by Melissa Blue
But he was her client now and she didn't fuck clients. She'd learned that lesson the hard way.
“After two weeks, I'll go over a game plan with both of you,” she said. “You need funding and you're right to think he's the face for a campaign. He's young, he's smart and his background is interesting enough to get the media into a frenzy over him.”
“Are you sure? I have other candidates we can use.”
The file her boss had given her included the full roster of scientists who worked at the observatory. Their credentials were impressive, but that file had also included their published works alongside Wade's.
She had to put cotton in her ears to make sure her brain wouldn't dribble out from boredom. Wade's work, though molasses thick at times, made her sit on the edge of her seat, and she knew jack shit about astrophysics. What little she did know of that field of science Neil De Grasse Tyson had said, but Wade had a way of describing things almost poetically. He could take dry facts and turn them into beauty.
The public would love that. After six years working as a publicist, she knew the lost causes and when a toad needed to be turned into a prince. Wade was a toad. Probably poisonous. She'd be covered in warts at some point, but Sophie could turn him into a fucking king among geeks.
“Just let me handle him,” she said to Dr. Scott, her tone sweeter than honey. “If he comes to you, direct him back to me. It's important that you don't give in. I've gone over his employment contract and it's right there in black and white that publicity is part and parcel to his ongoing research.”
Dr. Scott winced. “He always goes back to—”
She put up her hand to waylay the excuse. “Not a problem.” His shoulders lowered in relief. “I'll suggest you make yourself...less accessible to him for a few days.”
His expression changed with the big smile. “I think you're right.”
“You should head out early for the day.” Because sooner or later, Wade would come straight to the source. Sophie would be waiting. “And do you mind if I use your office?”
He was already packing up his shit for the day. “Sure, sure.”
She smiled at him. Grandpa was smart. “I'll walk you out. I have to get my briefcase out of the car anyway.”
On the way there she'd smooth over any other worries and wave away doubts. Sophie liked to multitask.
Grandpa looked at her with adoration. “I think you are the perfect person for this job.”
The only perk of being humiliated mid-career was that she grew Teflon skin and balls of steel. The rule, or rather hers, was to never become the story. Spin it, direct it so that her client came out smelling like roses even if they were covered in shit, but never, ever be the headline.
Again.
It was one thing to test her strength, another to fool her twice. Clients turned lovers only cared about their own skin, covering up their own secret shames. Everyone else was a potential sacrifice. She'd been one and the media dragged her until there was almost nothing left to her. She was forced to grow that impenetrable skin and never let someone else sacrifice her first.
Dealing with Wade, and whatever was his reticence to publicity, would be a cakewalk.
CHAPTER
√4
In four hours time, Victor had sent six emails with at least three compressed files in each. His friend was good at finding secrets—no question—but Sophie Lake had left one hell of a digital footprint. Even with Victor summing up the finds in the initial emails, Wade's brows refused to lower as he read about her clients and her.
Wade slouched in his office chair and frowned. She was good, damn good as a publicist. When the media decided to focus on her relationship with a client, she found a way to change the narrative within days. The rock star she'd fallen for—a douchebag who cheated on her and then blamed her for it—ended up on a series of has-been reality TV shows, and Sophie's career continued to rise.
His background check amounted to...fuck all. Yes, he knew about her past. The fucker she dated had made sure to allude to her “adventurous” sexual desires in more than one interview. He had no doubt she wouldn't falter if he brought it up. She'd already taken a worse hit and kept strutting.
He was fucked if he couldn't wiggle his way out of this. The computer behind him beeped and he ignored the sound, mired in his own mortality. Dr. Daniel Scott had cornered him and was using Sophie to do it. Wade liked the guy, and couldn't entirely blame him. He knew what he was—bullheaded and smart enough to use that to his advantage when necessary, but he was also loyal.
Daniel had kept Wade on even after his hypomanic episode—an incident that kept him out of the office for a month. His sick days didn't cover his stay in a mental hospital and someone had to step in for a time to do his work. If the older man thought a publicity run could help the observatory, enough to hire PR, then it must be. Wade also felt he owed the man. And it wasn’t like Dr. Scott was asking for a kidney transplant.
But a publicity run? Him? He didn't like people and the feeling was usually mutual after five minutes. He'd always been that way. When he was a kid, he'd read Green Eggs and Ham and had thought Sam I Am should have showed more resolve in his convictions. His friends were probably the only humans in the universe who could tolerate him.
He knew that. Was grateful as hell they did. But a publicity run? That would include travel...people. He pushed away from his desk and headed to Dr. Scott's office. There had to be another way. If the observatory needed money, he'd come up with a plan for them to get it. If Wade was desperate enough he'd talk to his parents, because sitting in front a TV reporter being asked question after question or even on the radio having to answer calls and be witty on demand—a shudder wracked through him.
People looking at him like he was speaking gibberish if he got lost in math of the cosmos. No. Fuck no. He suffered through that when he was younger. He refused to do it now.
