm the lobby is empty, and I can feel the come-to-Jesus speech in the air before she speaks the first word.

  “Seriously, G, what the hell were you thinking? Are you trying to get fired?”

  In that moment, guilt washes over me. Jade would kill to have my job, and here I am, recklessly endangering it because I decided finding the bottom of a fifth of gin with Banner was a solid idea for getting over the sight of my boyfriend pumping into a skinny redhead’s ass.

  I blurt out the first thought in my brain. “He didn’t even stop fucking her to chase after me.”

  Jade’s eyes widen in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tristan.”

  Understanding dawns over her features, and her hands fist defensively. “Shit. I should have known this had something to do with that little fucker.”

  Not quite over the raunchy humor Banner and I were indulging in all night, I respond honestly. “He definitely was little. In every way.”

  Jade stands behind the cherry desk and leans forward. “Why didn’t you call me to help hide the body?” Her voice is low and serious.

  Mentioning that my brother’s secret mob connection might have been a better option had I gone that route might not be the best choice at this particular moment. Anyway, I wasn’t moved to violence last night. Instead, after th
e shock of seeing my boyfriend of two years nailing another woman passed, a hollow sort of emptiness took up residence in my chest, along with the gaping pit of failure.

  “Greer. You there?”

  My attention snapped back to Jade. “Sorry, I left him alive. No hazmat suits needed.”

  “Well, maybe you should’ve called me before you decided to get shit-faced, because that’s the only way I can see you posting that ad. What were you thinking? Gah. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been there to hand you booze, food, and veto your Internet privileges.”

  Her words fire the first real smile to grace my lips today. “Next time I catch my boyfriend fucking another chick, I’ll call you first.”

  Her scowl intensifies. “I would’ve killed him.”

  “Sometimes killing people isn’t the right answer.”

  The elevator opens behind me with a ding and I freeze, not wanting to turn around and see who it is.

  Kevin Sunderberg’s nasally voice gives his pompous identity away, saving me the hassle of worrying for more than a hot second.

  “I can’t believe you’d even show your face here, Karas. That takes serious balls. Which apparently you’re well acquainted with.” Under his breath, he whispers, “Slut.”

  I don’t need to see him to picture his acne-scarred face twisted with disgust.

  Jade stiffens in her chair but I hold out a hand, signaling her to stand down. She’s made an art form out of ignoring the comments of the assholes who work in this place when they’re directed at her, but she’s more than ready to come to my defense.

  I won’t let her get fired because of me, though. I can handle Sunderberg myself.

  He’s hated me since our third year of law school when I wrecked the curve in Corporate Finance. As a result, he lost his perfect GPA and his spot as first in our class. I graduated third in the class to his second, but he’s never gotten over it. Or maybe it’s the fact that I turned down his drunken passes at a bar a couple of months before graduation.

  I turn to face him. His blond hair is already thinning on top, and I’m guessing he’s going to opt for the comb-over before he’s thirty.

  “It’s better than being a wannabe manwhore like you, Kevin.” The burn isn’t as good as I’d like, but I’m off my game today.

  “You come in here to get your ass chewed out in person?” His words are laced with loathing. “I would say fired, but we both know they won’t dare. It’s such a fucking joke. Any other associate would be out on her ass for doing what you did, embarrassing the shit out of yourself and the firm. But no, not the untouchable Greer Karas. They wouldn’t dare fire you and risk losing your brother’s business.”

  There are several things I truly despise, and one of them is admitting Kevin Sunderberg is right. When I let my rational brain take the lead, I know my fears about getting fired are probably unfounded. Realistically, I am virtually untouchable here. The firm makes millions from the litigation it handles for Karas International. My brother is not a man others want to anger.

  “I suggest you worry about yourself and the hours you need to bill today.”

  His lip curls like he’s just eaten bad sushi. “You’re a joke, Greer.” He spins on his Prada loafers and heads for the internal staircase.

  “And so is his dick.”

  Jade’s hushed voice comes from behind me, and I swing around to stare at her, distracted momentarily from Kevin’s harsh words.

  “You’ve seen his dick?”

  She drops her gaze to the desktop in front of her. “Not my proudest moment. But I was desperate and he had a penis. Arguably.”

  A giggle spills from my lips at the comic relief I desperately need at this moment. “Really, Jade? Really?”

  Jade’s dimples appear as she fights her own laugh. “Let’s just say the size requirement in your ad was probably the smartest part of the whole debacle.”

  My humor dies mid-giggle and I groan, covering my face with my hand. When I look back at her, her expression is sober once more.

  “I should get fired today. Kevin’s right.”

  Jade shrugs. “Fuck ’em. If they don’t have the balls to fire you, then that’s their problem. Not yours.”

  As much as I appreciate her practical attitude, I know it will become my problem. It doesn’t take working in a firm very long to realize lawyers aren’t nearly as confrontational as people expect. Passive-aggressive bullshit will be heaped on me in the form of terrible projects, midnight conference calls with Asia, and deadlines requiring all-nighters.

