Seduction

by Velvet

  “I left you a little something on the nightstand,” Sage said, grabbing her close and giving her a deep French kiss.

  Missy tongued him back. “Thanks, Baby. See you soon.”

  “I’ll be tied up in meetings for the rest of the week and won’t be able to break away, but I’ll be sure to call you in case I need a little telephone loving.” He winked.

  “You can call me anytime,” she said, opening the front door and letting him out.

  Once Sage was gone, Missy went straight into the bedroom and looked on the nightstand. Lying near the telephone was a stack of bills. She picked up the cash and counted ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She sniffed the money and fanned it across her face. Missy loved the smell of tax-free money more than she loved sex. Between stripping and entertaining private clients on the side, it would only be a matter of time before she could stop paying rent on a condo that didn’t have her name on the deed and buy a place of her own—among other things.

  “MR. HIRSCHFIELD, YOUR FATHER is waiting for you in your office,” Pearl informed Sage the moment he stepped through the door.

  “Really?” He wasn’t expecting his father and wondered why he had dropped by unexpectedly without calling. “How long has he been waiting?”

  Pearl looked at her watch. “About fifteen minutes.” She picked up a stack of phone messages and handed them to him. “And Miss Benson called and asked for you to call her on her cell phone.”

  “Thanks, Pearl,” Sage said, and walked into his office.

  Henry Hirschfield was ensconced behind his former desk, talking on the telephone, as if he owned the place (in actuality he did!). “Marvin, I want to buy five thousand shares of Google at the market, and sell all of my shares of that Internet start-up company that I bought last week. I read in the Journal today that they just lost a major advertiser, so I’m sure their earnings will drop significantly before next quarter.” Henry held up a finger and mouthed to his son, Just a minute.

  Sage sat across from his dad and waited patiently. Sitting on the other side of the desk reminded him of all the years he had listened daily to his dad conduct business. It was during those early years when Sage learned firsthand how to wheel and deal. Even though he had a BA from Brown and an MBA from Harvard, Sage learned more from his father than from the prestigious Ivy League institutions. After six years of observing the master, Sage had been chomping at the bit and was ready to assume the role of chairman and CEO. He had yearned for the day when his father would retire, leaving him in charge of the company. When that day finally came, Sage comfortably moved behind the massive desk and began making a name for himself and not just relying on his father’s past accomplishments. Now his sole goal was to take the company to another level and make his dad proud.

  Henry hung up the phone and looked at his watch. It was almost a quarter to three. “Late lunch?”

  “I had a meeting downtown with a writer friend of mine, and the traffic getting back to midtown was bumper-to-bumper,” Sage lied. He had a meeting scheduled with the writer later in the week, so he just improvised on the dates. Having married right out of college, his father was the antithesis of a playboy. He’d been faithful to his wife from the first day they met, and couldn’t fathom sleeping with another woman. Sage knew that his father wanted him to settle down and get married, and would strongly disapprove of him having casual sex with a stripper, so he kept the details of his afternoon to himself.

  “Speaking of writers, how’s the studio progressing?”

  “I’m gutting the entire place and having new, state-of-the-art soundstages built. The renovations should take no longer than six months. In the meantime, I’m looking for material.”

  “Is this writer a good friend of yours?” Henry asked, looking suspicious.

  “Actually, he’s a friend of a friend, and has written a couple of novels and a few screenplays.”

  “Hmm, just remember what I told you about mixing business with friends. Some people think they’re entitled to special favors just because they know the boss. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind lending a helping hand, if the person is qualified and the best fit for the job.”

  “Not to worry, Dad, I would never hire someone on the strength of friendship alone. If there’s one thing that I learned from you, it’s that nepotism has no place here,” Sage said, reassuring his father.

  “That’s good to hear, Son.” Henry stood up to leave. “So, how’s your love life?” he asked, catching Sage totally off guard.

  “Uh, it’s fine,” he said, giving his father the short answer.

  “Just fine?” Henry cocked his head to one side. “I’m surprised you haven’t been snapped up yet. With your looks and position, the girls ought to be circling the wagons.”

  “Oh, trust me they’re circling all right. I’m just picky, that’s all.”

  “Well, I hope you pick someone soon. Your mother and I want some grandkids before we’re too old to enjoy them.” He grinned and patted his son on the back.

  “Actually, I do have someone in mind.” Sage smiled.

  “Anyone I know?”

  “As a matter of fact, you do.” Sage hesitated a second.

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Who is she?”

  “Terra Benson.”

  Henry’s face brightened up. “You mean little Terra?” Henry had always thought that Sage and Terra would one day make a dynamite couple. Since both families were rich and powerful, Sage wouldn’t have to worry about some woman marrying him for his money.

  “She’s not so little anymore. We had dinner last week, and I must admit that she’s grown into a fine young woman.”

  Henry’s smile widened even bigger. “I’m so happy to hear that. Who knows, maybe there will be a wedding in the near future,” he said, sounding like the hopeless romantic that he was.

  “Slow down, Dad. Let’s not rush things. Terra still thinks of me as her big brother.”

  “Just because you guys played in the same wading pool doesn’t make you related,” Henry said.

