by Kat T. Masen
“The actress?” the three of them say at the same time.
I nod, blissfully looking at her face on the front cover.
“So, if the universe delivered Scarlett Winters to your doorstep, you’d settle down with her?” Kate asks.
“Uh-huh.” As if that would ever happen. An A-list Hollywood star wanting a relationship with a non-celebrity. I could possibly fuck her. I know that much. But a relationship? I fucking wish. I imagine waking up next to her every morning. I’d be in fucking heaven, tapping that ass every fucking chance I got. I have a better chance of winning the Lotto or even pigs flying and landing on the moon.
“I don’t blame you,” Lex grins. “She’s quite something.”
“Well…” Charlie says, annoyed, “… if it gets her off the market, so my husband has no chance, I’m in.”
“You’re in what?” I ask, confused.
“Kate and I will get you a date with Scarlett Winters. It only takes one date. Sprinkle that Mason charm on her, and before you know it, we’ll be hearing wedding bells. I have the perfect plan already.” Charlie smiles with satisfaction.
“Um, we will?” Kate narrows her eyes while frowning. “How?”
“Because we’re women… that’s how. Girl power, baby.”
“C’mon… Scarlett Winters?” I repeat, followed by a huff. “This is ludicrous.”
These women have no clue how to even contact her, let alone get me a date. Just agree, there’s no way these two could pull this off. Soon, they’ll forget about this stupid dare and carry on with their sad, pathetic lives.
“You need to shake on this, promise us that you’ll settle down once and for all if you start dating Scarlett,” Charlie tells me.
I extend my hand. “Deal. And do you know why I’m agreeing?”
Both of them shake their heads in unison.
“Because it’ll never happen. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with a celebrity? She has an army of people you’ll need to get through. It’s comical, this whole settle-down-Noah plan.” I laugh at my own words.
“I like to prove people wrong,” Charlie responds confidently. “It’s what I do for a living. So, wait and see.”
***
I wait and wait some more. Nothing, of course, happens.
The week was hectic in the office. I finally met all the team who will be reporting directly to me—basically a bunch of young kids who just finished college. Eager young men and women ready to get their hands dirty to climb the corporate ladder. Haden has given me a ton of projects which will involve a few interstate trips. The hours are long, but Haden ensures we enjoy ourselves, taking our team out for lunch and challenging us boys on the court.
It’s late Friday afternoon when Haden calls an impromptu meeting, with even his wife, Presley, attending.
“Sorry about the late meeting. I’ll be away this weekend and won’t have access to work emails,” he tells everyone.
He confided in me earlier in the day that his mother was in town, so he took the opportunity to use her as a babysitter and organize a quick trip to Vegas with Presley. A much-needed dirty weekend since they barely spend time alone without their son.
“I won’t have access to emails either,” Presley adds.
The group snickers, both Haden and Presley breaking out into smiles like their hands are caught in the cookie jar.
“Yeah, yeah… I know what you’re all thinking.” Presley laughs. “So, we got some exciting news today. We’ve been approved to increase our budget, so we can expand our publishing services.”
“That’s great news,” I acknowledge.
“It really is. While we’ve got excellent results in the fiction department, given our geographical presence, why not take advantage of what we have around us,” she reveals.
“I’m not following you,” Pete, one of our editors, says out loud.
Haden takes the lead. “Hollywood. There’s such a huge demand for celebrity autobiographies. Now, granted, it’s a different process for establishing a book with an author. We need to utilize ghostwriters, and there will be a major push on marketing given the fan base of each celebrity we choose.” Haden tells us more about the plan but cuts the meeting short due to time.
As everyone leaves the room, he asks me to stay back for a moment. “So, I had an interesting conversation with Lex the other day,” Haden says.
“Oh, yeah, about what?”
“About how the first celebrity we’ll try to contract is Scarlett Winters.” He follows with an underlying smirk
I almost choke on my own saliva. “Scarlett Winters?”
