SIN-TV was a recently launched porn network based in Los Angeles that had hired us to create a brand identity and a national advertising campaign. The tagline we’d come up with, “Television so hot, your screen will sizzle,” had blown away CEO, Blake Burns, and we’d subsequently become good buddies.
“Great. Let me just check my e-mails and I’ll head over there.”
I flew into my office, threw my leather bomber jacket onto a cool-looking coat rack, and made a beeline for my desk.
I loved my desk. It was a large, light-wood elliptical table that I’d found at a local antiques shop. I kept little on it—my state-of-the-art computer, a few colorful plastic folders, and a framed photo of my father and me at the beach taken at the age of five. I stared at the photo and could still remember the day it was taken as if it were yesterday. Our favorite secret spot in Malibu where he liked to paint. The memory brought me as much sadness as joy. A day didn’t go by without missing him.
I booted up my computer and went directly to my e-mail inbox. Most of the new e-mails could wait, but one caught my attention and made my entire body tense up. It was from Vivien Holden and it said URGENT in the subject line. What the fuck did she want? With hesitation, I clicked it open.
Hi, Jaime!
I’m here. Why don’t you come to the Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show at the Lexington Avenue Armory? I’ve reserved a ticket in your name.
Mwah! Vivien
The last person I wanted to see was Vivien Holden, Gloria Long’s assistant. Make that the next to last person. Her scumbag father, Victor, the Chairman of Gloria’s Secret, was tops on my list. Gloria had no idea that I personally knew them both. And I planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.
I didn’t reply and stormed out of my office. Passing by Ray’s desk again, I told him to let me know when my ten o’clock meeting—Gloria Long—arrived. Just saying her name made my cock twitch. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on her face when she saw me.
The rough cut for the SIN-TV spot looked great. With the right music and graphics, it was going to rock. Blake would be happy. After giving a few notes to my creative team, the screening room phone rang. I picked it up myself. It was Ray, informing me that Ms. Long had arrived.
I dashed out of the screening room and sprinted back to my office. She was seated on one of my Scandinavian arms chairs, scrolling e-mails on her iPhone. One long leg was crossed over the other. Upon hearing my footsteps, her head pivoted to the doorway. Her jaw dropped and her phone slipped out of her hand. Oh, she was shocked all right. She couldn’t get her mouth to close as I strode up to her. She hesitantly stood up, and I shook her hand. What I thought would be warm and soft was wet and clammy. I had her good!
“Ms. Long, a pleasure to meet you officially.” It took all I had to stifle laughter.
She still couldn’t get her mouth to move. Finally, she said, “And you’re…”
“Jaime Zander.”
She froze. I almost felt sorry for her as she collapsed back into the chair. I took the chair catty-cornered to hers. I was so close to her that I could hear her heart thudding.
“Are you sure I can’t get you something? A coffee? Water? Tea perhaps?” Prozac?
“No, thank you,” she stammered and tugged nervously at her long braid.
I had the burning urge to undo her rope of platinum and run my fingers through her lustrous hair as it cascaded over shoulders and down her back. In my mind’s eye, I could picture what she’d look like with her wavy hair loose. A goddess.
She cleared her throat and met my eyes. “As you know, Mr. Zander, I’m looking for an advertising agency to help me expand my business. I want to take Gloria’s Secret to a new level of sales and sensuality.”
Without losing eye contact, I leaned back into my chair. “Gloria’s Secret. The #1 lingerie chain in the world. 2045 stores worldwide. Estimated annual sales revenue: 3.5 billion dollars.”
Oh, she was impressed for sure. But Ms. Poker Face simply gave a little nod and told me that she needed to stay ahead of the competition. And then her brows knitted together.
“Did you read Fifty Shades of Grey?” Her tone was challenging.
“Are you testing me, Gloria?”
“It’s Ms. Long and yes, I am…Well?”
Ha! She was in for another surprise. I’d actually read it way before it’d become a phenomenon. One of my hook-ups had left behind the paperbacks at my hotel suite. It was quite amusing though Mr. Grey could have learned a thing or two from me.
