“I should probably get back to what you hired me for tonight,” I say, holding up the camera.
His gaze intensifies, barreling through the pulsating colors of the strobe light with laser-like focus. “I’d be happy to offer you something more longterm.”
What the hell does that mean?
Despite myself, my mind wanders to the obvious, wondering what he’s like in bed. Longterm? Knowing what I do about the man, that’s probably about a week.
I’m not the kind of woman who gets all fluttery at the attentions of a man, no matter who he is. Still, I find myself hiding behind the safety of the camera, where I feel most comfortable, in the face of that suggestion. Something about it has my insides heating up.
“I think I’ll stick to taking photos,” I reply, quickly recovering as I snap a photo. I pull the camera away. “Besides, I’m sure there are plenty of women here who would be more than happy to fill that particular job opening.”
“But not all of them meet my…” His eyes wander over my face, landing on my eyes, which are once again captured by his, and a slow smile appears on his face, “very stringent job requirements.”
Now he’s just being a shameless flirt.
“I’m sure this works on most women, but I think that just proves what a low bar you’ve set for yourself.”
“Ohh, I think that one actually hurt my feelings,” he says with a pained expression, right before laughing.
“Maybe it’ll do something about that ego of yours,” I reply, suddenly remembering that for all intents and purposes, he’s still my boss for tonight. I decide I don’t care. Just because he’s known for his over-the-top, slightly off-color persona, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to play along.
He doesn’t seem too put out by my response. In fact, I think he’s actually enjoying it, the bastard.
I turn away to snap a series of photos to get over the very unsettling notion that a tiny part of me is reveling in his attention. When did I become a sucker for such obvious and blatant innuendos?
Perhaps when they started coming from Dylan Sexton.
* * *
It’s now four o’clock in the morning, my official off-the-clock hour. There was noise about an after-party somewhere. That one won’t have the benefit of photographic evidence, which is fine by me.
“Girl, don’t tell me you’re going home. Things are just getting interesting. You’re off the clock now, have some fun.”
“I’m beat, Georges.”
“Your loss, Vanessa,” he replies, then his eyes light up. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Guess who was askin’ on your name?”
“Do I even want to know?” I reply, even though I have a pretty good idea. I hate myself for being so tickled by the idea.
“You know who,” he sasses, not buying it. “You bettah hop on that—or I will. And his resulting death will be your damn fault.”
I laugh, even though I swear I’m too tired to even crack a smile. “Get gone with your perverted self,” I say, shooing him off. “I’ve got to go through these shots before turning them in.”
He wriggles his fingers goodbye with a teasing grin and walks off. I watch him go with a weary smile then sit down in one of the deserted party chairs.
I think back to the fact that Dylan Sexton personally asked Georges about me. Yes, the man is sex on a stick, and my body is still electrified by his attentions during the party, and yes, he may have a slightly amusing sense of humor and the kind of charm that is probably what helped get him this far in life…
I shake my head, wondering why the obvious “but” has yet to interrupt those thoughts. Dylan is the exact opposite of the kind of man I seek out. He’s all flash and swagger, seeking out any bit of attention just for the sake of it. I mean really, that whole thing with the two women in bikinis?
That’s enough to put him firmly out of my mind and focus on my work.
The room is a mess, and the cleanup crew is slowly making its way in, giving a signal to all us stragglers that we should think about moving on. I move to a corner out of their way to let them work around me while I concentrate on reviewing the results of my first mega party gig. I want to put my best foot forward since these pictures might, ironically enough, finally be the ones to get my name out there as a serious, professional photographer.
Most of the photos are the sort of harmless fun you would expect at a party like this. More than a few make me laugh. An equal number make me cringe. Then there are those that cause the sort of raising of the eyebrows you’d expect specifically from the Sexton Spring Fling. It’s probably a good thing that they made me sign all those NDA forms—with enough financial sanctions to give even Bill Gates pause—before hiring me.
Toward the end, my eyes land on one photo, in particular, that makes me stop dead cold. I feel my mouth slowly fall open.
Oh. Shit.
Chapter Three
Vanessa
Go-Girl Goes Go-Gone Wild!
Ginny Lawson, otherwise known as Go-Girl, from the children’s TV show, Can Do Town, was caught Do-Doing it this weekend with one Pete Marx of the indie rock band Nuclear Joy at the infamous Sexton Spring Fling.
The event, put on by the notorious Dylan Sexton of Sexton Enterprises, is well known as a hedonistic sin-fest, the likes of which haven’t been seen since the disco days of Studio 54. However, the last person anyone would expect to find in such a den of iniquity is Go-Girl.
Although technically twenty-one years old—supposedly, the absolute minimum age to attend a Sexton Party—she plays a spry and spunky character of amorphous age on Can Do Town that anyone from five to fifteen can relate to. With her bright blue hair, super-hero costume, and more importantly, spotless reputation, Go-Girl has been a role model to many an impressionable, young mind since the hit TV show was first aired seven years ago.