  “Tell Terra that. I’ve tried making subtle overtures, but she’s just not interested in dating me,” Sage confessed.

  “Just remember, Son, you’re a Hirschfield and Hirschfields never give up the fight. So hang in there. I’m sure you’ll win her heart before long.”

  “Thanks for the support, Dad.” Since Sage didn’t have any brothers, his father was his closest confidant. Aside from Sage’s wild sex life, there was very little that he didn’t share with his father.

  “Keep me posted, and tell Terra hello the next time you speak with her. I hate to run, but I’m playing tennis at the club.” He hugged his son and left the office.

  Sage walked behind his desk, sat down, and dialed Terra’s cell phone.

  “Hey, you,” she sang into the receiver.

  “Hey yourself. You sound like you’re in a good mood,” Sage said, picking up on her happy tone.

  “I’m always glad to hear from you, Sage,” she said, totally out of character.

  In all the years that he’d known Terra, she’d never sounded this upbeat over the phone. It was like she was a completely different person. Sage was as savvy as they came, and he couldn’t help but think that her shift in attitude had to do with the movie studio. “Oh, I’m sure I have nothing to do with your good mood,” he said, acting as if he were clueless. “So, what’s going on? My secretary told me that you called.”

  “I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow night. I’ve got two front row tickets to see Madonna, and tomorrow is the last night of her show. I remember how much you love her, so I thought you’d like to go.”

  Sage did love “The Material Girl.” He’d seen her concert in London a few years ago and had a blast. “Thanks, I would love to go. What time should I pick you up?”

  “I have an audition in midtown, so I’ll pick you up from work around six o’clock, and we can grab a little dinner before going to the concert.”

  “Sounds good. See
you then,” Sage said and hung up.

  She’s definitely trying to schmooze me to get into one of my pictures, but I’ve got news for Ms. Benson. And it ain’t good news, Sage thought as he swiveled around in his chair and glanced out of the picture window that overlooked midtown Manhattan.

  8

  TERRA CALLED ten ticket brokers, but they were all sold out. She should’ve known that it would be hard finding tickets to Madonna’s concert at the last minute. She read about the concert in the newspaper and called Sage before she had the tickets in hand. The concert was the perfect excuse to see him again without seeming like she was scheming. Only now, Terra was beginning to panic. If she called him back and said that they were just going to dinner, he’d know that she had lied about the tickets. Terra’s plan was to slowly change her attitude toward Sage. She had told him on more than one occasion that she thought of him as a “play brother,” but now that he was heading up a major movie studio, “play brother” would soon be replaced with “lover.” Terra wasn’t worried about making the transition from friends to lovers. She knew that Sage absolutely adored her, and based on his feelings, she’d have him jumping through her designer hoops within weeks. However, she still had to proceed with caution. Terra didn’t want to blow her chances by acting too desperate.

  “Hi, I’m calling to find out if you have tickets to see Madonna tonight?” she asked the eleventh ticket broker of the day.

  “I only have four left,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Relieved, Terra exhaled loudly into the receiver. “I need two front row tickets.”

  “I don’t got no front row seats. The closest I got to the stage is the fifth row. You want ’em or not?” he asked curtly.

  Terra thought for a minute. She told Sage that she had front row seats; now if she showed up with fifth row seats, he would know that she didn’t have the tickets when she’d called to invite him. On the other hand, fifth row was better than no row. “Yes, I’ll take them,” she said reluctantly. She was tempted to turn him down and call another broker, but based on her previous calls, this guy was probably her best bet. This was Madonna, after all, and the prime seats were obviously already gone.

  “That’ll be twenty-five hundred dollars. I take MasterCard, Visa, and AmEx. What card you gonna use?” he asked, getting right down to business.

  “Twenty-five hundred dollars!” she shrieked. Terra could more than afford the tickets, but she’d rather pay twenty-five hundred dollars for a nice pair of boots instead of for a concert that would be over in a few hours. Though she was an heiress, she was frugal when it came to certain intangible things and extravagant with others like designer clothes, shoes, and handbags. She had a closet full of Birkin Bags, in a rainbow of colors, and with what she paid for the pricey Hermès purses, she could have easily funded a small third world village.

  “Look, lady, I ain’t got all day; either you want ’em or not, ’cause if you don’t, someone else will easily take ’em off my hands,” he said, trying to seal the deal.

  “Yes, I want them.” She took out her black AmEx and rattled off the numbers. “Can you have them messengered over to my apartment?”

  “That’ll cost you an extra fifty.”

  “Fifty dollars for a messenger?”

  “You can come pick ’em up yourself or you can have them delivered, your choice.”

  Terra considered sending her driver, but she didn’t want him getting caught up in midday traffic; it was already eleven forty-five and she had an audition at two-thirty, so sending him across town and back at this point was out of the question. She knew that the ticket broker was inflating the costs, but she had no choice. “Okay, add the delivery charge to my card,” she said, and gave him her address.

