by Alexis Angel
If this bitch is going to interrupt me while I’m working, she’d better be ready for a fashion show.
I lie on my back and spread my legs. “Our new line is very breathable, you see.”
Finally, I roll over on my stomach, rest my chin in my hand, and cross my feet at the ankles like Miss February from fifty years ago.
“Sultry and sweet.”
I’m trying to decide which pose would make the best centerfold picture. I guess it depends on where the crack is.
Lis’ mouth hangs open in protest. “No, pictures won’t be necessary. I’ll give you a minute to change.”
She turns her back to me and stares out the window, pretending to be interested in the cityscape.
I laugh at her prudishness and shimmy back into my clothes. She’s got guts for coming in here without an appointment.
The least I can do is give her an interview fully clothed.
I return to my executive chair and offer her the seat in front of my desk. “Ready when you are.”
Lis pulls out her phone, sets it on the desk, and presses the button on her recording app. She also takes out a pen and notebook. “That’s for backup,” she explains.
This interview is already taking too long, so I toss the first question for her. “So what can I tell you about me that you haven’t already seen for yourself?”
She gives me a wry smile. “You and Tanner looked pretty cozy in here a moment ago. How does it feel to be back together?”
I notice that she didn’t ask me if we were back together; she’s already assuming we are—and her question is leaving me no room for denial.
So I tell her the truth. “It feels…right. Like I’ve got him right where I want him.”
I can imagine Tanner reading that quote and being displeased, which pleases me very much.
“And his marriage proposal...wow. What did you think when you saw him get down on one knee?”
She doesn’t want to know what I really thought. “It touched me deep inside.”
Lis raises her eyebrow and smirks. “How deep?”
When she wants to be, Lis can be quite the provocateur. “More…feelings…than I thought I had room for. It’s hard to describe, but…I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“How’s the chemistry between you two?”
“We can’t keep our hands off each other.”
“And the friendship?”
I pause for a moment. She’s still writing down the answer to my last question, so I use the time to come up with a response that won’t make her question my story—or let Tanner know just how much he’s getting to me when he reads it.
That man is aggravating, controlling, and way too sexy to keep around as a friend, but he did send me a basket of puppies.
“Underneath all that swagger, Tanner can be really sweet.”
“So why were you two fighting to begin with?”
Now I’m going to have to lie. “It was all a misunderstanding.”
“How so?”
“I thought he was trying to steal my lingerie line because he’s afraid to compete with a powerful woman,” I say, emphasizing the last part so the recording device will catch it. “But I think he just wanted to see me naked.”
“Fair enough,” Lis says. “And speaking of power, when was the last time you two heard from your former CEO, Jackson Halo?”
This catches me off guard. Jackson has nothing to do with my relationship with Tanner. He’s old news, ancient history.
“It’s been a while, actually.” I can’t even remember the last time we spoke.
“What about Tanner?”
“You’d have to ask him. I’m Tanner’s lover, not his secretary.”
Lis is writing something in her notebook, and I have to admit it makes me nervous to see her putting so many notes from such a nonspecific answer.
“Crooked Halo really took a nosedive. I can only imagine what the aftermath was like. Any thoughts on that?”
“None.” None that I’m going to share with her. “I mean, it all worked out well for me. I’m running my own business now.”
There were plenty of rumors going around about Jackson when I used to work for him, but nothing I could substantiate while I was posing for pictures and walking the runway. I was a model, not an accountant. So I focused on my job and tried to stay out of his business.
And now that he’s been accused of tax evasion and insider trading, I’m staying way out of his business. As far away as I can get.
“He’s in Seychelles, right?”
Last I heard, but it’s not like I came over to visit. “He could be anywhere by now.” And that’s the truth. “We were never that close. You know as much as I do. Maybe more.”
“What inspired you to work with him, if you’re not that close?”
“Um, he found me. My modeling agency booked a photo shoot for me, and that was that.”
“What do you think he saw in you?”
“I’m smart, driven, professional…”
Lis drops her head to her chest like she’s falling asleep. She even snores a little.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
I laugh. “It’s pretty easy to get a job if you take your clothes off during the interview.”
“Isn’t that oversimplifying it a bit? I didn’t think modeling was that easy.”
“It’s not. I’m surprised you know that.” Looks aside, I try to think about why I succeeded where equally beautiful models had failed. “I guess it’s vulnerability. The tougher a woman is on the outside, the more rewarding it is when you see what she’s hiding underneath.”
Lis nods and fills her notebook with her loopy handwriting. Then she looks up.
“But you ended up on the business side of things.”
“That’s right.” I’m relieved. I think I’ve managed to turn the conversation back to me and away from Jackson Halo.
“Did Mr. Halo encourage you to do that?”
I guess not. I take a deep breath.
“I’m pretty self-driven, actually. And I never intended to be a lingerie model forever. Why wouldn’t I branch out?”
