Occupying the lot of a defunct movie studio in Culver City, the complex was vast, almost as big as a college campus. In addition to the towering building where I would be headquartered, there was another rambling building that housed a cafeteria, gym, and state-of-the-art theater for screenings. Scattered across the campus were numerous soundstages where they shot television series, including some for SIN-TV. I instantly recognized the set for one of the network’s porn game shows—Wheel of Pain. I’d forced myself to watch it once. Big-boobed women and their endowed partners were strapped together on a wheel and had to fuck while the wheel spun around. As the wheel turned, the contestants were subjected to all forms of torture like ice cubes, insects, and nauseating speeds. Whoever lasted the longest won the grand prize—money and a trip to Vegas. What sicko came up with this concept? Watching it once in my lifetime was one time too many. I was glad the job of overseeing current programming belonged to someone else. Thank God, I didn’t have to deal with this show or the rest of the pornographic crap that filled the lineup.
After orientation, I settled into my new office. Adjacent to my new boss’s corner suite on the main floor, it was the size of a closet consisting of the following: a utilitarian blond wood desk with a computer and phone, a matching bookshelf and credenza that housed a small outdated TV, and a pair of basic armchairs. It was sterile and claustrophobic, but at least, there was a window overlooking the parking lot. I sat down behind my desk and assembled the few possessions I’d brought along. On it, I set a framed photo of my parents and another of my fiancé Bradley and me taken at one of his dentist conventions. Opening the top drawer, I lined up the three T’s—toothpaste, toothbrush, and Tampax—along with a box of SpongeBob Band-Aids. Accident-prone me went through Band-Aids as fast as some people went through tissues. I stood up and strode over to the bookshelf next to the door. I placed the two other possessions I’d brought along on the top shelf—my cherished Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary and vintage Roget’s International Thesaurus—both gifts from my dad, a retired English professor. Heading back to my desk, I promised myself I would try to personalize my new office. Maybe buy a few framed posters and hang them up on the sterile white walls. Yeah, some art would liven the place up and give it a little personality.
At noon, I met up with my best friend Libby in the commissary. She and I were roommates and had been since our college days at USC. One year ahead of me, she had landed a position at Conquest Broadcasting—as a Research Analyst in the Consumer Insights division—and had been the one who encouraged me to apply for a job here. She’d raved about the creative working environment, the benefits, and the cutting-edge personnel. And the great low-cost food at the cafeteria.
Over delicious cheese burritos, Libby fired away, never one to hold back.
“So, is Blake Burns as big an asshole as everyone says he is?”
I was taken back by her question, expecting something more along the lines of “How’s your day going?”
I hesitated before answering. The answer was a loud “yes,” but Mr. Burns had had an unexpected effect on me. While I had googled him and knew he was good-looking with that thick mass of dark hair, I just didn’t expect him to be that good-looking. Okay, breathtaking. Tall, built, and with the face of a movie star. He was not my type—the brainy preppy type—but the way his sapphire eyes held me in a fierce gaze did something to me. I was a heated up, nervous wreck throughout the interview, and thanked my lucky stars I’d taken some drama courses so I could get through it.
“So . . .” Libby’s inquisitive voice brought me back into the moment. I loved Libby to death, but I needed to be careful with my answer. Tell Libby, tell the world. My curly redhead friend was a gossip, though loveable one, and proud of it.
“Actually, he was very nice and very professional.” Arrogant asshole. “He’s given me a very challenging first assignment.”
“Like what?” asked Libby, her hazel eyes wide. She forked a chunk of her burrito and put it to her mouth.
“I have to analyze ratings and SIN-TV’s morning lineup.”
Libby swallowed and scrunched her face. “The ratings suck in that daypart. I keep telling Blake we should do some focus groups to find out what’s going on. But he’s very anti-research. He believes one should program by instinct, and his instincts are never wrong.”
I digested Libby’s information. My instinct told me that Mr. Burns’s instincts were wrong. I quirked a sly smile at my friend. “Well, we’re going to change that.”