Without wasting a second, I replied, “Grace Trevelyn Grey. And she’s a pediatrician.”
Her brows furrowed again. Score another one for me.
“Mr. Zander—”
“Please call me Jaime.”
“Okay, then, Jai-me, tell me, what, in your opinion, has made the book so popular with women?”
I gazed into her mesmerizing two-color eyes. “Truthfully, while the sex is hot, I believe women fall for the romance.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Ms. Long, wouldn’t you like me to scoop you up in arms…tell you that ‘I want you, body and soul, forever’…and make insane love to you on the couch?”
She flushed a lovely shade of pink. Ooh, I really got to her that time—Mr. Grey at his best. Her eyes jumped back and forth between my crotch and the couch. She looked all heated up…maybe I should offer her a glass of water again. Nah. Let’s keep it going.
I leaned into her and growled into her ear. “Or would you prefer me to throw you over my desk…or perhaps carry you away and devour you on the conference room table down the hall?”
She squirmed and nervously started swinging one of her shapely crossed legs. I was enjoying every minute. The truth is, I was actually fantasizing tearing off that uptight suit and fucking her anywhere I could. My cock was straining against my jeans.
She must have been reading my mind. Seen through my eye fuck. She jerked back and deliberately kept her eyes away from the area between my inner thighs.
She took a deep breath. “You seem to know women quite well.”
I sat back in my chair. “Yes, I do.” You have no idea.
“In my experience, the only men who understand women are gay. Are you by chance, gay, Jaime?”
She thought I was gay? Was she being serious or funny? I refrained from bursting into laughter. “Hardly. I could have several hundred stunning women give you a stellar recommendation.” Or was it several thousand? I’d lost count.
To my shock, my statement failed to get a rise out of her. “Oh, so you have them review you like you’re a book on Amazon?”
This time I laughed aloud; she was a regular stand-up comic. “You’re rather quite witty, Ms. Long. I like that in a woman.”
The truth, I’d never met any woman quite like her. She was feisty, independent, and strong-willed. And she wasn’t falling all over me. She was in a word: a challenge.
I moved in closer to her and snagged her braid, coiling it around my long fingers. It was almost like some kind of bondage accessory.
I breathed against her willowy neck. “So, Ms. Long, what will it take to win your account?” And your cunt?
Ms. Feisty promptly removed my hand and looked me straight in the eyes. “I’ve asked every agency I’ve met with to come up with a pitch by Friday. Do you think your agency could do that?”
I assured her we could. “I’ll put my best person on the job.”
Her eyebrows arched. “And who might that be?”
I shot her a wicked grin. “Yours truly,” I said as I rose and escorted her to the door. But she was not leaving yet. I barricaded the door with my body, stretching my muscular arms across the frame. Face- to-face, I could feel her sweet breath warm my cheeks. Her eyes met mine in a heated exchange.
“I meant to tell you, Ms. Long, I find your eyes fascinating.”
Though I’m sure most people did, they widened as if she were a little surprised.
“
They’re contradictions just like the rest of you.”
Now, her eyes grew really round. “What do you mean?”
“Your mind says one thing; your body says another.”
She twitched; I was on to her. “Mr. Zander, can I please leave?”
With a triumphant smirk, I let her pass but not before tugging at her braid. “Ms. Long, I look forward to the pleasure of seeing you again.”
“The same,” she hissed.
I wanted badly to win her account even if she was going to be one damn tough client. My eyes stay riveted on her as she stomped down the hallway. Fuck, those long legs! That perfectly rounded ass! I swear, I could see right through her layers of clothing.
“Oh, by the way, I find the black lace push-up bra you’re wearing and the matching thong very sexy. And that garter…” My voice trailed off.
