Panty Dropper (A Sexy Standalone Contemporary Romance)

by Paige North

  “Look at her, she’s blushing,” Alexa said.

  “You’re holding out on us, Sophie,” Bethany said.

  I looked to Kait, knowing she planned to get it all out of me. “Sophie,” she began. “I shouldn't have to remind you already that this story is due in a few weeks. I intend to have it in the next issue. There’s no dragging your feet on this.”

  “I understand,” I said, feeling like I was failing already. I wasn’t there to protect Leo Armstrong, no matter how good his fingers felt inside me last night. That’s what he was good at doing, to hundreds of women, probably. I was just another in a never-ending string.

  So I told them what I could. I told them what his place looked like. Kait said it could be a good way to show some setting for the piece.

  “Sounds like his décor is as sterile and unemotional as he is about his women,” she said. I had just thought it was sleek and modern, but I supposed I saw her point.

  I told them how I had to tell him that I wasn’t really trying to be an actress, and that he seemed to believe me and it hadn’t made him suspicious, even when I told him I wanted to be a writer.

  “Did you tell him screenplays?” Kait asked.

  “Basically,” I said.

  She nodded approvingly. “And?” she asked.

  “Actually, he gave me a screenplay to read. He wants my opinion.”

  “Very good. So a second date, then?” Kait said.

  “I guess,” I said. I certainly hoped—for the sake of the story, of course.

  Kait eyed me closely. “Did something physical happen?”

  I squirmed uncomfortably. I would not give details, but I knew I had to give her something. “We kissed a little.”

  “Lucky girl,” Alexa said.

  “How was he?” Bethany asked.

  “Amazing,” I replied, despite myself. I hated being interrogated like this. It was a violation, but I reminded myself that I’d signed up for it.

  “You would be amazing too, if you got as much action as this guy does,” Kait said. “Listen, Sophie, you’re off to a good start. But surely there’s something concrete we can take away from your first evening with him?”

  They all watched me closely. My mind spun, trying to think of something I could give them to let me out of their scrutiny. “Oh,” I said, remembering. “He originally wanted to be a writer. He sent a screenplay to one of the studios when he was an undergrad.” After the words leave my mouth, I instantly regret them.

  “Seriously?” Kait asked. “Single-minded Leo Armstrong wanted to write? How pathetic.”

  “Which studio?” Alexa asked.

  “He didn’t say,” I said, hoping they’ll just drop it.

  “We have to get a hold of that script,” Kait said. “At least find out what studio he sent it to.”

  “Look for the script that contains aliens, explosions, guns and women with no speaking roles,” snickered Alexa.

  “Why do all the studio execs think that’s what we all want?” Bethany said. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Alright, that’s enough,” Kait said, shutting up the girls. “Sophie, make sure you write all this down. Keep copious notes and save them to the shared drive so I can see your updates. Got it?”

  As I left Kait’s office, I heard the girls fall into another fit of laughter, and the weak part of me felt bad for telling The Panty Dropper’s secret.

  Except that’s what I’m being paid to do. Find out his dirty secrets and then expose him for the woman-hating misogynist that he clearly is.

  At home that evening, I read through the script Leo gave me for a second time. I’d read it last night when I got home from Leo’s, unable to sleep. Now I went through it again, making notes and gathering my thoughts.

  A video call came through on my laptop, and I smiled when I saw who it was.

  “Delaney!” I said, seeing my best friend’s freckled face on my screen.

  “How’s my L.A. girl?” she asked. “Have you been discovered yet?”

  I smiled. “Not yet.”

  “Well, hurry up so I can move out there and be your personal assistant!”

  I laughed. Delaney and I had been best friends since second grade. She broke down crying when I told her I was moving to Los Angeles, and I’d begged her to come with me. “And do what?” she’d asked. “My family’s business is here. And I’m pretty sure no one in Los Angeles eats frozen custard—or fat of any kind, for that matter.”

