by Kat T. Masen
I follow her lead, purposely watching her ass sway in a tight black skirt.
Charlie will kill me.
With her bare hands.
Unless, of course, we keep it a secret.
So much for making promises.
NOAH
Charlie and Lex live in the Hollywood Hills in a property that sprawls across several acres with stunning views of the city. As beautiful as the house is, it’s miles from where my new office is located. The roads are windy, and with Kate’s erratic driving, I expect to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. When we finally hit the freeway, I bless the Lord above until we halt in traffic, sheer gridlock with no break in sight. It does, however, give us more time to chat.
The more we get to talking, the more I’m intrigued by the woman who sits beside me.
We have a lot in common, and her warped sense of humor makes it an entertaining car ride. She’s smart, business-oriented with a strong head on her. I’ve slept with powerful executive women but only because they were looking for a quick fuck to get back at husband number two, who was trying to ride them for alimony.
Kate is different. Not sure why but it’s somewhat refreshing.
She talks about her life in Manhattan, running the office on the East Coast, and how she used to be Lex’s assistant BC—before Charlie.
“I’ll set the record straight. I have no life aside from work. I don’t really have time for anything else,” she admits truthfully. “New York may be the city that never sleeps, but I’m sleeping alone every goddamn night.”
“But you’re here,” I remind her, turning my head to glance at her profile. She’s simplistic yet beautiful at the same time. “Is this not for pleasure?”
She smiles, loosening her grip on the steering wheel. “That depends. We’ve been chatting for nearly an hour, and you haven’t asked me out.”
Good point. Smart and sassy. I’m not the type of guy who asks a woman out. I don’t date, I fuck. That’s all I do. I’m not interested in relationships. After all, I’m only twenty-eight and still in my prime.
“I’ve been instructed to stay clear of any women associated with Charlie.”
Kate laughs at my comment. “Charlie is a simple woman. She’s relationship-oriented. She never grasped the concept of having fun. You know… letting loose.”
“Please don’t talk to me about my cousin letting loose.” I shake my head while scowling. “She’s still the girl who stayed at our house during summer vacation and made me watch Clueless on repeat.”
“If it’s any consolation, she’s a happily married woman now. A mother.”
“Unless she’s a nun, can we please change the subject?”
A Porsche cuts us off, prompting Kate to mouth off at the driver. “I should flip him the bird, the arrogant asshole!” Letting out a frustrated breath of air, she continues to drive while calming herself down. “So tonight, what are you doing?”
I’m still processing her road rage. She’s asking me out. A straightforward thinker. If only I hadn’t overheard the conversation between Kate and Charlie or noticed that she glances at her cell every two seconds as she attempts to drive and battle the traffic.
“Nothing tonight. I’ve only been here for three days, so I haven’t had a chance to do anything that doesn’t involve tea parties or playing dress-up.”
You’re such a fucking liar. You were eating pussy hard last night. Did you forget that?
“All right, time to take you out to play with the grownups. We need to get around Lex and Charlie. Otherwise, they’ll make a big deal out of nothing.”
“I’ll just meet you wherever you want to go,” I suggest.
“Okay, there’s this new bar out in Malibu. Let’s meet around eight. Do you have a ride?”
“I’m sure Charlie will lend me her car. Otherwise, I’ll find a way,” I tell her. Of course, she will, and if she doesn’t, I’ll remind her that yesterday Ava got a red marker on my expensive shirt, which resulted in a last-minute dry cleaning so I could wear it today.
The traffic moves forward, and we continue talking about life in LA. Due to her time spent in New York, Kate is very anti-California. She dislikes the heat and the traffic. She often refers to Los Angeles as a fame-driven money pit. It occurs to me somewhere during a rant about the smoggy air that this British girl is extremely homesick.
“I can tell you miss home.”
“I miss the cold weather, and my mummy’s fish and chips with the mushy peas on the side.”
