by Amy Brent
Yep. I’d be hearing from Sarah Williams very soon indeed.
I buttoned my coat up and waved to the paparazzi waiting for me at the door. I climbed into my car and told the driver to take me to Al Biernat’s. I was meeting Tony for a decent lunch so we could talk about the interview and where we were going from here. Tony and I tag-teamed the interviews. I did some so he could rest, then he did some so I could rest. I did the more high-end and upscale interviews, and the lower-level ones that simply wanted information on the product Tony did. He didn’t want to be the face of the company, which was fine with me.
I adored being the ever-so-handsome face of our growing technological empire.
I walked into the restaurant and found Tony, watching him rise from his seat as we embraced one another in a hug. I heard a few people gasping and snapping pictures, but the general manager soon came over and told them to cut it out.
“Let’s make a donation to this place, shall we?” I asked.
“You liked that the men told them to shut up, didn’t you?” Tony asked.
“We need some privacy somewhere. They should be rewarded for going over the top,” I said.
“Donation noted. How did the interview go?”
“It went really well. It wasn’t a live interview, so I’m not sure what’ll be edited out, but Sarah Williams isn’t known for doctoring up her interviews to meet a specific agenda,” I said.
“That’s good. We’ve run into a few issues with that, especially with the syndicates that are harping on your lawsuits.”
“Are we really talking about those again? Look, the woman who accused me of harassment was lying. We proved that. The other woman, the one I supposedly had gotten pregnant? Never even seen her. She submitted to a paternity test. I went along with it to prove my innocence, and the charges were dropped because the kid’s not mine. What gives?” I asked.
“You know there are people out there who don’t care that the charges were dismissed. We have to do damage control on your image as much as we can.”
“If you’re asking me to not date in the public eye, sorry,” I said.
“If you could tone it down a bit, that would be nice,” he said.
“Not a chance. Look, there are three things in life I love, a good slab of steak, a good slab of technology, and a good slab of woman. We didn’t work our asses off for a hundred and fifty-seven million in revenue to hide and cower away. We’re working hard, and we deserve to play hard.”
“Even at the risk of tanking your image?” he asked.
“What image? Look, all of this is going to blow over. We’re going to go these interviews, we’re going to tell the truth, we’re going to let our beautiful P.R. woman handle the bad press, and we’re going to keep making our product better than ever. Which reminds me, we need to look into the child abduction rates in this part of the country.”
“Why? Thinking about branching out into child protection?” he asked.
“It was just something Sarah brought up in the interview,” I said. “Have someone look into it.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “So, we’re on a first-name basis now?”
“Anyone who’s that hot in person is automatically on a first name basis,” I said, winking.
“And there it is,” Tony said.
“What? What did I do?”
“You left your information with her assistant, didn’t you?” he asked.
“So what if I did?”
“Dude. Mason. All right. That’s the first decent interview you’ve given in three weeks. She didn’t ask you about the lawsuits, right?”
“Nope. Not one peep about ‘em,” I said.
“Then don’t cock it up.”
“But cocking women up is so much fun,” I said, grinning.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. I was waiting for the two of you to finish up, so I wanted to bring an appetizer the chef’s trying out for the new summer menu. Enjoy,” the waiter said.
“Well, tell the chef I said thank you, and we’re ready to order. You ready to order?” I asked.
“Yes. I would like the six-ounce lunch steak, medium rare, with freshly steamed broccoli and the mushroom risotto,” Tony said.
“And I would like the filet mignon, rare, with the steamed broccoli as well and what the hell the chef’s macaroni and cheese. Haven’t had a decent one in quite a while.”
“The chef’s macaroni is excellent. I believe you will enjoy it,” the waiter said. “Would the two of you care for another glass of red wine?”
“I think I’ll just stick with water now, thank you,” I said.
“And I wouldn’t mind a sweet tea,” Tony said.
“Sweet tea? Really?”
“You gotta try it. It’s awesome,” he said.
“Coming right up,” the waiter said.
“So, anyway, back to cocking up women.”
“No. No, you maniac,” he said. “The dude in me is going ‘hell yeah. Get it, dude.’ But the professional in me is telling you to cool your pipes until we can restore your image a bit.”
“What if I’m not seen in public with her? How does that sound?”
“That’s what I’m trying to get you to do, Mason. Stop being seen in public with a new woman every damn day. Dick around all you want, but stop flaunting it until the media cools down,” he said.
“Fine, fine, fine.”
“That fake pregnancy scandal was only resolved, like, two weeks ago, man,” he said.
“I hear you. I get it. I’ll keep it out of the limelight for now,” I said.
“You’re not going to do a damn thing I say, are you?” he asked.
“I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”
“Said the overgrown man-child who can’t keep his dick in check.”