  Seeing Delaney’s familiar face after too many days of having no one close to talk to made me let out of sigh of relief. “How’s the ice cream business?” I asked.

  “It’s custard and you know it.” It was a joke I always made to her. The Day family didn’t sell ice cream—they sold frozen custard, thank you very much. Her family owned a local shop called Day’s, and her father expected Delaney to expand the business from Maine down to New Hampshire, and that was plenty of pressure for a recent college graduate.

  “Sell more scoops so you can come visit me,” I said, her familiar face grinning back at me. “How’s business?”

  “Who cares? I didn’t call to talk about how egg yolk is basically the only difference between custard and ice cream. You talk. Tell me something exciting,” she said. “What’s it like out there? Is it crazy or what?” Delaney wanted stories of adventures along Sunset Boulevard, swimming in the Pacific, and posh dinners in Beverly Hills. I’d been here just over two weeks and I hadn’t seen any of the familiar sights.

  “I hate to disappoint you,” I said, “but I haven’t done much sightseeing. Just been working, trying to figure that whole thing out.”

  “Have you made any friends? What’s your roommate like?”

  “She’s okay. A dancer, tough, doesn’t like to bullshit or coddle. I’ve hardly seen her since I moved in.”

  “Best kind of roommate,” Delaney said. “Come on, Soph. Something must be happening out there.”

  She looked at me eagerly, but not in the greedy way the girls in the office had as they waited for my report from Leo Armstrong. Delaney looked at me excitedly because she wanted me to have an adventure. And as she’d said a hundred times since I told her I was leaving our small town, she planned to live vicariously through my adventures.

  But I couldn’t tell her about Leo Armstrong. I knew I could trust Delaney with my life, but I hesitated in telling her my big writing assignment.

  “The roommate is a little intense. So are the girls in the office,” I said. “What I need is my partner in crime with me to explore the city.”

  “And its seedy underside,” she joked. “Does the fact that you haven’t seen the sights yet mean you haven’t met any guys yet either? Or are you already so wrapped up in some Malibu surfer dude that you haven’t had the time?”

  “That’s not it at all,” I said. Normally Delaney would be the first and only person I’d call after a night like last night. I was in unfamiliar territory, not being able to tell my best friend about the hottest non-sex I’d ever had.

  “I hope it’s not because you’re still hung up on Paul,” she said. “He is a royal prick. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he cheats on Meredith.”

  I perked up. “Paul is with Meredith?”

  Delaney cringed. “Sorry. I thought you knew.”

  “How would I know? I’m out of the gossip loop.”

  “And in a much better place than this, that’s for sure. Listen, Soph,” Delaney said, turning serious. “Make the most of your time out there. I hate the thought of you being in one of the world’s most exciting cities but staying inside your cramped little shared apartment because you’re too afraid to get out there on your own and meet people. Surely your roommate does something other than dance. Oh! She can introduce you to her hot dancer guy friends. They have the best bodies, and are totally uninhibited, too.”

  “I know,” I said, guilt washing over me. “You’re right.”

  “Don’t let what Paul did to you make you think all guys are like
him. Because they’re not. There are good ones out there, too. And we’ll find them—one for each of us.”

  As much as I hated it, my mind naturally clicked over to Leo and last night. As far as I could tell, most guys were just like Paul. The only difference between him and Leo—aside from money, success and GQ looks—was that Leo made girls sign nondisclosure agreements to try and keep his jerky ways completely secret.

  My phone buzzed on my desk. Blocked number. My heart raced, thinking it might be Leo.

  “Delaney, that’s my phone,” I told her. “It might be work. I gotta go.”

  “Okay, but think about what I said. Get out there and have fun.”

  I smiled. “I will.”

  “And remember the dancers!”

  I told her I loved her then ended the video chat. When I answered my phone, a deep sexy voice greeted me.