“Excuse me? Mushy peas on the side of fish and chips?” I almost gag at the thought.
“Yes, it’s my favorite dish. Don’t you like peas?”
“Uh… I don’t mind them, but together with fish? No, thanks.”
“Such an arrogant Yank. You think that’s gross, but you eat peanut butter and jelly.”
Taken aback by her disrespect for one of the classics, I wonder how anyone could possibly knock a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Are you comparing mushy peas to a PB & J?” I ask loudly with a confused face.
“Oh, please, it’s weird, okay?” She cringes.
A horn honking breaks our argument, and in return, Kate slams her hand on her car’s horn, cursing along with it. “Did you see that? He flipped me the damn bird!”
She looks hot when she’s angry. I wonder what would happen if I flipped her my bird?
“We’re here,” she announces, parking the car at the front of the building.
There goes that idea.
I look outside the window and see a small brown building. It’s not the high-rise I’d been expecting, nor does it even look like an office. It’s nestled between two large modern buildings, prompting me to recheck the address.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” I question Kate while searching for the address on the email Lex sent me.
“It sure is. Just remember, don’t judge a book by its cover,” she says wisely. “I’d love to come out and introduce you to Haden, but I have a meeting to get to. Japanese businessmen do not like tardiness.”
“It’s okay. We can leave the hand-holding for later.” I raise my eyebrow and follow it with a smirk.
“Sure.” She turns her body to face mine, positioning her legs carefully so they don’t expose what I’d love to have a look at. “Nothing like a good hand job. So, tonight?”
“Tonight.” I grin, breaking out in a small chuckle as I open the door of her car.
She leans her head as close as possible to the passenger window, and with her lips cracking into a smile, she says, “You’re a heartbreaker, Mr. Mason. And someone out there is definitely going to get their heart broken.”
***
Kate’s right. You don’t judge a book by its cover. So you shouldn’t judge a building in the same way. As soon as I step inside, I’m astonished to see such an architecturally well-presented office space.
The reception area has dark wooden floors and crisp white walls. The back wall, where the receptionist sits, is old brickwork restored to its original condition. Hanging on the wall are various book covers sitting in large frames with an autograph at the bottom of each print. Moving closer to the reception desk, I notice that each book on that wall is a New York Times bestseller.
The sconces in the room are modern, illuminating the area and giving it a warm and inviting feel. And positioned in the corner is a vintage brown leather couch with a bookshelf beside it housing many books. There are more books positioned on the oval-shaped coffee table that sits on a huge, off-white shaggy rug.
The receptionist is wearing an earpiece and motions for me to wait a minute. The second she hangs up, she asks me who I am.
“Noah, Mason. Your new Marketing Director,” I state, keeping my tone flat.
When it comes to work, I don’t screw around. Perhaps, back in my younger years, I landed myself in someone’s pussy which equated to hot water. Yet over the last few years, I focused on climbing the corporate ladder. Marketing often attracted younge
r girls looking to mix business with pleasure. Unfortunately, for them, I didn’t tolerate such immaturity. When you’re under my watch, you better deliver.
My personal life, however, is a completely different story.
There’s work Noah and fun Noah.
The two never mix.
“Right. You’ll want Mr. Cooper,” she replies with a cute I-want-you-to-finger-me type of smile.
She stands and walks around the desk, careful to adjust her tight-fitting skirt. She requests I follow her, and I try my damn hardest not to look at the way her firm ass shakes from side to side as she leads me through the office.
I could do so many things with that firm little ass. Clear your dirty thoughts. She looks young. You like your women with a little more life experience, anyway.
We stop at the glass office at the end of the hallway. Opening the door, the man, who I assume is Haden Cooper, motions for us to come in.
“Mr. Cooper, this is Noah Mason.”
He stands from his desk, extending his hand to shake mine. He appears noticeably young to be running a publishing house—he’s almost my age. Tall with a muscular build, he’s wearing thick-framed reading glasses. Irritated by his beard, which he seems to be repeatedly scratching, I can notice the wedding band on his finger—poor fella.