“Yes,” he replies. “According to Forbes magazine, she’s the most in-demand actress in the world right now. Anything with her name attached means big bucks. I’ve already teed up an interview with her on Monday.”
“Are you fuc—” I pull myself up. “Are you serious?”
Haden breaks out laughing, then follows with, “I’m serious. Presley will attend the interview with you since she manages the team of writers, but you’ll need to put together a marketing plan to entice her. What platforms will be leveraged, how we can stay in line with her branding. And, plus, I understand Charlie has a keen interest in you meeting Scarlett Winters.”
“Look, I don’t mix my personal life with business.”
“I don’t care what you do in your personal life, Noah. Between you and Presley, deliver me an autobiography of Scarlett Winters, and Head of the West Coast Marketing Division is yours.”
“You can’t be serious? West Coast Marketing. That’s a huge step up.”
Lex owns three publishing houses on the West Coast, including here, San Francisco, and Seattle. I know the business is doing exceptionally well financially, given the number of New York Times bestsellers they published last year. This would be a dream position for me—a major step in my career as long as I don’t fuck it up. If Haden can run this branch successfully, then I can take on that position with my eyes fucking closed.
“Noah, it’s all yours. And if you fuck her, just make sure your name isn’t slewed across the tabloids,” he warns. “She’s sexy, but she also has paparazzi following her every move.”
“I promise to keep the tabloids clean.”
I shake his hand and wish him fun on his dirty weekend, curbing my excitement momentarily.
On Monday, I’ll meet Scarlett Winters.
I don’t care about Charlie and Kate’s stupid idea. I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do. If that’s falling in love with Scarlett, then so be it.
Let cupid target both of us.
Karma is finally on team Noah.
NOAH
The beat of my new Italian, tan leather shoes echoes against the shiny marble tiles. I’ve tapped into my feminine side, shopping all weekend with Charlie and Kate for a new outfit—a suit and shoes to wear today. It was eight hours of my life I’ll never get back. Who would’ve thought that women could be so indecisive? I had labels I stuck to and stores I knew by name, making it easier when I needed something new. That was back home. Here, it’s all about status.
Rodeo Drive—friend or foe?
The sales assistants fussed all over me, handing Kate and Charlie champagne while they sat on fancy chairs making me try on several suits. I knew the first one I tried on was the one. It was a navy suit that fit me perfectly with no need for alterations. Yet, they still managed to convince me to try several others, despite my reluctance.
By the end of our shopping trip, I vowed never to go out with them again. Charlie obsessed over every minor detail. And Kate? She’s that annoying friend who constantly has her head buried in her cell.
Both of them rambled on about how I should act, what I should say, and things not to do around Scarlett. It was like I’d never been around women before.
And while I sit here, waiting impatiently, their silly voices ring in my head.
“Make sure you shake her hand. It shows professionalism. Plus, women like to touch men’s hands. I
t gives them an indication of how big their pecker is,” Kate said.
“Maintain eye contact. Women love eyes. And use her name often, nothing sexier than some pleasant-name calling,” Charlie added.
“Unbutton your shirt a little. A nice, tanned torso is a real eye-catcher,” Kate continued. “And do you have reading glasses? Nothing like a studious man with a dirty side to him.”
Inside my head, I’m groaning and telling both of them to shut the fuck up.
The reception area is all white—leather sofa, desk, walls. It could easily be considered boring if not for the giant black-and-white portraits of Scarlett hanging on every wall. Her pose and sexy smile draw you in. Her signature sultry red lips are deliciously inviting. All of a sudden, my nerves consume me. I find my foot tapping louder, and this lush sofa, when I shuffle my body, it makes this squeaky sound similar to a fart. The room, large as it is, only echoes the noise giving the illusion that I just can’t hold things in.