“I’m not going to ruin my image any further, I promise. And if it happens, we’re paying that PR woman a very nice salary to keep her on retainer. What’s the point if we don’t use her?”
A grin crossed my face as my thoughts flew back to those long, slender legs. Not really enough meat for me, but she’d been good for one little desperate romp.
“Don’t you even think about it,” Tony said. “Staff and people we employ are off limits.”
“That your way of saying you approve of Sarah and me, Daddy?” I asked mockingly.
“Eat your fucking food and shut up,” he said.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, grinning.
Chapter 3
Sarah
I took a few pictures with Mason Baker that would eventually be used to promote his segment. The fans loved seeing this type of backstage stuff on my social media accounts, and anything I could do to cater to them, I would. I felt like we touched on a wide variety of topics that would help promote a product in the Dallas area I thought could do this part of the country some good, so I wanted people to watch.
I wanted people to be educated.
I went home and fell asleep with nothing more on my mind. A few images of Mason popped into my head but nothing substantial. I woke up that morning ready for my next interview and looking forward to my next talk show.
That was my life, really. Sleeping, eating, promoting, talking, then destressing after a long day. I didn’t have time for much.
Especially with regard to tall, handsome playboys with their crispy little grins.
I walked back into my dressing room and promptly sat down on the couch. My head was swimming with Mason’s sharp green eyes, even though I’d just conducted an interview with a local woman who had been adopting terminally ill children. He knew what he had done. The sly comments and the little grins in the interview yesterday. He knew he had been getting to me, and something about that excited me. There was something about a man with confidence who took what he wanted, no questions asked. I could sympathize because I was the same way. Bold. Blunt. Independent. Self-made. I had a talent and a passion, and I found a way to peddle that to the masses.
Just like he had.
A knock came at my door, and I simply didn’t answer it. My assistant knew that if I didn’t answer and it wasn’t important, to simply leave it be. Removing my glasses, I clasped the bridge of my nose, trying to rid myself of the beautiful way his body seemed to loom over me and the way his soothing voice ran down the edges of my skin and the way his hand had felt in the dip of my waist.
I heard my assistant slide a note underneath the door, and it caught my attention. It obviously wasn’t important, but it was pertinent enough for her to risk a note. I got up from the couch and strode over to the door, picking up the piece of paper off the floor. Expecting to find a note, I was shocked when I opened it up and saw eight numbers all in a row with Mason’s signature beneath it.
I was holding Mason Baker’s telephone number.
Why hadn’t she given this to me yesterday after the interview? When had she received it? If he called down here to leave his number, why didn’t he simply ask for me? If he had the money to get my assistant’s number, then he surely had the means to get mine.
Why the fuck did I care?
I honestly didn’t know what to do with it. I wasn’t an idiot, so I knew about the scandals from the woman who’d accused him of sexual harassment and the woman who claimed to be pregnant by him. The baby was shown not to be his and the sexual harassment lawsuit fell apart when it was found the woman was lying, but the man did have a great deal of money.
And money got you many things in the court system nowadays.
At any rate, why in the world was he trying to snag another woman? That fake pregnancy scandal was only, like, two fucking weeks old. How tacky was that? Oh, the baby’s not mine, time to hop on the train and fuck another bitch? What kind of game did he think he was playing?
On the other hand, he was beautiful. That was probably what got him all the attention from women anyway. That and his fervently deep pockets and his love of spoiling the women on his arm. He was well-known for treating his dime-a-dozen women to lavish things, buying them diamonds to drip off their bodies before casting them aside. The latest woman he dated was still being seen in the fully-loaded pink BMW convertible he’d bought for her.
I had to admit, a small part of me wanted to call him. He was into me during that interview, I could tell. And with that dick-swinging video of him running, two things were certain. He had a cock he would wield, and he kept his body fit for the taking.
I felt a shiver ricochet up my spine right before he jumped into my mind. My ex. My fucking ex sucking the face off my ex-host.
It had crumbled my walls when I’d seen him. That man had been everything to me. Tight, tailored suits, took care of his appearance. Never got on me for the time it took me to get ready. Had no issues waiting one, even two hours for me to put myself together. He always wanted to look his best, and he always cheered me on when I looked my best. We were successful, a rising power couple.
Until I caught him jamming his tongue down the throat of the person I usually did my show with.
Thankfully, I floated the show just fine. I started the show on my own, took on a co-host when the money started coming in, and didn’t look back. It was nice, volleying the show to someone every once in a while. We were able to add new segments, talk about new and exciting topics, and if there was ever a time I was sick, there was someone already standing in.
But I also had no issues firing her, and ever since, my show has taken off even more. I’m more successful than I’d ever been in the beginning, and it was because of the stance I took and the zero-tolerance policy I reigned down that garnered me that following.