“Noah, pleased to meet you. Sit.”
I take a seat in the plush chair as the receptionist leaves. His office is nothing special, scattered manuscripts all over his desk with barely room for anything else. There’s a mug next to his desktop, which has a picture of Homer Simpson in his briefs with the caption ‘The last perfect man.’
“So, Noah, Lex has only good things to say about you. But then again, that man could persuade anyone to do anything.”
“He does have a way with words. Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Cooper.”
“Call me Haden. It’s weird, you seriously look like you could pass as my twin brother.” He chuckles.
I relax. “Perhaps. No ring on my finger, though.”
“Ah…” he smiles, “… life works in mysterious ways. That, and my wife is a ballbreaker. I probably shouldn’t say that out loud because she’ll be lurking around here somewhere.”
“She works here, too?”
“Senior editor. I’d show you a picture, but she doesn’t allow me to put a photo on my desk of her and our son. She reckons people who do that in the office are lame and missing a pair of balls.”
I like his wife already.
“So, I’m impressed with your marketing background. I think you’ll fit right in here. We need a strong push on our upcoming releases, and the marketing interns we have need direction. Your position as director will help give our business an online presence, which is needed to stay competitive in our market. Let’s have a meeting with them this afternoon,” he suggests.
I nod, agreeing, only to be interrupted by a stunning woman wearing a fitted pantsuit and low-cut blue blouse. She has curly brown hair that’s tied into a bun with a loose tendril falling over her face. This office is like a candy store, except instead of candy, it’s filled with sweet, beautiful pussy.
But I have to remember the golden rule—you don’t shit where you eat.
I need this job right now, and my raging libido has to sit himself in the naughty corner alone. California definitely showcases gorgeous women.
“Hello.” She offers a friendly smile. “You must be Charlie’s cousin, Noah.”
She knows Charlie. Game over.
“That I am,” I answer politely.
She introduces herself, “I’m Presley Malone.”
Haden coughs while shooting her an annoyed, wary look.
“Sorry, Presley Malone-Cooper,” she says, rolling her eyes at him.
I laugh softly. “Ahhh… the wife.”
Definitely, game over.
“When the title fits,” Haden quips, stroking his beard.
“Stop being a jerk, Haden,” she fires back, trying her best to disguise her smirk. “Anyway, it’s great to have you on board. I hope Haden was kind enough to invite you out for drinks tonight?”
“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. It’s what happens when Mrs. Know-It-All interrupts,” he complains. “So, Noah, are you free for drinks tonight?”
“I had plans, but I can change them to later tonight.”
“I’m sure you men will have fun. Listen, I’m off. If you need me, I’ll be trying to get through to an author about her manuscript having too much sex in it.”
“And I told you, there’s no such thing,” Haden states with a playful smile on his lips.
I’d have the same smile if I were tapping her sweet ass every fucking night.
“Are we having this argument again? There needs to be a plot. A story to make the readers want more. A sex scene on every page is overkill.”
Their argument continues on, and the more I observe, the more I see that Haden purposely riles Presley up to get a reaction from her. It’s comical, to say the least. I see now why Charlie and Kate joke about him being a jerk.
After not agreeing on anything, Presley walks out, leaving Haden and me alone.
“My wife,” he says with a small laugh. “Do you see what I have to deal with every day? Ballbuster. Too damn stubborn.”
“Headstrong is a preferable word,” I suggest with a grin. “Much like Charlie and her friend, Kate.”
“You know Kate?” He follows with a whistle. “The three of them together are like Charlie’s Angels… excuse the irony of the name, trying to battle with everyone while standing up for equality for women. Kate’s a troublemaker,” he finishes with a soft laugh.
“Interesting, I only met her today. A feisty Brit at that.”
