THAT MAN Trilogy

by L'Amour, Nelle

  Hesitantly, I stepped into the elevator. I stood as far away from him as I could and faced front. The elevator doors closed, and we began our descent.

  “So, how do you feel today, Ms. McCoy?” His tone was sardonic, and in my mind’s eye, I could see the smirk pasted on his face.

  “Fine.” I stabbed the word at him and adjusted my sunglasses.

  “You were quite entertaining last night.”

  Every muscle in my body clenched, and I felt myself flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry about last night,” I blurted out, still facing forward.

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, tiger. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

  The high-speed elevator couldn’t reach the lobby fast enough. When the doors parted, I darted out.

  “Have a nice day, Jennifer, and stay out of trouble. I’m flying back. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

  “Bye,” I squeaked, not turning to look back at him.

  The focus groups went as well as yesterday’s. Sobriety returned to me, thanks to the thoughtful research facility director who set me up with a pot of strong black coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit. After a quick lunch with Libby at a fast-food restaurant close to the facility, I headed back to the hotel to attend the final session of the book signing event. Once again, I met with numerous authors and bloggers who couldn’t be more excited about the block of programming I was developing for SIN-TV. I had their full support and ended up with a bag full of signed books and swag.

  Libby and I were booked on a 7:30 p.m. flight back to Los Angeles. With a few hours to kill, we decided to meet up at the Hard Rock pool. To catch some rays and swim a few laps. A margarita for her, a cherry Coke for me. After last night, alcohol was not in my immediate future.

  While I was changing into my swimwear in my room, my cell phone rang. I quickly grabbed it, hoping it was Bradley and dreading it was Blake. It was neither. Instead, Libby.

  “Jen, I got inspired to start writing up the focus group report, so if you don’t mind, I’ll meet you down at the pool a little later.”

  “No problem.” Work came first; this was a business trip, not a pleasure trip.

  “Save me a lounge chair.”

  I told her I would and ended the call.

  Before leaving the room, I checked myself out in the floor-length mirror by the entryway closet. For the first time today, I smiled at my reflection. Color had come back to my face, and the red spider lines had faded from my eyes. Wearing a turquoise one-piece bathing suit and flip-flops, I was back to being me. I slid open the closet and shrugged on the fluffy white terrycloth robe that came with the room. I was ready for a refreshing swim.

  The pool area was packed. I’d never seen so much skin in my whole life. Women in string bikinis were mingling with hunky, tattooed men in Speedos or tanning themselves. Exotic drinks were everywhere. Wearing my dark prescription sunglasses and holding a plastic cup full of ice-cold Coke, I wound my way in and out of the crowd, searching for two side by side empty chaise lounges. At last, I spotted a pair. I hurried to them before someone else claimed them. Settling into one of them, I sipped my soda and took in the scene.

  Three bikinied women, who could pass as triplets, with big boobs and even bigger blond hair, were fawning over a well-built, tanned man, lying face down on the chaise lounge next to me. A backward-facing baseball cap covered his head. One of the blondes was massaging his feet, another the back of his muscular thighs, and the third his upper back and shoulders. I recognized the latter—Kay, the flirtatious cocktail waitress from the other night.

  She began to plant kisses all over his rippled back. He jerked.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  I gasped. The voice was muffled, but I recognized it immediately. Blake! He was still here?

  In a state of frenzy, I leapt up from my chaise and sent my beverage flying, ice cubes and all. To my horror, it splattered all over Kay and Blake.

  Shrieking, Kay scrunched up her face in disgust while Blake muttered, “What the fuck?” and rolled over. Our eyes met, wide in shock.

  “Blake, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t do it,” pleaded Kay. “It’s all that little bitch’s fault.” She gave me a look that could kill. I felt my face flare and my blood curdle.

  Blake bolted upright. “Jen, it’s not what it looks like.”

  I took a couple of deep breaths. “You know what they say: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

  With that, I stalked off, ready to get the hell out of Sin City.

