by Jen Greyson
UNDERTOW
Jen Greyson
To Jami,
Friend, sister, lawyer.
Thanks for the answers and incomparable advice, both legal and otherwise.
Love you.
CHAPTER
DISGUSTED DIDN’T COME close.
A sweaty, over-perfumed body rammed me.
“Have you seen him?” the girl asked her companion. “OMG! I’m so excited. I wish I got picked as a contestant.” Pink alcohol sloshed from the girl’s glass but she didn’t slow as they pushed through the crowd.
There was reality TV, and then there was this. Bodies moved and gyrated to the blaring music and dazzling lights. Booze flowed freely from the seven bars scattered around the hotel ballroom and in the hallway. More pink flavors mixed with the green and blue ones on the sticky floor.
My head pounded. Entertainment law was supposed to be exciting and filled with million dollar contracts and options for great literary works—serious work and serious clients.
During my time as an intern, I’d stooped to some unbelievable lows to earn my place, but agreeing to be on-site and available for last-minute changes for the studio’s new reality show was a personal best. Because this wasn’t just any on-site, this one pushed against everything I believed in as a woman.
I didn’t understand why the producers hadn’t stuck to their tried-and-true formulas. They’d made fortunes and global superstars out of their past contestants, but now they were throwing it overboard for a chance to take out the dating show that had always been their ratings nemesis.
While I understood the overwhelming need to control ratings, I seriously did not think a Bachelor/Love Boat mashup was the way to do it. But I was just the intern, so what did I know?
Television in general wasn’t my thing and I hadn’t been able to sit through an episode of the studio’s past reality shows. Too much bumping, grinding, and drama. When I wasn’t studying for school, my guilty pleasures tended toward car auctions or Mythbusters.
I edged around the glomming bodies, leaning away from the massive amounts of exposed skin and implants. A beat of sweat trickled from my collar and I tugged at the buttons of my suit. Maybe not the best choice for a body-packed room, but I wasn’t about to flaunt my goods like these silly gigglets.
“It’s almost time,” a high voice yelled too close to my overworked eardrums.
Wincing, I checked my watch. Five minutes until the impromptu meet-and-greet with the staff, then on to the show.
I can do this.
My cheeks hurt from keeping a plastic smile in place. Thirty more minutes at most, then an escape to my quiet office. Thirty minutes until real work that was less...sticky.
I searched for people I knew, but the staff had already escaped this madhouse. Lucky bastards.
As I maneuvered toward the door, the production manager, Stuart, slipped from the room. Speaking of bastards...
I followed several feet behind. Watching him made my skin crawl. With his loping stride and gangling arms, he took slimy to a whole new level, not to mention his wolfishly grotesque perma-pucker. Waves of people parted for him. Girls with their backs to him stepped away, their flight instincts kicking in on a cellular level. Other girls gave him simpering smiles and rubbed against him. They knew who he was and what he could do for them. Or so he’d told them...
He lifted a hand and sped his pace. “Mateo!”
I shrank back, in no hurry to get reacquainted with tonight’s guest of honor. Veering left, I skirted the mob and headed to the small room set up for the introductions. My last meeting with the shipping magnate, Mateo Dargus, was enough to last a lifetime, thank you very much. There’d been no reason for him to steal that car out from under me at the auction.
My cheeks heated at the memory. I was still convinced he’d outbid me just to prove he could. What really burned me was when he’d tried to chat me up later, like I didn’t know what he’d done.
I shook my head and pushed through the heavy wood doors. Maybe he wouldn’t remember the encounter and I could slip away unnoticed. I’d made it nearly to the end of this case without having to engage him, and once I had this thing wrapped up, it would be on to bigger and better—and more tasteful—cases. I’d endured worse things for a half hour, I could handle mingling, even with a cocky billionaire who thought way too much of himself.
The doors slid closed with a whoosh and blunted the roar from the party. I sighed. Just a few more minutes.