“How?”
“Right after lunch, I’m going to start figuring that out,” I replied before taking the last bite of my burrito.
Chapter 4
Jennifer
I had to admit it was a good first day at work. Conquest Broadcasting was a great company. I just wasn’t sure about working for its porn channel, SIN-TV. Is this where I really belonged? Developing this cock-driven programming? Working with my arrogant, know-it-all boss who kept checking in on me all day? Could I make a difference? After spending all afternoon in my office poring over the ratings to the point of getting bleary-eyed, I’d begun to think maybe I could.
At six o’clock, I gathered up the ratings files I needed to finish reviewing and stuffed them into my briefcase along with my laptop. The Coach leather briefcase had been a graduation gift from my parents, and I treasured it. My next stop was dinner. I was meeting Bradley at a restaurant close to his office. Much of me wanted to cancel our dinner date as I was eager to get home and continue studying the ratings package and even watch some more of SIN-TV to get a better handle on the programming. But I couldn’t disappoint Bradley. He had made a reservation and said he had a surprise for me.
With my briefcase in hand and my shoulder bag slung over my shoulder, I stepped out of my office. During orientation, I was told to be sure to lock my door every night; the company had recently experienced a barrage of break-ins, with the thieves stealing anything from computers and televisions to office furnishings and personal possessions.
As I curled my fingers around the handle and began to close the door, a familiar voice called out to me.
“Good night, Ms. McCoy. Looks like you have your work cut out for you.”
It was my boss. Blake Burns. Flustered, I turned my head at the sound of his sultry voice, and my mouth dropped open. A loud gasp of pain escaped my throat. Stars swarmed my head, and a sudden rush of nausea rose to my chest. It took me a sickening moment to realize what I’d just done. I’d accidentally slammed the heavy door on my middle finger. The throbbing was so intense I couldn’t think straight or get my mouth to close.
“Are you okay?” The words whirled around in my head. I couldn’t get my brain to communicate with my mouth to respond. As the nausea intensified, a black fog descended on me, and my legs turned to jelly. “Geez” was the last word I heard as I felt myself going down. Before I hit bottom, two strapping arms wrapped around me and then everything faded to black.
When I fluttered my eyes open, there was Blake, looming above me, his dreamy blue eyes moving slowly over my face. The throbbing in my finger brought me back to reality. Fuck. I must have fainted, and now I was stretched out on the leather couch in my new boss’s office. He had propped a pillow under my head. How embarrassing was this? What a dumb thing to do on my first day of work.
“Are you okay?” he asked before I could utter a word.
I nodded.
“Are you sure? You blacked out.”
I nodded again. “The door to my office slammed on my finger.”
“Let me see it.”
I lifted my hand. My finger was swollen and quivering, the cuticle torn. He gently took my hand in his. I felt chilled and still sick to my stomach from the excruciating pain. His touch warmed and comforted me.
He examined my finger. “Jesus. You really did a number, tiger.”
He called me tiger? I twitched a little smile as my stomach twisted. A new throbbing sensation—between my legs—gripped me.
Oh, God! Why was the word “yes” on the tip of my tongue? I slowly sat up.
“I don’t think so,” I murmured.
His lips curled into a devilish smile. Holy shit. It was the cutest, sexiest smile I’d ever seen on a man, his adorable dimples bracketing his lush lips like two little hearts.
My chill gave way to a feverish sensation. I felt my body heat and my face flush. Why was he affecting me this way? “I’ve got to go. I have a dinner date with my fiancé.”
At the word “fiancé,” his dense, dark brows furrowed. Subtly but enough for me to notice. I pulled my hand away from his and rose to my feet. A wave of dizziness swept over me. I didn’t know if it was from the intense pain emanating from my finger or the feverish effect this man was having on me, or a combination of both. My body swayed, and blackness clouded my vision. Shit. I was about to pass out again. As the world spun around me, he caught me in his arms and lowered me back onto his couch. He brushed away a wisp of my hair that had fallen onto my forehead. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
“Ms. McCoy, you’re in no condition to go anywhere. Stay put. I’ll be right back with some ice for your finger.”