  Chapter 10

  Blake

  My flight back to Los Angeles had been delayed. With three hours to kill, I’d decided to hit the pool. I could use a little R&R. And a little sun. I had no clue I’d be accosted by Kay, that skanky blond waitress from the other night, and her two look-alike cousins, Kelly and Kendra, both Vegas showgirls. I’d told them to get lost (well not exactly those words), but they’d refused to leave me. I got stuck buying them drinks. While they savored their piña coladas, I rolled over on the chaise and closed my eyes. I was still worn out from my bout with the flu, and traveling to Vegas didn’t help.

  I must admit I didn’t resist their sensuous suntan oil massage. These girls knew how to work a man. But while they rubbed and kneaded, I couldn’t stop think about Jennifer McCoy. As I lay face down, a smile crossed my face. She was fucking adorable. She had the singing voice of the next American Idol and she was the cutest, funniest drunk ever. She was totally obsessed with my cock. But she also made me laugh. Have fun. And yes, get hard. Hard as nails just with her smile. I’d managed once again to have her in my arms. A mere waif, she was so warm and delicious. Carrying to her room, I felt like her prince. And then, when I gently laid her down on her bed, she murmured my name in her stupor. My already hard-as-rock cock jumped. If her friend Libby hadn’t been there with me, I would have kissed those rosebud lips. My Sleeping Beauty. At least, I was wearing her down.

  But now, I’d unintentionally fucked things up. Bolting from my chaise and almost knocking down raging mad Kay, I jogged after Jennifer. She was taking angry giant steps toward the hotel entrance.

  “Jen, wait up!” I called out after her.

  Ignoring me, she quickened her pace. My jog sped up to a sprint. I was able to catch up to her. Gripping her by her shoulders, I stopped her in her tracks. I spun her around, and she faced me squarely. Anger flared in her emerald eyes.

  “Let go of me, Blake. I need to get back to my room and pack. I don’t want to miss my plane.”

  “Jen, I don’t even know those girls. Honestly. They mean nothing to me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “No girl means anything to you.”

  Her words were like knives to my heart. My hands fell off her shoulders. For the first time in my life, I was speechless.

  She adjusted the straps of her tank suit and thanked me for releasing her. Her voice was as cold as ice. “I’ll have a topline report of the focus group findings to you first thing in the morning.”

  With that, she stormed off leaving me in the dry Vegas dust. Maybe Jennifer and I were not meant to be.

  Hanging out at the pool was a big, big mistake. Thanks to that regrettably relaxing massage under the hot as balls sun, I’d conked out. Besides fucking things up with Jennifer, I’d overslept and missed my damn plane. There wasn’t another one available until late tomorrow afternoon. So, I was stuck in Vegas for another day. After my fallout with Jen, I checked back into the hotel. Maybe, missing my flight was a blessing in disguise. I could use the time away from my tiger to clear my head and figure out my next move. Our recent encounter had set things back. She simply refused to believe there was nothing going on between me and that trio of blondes.

  I moped up to my room and ordered room service. I then texted Jennifer to let her know about my change of plans—that I wouldn’t be back in the office until Tuesday. I eagerly awaited her reply. Zippo. She must already be on her flight back to Los Angeles. Or perhaps she was just ignoring me.

&n
bsp; While waiting for my dinner to arrive, I called Vera Nichols, my Vegas affiliate manager. She picked up the phone quickly. Since I was going to be in town for another day, I told her I wanted to visit some of the SIN-TV productions filming nearby. Because of the new California law requiring porn stars to wear condoms, many of our shows had recently moved to Sin City where they weren’t mandatory. It was just as well because filming in Nevada was a lot cheaper than filming in Los Angeles. Vera was extremely receptive to the idea and told me she would pick me up in the morning. I was glad she was coming along. Vera was a great gal and I could use the company.

  Room service arrived. I checked my phone. Still no response from Jennifer. After a few bites of my steak, I took a quick shower and went straight to sleep. I was too despondent to jerk myself off.