A dozen key grips and production assistants talked over each other while they milled around the buffet and drink bars. I nodded hello to a few and skirted the tables, plucking a strawberry before taking my place at the end of the lineup. No one ever wanted to meet the attorney—which was why my boss made me come in his place. Less than no one wanted to meet the attorney’s intern.
I reached to sneak another strawberry and the door opened with a blast of high-pitched, inebriated female voices while Stuart ushered Mateo through.
Taller by a good foot, Mateo was a black Maserati to Stuart’s yellow Pinto. With his black hair, dark eyes, and imposing stride, Mateo commanded attention whether in a room full of working people or an auction house of cars and buyers. The stark overhead lighting in the room did nothing to damage his looks. If anything, the florescent bulbs accented the blackness of his glossy hair that was far longer than it should have been, deepened the thick, straight brows that snapped together in the center, darkened the shadow beneath the hard edge of his jaw and chin that gave him a calculated edginess.
My nape tingled and I cursed under my breath. I’d give anything for a drug that turned off that ancient part of my cavewoman brain that responded to men like him.
I’d promised myself I’d never make the mistake of falling for his handsome looks again, but apparently my body hadn’t attended that meeting as my pulse sped and I struggled for a normal breath. I was acutely aware of the way the curves of his shoulders filled out his suit. Damn him for being so good looking. Last time he’d managed to distract me long enough to steal the only car I’d gone to the auction to acquire. Here, there was nothing I needed except an escape.
His sharp brown eyes scanned the room and I edged behind one of the taller key grips immersed in a conversation about the latest MMORPG. Mateo wouldn’t be interested in anything as mundane as online games, and it disturbed me that I knew as much as I did about the new version they discussed, but it was enough to distract me.
I inhaled slowly through my nose and out through my mouth until the attraction passed and I saw him clearly—a calculating businessman as much a part of this ratings game as the producers.
People scrambled to form a straight line, but I fought to keep my spot at the end. Maybe Mateo would get bored before he made it to me. Introductions started and I fidgeted. Mateo’s sultry chuckle wound around my belly, enticing more ancient places. Damn, I hated my stupid ovaries.
I tugged hard on the cuff of my charcoal suit sleeve. Thank goodness I chose this one today and not one with a shorter skirt. Mateo moved down the line and I studied my short nails. Please get bored before you get to me. Doubtful he’d remember me anyway, I’d only been an obstacle between him and what he wanted, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
A few more introductions and my stomach plummeted. Only one more left.
Mateo shook hands with Leon, the game-playing key grip I wasn’t quite sure about. He seemed nice, but something about him made me not want to be alone with the guy. I inched a half-step away.
While Stuart introduced them, my gaze wandered over Mateo. At the auto auction a year ago, he’d worn pressed slacks and a creased button-up shirt, top button open—a polar opposite to the potbellied, shirt-stained regulars I usually encountered at the auto auctions.
Tonight h
e’d dressed the part of stunning bachelor and I wanted to hate him for it, but it was impossible. Diamond cufflinks winked from beneath the sleeve of his navy pinstripe suit, French cuffs, precisely pressed. My attention drifted lower, down the front of his pants, along the crease to his polished wingtips, then back up to the thick knot in his raspberry power tie. Barely a shadow along his jaw, he must have shaved minutes before coming.
My fingers twitched. At the auction, his stubbled chin made its appearance by noon. Not that I cared, he just made a point of touching and scratching his jaw while he studied the cars. That tell was how I knew if he was interested enough to bid. A small scar split his lower lip, slicing a line slightly off-center. His long dark hair fell in unruly chunks across his forehead. He obviously got haircuts, because the back was neatly trimmed. Why didn’t he make them cut the top so it didn’t fall over his left eye like that?
His gaze flickered to mine and I flinched, quickly staring at my fingers. Damn. Now he probably thought I’d been checking him out. Ugh. I’d never in my life be caught gawking at a man like Mateo. Far from it, I just needed to ensure he didn’t embarrass himself. Maybe I’d recommend a haircut to the makeup team.
“Leon will be your best bud by the time the show ends,” Stuart said. “He’s your new shadow.”