Without looking back at me, she kept moving and, in fact, quickened her pace, tightening her grip around her briefcase handle. I didn’t have to see her face to know that it was all screwed up. That scrunchy thing she did turned me on. A hard-on was raging beneath my jeans. Yes, I was determined to win a lot more than her account. Whatever it took, I was going to win her.
PLAYLIST
Here are some of the songs that inspired Gloria’s Secret and Gloria’s Revenge; many of them are featured within the books. The hit songs of the late, great Laura Branigan were a major source of inspiration, especially “Gloria,” whose lyrics fit so well with Gloria’s story. If you are not familiar with this amazing artist, I hope you will take the time to get to know her.
“Gloria”/Laura Branigan
“Self Control”/Laura Branigan
“Take a Bow”/Rihanna
“Blurred Lines”/Robin Thicke
“La Vie en Rose”/Edith Piaf
“Undercover Lover”/Kids in Glass Houses
“Toi et Moi”/Charles Aznavour
“Je ne Regrette Rien”/Edith Piaf
“Crazy”/Gnarls Barkley
“Good Vibrations”/The Beach Boys
“Bleeding Love”/Leona Lewis
“Jar of Hearts”/Christina Perri
“Just Give me a Reason”/Pink
“Nobody Ever Told You”/Carrie Underwood
“How Am I Supposed to Live Without You”/Laura Branigan
“Angel”/Leona Lewis
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Another big shout out to Team Gloria…
My beta readers in alphabetical order…Michele Coddington, Adriane Leigh, Cindy Meyers, and Jen Oreto. You were all beyond fabulous with your insightful comments and suggestions.
My chère amie, Arianne Richmonde, author of the bestselling Pearl series, who cheered me on and offered to find those last minute typos. Je t’adore!
The passionate bloggers who have stood by me through thick and thin.
My you-know-who-you-are-dear Facebook and Twitter fans whose kind words got me through the final chapters and the long, difficult edit ahead.
My cover artist and formatter, Glendon Haddix of Streetlight Graphics.
My proofreader, Kathie Middlemiss of Kat’s Eye Editing.
Last but not least, my family. Thank you for putting up with me while I’m glued to my computer and can’t always be the mommy you need and want.
Last but not least, I also want to express my gratitude to all my readers. I hope you enjoyed Gloria’s Secret and Gloria’s Revenge and will take the time to leave reviews. To writers like me, even a short review means so much and helps others discover my books.
Thank you. Love you all.
MWAH!~Nelle
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nelle L’Amour is a USA TODAY bestselling author who lives in Los Angeles with her Prince Charming-ish husband, twin teenage princesses, and a bevy of royal pain-in-the-butt pets. A former executive in the entertainment and toy industries with a prestigious Humanitas Award behind her, she gave up playing with Barbies a long time ago, but still enjoys playing with toys…with her husband. While she writes in her PJ’s, she loves to get dressed up and pretend she’s Hollywood royalty. She aspires to write juicy stories with characters that will make you both laugh and cry and stay in your heart forever.
She is also the bestselling author of the critically acclaimed erotic love story, Undying Love, and the erotic romance series, Seduced by the Park Avenue Billionaire. Additionally, she is featured in the bestselling romance anthology, Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance. Writing under another pen name, she is the author of the highly rated fantasy/romance: Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen, an Amazon Top 100 bestseller, and its sequel, Unhitched.
Nelle is currently working on her next novels, That Man, which features more of Jaime and Gloria, and Endless Love, the sequel to Undying Love.
Nelle loves to hear from her readers. Please “like” her author Facebook page and write to her at the email address below so that she can include you in her mailing list and keep you updated with any new publications.