“Okay,” I squeaked. Boss’s orders.
My eyes stayed fixed on him as he jogged out of his office in his charcoal gray suit. The color of the suit perfectly complemented his almost ebony hair, and its tapered shape was tailor-made for him. I soaked in his broad shoulders, tight ass, and long muscular legs Wow! What a body, I thought as I glanced down at my throbbing finger. I grimaced. The torn cuticle had begun to bleed.
He was back in no time, with what looked to be a cotton napkin filled up with ice.
“How’s my patient doing?” he asked, lowering himself next to me onto the couch. His hard thighs brushed against mine. The closeness of him disseminated warmth through my system, and his manly scent—a blend of sweetness and spice—assaulted my senses. I felt delirious.
“Fine,” I muttered as he took hold of my hand again and gently pressed the ice pack on my finger. I noticed he’d wrapped up the ice cubes in his personal, monogrammed hankie. BB. Blake Burns. Just saying his name silently to myself sent a barrage of sparks to my core.
“The ice should help take away the pain and reduce the swelling.”
My finger already felt better. In fact, all of me felt better. Except my brain with the initials BB branded on it was still mush.
I turned to face him and managed one word. “Thanks.”
His gaze met mine, those beautiful orbs of blue burning a hole right through me. That dazzling smile spread across his face. “You should be more careful, Ms. McCoy. I value my employees.”
I shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’m very accident-prone. My roommate even calls me ‘Calamity Jen.’”
He broke into a sexy rasp of laughter. “That wasn’t on your resumé.”
His laughter was catching. “I was born an accident.”
“What do you mean?” A bemused expression washed over his handsome face.
“My parents were told they could never have children. So, they didn’t bother using protection. Lo and behold, at the age of forty, my mom got pregnant. And voilà, here I am.”
He smiled. “Some accidents are meant to happen.”
His words sent a jolt of heat through me. “Well, I’d better go. I don’t want to be late for my fiancé.”
The word “fiancé” made him frown again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded. Removing the ice pack from my finger, I handed it back to him. “Thanks. My finger feels a lot better.” I glanced down at it. It glowed red from the ice, but was definitely less puffy. Plus, the bleeding had subsided, and it was no longer trembling.
He examined it with me. “It still looks pretty bad. You should keep it covered.”
I watched as he emptied the ice cubes inside his hankie into a ceramic bowl on his coffee table. Folding the damp hankie into a triangle, he gingerly wrapped it around my injured finger and formed a makeshift bandage.
I laughed at the silly bandage. “My fiancé’s going to get mad at me. He thinks I’m careless and don’t think before I act.”
“Tell him a big bad wolf tried to bite off your finger.”
I laughed again. “That’s a good one. I’ll bring back your hankie tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother. Keep it for future accidents.”
“Very funny.” Gathering my purse and briefcase, I stood up and headed toward the door to his office. As I was about to leave, Blake called out to me. I pivoted around to face him. He was slouched seductively on the couch, his long legs splayed.
“Hey, Calamity, stay out of trouble.” His mouth twisted into that sexy fiendish grin, and he winked at me.
The wink made me tingle all over. “Right.” I flung the word at him and scurried off before my knees buckled beneath me once again.
Chapter 5
Blake
Immediately after work, I met my best bud, Jaime Zander, at my sports club, Equinox, for a game of racquetball. Jay-Z, as I affectionately called him, was a creative genius. He ran a very successful advertising agency—ZAP!—and had created the award-winning advertising campaign that’d launched SIN-TV. “Television so hot, your screen will sizzle.” In the process, we’d become friends, having discovered that we shared many of the same interests, including kinky sex. He had a few years on me, but that didn’t impact our friendship. The big difference was that he was now married and the new father to a set of twins. And I was still single. A player like he’d once been before meeting his gorgeous wife Gloria, the founder and CEO of Gloria’s Secret, the world’s largest retailer of lingerie.
