by Kayla Oliver
I thought her blush deepened slightly, and I marked that one down as a victory. She was definitely thinking of my cock now.
The downside was a second later, I found out what else she was thinking of. “That’s okay. I already know what I do and don’t like, and I know for a fact that I don’t like a cocky, womanizing asshole. Namely, you.”
The phone rang then, which was probably a good thing because I didn’t know what in the fuck I was supposed to say in response to that.
A player. That was what she thought of me.
Which I would love to wholeheartedly deny in this particular instance, but I couldn’t. I liked my women, and I liked to play with them until I didn’t. Numbers weren’t important so much as the experience was. There was a little tickle in the back of my mind that was telling me that Courtney wasn’t the kind of girl to just play with, but I was ignoring that. Just like I was ignoring the one that was hinting that I maybe wasn’t looking to just play with her.
“Marnie McKenna’s Office, S&W Publishing, this is Courtney,” she answered in a professionally friendly voice. All the while she shot daggers at me like I was a spinning knife-thrower’s target at the circus. “Oh, hey, Callum. Yeah, she’s out of her meeting.”
She transferred Callum back—who happened to be my best friend—then addressed me again. “What are you still doing here? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Before I even came up with an answer, she returned to her computer and plucked away at it.
I thought of telling her to have a nice day or that she should give me a chance again or that I was the “agent” that she’d been talking to on the phone for the last three months, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to say any of that. So I turned around and left, letting the elevator doors close on my image of the spicy, sexy Courtney Hughes.
Chapter Two
Trent
I wasn’t in a foul mood so much as in a depressed mood when I got home. Sarah poked her head into the living room as I plopped down on the couch like a sack of potatoes, complete with a deep, mournful sigh.
Her dark eyebrows rose, her mouth kicked half up in an amused smile. “Really? That bad?”
I grunted in answer.
She shook her head at me, coming farther into the living room. She plopped down beside me. “I know McKenna’s supposed to be a ballbuster, but it’s not like you to be such a weenie about it.”
There were a few things that should be known about Sarah Allens. First, she was a very good friend of mine. The kind of friend that passed the test of time and still managed to not hate my guts. The kind of friend that looked past the bullshit and the drama to see that beneath my cocky exterior, I had a less abrasive, slightly less cocky interior that generally meant I wasn’t a total asshole.
Sometimes.
It was this friendship that let her get away with things like calling me a weenie.
The second thing was that she acted as my roommate, secretary, editor, agent, idea emulsifier, and general business operating badass. Without her, my work fell apart. It was a little unmanly to admit, but I was pretty sure all men had some woman working behind the scenes to ensure his personal success. Generally it was the woman they married, but it wasn’t like that with Sarah. We were platonic friends, pure and simple, and we were both okay with that. For a player like me, it was nice to just have a female friend that I wasn’t fucking on the side. That just got messy.
Lastly, she hated Marnie McKenna, my editor. It wasn’t anything personal, per se. In fact, Sarah had never even met Marnie. But she’d been obsessed with Callum for as long as she’d known him and as long as I’d known her, meaning Marnie was automatically her enemy.
“I am not being a weenie,” I defended. “And if I were, it would be a huge weenie, meaning it wasn’t weenie-like at all.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “So you’re saying you would be a dick?”
I winced. “Okay, not what I meant.”
“A cock?”
“Sarah,” I said in warning.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying that McKenna is just an editor. You’ve had loads of them. None made you this miserable before. I don’t see why you’re letting her get under your skin now.”
I mulled over the idea of spilling what was going on with Courtney, but that seemed… complicated. So, much like I usually did, I took the path of least resistance and told her about my meeting instead.
“It’s not Marnie that’s the problem.” I paused and considered that, then shrugged. “Not really anyway. She’s a pain in my ass, but that’s the job of an editor. They stress so I don’t have to, and when shit rolls downhill, there’s heat on her, and so pressure gets put on me. Simple as that.”
“Fine. So it’s not the ballbuster. What is it?”
“The manuscript.” It was more or less the truth. My book was due for publication in only a couple of months’ time, meaning I was way behind. I wasn’t in the red yet, but Marnie had decent reason to be pissed at me, and it wasn’t for the sweetheart comment. She still had to go over everything I submitted—even though it was automatically awesome—and I wasn’t leaving her a lot of time to do that. Worse, I knew it.
Sarah’s eyebrows rose in question. “And?”
“I don’t know what my issue is,” I admitted. It was confession time, much as I loathed it. “I feel like my inspiration has evaporated. Something’s missing. I sit down at my damn computer and see that fucking blank page and want to tear my hair out.”
“You’re bald,” she pointed out mildly.
I scowled at her. “I choose to shave my head. That’s not the same thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Choosing to be bald doesn’t mean you’re not bald.”
“Bald is a term for people losing their hair, not for those who decide their head is too magnificently shaped to deny the rest of the world.”
Hey, I was dark skinned. I could have a bald head and still look good.
“You mean your ego is so big there isn’t any room for hair follicles?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, some of that, too.”