[email protected]
www.facebook.com/NelleLamourAuthor
www.twitter.com/nellelamour
SEDUCED BY THE PARK AVENUE BILLIONAIRE
BY NELLE L’AMOUR
1
I’m going to miss my train! That was all I could think of as I dashed through the stately entrance to Philadelphia’s majestic 30th Street Station. My best friend, Lauren, with all her connections, had scored a bunch of coveted tickets to the Black Eyed Peas concert in Central Park, and I was among those she had chosen to be among her entourage… so I had to be home by seven, shower, and get dressed. I rushed past the tempting food court toward the information center. The old-fashioned, flip-letter Amtrak Train schedule board made a ticking sound as it updated arrivals and departures. I glanced up. Shit! My train to Penn Station was leaving in five minutes from Gate 5. My eyes darted around the elegant, high-ceilinged, art-deco station for the escalator leading down to the train platform. Despite how many times I had been in this vast station over the past few months, I never knew where I was going. My sense of direction was nothing to be proud of.
My eyes bounced from the famous Angel of the Resurrection statue to another bronzed statue. A god. A six-foot-two, golden-haired Adonis perched on the VIP mezzanine. Even from this distant vantage point, I could I could tell he was wearing one of those super-expensive, custom-tailored beige suits that New York’s tycoons donned once Spring hit. It made a stunning contrast with his St. Tropez tan, the kind wealthy Manhattanites sported all year round. With his expensive designer glasses perched on his perfectly blown flaxen hair, he looked like he was right out of GQ.
I couldn’t get my eyes off him. The sight of him made my knees weak and my heart hammer. I had dreamt of men like this, but the reality of ever meeting one was way out of my league. I was a geeky, recent college student who, after several false starts, had finally landed an entry-level job at Ike’s Tikes, an established New York City toy company, and was struggling to make ends meet. Beautiful men were just not in my cards. They never had been. But my mom had always told me it was okay to dream. And for a minute, as Adonis pivoted his head in my direction, I imagined his eyes burning across the station into mine.
A booming voice put an end to my reverie—and the pulsating I felt between my legs. “Last call for Amtrak 148 to Penn Station boarding at Gate 5.” In a blink of an eye, Adonis was gone. Out of my life and dreams forever. My pulse accelerated as my eyes searched the vast station for the gate sign. Finally, I found it, and began to run, my messenger-style leather bag flying behind me. The escalator descending to the train platform was out of order. Thank goodness, I was wearing my trusty combat boots. At breakneck speed, I clambered down the daunting three flights of stairs, praying that the train wouldn’t leave without me.
“Wait!” I screamed as the automatic doors of the sleek silver train were closing. I skimmed through one of them, narrowly missing being a smooshed sardine.
Breathing heavy, I staggered through the car, desperately searching for
a seat. Nothing. It was rush hour and every seat was taken. Maybe I would have better luck in the next car, I thought as I wobbled across the connecting bridge, the train rolling into motion. I so needed to sit down, catch my breath, and relax. I was exhausted and rundown. Not just from my sprint to the train, but from months of juggling my Manhattan-based job as the assistant to a demanding female executive with visits to my ailing mother who was receiving experimental cancer treatments at the world-renowned Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. Seeing my mother in her weakened state, hooked up to IV’s and machines, never helped no matter how cheery she was when I came to see her.
As the train picked up speed, I struggled to keep my balance and open the sliding door to the next car. Using all the muscle power I could muster, I finally yanked it open and tumbled into the cabin. This car was different than the one before. It was far more spacious and deluxe. Roomy pairs of rich brown leather seats lined the aisles, and the well-dressed occupants were sipping cocktails in real glasses and toying with the latest electronic gadgets. This was obviously business-class. I sure as hell did not belong here wearing my T.J. Maxx midi skirt and Fruit of the Loom t-shirt. Oh yeah, and my worn out combat boots, which I had found at a flea market. This was the cabin where Louis Vuittons, Jimmy Choos, and Chanels mingled with other LVs, Jimmies, and Cocos. No, I didn’t belong here. Not one bit.
Fighting the speed of the train and my embarrassment, I clumsily zigzagged down the aisle, occasionally grabbing onto the corner of a seat for balance. Like the previous cabin, every seat was taken. No one seemed to notice me, but truthfully, I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. As I neared the rear end of the car, the train jerked, sending me flying into the lap of a Wall Street Journal-reading commuter to my left.
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