In her role as Go-Girl, Ginny Lawson has carried many a little girl through childhood with the tagline that she “can do anything she puts her mind to.”
These photos certainly give new meaning to that phrase.
In a written statement issued by Ginny Lawson’s team, she apologizes to every one of her fans and claims that her very attendance at the Sexton Spring Fling was a misguided decision on her part.
“The Ginny Lawson in those photos is not the girl that I am, and I hate that someone captured me during a vulnerable moment of recklessness for their own sordid interests.”
The phone rings before I can continue reading any further. I take a cautious peek at the caller ID and relax only a little when I see who it is. I pick up and answer.
“Was it you?”
“Of course not, Georges! Do you think I’m stupid enough to leak those pics to anyone, let alone the New York Post or TMZ?”
“Well…” he pauses, and I know exactly what he’s going to say, “You were the only photographer there. You know they make everyone else turn in their phones before even entering the dang party.”
“They’re not my photos!” I insist. “Georges, you know what a professional I am. That’s why you gave me the opportunity. Do you really think I would ruin it, flush my career down the toilet by leaking photos like those? Never mind the fact that it isn’t just my career I’m ruining.”
“People have done a lot worse for a payoff.”
“Georges,” I say, my anger finally beginning to bubble to the surface. “I don’t need the third degree from you of all people. I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, wait!” he says quickly. “I’m sorry, Vanessa. Girl, you’re right, I know you better than that.”
I calm down only a little bit. If one of my good friends suspects me, I can only imagine what the folks at Sexton Enterprises are thinking right now. Not to mention my other clients. I went ahead and announced it not only on my website but all my social media accounts beforehand, something I’m now seriously regretting.
“So who do you think did it?” he asks conspiratorially.
“How on Earth would I know? Maybe someone at Sexton
who needs the money. Hell, maybe Ginny and Pete conspired to leak it themselves.”
“Oh, a sex-tape scandal! I love it!” he squeals on the other end.
I roll my eyes. “And just who do you think is going to take the fall for this scandal, Georges?” I remind him.
There’s another pause on the other end. “You know I got your back, Vanessa. No matter what.”
“Yeah,” I say, falling back against the headboard of my bed that I’ve been camping out in, wearing an old t-shirt and boy shorts since news of these photos leaked.
“Do you want me to pop over? I’ll bring the rosé…or maybe tequila?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” The last thing I want is company, even those bearing alcohol.
“Okay…call if you need me, sweetie.”
“Yeah,” I say morosely, then hang up.
I scroll through the photos from the party on my laptop yet again. Although their faces are mashed into one another’s in most of them, there’s no doubt who the two parties in this little tryst are. Of course, no one is focusing on their faces when there’s so much flesh on display. Ginny Lawson has lost the top to her bikini somewhere along the way. The only thing sparing her modesty is the fact that her breasts are pressed into Pete Marx’s bare chest as she practically melts into him. His hands are hidden somewhere underneath the green bikini bottom barely covering her ass, and hers have disappeared into his swimming trunks.
It’s all so similar to the one I found on my camera yesterday…the ones I very deliberately deleted from that camera.
The phone rings again, making me jump in surprise. I eye the caller ID, and this time I’m decidedly less relaxed.
Shit.
Chapter Four
Dylan
I despise meetings.
I’m a doer, not a planner, and I’ve found that most meetings maybe accomplish one thing for every half-hour of time they waste.
I’m not even supposed to be at this one, as my CEO, Gene Peters, so ardently pointed out. He isn’t a horrible guy, he just plays it a bit more safe than I would, always with that ever-present stick up his ass.
I still despise meetings.
But this meeting is different.
This meeting, she’s in attendance.
Vanessa Paige.
She’s the only reason I’m here.
In retrospect, I can see how having the president of Sexton Enterprises in attendance might cause that anxious look on her face. It doesn’t help that Gene insisted on coming with me to make sure I behave. The meeting should really only be with our in-house counsel—as well as her attorney, as our people very firmly reminded her. She came without one, which I’m impressed by.
As president of Sexton Enterprises, I’ve made sure to sit at my rightful place at the head of the table, mostly so I have a direct line of sight to her at the other end. In the light of day, Vanessa is still sexy as hell. Today she’s in an over-sized, white, button-up dress shirt with a wide belt at the waist. I caught those legs of hers in black booties as she walked in. They look even better when they aren’t in painted-on leather.
She gives one long look around the table at our team of lawyers, lingers on me for half a second longer, then lands back on our head counsel, David Clark.
“I wasn’t the one who leaked the photos,” she says before David can open his mouth.
He coughs uncomfortably before replying. “Once again, Ms. Paige, as I informed you over the phone, it would be wise for you to have an attorney present at this—”
“I don’t need an attorney because I didn’t do anything wrong,” she insists, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Well, that’s what we are here to determine. Obviously, we are looking at all possibilities, including perhaps you inadvertently allowing someone to access the photos before you handed over the memory card?”