She considered me for a moment, mulling something around in her head before laying it on me. “You always do this, you know.”
“Well, yeah, writing is kind of my career choice.”
She ignored my quip and continued as though I hadn’t said anything. “You get all juiced up for a project, hyper as a damn rabbit, then you get 30 or 40 percent through and hit a roadblock. You come to me and whine about how you’ve lost your inspiration and that you’ll never finish.”
I slung one arm over the couch and glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes. One of the things that sucked about having a best friend was that they already knew all of your bullshit.
“But then you find it again, get your ass into gear, and have a coffee-binging-slash-writing marathon to get the damn thing finished on time. Which you always manage to do.”
I scratched at the bottom of my chin, jutting it out slightly in front of me as I raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. “Yeah, well, maybe this time is different.”
“You say that every time, too.”
I paused. Then I said, “You’re just not going to let me off the hook for this one, are you?”
She shook her head. “Nope.” She patted my thigh affectionately. “Suck it up. Like you said, this is your career.”
I scowled at her as she grinned and stood up, looking pleased with herself. I kept up the scowl until she left the room for her office, which was a second door off the main hallway. When she was out of sight, I sat back with a heavy sigh. There was a rational part of my mind that knew she was right. I did this to myself. Excited about a new project, burn myself out, hit a writer’s block, and finally pick up my steam all over again for the win.
But there was another, less optimistic side of me, and that one said I was screwed.
Letting my head fall back, I considered just lying there like the sack of shit I was imitating today. But before I could do that, I h
eard Sarah’s voice echo down the hall.
“Get off your ass, Harvey.”
I rolled my eyes. Damnit, she knew me well. But I heaved myself off the couch anyway and headed up the stairs toward my workshop. I sat down at my desk, facing my dreaded blank screen. Putting my fingers on the keyboard, I braced myself for the crap that was going to flow from my mind, none of it worth keeping.
Before I could add pressure to even a single key, my phone went off. I mentally chided myself for not turning the damn thing off. Rule one: Never leave electronic distractions in the room.
I dug my phone out of my pocket and was about to silence it when I saw that it was Callum.
My eyebrows rose, but I answered it. “I would have thought you were busy sexting Marnie with unsolicited dick pics,” I said by way of greeting.
I heard him grunt on the other side. My words were meant to irk him, and that grunt told me I’d been successful. But Callum was almost as close to me as Sarah; he was used to my shit.
“Who says they’re unsolicited?”
I laughed. “Hey, I don’t want to know what kinds of kinky shit the two of you do to entertain yourselves.” I paused, then added, “But if you want to send me a pic of your lady in some sexy lingerie, I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“Trent,” Callum warned.
I grinned but didn’t push it. Marnie was attractive, but not really my type. In other words, she was a pain in the ass. Besides, Callum was over the moon for her, despite his lack of belief in love as he put it.
Ignoring me, Callum cleared his throat, and a note of apology formed in his voice. “I called because I’m going to have to cancel our plans this afternoon.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” I whined, placing an exaggerated hand over my chest, though he couldn’t see it.
I could almost hear the eye roll through the phone. Impressive. “Don’t be an ass. I have something to take care of, so you’re on your own.”
“No linner together?”
“Please stop calling it that,” he groaned.
Linner. Lunch and dinner. It sounded horrible, which was why I enjoyed using it so much.
“Fine, fine,” I chuckled. “What’s this thing you have to take care of anyway?”
There was a beat. A pause too long to be natural. It was unlike Callum to withhold something, but that pause told me that was exactly what he was intending on doing. “It’s nothing.”
My eyebrows rose and I sat up straight in my chair. “Nothing is why you’re canceling on me?” I pushed.
He huffed. “No, of course not. I just have something else to do.”
“Something else.”
“Yes, Trent, something else. Believe it or not, you are not the only thing in my life.”
“If you’re just doing kinky shit with Marnie, you can just tell me. I won’t hold it against you.”
His voice dropped slightly in warning. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what the fuck is it?”
“Jesus, Trent, it’s fucking nothing. Why do you have to make a big deal out of everything?”
He didn’t necessarily sound heated, but he sounded annoyed—or nervous. How very unlike my dear friend…
“All right,” I told him finally. “You let Marnie tie you up. I won’t say anything.”
He huffed, but sounded relieved more than annoyed. “Whatever. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
We hung up then, and I wondered what he was so wound up about. What was this thing he didn’t want to tell me about? He didn’t do a lot of secret keeping with me. Mostly I just didn’t think he had enough of a life outside of business to bother with personal secrets, and business secrets were boring.
Maybe it really is something dirty with Marnie, I thought.
An image of Callum and Marnie bumping uglies ran through my head before I could stop it. I shuddered. I liked my friend and Marnie was sexy, but I didn’t need to see them in the throes of passion.
“Christ, how am I supposed to write with that image?” I said out loud.
It turned out I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Before I’d even put my phone down, it chimed in my hand. I unlocked it to see a new message.
Are we going to meet?