  Monday morning, bright and early, Vera picked me up in her red Mustang convertible. Driving at eighty miles an hour, we were out of Vegas in no time, cruising down a newly built highway. At this hour, there were hardly any cars on the road. Vera was taking me to a remote area where many of our shows had set up production. The already warm dry desert wind blew against my face while I soaked in the scenery. I’d never actually been out of Vegas before and was in awe of the beauty of the desert wildlife and rocky terrain. The next frontier, I mused. It was only a matter of time until someone like Steve Wynn laid his stake in this virgin ground and built a brand new strip of luxury hotels and casinos.

  “How’s your son doing?” I asked Vera.

  “Much better.” She smiled. “I thought he was coming down with the flu but it turned out to be just a twenty-four virus.”

  “That’s lucky. I had that flu last week and it sucked.” The memory of Jennifer coming to my apartment and taking care of me flashed into my head. Despite the pleasant temperature, it sent a shiver straight to my dick.

  “Kids are such a joy, but they come with so much responsibility. Being a parent is the hardest job you’ll ever love,” she added with a laugh.

  “I wouldn’t know.” And, at the rate my love life was going, I might never know. Jennifer, however, was marrying that dweeb dentist Bradley, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a family before long. That fucking anal Dickwick probably had things all planned out. I inwardly groaned. Operation Dickwick was sadly at a standstill.

  About a half an hour into the ride, my cell phone pinged. A text. Holding it in my hand, I quickly checked whom it was from. My heartbeat quickened. It was from Jennifer. Two cold little letters responding to my text from last night: ok. My heart sank. She didn’t even fucking take the time to capitalize the “o.” So much of me was hoping she would have written something like: Looking forward to seeing you on Tuesday. That and a little xo.

  With Jennifer on my mind and in my heart, I told Vera about her idea for a daytime block targeted at women as well as about the focus groups and erotica book signing. Keeping her eyes on the road, she listened intently. When I was done, she repeated verbatim the words my father had used, “Mommy porn. That’s fucking brilliant.”

  I could trust Vera. She was my favorite affiliate manager. In her late thirties, she was strong yet compassionate and didn’t take shit from anyone. Raised by her single-parent mother, an abusive drug-addicted showgirl, she’d managed to get both a college degree and business degree. She was married to a great guy who designed neon signs for Vegas hotels. Tall, blond, and beautiful, she reminded me in many ways of Gloria Zander. I admired her greatly, like I did Gloria.

  “Your new development girl sounds like a rare find,” commented Vera as we came upon what looked like a studio in the middle of the desert.

  “She is,” I breathed.

  For the first time on our drive, Vera turned her head to look at me. “Blake Burns, I detect some feelings in your voice.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Do you more than like her?”

  I let out a loud exasperated sigh. “Yeah, I do. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

  “So what’s stopping you, Blake? You know Conquest is pretty liberal when it comes to interoffice affairs.”

  “She doesn’t trust me.”

  Vera laughed lightly. “Well, Mr. Hook-Up, I can understand that.”

  I scowled, but she had a point. “It’s more than that. She’s engaged.”

  I expected her eyes to shoot up, but they didn’t. Instead, she smiled warmly. “I never told you this, but I was engaged when I met Steve.”

  “Really?” Steve was her beloved husband.

  “Yup. It was love at first sight. It took me a bit, but I broke off my engagement with my fiancé who I realized was not the right man for me. I’ve never looked back.”

  My heartbeat sped up, in a good way. Vera had instilled in me some guarded optimism. Hope. Maybe, Jennifer did have feelings for me, but didn’t know to handle them. I mean, at times the electricity between the two of us was palpable. Sparks had flown in the air we breathed. I just needed to figure out how to prove that I was better for her than fucking Dickwick. I thought back to Jaime Zander’s words of wisdom. I needed to romance her. Shower her with compliments. Buy her presents. I bet the cheapskate bought her bubkus. I mean, that ring was a total joke. I immediately called my secretary, Mrs. Cho, and asked her to arrange a flower delivery to Jennifer McCoy. A dozen red roses with a note from me. Thanks for a great job—Blake But before hanging up, I had an even better idea. I told Mrs. Cho to instead call my mother’s exotic florist and have a large flowering cactus plant delivered to Jennifer’s office. So much more fitting. Phallic. And symbolic. And it would last a lot longer than the roses if Jennifer took proper care of it. Maybe forever.