A greasy tension coiled in his gut as he maneuvered through the maze of hallways that made up the observatory. He used that unease to propel him until he blew past Daniel's secretary and burst into his office.
Legs.
Those fucking legs again. Now they were outstretched on Daniel's desk. The sharp points of her heels rested on a stack of paperwork. How did he miss that she wore red heels? She flicked her wrist, flipping her watch to view it and check the time.
“Dr. Addison, you're timely. I was just about to take a nap.” She threw out her arms and arched her back, a yawn stretching those bitable lips of hers. That not-so-subtle fuck-off pulled her red blouse tight across her tits.
He slammed the door though he shouldn't be mad. After reading about her, he'd suspected the truth. “You knew who I was.”
Again her poker face should have been commended. “I think we need to come to an understanding for the next few weeks.”
“You played me.” He wasn't quite sure if he was pissed or impressed.
She spread out her hands in a gesture of surrender, which was a lie. This woman didn't kowtow. “I'm your ally.”
“Bullshit,” he threw back and edged closer to the desk. “If you were, you would have been upfront with me earlier.”
“And if I said 'Dr. Addison, I'm your publicist' and tried to have a reasonable conversation with you?” She waved her hand as though that was a non-matter. “I had someone bring you coffee for our...impromptu meeting.”
He finally decided how he felt after spotting the cup topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup—pissed. He hated her. Hated everything about her. Right down to her bottom lip. And those fucking legs.
“I'm not doing this.” He backed away from the desk to put distance between them. He couldn't trust that he wouldn't reach over it and shake her. “Where's Dr. Scott?”
“I sent him home.” Her tone was smooth, unflinching when she added, “You might find it hard to speak with him for the next week or so. Or until I tell him you're on board. So just get on board, Dr. Addison. Like I said, I'm your ally. I'm going to make you
look great and, by proxy, the observatory. If you let me, I'll make you more recognizable than Bill Nye.”
His stomach clenched at the gauntlet she threw down. One of the things he liked most about his occupation was that it usually took a hundred years to get recognized. Scientists left legacies in findings and published papers. They didn't get fucking badgered for autographs. The thought of standing around having to take pictures and play nice to the crowd made him want to find a deserted island to die on. “I quit.”
She raised her brows. “Really?”
No. He felt on the brink of a making discovery. Dr. Scott was understanding. He let Wade keep flexible hours and work, mostly, by himself or with other scientist—never the public. He wouldn't get that same treatment anywhere else. And if he could, he'd have to tell them the truth first.
It was one thing to fall on the autistic scale. Another to have a chemical imbalance in the brain that only pills, therapy and a solid group of support could manage. He knew the kind of looks following that confession. Crazy was a label no one could shake off.
Most people heard about his sickness and were surprised he wasn't violent or drooling or whatever the fuck else they believed about mental illness. Dr. Scott understood, completely, without judgment. No question if Wade told the older man he was having a bad episode, Dr. Scott would put a halt to the publicity run.
But Wade wasn't. And he wouldn't cry wolf just to get out of having to be a people-person.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Sophie waved her hand again like the movement could brush away any complications or worries. “What can I do to make you say yes?”
Nothing that left him conscious the next few weeks. Think, dammit. He rolled his shoulders and paced in front of the desk. He needed time to come up with a way to get rid of her. Dr. Scott would stay unavailable until she was gone. It needed to be her choice to walk.
Start with something benign.
Wade glanced at her. Only an idiot would believe her cool exterior. “I offer something reasonable and you say no, I get to walk?”
The shoes came off the desk and her gaze turned wary. “I think we need to set some ground rules.”
He tilted his head at the sharp tone. Wade could only guess that she thought he'd make a pass at her. Did his cock want a taste of her? When didn't his dick want a taste of a woman was probably the better question? Interesting though that kind of speech had become part of her “ground rules.” How many men saw her past and tried to leverage sex as part of their PR?
He forced himself to sit in the chair across from her, and slouched. “I can read you the definition of reasonable if you're confused. No need for ground rules, Ms. Lake.”
Her mouth twitch and her “Hmmm” in reply sounded suspiciously like a growl. Wade smiled.
She narrowed her eyes. “You call your behavior reasonable?”
“No.”
“So you are fully aware you're being...”
“Can't find a professional word? I can provide you with a few.”
“I'm sure you could.”
“But now I'm curious about these ground rules.”
She shifted in the chair, the fire of her anger still lit in her gaze. “What's the reasonable deal?”
He crossed his arms. “Do you know anything about what I do?”
She shifted again at that question, not quite meeting his eyes. “Dumb it down, pretty it up and it won't matter if I can't fully understand what a vanishing dimension is. So the deal?”
This woman was as straight-laced as they came. That made him wonder how and why she slept with a client, but finding out that truth wouldn't get rid of her.
He could send her off to actually learn about his work and relay to him several theories, but that was an unfair fight. And...he glared at her. Sophie would likely hire someone to teach her then regurgitate the information back. She might even be able to answer a simple set of questions. She seemed serious, focused. Ridiculous shit would drive her insane. Lastly, something like an unfettered task with no real goal would give him time to come up with a solid plan.