Presley is sitting beside me, twisting a loose curl around her finger while reading some notes in her file. She pauses for a brief moment, adjusting her jacket, before closing her folder.
“So, how was Vegas?” I ask, making small talk.
“Fun. We got drunk, and I mean blind drunk. Haden almost lost our life savings on the blackjack table, but aside from that, a nice break from a very energetic toddler.” She smiles.
“I can imagine. Charlie’s daughters are little firecrackers. Nonstop, on the go all the time. I don’t know how Charlie does it, especially without a nanny all the time.”
“She’s a lot like me. Nannies are great, but I didn’t bring my child into the world to be raised by someone else. It’s all a balancing act, juggling work and being a mom. And some days, everything just falls apart, and a nanny would be like a walking angel.” She sighs, continuing, “We got home last night, and Masen, our son, wouldn’t let go of Haden. We were so tired and desperate to crash, but he wanted our attention. Life doesn’t stop just because we’re exhausted.”
She swipes through her cell and shows me a picture of her son crashed out in the middle of their bed. “This happens almost every night now. I try taking him to his own bed, but he wanders back in, and Haden just lets him sleep with us.”
I don’t want to say it but talk about killing the romance in the bedroom. If I ever have children, they will never, ever, be allowed to sleep in our bed. I’d want my wife to myself every night. Yes, I’m that selfish.
Stop. Now you are talking kids? You’re being brainwashed.
She continues to talk more about her son, how her sister and partner live not far away and help out whenever they can. She also talks fondly about Haden, despite their petty arguments in the office.
“Haden’s great at running that office. He knows people, and he knows business,” I compliment, impressed with his management skills.
“He’s extremely intelligent, but trust me, first impressions aren’t his strongest point. I couldn’t stand him at first. In fact, he was such a jerk that I couldn’t be in the same room as him.”
I laugh. “But look at you now. Some things have a way of working out.”
“They do,” she happily agrees.
The receptionist, an older lady, is dressed very professionally in a white pantsuit as she busily types away at the keyboard, her fake acrylic nails tap at a fast pace.
“Mr. Mason, Mrs. Malone-Cooper?”
Standing at one of the doors is a woman, it’s not Scarlett, although she bears some similarity. The eyes, perhaps? Or maybe, you’ve jerked off to the image of Scarlett’s face way too often.
She waits patiently as we both stand and make our way toward her. She extends her hand, introducing herself as Ms. Bentley, and motions for us to enter the office.
The office is large with the back wall all glass looking out toward the hills. Unlike the rest of the office, this room has a splash of color, and funnily enough, there’s no portrait of Scarlett on the walls.
“Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Bentley,” Presley begins. “Not to be rude, I thought this meeting was with Miss Winters?”
“Unfortunately, Miss Winters had to reshoot a scene for her upcoming movie. Besides, all press and business go through me first. I’m her assistant.”
How disappointing. I’d worked myself up for no reason.
Oh well, at least I can relax somewhat now. My body sinks into the chair, making it very comfortable. I’m quick to notice how really bland the office is. Although there’s color, it’s incredibly neat and tidy with not a single speck of dust on the glass table.
Ms. Bentley looks at her notebook, giving me a chance to gaze at her. Her jet-black hair is tied up in a tight bun, accentuating her cheekbones. She wears some makeup, making her face slightly flushed but in a smoldering way. She finishes reading the contract, her eyes focusing between Presley and me as she adjusts her red glasses so she can see us. The glasses are kind of quirky, something you rarely see.
There’s something unique about her, and when I scan her face again, my attention focuses on her eyes. They’re crystal blue—I mean, so blue you can’t help but stare at them. I brush it off as contacts. We’re in Hollywood, after all. On closer inspection, her tits look too perky. Probably fake too.
“When Mr. Cooper contacted me, he was very insistent about how this autobiography would be a bestseller for Miss Winters,” she tells us, switching her attention between Presley and me.