  Vera smiled warmly. “You’re very good, Blake. Don’t lose hope.”

  “Thanks,” I said as she pulled into the parking lot of the studio. “What show is this?”

  “Private Dick.” Great. My favorite show on our schedule. I loved the lead character. Oral Covert, the detective with the twelve-inch dick. My mind flashed back to the time Jennifer watched it with me in my office and told me it was vomiticious. Her made up word. I laughed silently. And then my cock twitched. Eureka! I just had to prove to her that Dickwick was vomiticious. Yes, it was as simple as that. My father always said, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Whatever it took, I was going to find a way. My silent laugh grew evil.

  The filming of Private Dick bored the shit out of me. I had no patience for the constant takes and retakes. Rod Hammer, the actor who played Oral, kept forgetting his lines and lost his erection every time the show went down. Everyone on the set had to sit around while he thumbed through a girlie magazine to get it back up. Jesus Christ. So much for America’s most popular porn star and hero to millions. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Pussy Amour, who played the hooker, Daisy, Oral’s on and off love interest, was a bull dyke who kept complaining about her co-star’s bad breath. In a rage, she threatened the producer, Eddie Falcon, she was going quit if Rod didn’t start using mouthwash.

  Jennifer had been right. This show was vomiticious. While I’d never had a problem before, I could now barely watch it being filmed. It lacked heart and soul. Just two fucking morons who in real life hated each other. Where was the romance?

  The scene that was being shot was particularly challenging for Oral. They didn’t call the character Oral for nothing. The private eye’s favorite way of coming was in Daisy’s mouth. But this scene called for him to come between her planet-sized tits in her heart-shaped, satin-sheeted bed. He had to take the globes in his hands and rub them against his foot-long cock. His “big gun,” as he called it. Both stars were on their knees facing each other.

  “You’re hurting me, you fucking asshole!” screamed Daisy.

  “Shut up, you fucking dyke!”

  “Cut!” screamed Eddie. Neither line was in the script.

  Finally, after ten takes, two breaks, and one walk off the set, Oral managed to explode between Daisy’s chesticles. Cum poured down her torso as she arched her head back. The expression on her face was one of
pure torture, but those watching the show would think she was in heaven.

  “That’s a wrap!” shouted Eddie with relief.

  Thank God.

  While the two actors stormed off the set, Eddie sauntered up to Vera and me. He cracked a smile and gave me a manly pat on the back. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Blake. How’s it going?”

  “Great.” Get me the fuck out of here.

  “I’m really digging Vegas. The town’s got so much talent.”

  “It depends on what you call talent,” I snickered. Vera bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

  “Hey, I’m about to have a meeting with a very talented director. I’d love for you to meet him. He’s waiting in my office.”

  Against my better judgment, I agreed to join him. Vera and I followed Eddie to his small office behind the set.

  “Blake, I’d like you to meet—”

  I could feel my face blaze with rage. My fists clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white. Gritting my teeth, I cut Eddie off.

  “Get the fuck out of here. Or I’ll kill you.”

  It was the fucking lowlife bastard. Don Springer. His face turned as fiery red as mine.

  “Blake!” gasped Vera. Eddie remained speechless, his mouth agape.

  “Vera, I’ll explain later.”

  Springer leapt to his feet and stomped over to me. He was in my face. His fetid breath heated my cheeks. I couldn’t bear sharing the air he breathed. It took all my willpower not to throw him out the door. And to keep my heart from beating out of my chest and exploding in his ugly face.

  “Fuck you, Burns. You’re going to pay big time.” He spat at me and then stalked out of Eddie’s office.

  “I never want to see this man again anywhere on or near this set,” I barked at Eddie while Vera grabbed a tissue from her purse and wiped the prick’s spit off my chin.

  Cowering, Eddie nodded. “Got it, boss.”