“Great.” Mateo sounded almost earnest. What was he, the WalMart greeter? I plastered a smile on and clenched my abs, ready for battle.
“This is Sangria Henlie. Our law intern.”
Mateo engulfed my hand in both of his enormous mitts, and I forced myself not to yank it away. His hands were warm, but firm. I pumped my fist up and down, but our hands hardly moved.
“A pleasure. As always.” His dark eyes explored my face until I felt like he knew my deepest secret. I squirmed. Shifting my weight onto my heels, I took a deep breath and pretended he was just an ordinary client. An easier task if he’d stop looking at me like that. Cocoa eyes roamed over my face and across my shoulders but never dipped lower. No surprise. Compared to the bodies I knew awaited him, mine was too curvy, padded, and not nearly surgically enhanced enough.
Even without direct scrutiny of my body, he still managed to assess my features. Warmth from a blush crept out of the top of my collar. If he didn’t quit, it would soon cover my entire face. Couldn’t he see how uncomfortable he was making me?
“Sangria, you know Mateo from the documents, but isn’t it nice to meet him in person?” Stuart pressed much too far into my comfort zone, which was a hell of a feat considering how much of it Mateo consumed. He towered over me and I could barely breathe.
No, I wanted to snarl at Stuart, nothing about him is nicer in person.
But if Stuart sniffed out any reason to exploit our relationship, he would do it in a heartbeat. Instead of stomping on Mateo’s instep like I wanted to, I inclined my head in recognition, my slight smile mimicking his.
“Good luck with the show.” I yanked my hand free and resisted touching my bun. With the attention Mateo was paying to my face and upswept hair, I must have an entire head of fly-aways.
Stuart rambled on about my role, but Mateo didn’t seem to be paying any attention. His gaze dropped to my toes and held there long enough for me to regret another one of my impulse choices when I’d painted my nails last night. The ruby color had been my roommate’s idea, the strappy Versace’s had been my own. Right now I desperately wanted an ugly pair of flats and a hangnail.
Stuart’s rambling finally caught Mateo’s attention and he jerked his attention off my body.
“Along with our team of attorneys, Sangria drew up your requested contract changes as well as the prenup.”
Mateo swung his gaze back to me. “Wait.” His low voice vibrated through my entire body and up my spine. “Why aren’t you one of the contestants?”
A loud laugh burst from me as my veneer of professionalism cracked before I gathered it back. “Sorry, my IQ was too high.” My hands shook. Of all the absurd things to say. Like I’d stoop to going on a show like this. I’d rather eat slugs than be trapped with him for weeks. The thought made my stomach tumble. I tucked my hands behind my hips, but Mateo’s eyebrow arched, like he’d seen my tremor.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I turned away sharply and followed everyone else from the room. The middle of my back heated like Mateo stared those laser beams into it. Squeezing my fingers tight in front of me, I made myself to walk sedately instead of giving into my urge to bolt.
I closed my eyes for a second on the far side of the door. That was close. I shook out my hands. The nerve. That comment was exactly what I expected from him and it probably didn’t bother him that he’d compared me to these silly girls flaunting their bodies. He’d probably never carried on a reasonable conversation with a woman. The closest thing was probably when he asked her what time he should wake her for breakfast.
At least I’d found an immunity to his good looks. With his foot in his mouth he wasn’t near as attractive.
I took a shaky breath and headed back into the overflowing room of excitement where they were going to tape the intros for the show. The air was thick and sticky with the sweaty drunk bodies dancing everywhere. The big overhead lights were off, lending a lovely club feel. Spotlights panned back and forth across the entire room, crossing the stage and the crowd. Tonight, I wanted to avoid those and play the invisible intern.
I needed a perch to watch the fiasco, then I could escape to the office and be done with this crazy. I’d come this far, I only had to hang on for a few more minutes.