I just happened to leave out the fact that I got her fired because I was fucking livid.
I stuffed the number into my pocket and grabbed my purse. I was meeting my best friend for dinner, and I didn’t want to be late. Emma Nelson was the only other person in Dallas besides Angie that I ever talked to. Being famous didn’t lend a lifestyle that allowed me to make friends easily. Most people either segued into my money, some sort of donation, or used my platform and following as a way to bolster their own social media campaigns and followings.
So, I stuck with my tried and true, Emma and Angie.
I had Emma for my outside world and Angie for my stardom world.
“Sarah!”
Emma flagged me down in the restaurant as I went rushing over to her. I embraced her tightly, holding her close as we hugged in the middle of a fine Italian restaurant. Italian was always my go-to comfort food in times of stress, so when Emma had suggested it, it was obvious she knew something was up.
“Oh my gosh, why don’t we see one another more often?” I asked as I released her.
“Because you’re too busy and hate me, that’s why,” she said.
“I could never hate you, Emma,” I said.
“I took the liberty of ordering. Penne noodles with shrimp and that asiago cheese alfredo sauce they have, garlic bread, and sweet tea. Tiramisu for dessert.”
“Why are you a woman?” I said, groaning. “We could be so good together.”
“Sorry, chica. Vaginas for life. Now, spill. What’s got you all in knots?”
“I talked to you once today. Through text message. How the hell did you know?”
“I always know. That’s what best friends do. What’s up?” she asked.
I picked up the sweet tea sat in front of me and took a huge gulp. Automatically, a wave of relief cascaded over my body as I sunk back into my chair.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that? I hate you.”
“Oooh. Deflection. It’s bad. Thanks, you’re beautiful, too. Obligatory compliments out of the way. Talk to me, Sarah. It’s what I’m here for.”
“No seriously. You’re tall. Slender. Blond hair almost the color of snow. Dead white skin that makes men want to cuddle you. Piercing green eyes.”
My mind slid back to Mason’s beautiful green eyes, and for a second, I got lost in my own train of thought.
“Shit, you met someone, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Why did that phrase start with shit?” I asked.
“Because you shouldn’t be rushing into another relationship. It’s only been a month since the whole Cody debacle.”
“But he’s so attractive. He gave me his number. Him. Giving me his number. That doesn’t happen to women like me. They ask me for it, or I ask them for it. Never like this,” I said.
“That doesn’t mean anything, Sarah.”
“Easy for you to say. Your chalky white legs draw in men willing to practically hand you their cocks,” I said.
“I’m still not sure if you’re complimenting me or not, but this really isn’t a good idea.”
“Aren’t you the one who said I needed to get under someone to get over Cody?” I asked.
“Yes, when you were wallowing in self-pity. You’re not any longer. You rose from your ashes. Fired that bitch and took back your territory. You had your fight, and now it’s time to heal.”
“I’m healed, Emma. I really am,” I said. “It’s nothing serious. Just a fun little night out. This guy, he’s not serious anyway. It would only be a date or two.”
“Is that really someone you want to get tangled up with anyway?” she asked.
“I’m not looking for someone to marry. I’m looking for some fun. Some spice. Some lovin’.”
I shook my tits in the restaurant as Emma giggled, snorting as she tried to cover up her face.
“You really don’t think this is a good idea, do you?” I asked.
“Look, you took a major stance against that on your social media. That shit was everywhere. And I was so proud of you. The women of the world stood with you. How’s it going to look if you’re caught out with someone who you say is a known playboy or something?” she asked.
“I didn’t think of it that way.”
“That’s why we talk to each other,” she said. “Sarah, take this time for yourself. Post photos of you taking yourself to the spa. Taking yourself to the gym. Taking yourself on a
trip to Ireland. Make it a series on your social media or something. Show women they don’t need a man to give them these things. They can just simply go out and do them because that’s what they want to do.”
“You sure you won’t let me hire you to be my social media expert?” I asked. “Because this shit’s exhausting, and that’s a fabulous idea.”
“I’m sure,” she said, giggling. “I enjoy the work I do.”
“You enjoy working with animals that hate you every second of every day?” I asked.
“They don’t hate me. And yes, I enjoy the doggie daycare I run. I’m expanding, you know.”
“Get out of here. What are you adding?” I asked.
“A second location,” she said.
“What the fuck, Emma? That’s great!”
“Yep. I finally have the money to do it, and I just hit a point where I’m turning clients away. I’m going to look at places tomorrow, and I’m looking to sign off on a place Friday.”
“This Friday?” I asked. “As in three days from now?”
“Yep. Been narrowing it down, and I have it between two places. I want it close enough to where I can send people there without it being an inconvenience to them. One place is three blocks down the road and one is two blocks up.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I said. “Really.”