  The look for Terra’s Dove audition was “All American,” so she pulled her hair back in a tight knot, applied a thin layer of gloss to her lips, and dressed in a simple white shirtdress with mauve ballerina slippers. Her appearance was young and fresh, just like she had stepped off the pages of Glamour. Though her look was perfect for the audition, it was too straight-laced and boring for a Madonna concert. Terra threw a change of clothes in a tote bag, called her driver, and told him to meet her out front at one-thirty.

  While she waited for the tickets to arrive, she read over the script that Feodora had faxed over earlier that morning. The lines were simple, and she repeated them in the mirror.

  “Beauty this natural”—she rubbed the side of her cheek—“comes from only one beauty bar…Dove,” she said, holding up a bar of soap and flashing a fresh smile.

  As she repeated the line for the sixth time, the doorman rang up. “Ms. Benson, you have a package. Should I have him come up or shall I sign for you?”

  “Sign for me, please, Jim. I’ll be right down.”

  Terra grabbed the script and her tote bag and headed out the door. She picked up the envelope from her doorman, walked to the car, settled in the backseat, and pulled out the script, but before she could go over the lines again, her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Girl, what’s up?” It was Lexi.

  “I’m on my way to an audition, what are you up to?”

  “I was calling to see if you wanted to grab lunch, and then go over to Barneys. My personal shopper called and said that the new Marc Jacobs bag is in, and I wanted to pick one up before they sell out.” Lexington’s life consisted of sleeping, shopping, partying, eating, and dating, not necessarily in that order. Her only ambition in life was to spend her parents’ hard-earned money, and once she got married—in the very far future—she would then spend her husband’s hard-earned money.

  “I’d love to zip over to Barneys, but after the audition, I’m meeting Sage for dinner and then we’re going to see Madonna at the Paramount.”

  “I tried to get tickets for that concert, but it was sold out. Sage must have ordered those tickets months ago.” Lexi had every single one of Madonna’s records and books. She loved everything about “The Material Girl,” from her “I don’t give a fuck” attitude to her choice of husbands. Lexi had the biggest crush on Guy Ritchie and Sean Penn.

  “Sage didn’t buy the tickets. I did,” Terra told her.

  “Why’d you do that? I thought he was so in love with you. Why isn’t he wining and dining you like before? What happened?” Lexi asked, full of questions.

  “Nothing happened. The tickets are just a lure to get him out. I told you I plan to charm my way right into his bed. I’m sick of going on these auditions, and Sage’s new studio will be my salvation.”

  “When you’re standing center stage at the Kodak Center accepting your Academy Award, don’t forget to thank your girl for all the years of love and support,” Lexi said, selfishly thinking about herself as always.

  “Who’s my girl?” Terra asked, teasing her.

  “Don’t be funny. I expect to be by your side at every red carpet event you attend. You know how I love the paparazzi!” she said with a smile in her voice.

  “Lexi, I swear I’ve never seen anyone who loved being photographed more than you. I think you should hire a private coach and study acting, so you can attend the industry events on your own merit,” Terra suggested.

  “Girl, I’m not trying to work. I just want the glory without the guts. I’ll leave pounding the pavement and going to auditions to you,” she said cavalierly.

  “Oh, I forgot that I was talking to Ms. Lazybones.” Ever since they were kids, Lexington wasn’t interested in anything but playing dress up and going to tea parties. Now that they were grown, the only thing that had changed was that the tea parties were at the Four Seasons, and she dressed in her own couture outfits instead of her mother’s.

  “I’m not lazy. I just prefer to spend my time having fun. Life’s too short not to enjoy every single second,” she said without shame.

  “Life is short. That’s why I’m taking the elevator straight to the top and skipping all of those unnecessary stops in between,” Terra said.

  “I
heard that. Well, have fun tonight and let’s get together before the week is over.”

  “Okay, talk to you later,” Terra said, and flipped her phone shut.

  The car was pulling up in front of the audition site on Forty-fourth and Broadway by the time Terra had finished her conversation with Lexington. She didn’t have time to go over the lines again, so she stuffed the script back into her tote and climbed out of the car.

  “Leroy, I don’t know how long I’m going to be. This might take five minutes or five hours. You just never know with auditions,” she told her driver.

  “That’s okay, Ms. Benson. I’ll park over near Tenth Avenue, because the traffic around here is crazy,” he said, looking out of the windshield at the gridlock in Times Square.

  “I’ll call you ten minutes before I’m ready to leave. That should give you plenty of time to get here,” Terra said before walking into the building.

  The auditions were being held at a casting agency on the sixteenth floor, and when Terra stepped off of the elevator, she gasped at the sight before her. Hundreds of beautiful girls were taking up every square inch of the hallway leading to the agency’s door. There were blondes, brunettes, redheads, short hair, long hair, black, white, Asian, and Latina; every nationality under the sun seemed to be represented. They were all dressed similarly in white outfits with their hair pulled tightly into buns. Each face was scrubbed clean—with Dove soap no doubt—with only a thin layer of gloss on the lips. Terra thought that she had clinched the look of the “All American Girl,” but every actress here had the same exact idea. She maneuvered her way to the receptionist.

  “Hello, my name is Terra Benson and I have a two-thirty appointment with the casting director,” she said haughtily.