Earlier, I’d scouted out elevated seating around the bar at the ballroom’s back wall, and judging by the bodies pressed against the stage, there wouldn’t be a lot of action back here. At one point there’d been rows of chairs, but those were gone now. Clearly this crowd wasn’t chill enough to sit. They were on their feet dancing, whipped into a frenzy by one of the guys from the production team.
He walked back and forth on the stage that spread the entire width of the room, backed by dark velvet curtains draping the wall the way to the ceiling. On stage left, seven leather chairs awaited the curvaceous bottoms of the show’s contestants, making my stomach turn over at the thought.
A spotlight beam swept the stage, revealing a carved wooden box that held jewelry for the girls. Mateo would probably make a giant production about giving them out during the show. This whole thing made my skin creepy crawly. Reality TV was just a little too much for me to handle. I didn’t mind a good home makeover, or the cooking shows, but this one made me feel like we were scraping bottom and coming up with handfuls of slime.
When I’d popped in this morning looking for Stuart, the design team had told me they’d picked the backdrop specifically to highlight the dresses; one more thing hand-picked for tonight’s show. From what I knew from the contract work I’d done for the show, tonight was just the beginning of what the girls would have no control over. They’d signed their rights to those decisions over in the first contract they’d executed. And of course, my boss picked that day for his golf tournament, so—as usual—I’d been stuck filling in for him and watching them sign without reading a page.
Such a bittersweet moment.
I’d ensured the verbiage was iron clad—a work of art that would have made my contracts professor beam with pride—but also stripped those women of so many rights. After, I’d been sick over being an accessory to the show business monster and its money-hungry appetite.
I took a deep breath and held it. Nothing is forever, Sangria. Internships always sucked. My professors had told me that and they had the horror stories to prove it. Pain was temporary, and it wasn’t like this was actual torture, just the typical sludge of reality shows. This was one client among thousands at the firm. My breathing finally mellowed out as I reached the bar.
The bartender smiled. “What can I get you pretty lady?”
I forced a smile. I’m sure he’d had to use that line on every girl in here to pump up his tips tonight. “Glass of red?”
He tapped the bar with his tattooed fingers. “Coming right up.”
I sat and swiveled the stool to better gauge the room. Drunk on alcohol and emotion, the ratio was easily ten to one in favor of the few guys in the room. These girls were probably ones who’d missed the casting call, or who hoped for a last minute sparkle as their eyes met Mateo’s.
And not one of them knew his net worth.
Such a silly addendum to the contract—Mateo Dargus, one of the world’s youngest and richest entrepreneurs wanted to remain a secret. His uncle had only signed over the majority of the company last year, so news about Mateo’s ownership had only hit the major car circles and Wall Street. Neither a local hangout for this young crowd. I’d bet last month’s salary I was the only one in the room to ever set foot in an auction house. These gigglets were here because Mateo was hot, available, and on TV.
The bartender touched my arm. I flinched and turned, nearly knocking over the glass he’d set at my elbow.
His face was apologetic as he yelled, “Your drink. On the house.”
I smiled and slipped him the twenty I’d been palming anyway. “Thanks.”
He winked and I turned away from the bar. I tensed when I spotted Mateo pushing through bodies toward a pool of executives. He should be backstage! I frowned. We were a minute to rolling.
I reached for the wineglass with an unsteady hand. Mateo moved through the ballroom and drew the executives—and McComb, my boss’s boss and the Senior Partner at my firm—away from the pulsing crowd. Where the heck had they been all night?
They made up for it now. I leaned closer as if I could hear them from across the room. Lots of gesturing, too much head shaking. Mateo was upset about something. He’d seemed fine in the other room. Stuart must have made a jackass of himself in the two minutes since.
After more gesturing and clipped words, they seemed to come to a consensus and shook hands. Then Stuart led Mateo around the crowd and behind the curtains. Hopefully there hadn’t been an issue with the contracts. McComb had checked them after I’d witnessed them and there was no way Mateo would have known if anything had gone wrong anyway. I took a deep swallow of the wine and forced my worries away. Mateo was about to be on a boat sailing away from me forever. Minutes from now he’d never be my problem again.