“Again, I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t have, inadvertently or otherwise.” She leans in with a hard look. “Perhaps one of your own employees is the guilty party…inadvertently.”
A smile comes to my face. The girl can give as good as she gets. I’m pleased to find that she’s no wilting flower. I was tempted to step in and play the white knight for her sake, but now I’m curious to see where this goes.
As head of in-house counsel for Sexton Enterprises, David is no pushover either. He immediately goes into attack mode.
“Ms. Paige, you were the only person in attendance at the Sexton Spring Fling with a camera.”
“The only one known to have a camera,” she points out.
“Also, the only one known to have taken a photo of Ginny Lawson and Pete Marx while they were…indulging in particular activities posted online.”
I feel the first trickle of concern for Vanessa creep through me.
She stares at him, her eyes just a bit wider. Her mouth opens and closes, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Don’t bother trying to deny it, Ms. Paige. We do have witnesses.”
Now, she’s blinking rapidly. “I—I deleted those photos.”
Shit.
That’s all the chum in the water that a shark like David needs.
“So, you admit to taking the photos?” he presses.
“Yes, but—”
“And we have only your word that you deleted said photos?”
“Like I said, I—”
“Yes, yes, you supposedly deleted the photos,” he says in a patronizing tone that has me curling my hands into fists. “Photos that would have netted you a very nice payday from the tabloid press.”
“Photos that would have also netted me a hefty fine from Sexton Enterprises—if indeed I did leak them,” she says, leaning forward as she gives it right back to him.
Atta girl.
David lets it roll right over him. “Yes, let’s focus on the nondisclosure agreement you signed before taking this job, Ms. Paige. Right now, you have a few things working against you. One, we have witnesses who saw you take the very photos now splashed across the internet.”
I give David a skeptical look. ‘Splashed across the internet?’ He’s acting as though we’re already in a courtroom.
“You, yourself, freely admit to taking said photos—”
“Not those photos. As I said, I deleted mine.”
“Please let me finish, Ms. Paige,” he says patiently.
She tightens her mouth, and I can see the anger and anxiety brewing underneath the surface.
“You also freely admit to deleting said photos, which, if true, means you have effectively destroyed the property of Sexton Enterprises.” Her mouth drops open at that. “And, if not true, means that those photos remained in your possession after handing over the memory card. In which case, the only conclusion is that you were the one to have taken said photos.”
“You’re jumping to some pretty far-reaching conclusions,” she retorts. “It could have just as easily been someone else. It was a crazy party, anyone could have snapped those photos without notice.”
David has a look on his face that’s half-smug, half-condescending, and one hundred percent punchable. “So what you’re saying is that some phantom person who somehow got past security with a camera or their smartphone, then somehow took that photo without anyone noticing, managed to leak those photos to the press?”
She stares at him for a moment, then exhales, settling back in her seat with a weary sigh. “I don’t know who did it, and I don’t know how. All I know is, it wasn’t me.”
The defeat is beginning to settle in. Based on the look on her face, even Vanessa seems to hear it in her own voice.
David’s body language is the exact opposite of hers. He knows he has her in a corner and, knowing what I do about him, he’s more than ready to go in for the knockout punch.
This is the moment I’ve been dreading. The moment the shit hits the fan, with Vanessa Paige standing right in front of it.
I think of the nondisclosure agreement that she signed, which is still very much in effect. No matter what happens
in this room, she has to keep quiet about it.
Time for me to step in. It’s worth the risk if only to save her ass.
“It was me,” I finally announce. “I was the one who took the photos and leaked them to the press.”
Chapter Five
Dylan
All hell has broken loose. It feels like a barrage of tornadoes filling the air as Vanessa and I stare at one another across the table. She has that same look of shock on her face from our initial introduction in the elevator.
I’m just trying to read her expression to see what will come next.
It’s fury, definitely fury.
“Ms. Paige, thank you for coming in today,” Gene is quick to say, standing up as a not-so-subtle hint that she is most definitely excused. “I must remind you that you are still under a firm nondisclosure agreement, the penalty for violation is—”
“I know what the agreement states,” she snaps, giving him an irritated look. From there, her eyes wander around the table, giving it to everyone, oh, but good. She saves me for last, making sure I get the brunt of it.
If looks could kill.
Oh, Vanessa, just kill me now. She’s even sexier when she’s pissed the fuck off.
She stands up, straightens her shoulders, shakes that head of gorgeous natural curls and struts right out of the office.
I’m quick to rise out of my seat to follow her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Gene shouts in surprise.
I know I have a good hand-slapping coming my way—the curse of a publicly-traded company—but I’m in no mood to get spanked right now. At least not from my CEO or his legal drones.
I ignore him as I follow Vanessa out toward the elevators.
She sees me approaching and blinks rapidly before shooting daggers at me once again.
“I should sue you!” she hisses.
Dylan: Ex-Bad Boy: An Ex-Club Romance Page 2