  “Did you read it?” Leo asked by way of greeting.

  “Yes, in fact I did. Twice,” I said.

  “Trying to get to the head of the class, are you?” he asked. “Well, young student, I’d like to go over your work. Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

  “To discuss the screenplay?” I asked, teasing a bit but also to see if he had more in mind. Last night would hold me over for a while, but not for long. Just hearing his voice made me crave him all over again.

  “That, and whatever else might come up,” he said, and my thoughts immediately went south.

  “Just tell me when and where.”

  “I’ll send a car. Be ready in thirty minutes.”

  “You don’t give a girl a lot of time, do you?” I said.

  “You don’t need it,” he replied. “I’m sure however you look now is perfect. But, uh, if you are taking requests, where something that shows off those gorgeous curves of yours.”

  8

  When I slid into the back of the black SUV, I expected to find Leo waiting for me. But he wasn’t there.

  “Good evening. I'm Steve, I’ll be driving you this evening. Mr. Armstrong will meet you at the restaurant.” Aside from that, Steve the driver said nothing else to me. I watched out the darkened windows as we drove on, to where I had no idea.

  I got excited as we pulled onto Sunset Boulevard—finally something to check off the list and tell Delaney—but I should have known that Leo Armstrong would not be so common as to dine on one of the city’s most popular streets. Instead we soon turned off onto a small side street that wound its way up the hills until we arrived at a little place that looked like a small house tucked into the trees. The driver pulled the SUV up to the door, and a valet opened the back door for me, helping me out.

  Inside the lights were dimmed and although most of the white linen covered tables were occupied, the noise level was low. Respectable.

  “I’m meeting…Leo Armstrong?” I told the hostess, feeling ridiculous. The words sounded ludicrous coming from my lips. But the Amazonian blonde in the tight black dress said, “You must be Ms. Adams? Mr. Armstrong hasn’t arrived yet, but I’ll show you to your table.”

  She took two hardcover menus, and I followed her through the dining room. I sat in the horseshoe booth, sliding to the center. I tugged on the dress Mel had provided me from the fashion closet. Rebecca let me take home a few clothes and cosmetics that I need for a story we were working on. Since I didn’t know much about the restaurant when Leo had called, I opted for a rich blue wrap dress that showed off my cleavage and hips perfectly. I just hoped Leo would find it acceptable.

  And if his face upon seeing me was any indication, he did.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he said, that bright smile spread across his tanned face. He slid into the booth and kissed my check, his hand washing down my back, sending instant chills. “I hope you haven’t been here long.”

  “Just long enough to get this,” I said, raising my glass of prosecco. I’d never admit it, but I hoped a part of me thought it would become our drink.

  The waiter stopped by our table. I paused for his face to light up with recognition of having a big-time movie exec at his table, but he showed nothing when he said, “Can I get you something to drink, sir?”

  “No, nothing for me.”

  I turned to look at Leo, confused. “Can you give us a moment?” The waiter nodded and turned away without another word.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Well, not really,” he said. He turned to better face me, his hand resting on my hip. It felt warm there, comfortable, his hand cupped perfectly around it. “I’ve got a bit of a work emergency on a set up in Seattle. I can’t stay for dinner. I'm on my way up there now.”

  I felt myself physically deflate. I wouldn’t admit it, but I didn’t think it was because of the lost opportunity to turn more dirt up on him.

  Being near him made me anxious in the most thrilling way.

  “But I think you should come with me,” he continued.

  “To Seattle? Now?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “No, I’ve got to work tomorrow,” I said. Leo turned his head, and I realized my mistake.

  “Doing what? Don't tell me you booked an acting gig,” he teased while watching me closely.

  “Temp, I got a temp job,” I said quickly. “I think I’m answering phones. Not sure. I have to be there by nine, though.” I prayed he didn’t ask more.

  “I’ll have you back in plenty of time, I promise.”