“But he must’ve enjoyed seeing you climb the corporate ladder: creating your own line and running the show. He hasn’t reached out to…congratulate you? Offer advice?”
“Advice? I’m at the top of my field. I don’t need him watching over my shoulder.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
Damn it. My verbal diarrhea usually doesn’t kick in unless I’m really rattled, and something about this line of questioning has me really rattled.
“What are you getting at, then?”
Lis sets down her pen and notebook. She presses the button on her recording app to turn it off and puts her phone back in her purse. “Off the record?”
I lean in, breathless.
“Off the record, I promise.”
“I don’t know yet.” And just like that, she clams up. The chatty, gossipy girlfriend who was asking me about my marriage proposal and fishing for gossip about my old boss was once again hidden behind the professional mask of a news reporter.
“Then I guess we’re done here.”
If she can freeze like a popsicle, I can turn myself into a polar ice cap. I am that cold.
“I guess so. I didn’t really have any more questions, anyway.”
I get up from my desk to show her the door. It’s getting late, and I’ve got a business to run.
“Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Blakely,” she says politely.
I chuckle at the formality. “Elsa’s fine. You’ve already seen me half naked.”
She sticks her hand out like she’s going to give me a handshake, but instead she bends down to the hem of my skirt and runs her hand along my thigh.
What the…?
With two fingers, she gently pinches my stocking and give it a good tug. With her other hand, she rehooks my garter.
She winks at me. “You were coming loose.”
The Capitalist Chronicle may be a harmless little paper, but Lis Langley is a dangerous woman. Impressive, but dangerous.
I can’t let her get too close to my business…or my legs.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “But next time, make an appointment before you show up, and I’d like a list of questions before we start. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Lis collects her things and heads for the door. Just before she turns the handle, she pauses and looks back at me. “I meant it when I said I don’t know what I’m looking for—but I’ll let you know when I find out.”
Chapter 18
Tanner
I touch my finger to my bottom lip, still feeling, still tasting the passionate kiss I planted on Elsa. I may have initiated the kiss, but she jumped right in just as enthusiastically. I only wish I could have stayed to see the reaction on Lis Langley's face.
I got a glimpse of Elsa before I sauntered out of her office. I am more than a little pleased to see I rattled her. I like keeping her on her toes. The elevator dings open, and I start to walk into my office when Marge motions me over.
“Good day, Miss Marge,” I say as I stop at her desk.
“Brace yourself before you go in there,” she says, pointing to my conference room where my entire board of directors is gathered. “I don't know what they're cooking up, but it's not good. I can feel it.”
“Hmm,” I say. I'm about to take a step towards my doom when instead I decide to lean against Marge's desk. “That's a pretty dress you have on. Is it new? It really brings out your eyes.”
“Oh, no,” Marge says as she disapprovingly wiggles her index finger at me. “You won't be using me as a shield.”
“What? Can't I just spend some time catching up with my favorite assistant ever?”
“I know your game,” she stares me down as she says, “I know all your games.”
“I'm offended. Truly.”
“You're like a little kid watching a horror movie. You get scared, so you cover your eyes,” she says as she stands up. “But then your imagination runs wild, and you imagine something even scarier than what's happening on screen.”
She grabs my arm, pulling me off her desk.
“Uncover your eyes and face whatever horror is waiting for you,” she says as she leads me a few steps towards the conference room until I start walking on my own.
As soon as I walk into the room, everyone stops talking and looks my way. This is not a good sign, but I refuse to let them see that I'm rattled. Instead, I walk over to the sideboard and take my time pouring a coffee and adding just the right ratio of sugar to cream.
When I finally have it stirred just right, I sit down across the table from everyone else and prop up my feet on the table's surface. They hired a cocky CEO, so they're getting a cocky CEO. Present crisis be damned.
“Tanner, the campaign is going great,” Greg, my chairman, says.
“So we're calling it a campaign now?” I ask.
“It's going well,” Ned interjects, “but it could be better.”
“Better?” I ask, “What do you expect us to do, fuck in the middle of the stock exchange floor?”
The board members exchange uncomfortable glances. I impatiently wait for one of them to have the guts to just say what they came here to say.
“In a way—,” another board member says. Jesus, I don't even know his name. I sit straight up and lean across the table towards them.
“What the fuck does that mean, Greg?” If I'm about to be ordered to do something I can already tell I'll hate, I want it to be my chairman that gives me the command.
“We need this to end now,” he says.
“It's great that retailers aren’t bailing anymore and the stock price is leveling off,” No-name says, “but we're not increasing our order sizes. We need to do that to make up for the losses of the last few weeks.”
“Your losses,” Ned clarifies. As if I needed to be reminded that this is my doing.
“What do I have to do?” I respond. “I took my competition with Elsa a tad too far, but now I'm taking steps to rectify it. You won't be happy until you finally nail me to your cross.”
“Tanner,” Greg says, “we have a solution that will speed this up so you can get back to your life. Just hear us out.”