I groaned loudly and tossed my phone across the room to land on the couch in the corner with a flop. My hands scrubbed at my face as I realized just how much I was screwed.
The message was from Courtney Hughes and it was to Malcom Resner, my agent. Except I didn’t have an agent, and there wasn’t anyone named Malcom Resner.
Malcom was my middle name. Resner I’d taken from my bookcase in a panic when I realized that Courtney wanted a name from me.
And therein lay the rub.
Courtney hated my guts. She thought I was a conceited, womanizing asshole. Which wasn’t wholly inaccurate. I never promised a woman anything, and if she thought she was getting it, it was her fault, not mine. But I definitely wasn’t what one would call chivalrous. I liked to fuck ’em and leave ’em. I was good in the sack, so I figured they got something for their trouble regardless. But I had a thing for Courtney and wanted to pursue it if she’d just give me a damn chance.
The trouble was that she was giving me a chance—she just didn’t know it was me. She thought it was my agent, and I was playing that up. We were texting, talking on the phone, emailing. And it wasn’t necessarily kinky, but it was kind of personal, intimate. Now, she wanted to take it to the next level. Which I did, too. Images of her puckered ruby lips parting to let the head of my cock pop into her mouth flooded most of my brain, and the rest involved me balls-deep in her pussy.
But I couldn’t figure out how to get her to be okay with going out to meet Malcom Resner only to figure out he was Trent Harvey.
Somehow, I didn’t think she’d take it well.
I debated how I was supposed to answer her until it was too late to respond. Which may have been my subconscious’s way of not dealing with things. That seemed pretty legitimate.
Ultimately, I left the message unanswered. I undressed, brushed my teeth, threw a paper airplane at my computer, then gave up and went to bed. I told myself I’d figure out what to do in the morning. Until then, I would hope for pleasant dreams involving a certain little ruby-lipped spitfire.
Chapter Three
Courtney
My drink was sweating on the table in front of me. I’d taken all of two sips of it, and it was my first. Across from me, Elizabeth was on her third and about halfway through it to boot. She was probably also giving me the evil eye considering how rude I was being. But even knowing that I was being rude, I couldn’t stop myself.
I reached for my phone, which I’d put in my purse in an effort to stop myself from checking every five seconds. Digging it out, I checked the notifications. Nothing. I’d sent Malcom that text nearly two hours ago.
“Bastard,” I muttered to myself.
Used to be he would answer me within seconds. Even when he was in meetings and doing agent things. He always made time for me. Hell, even when it looked like Harvey—Malcom’s client, unfortunately—was going to sign with another publisher, Malcom still said he wanted to remain “friends.” Well, we were passing the last few mile markers for friendship and passing into that fast lane of romance.
That was, assuming we ever got around to meeting in person.
“Are you seriously going to spend the whole night with your phone?”
I glanced up to see Elizabeth sitting across from me. Her glass was empty on the table and her arms were crossed. She didn’t look pissed. Yet. But I knew it was only a matter of time if I didn’t pull my head out of my ass and give her some attention.
After all, I hadn’t seen her in years.
I winced apologetically. “Sorry, Liz. I’m just—”
“Waiting on some asshole to text you back?” she supplied nonchalantly as she waved down the waiter again. When he appeared she asked for a refill and a second one for me, even though I hadn’t finished my first. Aft
er he left, she fixed her dark eyes on me again. “Seriously. I haven’t seen you this worked up over anyone since… Well, actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up over the other half of the species.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I always thought you were secretly playing for the other team.”
She winked and I laughed.
“Shut up,” I told her. “First, I am decidedly straight. Girls just aren’t my thing. Second, this isn’t about a guy.”
Liz laughed. “Please. Do you honestly think that’s going to work on me, honey? I know you too well.”
I quickly debated trying to lie convincingly to Liz, but dismissed the idea before I could do something stupid. Truth was, she did know me too well. The only other person who knew me so well was Marnie—and she was a little preoccupied with her own love life to worry over mine.
I sighed and took my drink in my hand. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me,” I finally admitted.
Elizabeth shook her head a little. “You and Marnie. I swear, I haven’t seen the two of you in years, and first Marnie flakes on me, then you have a love affair with your phone. What gives?”
“Sorry,” I said again. I really did feel badly about it.
She waved off my apology. “Never mind that. Make it up to me with the deets. Who’s the guy?”
“It’s complicated.”
“All the best stories are,” she said with a grin.
I smiled a little, then caved. “His name’s Malcom. He’s an agent.”
“Ooh, an agent. Trouble from the get-go, eh?”
“You don’t know the half of it. He’s not just any agent—he’s Trent Harvey’s agent.”
That got Liz’s attention. “The Trent Harvey? The dude who sleeps with three girls at a time, has crazy hotel sexapades, and is loaded?”
“I was going to say best-selling author, but sure, that, too,” I responded dryly.
“Oh, whatever. Who cares about the books? He’s sexy, he’s rich, and he’s a total manwhore.”
I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m not going to argue with you on any of those points. But that’s not the point. I’m not texting him. Just his agent.”