Usually, I squashed him. But tonight I was distracted, off my game. I missed several easy-to-get shots and ended up losing to him big time in our series of rallies.
Removing my goggles, I wiped sweat off my brows with my wristband. My breathing was shallow. I was beat and defeated.
“You’re buying tonight, Blakester.” An enormous shit-eating grin crossed Jaime’s heated face. Tradition had it the loser always bought a round of drinks at the bar that was part of the upscale sports complex.
Over two overflowing mugs of Guinness, Jaime and I caught up on business. His agency was handling the video presentation for the upfront—the highly anticipated May event at which we presented our slate of new programming to advertisers.
“Why won’t Gloria buy time on the network?” I asked. I so wanted Gloria’s Secret to be one of our advertisers. I’d given Jaime my business; it was only fair Gloria gave me hers.
“You know Gloria. It has to be a good fit.”
Like my cock? I mused. I dared not say this, knowing how fiercely possessive Jaime was of Gloria. He couldn’t even take a joke.
Jaime took a swig of his beer. “She’s only interested in the female 18-49 demographic.”
Anchoring an elbow on the table, I ran my hand though my hair in defeat. It wasn’t happening. Hardly any women watched SIN-TV. After another gulp of the foamy beer, I abruptly changed the subject—kind of. It was still about Gloria.
“How did you know that Gloria was different from the other babes you’d been with?”
Jaime shot me a perplexed what-the-fuck look. “I just knew. When I met her, I swear my heart got a hard-on.”
“Was she your type?”
“Hardly. I usually went for petite brunettes.”
Gloria was a blond Amazon. A towering, golden goddess.
“What made her different?”
“The challenge. She was hard to get.”
Newly engaged Jennifer was impossible to get. “Doesn’t being married cramp your lifestyle?”
“Being married is my lifestyle. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I look forward to going to sleep with Gloria and waking up to her. I love every minute I spend with her and the twins. They’re the loves of my life.”
A smile lit up Jaime’s face. It always did when
it came to Gloria and the twins.
“Doesn’t the sex get old?”
“Not with Gloria. It only gets better.”
“How did you know you loved her?” Kill me now. I was beginning to sound girly.
“On a plane ride. Extreme turbulence. I knew if we went down, I wanted to go down with her. I couldn’t live without her.”
Jaime had almost twice lost Gloria. Nine months ago, she nearly died giving birth to their beautiful twins. Before that, they’d both almost lost their lives when this crazy Russian creep threatened them at gunpoint at a gala. I happened to have been there last year. It was total life and death insanity.
Jaime furrowed his brows. “Blake, why are you asking me all these questions?”
I took another gulp of my beer. “Just curious.”
“Bullshit. You’ve met someone.”
I felt my cheeks heat and guzzled the rest of the beer.
“Come on, man. Out with it. Who is she?”
“Just some girl I met last night.” With a shrug, I tried to sound nonchalant while Jennifer’s face filled every crevice of my brain. My cock tensed just thinking about her. Her lips on my mine. Those fiery green eyes. That cute little ass, pert breasts, and those long legs that seemed to stem from her rib cage. I had bopped by her office a dozen times today under the pretense of seeing how she was doing. The truth: I just wanted to see her. She must have thought I didn’t trust her or was a micro-managing stalker. I wasn’t about to tell Jaime that she was my new hire. That I was her boss.
“What’s she like?”
“She seems nice.” Shit. Nice wasn’t part of my vocabulary. I didn’t do nice. I didn’t like nice.
“Nice?” Jaime burst into a fit of laughter and almost choked on his beer. “That’s so not like you.”
Jaime was well aware of my reputation for hooking-up with starlets and models. They were a dime a dozen in Los Angeles. Kirstens, Kristies, Krystals, Kieras. I couldn’t keep them straight. Most of them, looking to make it in the business, didn’t mind my modus operandi:
Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3) Page 18