Back to my life? What does that even mean? Back to fucking a new woman every night and never sharing breakfast with her because I'm too busy ushering her out of my penthouse?
And what about Elsa and me? Are we supposed to just go back to rivals that bicker at each other all the time? Sure we spar now, but it's with the knowledge that we'll fall into each other’s arms at some point during the argument.
“We're pleased with the progress you've made so far,” Ned says, like we're talking about Pretty Little Vixen's latest sales figures, not how I've whored myself out—with Elsa as a partner—for the greedy media, “but our plan will allow you to jump forward a few steps.”
“While most of the media has bought into your relationship,” No-name says, “that Langley chick isn't quite sold yet.”
“Normally, it wouldn't matter because it's just that trash rag, The Chronicle,” Greg says, “but she's got some real investigative chops.”
“So what's your foolproof plan?” I say with a sigh. I just want this meeting to be over at this point.
The members look at each other, and then one of the two, who has been silent all this time, speaks up and says, “A sex tape.”
Wesley the Weasel! Why am I not surprised that out of all of them, he would be the one to finally spit it out.
“A sex tape? Like Kim K?”
“We'll then leak it to the press,” Wesley says.
“Will we?” I say as I stand up. “I have a better idea. Why don't we make our little tryst the halftime show at the next Knicks game?”
I start pacing back and forth on my side of the table.
“Or better yet,” I continue, “we'll return to one of our scenes of the crime—Central Park. Except for this time, we'll do it on the Shakespeare in the Park stage. I think they're doing Othello this year. The actors won't mind, right? And we'll already have an audience just waiting to watch Elsa and I fuck.”
“Honestly, we thought you'd be on board about this,” Greg says.
“The way you've conducted your life,” Ned says, “we've actually been bracing ourselves for years for a sex tape of you to leak.”
“We figured you'd just need to convince Elsa to do it,” Weasley Wesley says, “but it's not like you've ever had to work hard to convince a woman to sleep with you, right?”
“You thought I'd be on board with this?” I've stopped pacing and can only stand in a shocked stupor with my hands on my waist.
“After the little stunt on the bench,” Greg says while looking at the other board members for agreement, “we assumed there isn't a level you wouldn't stoop to.” I see nods from a few of the other men.
“You thought wrong.”
I try to calm the fuck down before I launch myself across this table and strangle one or more of these idiotic, unfeeling men—men that unfortunately still hold my fate in their hands.
“Why do you even have to tell her it's being taped?” Ned asks. “That'll make it even hotter.”
“What we want—what we need—is for this to go viral,” Greg says. “The best publicity is when you get it for free.”
“Not everything that costs is paid in cash,” I say.
“Don't tell us you've developed a conscience.”
“Or morals?”
“Or worse yet, real feelings for her?”
As I'm staring at this group of douches, I run a little cost-benefit analysis in my head. Would it be worth it to punch the chairman or Wesley? I'd lose my job and be the laughing stock of the lingerie world.
I could live with that. Swiping the self-satisfied, s
marmy looks off their faces would almost be worth it. Planting my fist on Wesley's nose would definitely be worth it.
But Elsa would lose her company, too. The company she's worked so hard to build from scratch. That's not worth risking.
Instead of delivering the punch every one of them so richly deserves, I calmly stand up, button my suit jacket, and take as long as I fucking please to gather myself.
“Gentlemen,” I say in a level voice, “I'll consider your proposal and let you know my decision.”
I can take this stand with them and keep my emotions in check because I have a fail-safe.
Elsa will never go for it, put herself on display like that. She'll say no, and that'll be the end of it.
The boards will have to think up some other insane media stunt or just let us continue on our course. Lis Langley will come around eventually.
I walk to the door and fling it open with a tad too much force. It slams against the wall, the only thing that belies my calm exterior. I have a moment of regret as I see Marge jump in surprise at the sound of the door connecting with the wall.
“Hold all my calls,” I say as I walk past her towards the elevators. “I'll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”
I pull out my phone and bring up my recent call log. At the very top is her name: Elsa. I punch it and wait for the call to connect. I only begin to calm down—ever so briefly—when I hear that sweet, sexy voice in my ear.
Chapter 19
Elsa
I glance at the clock on my bedside table as I slip on my come-fuck-me red dress. Tanner should be here soon. This is the dress I usually wear to a five-star French restaurant, not to eat take out on my couch.
Back to the closet to try again.
I’m like Goldilocks trying out each bowl of porridge, except it’s Max Mara dresses, Rag & Bone jeans and Madewell tees. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a t-shirt and pajama shorts will make a tad more low-key look than I want to project. That’s the kind of outfit you wear when you’ve been married for a decade and just put your three kids to bed.
But the third outfit is just right. Skinny jeans that hug my ass, paired with a buttery soft sunflower-blue t-shirt. The blue complements my eyes, while the way it curves around my breasts leaves nothing to the imagination where my tits are concerned.