  “Go up to Seattle and back tonight?” I asked. “You’re joking.”

  “It’s just three hours. You fly up with me,” he said, leaning close enough that I took in his scent, already becoming familiar to me. He ran his fingers down my arm, sending me serious chills. “I’ll stay in Seattle to handle the business for a day or two, but you’ll fly back tonight.”

  Confused, I said, “Why would I fly up to Seattle only to turn around and fly right back?” Even if it were first class, as I assumed, it was still a plane. It didn’t sound fun. It sounded the opposite of fun.

  Leo leaned in close to my ear, nudging my hair away with his nose. Softly he said, “Did I mention it’s a private jet?”

  Realization washed over me. For a moment, a flash of hurt seared my chest. This was nothing but a straight up booty call. He wanted to hook up with me, and then send me right back home like a paid escort.

  But as soon as the pain erupted, I quelled it. I reminded myself that we were both using one another, and now that I saw Leo’s intentions, I could stop feeling guilty all of the time.

  This is why I was being paid to write an expose about Leo Armstrong—because he was sleazy and rude and he used women.

  My guilt now assuaged, I turned to him, our lips inches apart. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see the Seattle airport,” I said. “It’s on my bucket list.”

  “You won’t believe your eyes,” he said, smiling so close to my lips. I wanted to close the inches between us, but in a crowded restaurant…

  His lips covered mine before I could finish the thought. They touched me gently but firmly, his fingers just under my chin. I forgot about everyone and everything in those few moments, feeling the kiss he gave me and enjoying it fully.

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” I said. He leaned his forehead onto mine, his fingers still delicately caressing my jaw.

  “Let them.” He moved away from me to exit the booth. I followed his lead. He tossed two twenties on the table and said, “One of the reasons I come to places like this—aside from their outstanding filet mignon, is the discretion I know I can count on. Good night, Sylvia,” he said to the hostess as we walked past her.

  “Good night, Mr. Armstrong, Ms. Adams,” she kindly replied.

  Steve had us at the airport soon after, and I found myself walking up the steps of the Epix Studios private jet—one of them, anyway. This one, Leo told me, was for his use. “Sometimes I let the CFO use it,” he said, “since he handles the money. But this is the good one. Gulfstream G650.” He sounded so proud—or maybe arrogant. I tried to commit the
plane to memory for my notes later.

  Once the crew had greeted us—two pilots and one flight attendant, Helen—we buckled into our seats and readied for takeoff. Leo and I sat facing each other, and my eyes caught the long couch just across the narrow aisle.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, leaning across the table from me once Helen had served us white wine. I could smell rich food warming somewhere in the cabin. “Once we finish dinner, Helen retires to the front and closes her door, and knows not to disturb me unless called. Cheers,” he added, and I clinked my glass to his. I felt a tightening in my throat at the thought of Helen knowing his routine, and when to stay away. It seemed to mean that I was not the first girl to take a ride with him on the jet.

  I’d only flown a couple of times. Once Paul and I flew down to New York for a long weekend, but the entire trip was filled with his complaints of the traffic and noise and people and crowds, the very things I loved about the city.

  The plane took off and I gripped the armrests tightly, the power of the long, sleek plane feeling so close, as if it were shooting us off like a slingshot. Leo watched me with an amused look on his face. I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “You get used to it,” he said. “And then you can’t go back to commercial.”

  I wondered if that’s how he felt about the women in his life, but decided to let it go—for now.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m not the first girl you’ve taken for a ride on this jet,” I said.

  “No, you’re not,” he said.

  “Do you always take women with you wherever you go?” I asked. “Tucking them in your pocket like a trinket?” I smiled while I sipped my wine, trying to look like I was teasing when I really I wanted to know the truth.

  Leo shrugged. He looked perfectly at ease in the high-back cream leather chair, flying away at a moment’s notice on a private jet. “I like to be surrounded by beautiful things. Is that so wrong?”