What was the most ridiculous thing he could have her do? That was related to science? That could eat up her time?
The thought came to him immediately and he tried not to smile.
“Watch Doctor Who,” he said. “It'll take you a week and I'm including at least eight hours of sleep a day and time to eat. You can get through the last eight seasons in a week.”
She rocked back in the chair. “Come again?”
Ah. Yeah. She wasn't a fan. Probably never heard of the show. Any fan would have jumped on the chance. Anyone else familiar with the show might have recoiled.
He bit inside his lip to keep the smile from showing. “Keep me updated and I won't be a pain in your ass.”
She was already shaking her head. “No deal. I don't have the time.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Pain in the ass it is.”
Maybe she’d heard enough about his reputation because she crossed her arms, her expression softening in consideration. “If I watch a TV show you will do everything I ask you to?”
She wouldn't make it past the first twenty minutes, and would likely find a way around it. That was fine as long as she gave him time. “Isn't that reasonable?”
“A week's worth of a TV show is your idea of...” She shook her head as though again the details didn't necessarily matter. “Deal. You have to do the publicity anyway, but if you do it with a shitty demeanor that won't help anyone.”
Sophie picked up her cell and then his vibrated. “You have my number now. So if I call to give you an update, answer your phone.”
She had his personal cell phone number. If it wasn't his brother or his friends—God didn't have that number. Yeah. He hated her, and he wished his dick could get that memo.
Sophie tilted her head and narrowed her gaze as though she read his thoughts. “I'm happy we were able to come to an understanding, Dr. Addison.” Her voice had gone husky. Yeah. She read his mind all right. “I-I'll see you in a week,” she stammered.
Somewhat mollified he could get beneath her diamond-hard facade, Wade left and made his way back through the maze of hallways.
All that back and forth with her and the problem remained. He'd gone to Dr. Scott's office with the intent to wiggle out from this whole mess. Sophie had dealt with him like crossing something off her to-do list. If he wasn't so damn pissed about it, he'd be completely impressed. No one handled him. Until today. Wade really had to do something about that. He'd come up with something. Had to.
Her legs flashed in his mind again—smooth, delectable. He pulled his lab coat around him and hated her all the way back to his office.
CHAPTER
3
Sophie dropped her purse and heels by the front door. Exhaustion weighed her limbs after the long day. “There better be food on the table,” she called out into her home.
An empty threat since the scent of tangy garlic and spices tinged the air. Still Cal strode out of the kitchen to grin at her. As always he looked like an invitation to make bad decisions. He'd recently chopped his blond locks into a military short cut. That subtle change gave him a polished veneer especially since he towered over six feet. If not for the way he'd rolled up the sleeves of his white work shirt and the blue apron hanging low on his hips, he'd look too perfect. The neutral colors they'd decorated the house only added to his shine.
Her heart should have fluttered at the sight of him. They'd been friends since college. They'd taken each other's virginity. There was only warmth at seeing her friend, and knowing he'd cooked dinner.
He said, “You left this morning with your power suit on and red heels. Did you conquer the world?”
She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it near the couch. The soft fabric caught the edge of the arm. That reminded her, she needed to call Cliff, a graphic novelist. She needed to get all the information about the award ceremony coming up. He'd wanted her to attend, but
hadn't given her all the details. Sigh. Her job was never truly done.
“I somewhat tamed a new client. He was all bark and no bite.”
Cal's brown eyes twinkled. “Was he straight?”
The way Wade's gaze roved over her approvingly and then had heated, definitely made her think he played on team female. Her face flushed just remembering the way her skin prickled every time. The man had one hell of a smolder, but she was ignoring that. “Yep.”
“I love you and I hate to say it, but it was the legs that likely tamed him.”
Sophie glanced down. Her skirt edged toward inappropriate. New and cute, she hadn't done her walking test in it. By the time she realized the damn thing rode up after every ten steps, she'd settled in at work. “My stellar intellect and negotiating skills...”
Cal's deadpan expression made her snort.
“Fine,” she said, “The skirt might have helped. What's for dinner?”
He didn't move from the entryway. “I'm more curious about this client now.”
And that right there is why they lived together. Many people thought their living arrangement was strange, but those people didn't know Cal. If he held a grudge against someone, that person was likely a serial killer. Her job was tough and crazy on the best of days. Coming home to be greeted, not just with food, but to someone happy to see her—it was wonderful. And he actually split the bills, never paid late.
Did she mention he cooked?
He also didn't let her get away with anything. Not many people called her on her shit. It kept her honest.
Today though... “What's there to be curious about?” she asked, hoping her tone gave nothing away. If she didn't think about her attraction to Wade, the pesky emotion wouldn't exist. Right?
Cal narrowed his eyes. Wrong. “Because by now, when you're wearing that face, you bitch to me in detail. I offer a solution. You give me a long glare and I'm once again reminded I have balls. I want to fix things. You just wanted to bitch. You're denying me the reassurance I have balls.”