“Yes.” I clear my throat. Pulling my laptop out, I click on the presentation, talking my way through what we project along with Presley’s input. Presley has a way with words, talking Ms. Bentley through how best we can capture Scarlett’s story in a positive manner. I, on the other hand, focus on the marketing side, tapping into Scarlett’s already huge fan base and how we can double that.
“Thank you for this presentation. Miss Winters has expressed an interest in a project like this. However, she’s a very busy woman. Most of the work and information you need will be collaborated by myself.”
Huh, that’s an odd situation. An autobiography on Scarlett Winters from the perspective of her assistant? I don’t think it can work, and my dick is arguing, swearing profanities like a drunken sailor. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I should be spending time with Scarlett, spreading my so-called charm, then getting her into bed.
“Not to be rude, but this autobiography is on Miss Winters. I’m not understanding how it’ll work if you’re giving us the information?” I question her with slight arrogance.
“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.” She pushes her glasses above the bridge of her nose, her deep blue eyes watching me with a harsh stare. It’s rude to stare, so I break away, pretending to be interested in the view behind her.
“I’ve been Miss Winters’s PA and publicist since she first entered the business as an adult. You’ll have contact with Miss Winters to ask her some personal questions, all with her prior consent. However, any general facts will go through me,” she states.
She doesn’t break a sweat, and just when I begin to talk, Presley’s cell rings, distracting us both.
“I’m so sorry, I have to take this call.” Presley leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
“We’re keen to start this project. Mr. Cooper would like to see a first draft by the end of next month. It’s a quick turnaround time, but he thinks this will make a great Christmas release,” I add, trying to ensure she understands what kind of deadline we’re working with.
“Of course,” she responds, tapping her pen against the table, watching me with a curious gaze. She’s making me uncomfortable, and I never get uncomfortable.
“Regarding Miss Winters, we need to meet with her. After all, this project is about her.”
Ms. Bentley keeps her expression to no more than a faint, slight smile, continuing to watch me with a persistent gaze. “And what, may I ask, is your intention with Miss Winters?” she asks, her voice rigid.
God, this fucking woman is unbelievable! I
understand her duty as an employee, but this is taking it too far.
“My intentions, Ms. Bentley, are purely professional.” I bite hard, trying to control my need to give her my opinion on her rigid ass.
“I see, Mr. Mason.” She breaks my gaze long enough to look at the computer screen and clicks her mouse before looking back my way. “Miss Winters will be in the desert shooting a movie over the next two weeks. There may be a few nights when she’ll fly home. I could possibly organize something then. That is if you don’t have any commitments after hours?” she asks with a stern and righteous tone.
I am committed to fucking Scarlett. Any which way possible.
“I’m all open,” I say, not breaking her gaze, wanting to make her uncomfortable.
She tilts her head, and although I may have said that with a slightly seductive tone, Ms. Bentley seems to brush it off. Argh, she looks like a prude, anyway.
Presley is taking longer than expected, making the small talk between Ms. Bentley and me extremely awkward.
“Nice office you have here. Do you go on set with Miss Winters much?”
“No,” she responds flatly.
“I see. It must be exciting, though, and a rewarding job. Miss Winters is deemed one of the most talented actresses of her generation,” I try again.
“It is. And yes, she is.”
Okay, this is like pulling teeth. Her shirt is buttoned up, no exposure of her ample tits which look nice and fake underneath the fabric. Her skirt is long, almost reaching her knees, not giving me any glimpse of her panties. The only thing that’s turning me on are the very tall pumps she’s wearing—a camel color that looks nice against her California tan. I have no idea how she walks in them, and when I lean my head to peer through the glass table, she’s purposely pushed them as far back under her chair as possible so I can see nothing.
Jesus, I might as well have walked into a nunnery.
Frigid, prude, probably still lives at home, possibly with several cats—such a waste. Stunning woman. She needs a real man to show her a good time unless she’s batting for the same team.