  I always thought I would love my job. I was wrong. So, what is the point of sticking it out if I know what abuse is coming?

  I came to the office today to apologize and beg forgiveness, to try to salvage my career, and all it took was Kevin Sunderberg’s venom to make me form a completely different plan.

  Jade’s right. Fuck ’em. I’ll find another job, and I won’t go crawling to my brother for one either.

  With the knowledge that my self-respect won’t be sacrificed on the altar of Sterling & Michaels today, my spine finds new reinforcement. “Okay. Wish me luck.”

  Jade’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows draw together. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing good for my career.”

  I lug the box of my personal belongings through the lobby and hand over my badge to security.

  “Thanks, Donald.”

  “Anytime, Ms. Karas.”

  His words are the throwaway kind because we both know there won’t be another time. I’m done with Sterling & Michaels.

  My bright, shiny career as an associate came to a crashing halt when I handed Mr. Feinstein the letter of resignation I’d typed in my office thirty minutes ago. His insincere attempt to change my mind was less than impressive, as was his request that I explain to my brother that my decision was neither prompted nor supported by the firm.

  I stopped by Kevin Sunderberg’s office on my way out and dropped an armload of deal toys on his desk. He’s always wanted the little trophies representing the hundreds of thankless hours I worked helping clients buy and sell companies. He’s welcome to them. I’m done.

  With a final glance over my shoulder, I step out onto East 53rd, wondering if anyone is going to come chasing after me to snatch back the pro bono file I’d lifted from my filing cabinet. It’s the only client file I grabbed on my way out. Chances are no one will miss it.

  I’ve been working on this prisoners’ rights case here and there for a couple of months with little progress. Two phone interviews with an inmate at Rikers Island about the impingement of his constitutional rights and a crime he says he didn’t commit.

  Why would a corporate associate attorney handle a prisoners’ rights case pro bono? Welcome to the wonderful world of giving back in the legal community. You don’t even have to be qualified to handle a case, just willing to give it a shot. Most associates try to dodge these assignments for all they’re worth, but I actually volunteered for this one. It’s the one project I worked on that didn’t directly pad someone else’s bottom line.

  Maybe this is my penance. I can get some kind of justice for this guy, and it’ll give me something to do while I figure out my next step.

  Ed, my driver, pulls up at the curb as I heft the box higher in my arms. He exits the car and comes around to the side to snatch it from my grip.

  “Ms. Karas, you should have notified me in your text that I needed to retrieve something from your office.”

  “No worries, Ed. I managed.”

  There’s no way in hell I wanted him to see the looks that followed me as I made my walk of shame out of the office. Kevin Sunderberg had made sure to fake cough whore loud enough for everyone on the floor to hear it. Unoriginal prick.

  “Home, then?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” I slide inside the Mercedes, acknowledging silently that I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do next.

  My phone buzzes again. Crey.

  I should answer. Should explain ev
erything and tell him I’ve quit my job, but I don’t want to do it. He’s always been so proud of me, and right now, there’s nothing to be proud of. I’m a fuckup. Such a cliché.

  The call goes to voice mail, and Ed’s phone rings.

  “Yes, sir. One moment, sir.”

  He looks in the rearview mirror and holds out the phone. Ed doesn’t need to say anything because I already know who it is. I want to take the phone and hang up, but even I’m not capable of being that childish. I can’t run from Creighton forever.

  I hold Ed’s phone to my ear. “Hi.”

  “What the fuck are you doing, Greer?” His voice is harsh in my ear, and my wince is automatic.

  Yes, I’m a fuckup.

  “Hello to you too, Crey.” I try to brazen my way out of it.

  “When I call, I expect you to fucking answer.”

  Bristling against the back of the leather seat, I inject attitude into my tone. “I don’t work for you, Crey, so don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

  I hear something through the phone, the sound of him growling?

  “Women. So fucking stubborn.”

  “Say hello to Holly for me.”

  “Stop with the bullshit, Greer. What the fuck were you thinking? Did you even think at all? And that ad . . . why the hell would you do that? I’ve got PR working their asses off, and we can’t stop the spread. At this point, the only people who haven’t seen it are in fucking North Korea and maybe China.”

  “I know,” I say quietly as shame crashes down around me. I feel like a child again, being taken to task on the rug in front of my uncle’s desk.

  “Jesus, Greer. Do you realize what’s happening to the stock of the companies?”

  His words hit me like a fist to the gut. “Why would that matter?”

  “Because your trust is a goddamn majority shareholder in a bunch of them. But no, you didn’t think about the kind of monetary impact your actions could have before you posted that asinine ad making you look like a—” He breaks off before he can deliver the final blow.

  “Just say it, Crey. Like a whore? A slut? Jesus, this fucking double-standard stuff is bullshit. You posted something just as ridiculous and probably made money off it for being such a big man. But I do it, and I’m a whore. Bullshit. I call fucking bullshit.”