“She’s fun. Not as uptight as Presley and Charlie. I think they have this need to protect her from the awful men lurking around Manhattan. They’re forever on her back and don’t seem to get that she’s a free spirit. Doesn’t care what people think, just does what makes her happy.”
Interesting way to describe Kate. She comes across as fun-loving and relaxed, not one of those women desperate to get married and have babies. Maybe that’s why I like her—I don’t feel this unwarranted pressure around her.
“Look, I’m gathering that you’re hooking up with someone tonight, so don’t worry about drinks. Seriously, I totally get it.”
I don’t want to tell him it’s Kate. Having only just met Haden, I don’t know if he’d encourage me to spend time with her or warn me against it. Despite what he’s just said, people have a funny way of reacting to things, and it’s best to keep it on the down-low for now.
“Someone invited me to some bar in Malibu, but it’s no trouble.”
“I’m not getting in the way of a man and a hook-up. Trust me…” He laughs. “We’ll have drinks later this week. I’ll try to convince Lex to come out, but knowing him, he’ll be out of town as usual.”
Haden turns his screen around to further explain how the business operates, including an organizational chart of how the company is structured. He then speaks about the top ten authors and upcoming releases. I recognize Julian Baker, having read his work, only remembering now Charlie mentioning him years ago. If I recall, and again, when it comes to other people’s love life, I barely pay attention, Charlie was dating him when she and I were in Hawaii for a wedding.
I spend the remainder of the day being shown the ropes and meeting the team. By six o’clock, I’m done. Haden gives me a ride back home, giving us more of an opportunity to talk about the company. The traffic’s awful, leaving me with not much time to shower and change into something more casual.
The next dilemma is finding my mode of transportation. I want to use Charlie’s bike, and it takes a lot of convincing, especially because it’s her baby. After a long lecture on road safety, she finally hands me the keys.
It’s bumper-to-bumper traffic to Malibu. Some dick lost his load causing a major traffic jam. Thank God I’m riding her bike, swerving in and out of th
e traffic to avoid further delays. The last time I had ridden was back in college—a bike Tom’s parents bought him for his twenty-first birthday. I push away the unwarranted memory, focusing back on the road.
By the time I arrive, I head for the bar, and couldn’t be happier to have a drink in my hand. I know I have to consume less so I can ride back home.
Moving through the crowd, I notice Kate sitting out on the big deck staring across the ocean. She’s wearing the same clothes as this morning, but her expression looks bleak. Nothing at all like the fun-loving Kate I saw earlier today or the one Haden described.
Same look.
Same story.
Someone has broken her.
That guy. The one with the big balls.
Ugh.
Charlie warned me—not once, but twice—to be on my best behavior. Focus on my career and not on women, especially ones in her circle of friends.
I try not to come across as a stalker, though I’m half covered by a large bush watching her from afar. Not at all stalker-like, you idiot.
I observe the way she quietly sits at the table with her cell in front of her. It appears to be a distraction. As if on autopilot, she picks it up, stares at the screen, places it down, then repeats minutes later. Her foot taps impatiently under the table causing her skirt to ride up. She doesn’t appear bothered, allowing it to do so, then on second thought, she pulls it slightly down again.
I amble toward her until I’m by her side.
“Hello, stranger.”
“‘Bout time you got here, Mr. Mason,” she greets with an upbeat cheer. “Time to have some fun.”
“What do you have in mind?”
She grabs my hand and a large purse, pulling me through the not-so-crowded bar until we find ourselves on the footpath leading to the sand. As if in a mad rush, her heels click against the concrete until we reach the end of the path where the sand leads to the ocean. Bending down while holding onto my shoulder, she removes her shoes, her bare feet now touching the soft sand.
The sun has set, the sky darkening with a hint of pink. With her hand pulling me near the shore, she settles on a spot beside a metal lifeguard chair. My body jerks toward the ground as she pulls me down with her and removes a bottle of tequila from her purse.
