by West, Harper
7 Nights of Sin
(Countdown to Pleasure Book One) A Second Chance Enemies to Lovers Romance
Harper West
Edited by
C. Thompson
Contents
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
Also by Harper West
About Harper
Dear Reader
Thanks so much for taking a chance on my word baby! I hope you love them as much as I do! I’m still new to this whole writing thing, but I’m hella excited to see what happens and have you join me on this journey!
I hope you love sexy alpha males, and killer romance, as I’m a huge fan, so that’s what I’m writing about. Oh, and menage. I love me some menage, because it’s all about her, am I right ;)?
Keep an eye out as I’ve got quite a few books I’ve been holding on to, coming out soon so make sure you sign up for my newsletter to stay informed!
xoxo,
Harper
Chapter 1
Caro
The late afternoon sun trickled in through the clouds, warming the small corner office I currently occupied.
My back was to the window, and my fingers flew across the keys of my keyboard as I typed out another proposal, hoping this might be the one that would change things for me.
For four years I had been with this firm, working my ass off, trying to make a name for myself. I was good at my job, I knew that much. I came in early and worked late, took every client I was offered, no questions asked. I had a high success rate, and people raved about my work when it was done.
And yet, I had been passed over for three promotions in the last two years, and I was tired of it. My career meant more to me than most people, and if I was ever going to get anywhere, then I needed to climb the ladder. I needed to be noticed.
A knock on the office door startled me out of my rhythm, and I glanced up to see Sam, my boss' executive assistant, standing outside the clear door, a rolled up magazine in her hand.
I beckoned her in, and cracked my knuckles, shaking my wrists out. I was sure my hands would be glad for a break from the frantic typing.
"What's up, Sam?" I asked her, leaning back in my chair.
"Let me ask you a hypothetical question," she said, twisting a lock of blonde hair around the finger of her free hand. "Say there was an athlete, big name, lots of deals. Well known in our circles. And let's say he got in a bit of hot water."
"What kind of hot water?" I asked her, arching an eyebrow. "And how hot?"
"Not boiling, per se, but pretty hot. Someone gave an interview that made him look real bad. Like, Drop the sponsorships so the kids don't find out their hero is a creep, bad."
I let out a low whistle. "That is pretty hot. What's the question?"
"How would you spin that?" she wanted to know. "Is he a lost cause, or can you save it?"
"Well..." I trailed off, taking some time to think. "Depends on the details. Who gave the interview, and how credible they are. If it seems like they're a good source, then all you can really do is try to repair the damage. It's a better use of time than trying to discredit whoever it is. He'd need to give some interviews of his own, make some appearances in the right places. Probably do some donations."
"Isn't that a bit obvious?" she asked me. "Like he's trying to cover his tracks?"
"Sure," I said, shrugging. "But that's the business. It doesn't matter if people can tell you're covering something up as long as what you do to cover it is bigger than what you're covering. No one expects these big names to be flawless, they just want to be able to feel good about sticking with them. That goes for sponsors and fans."
Sam nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. "Makes sense. And you think that would help?"
"It would be a start. The person in question would have to be on board, and they'd have to be willing to make some changes. No more doing stuff that leads to scandals, for one thing. People love a reformed sinner, so to speak."
"You're so good at this, Caro," Sam said with a smile. "Which is why I'm bringing this straight to you."
Before I could ask what 'this' was, Sam was tossing the magazine onto my desk.
I frowned as it unrolled, and the familiar face of Christine Williams smiled at me from the cover. It was the National Beat, a rag that was one step above a tabloid, and notorious for ruining the lives of celebrities when they reported things about them. However true or not they turned out to be.
They were widely read enough that people were influenced by the things they reported, and so it made sense that whatever the issue was, it started with the Beat.
But something cold like dread ran through me as I looked down at Christine's flawless face. She was a well-known actress, someone who had faded a bit from the spotlight over the years, but still held a fair amount of clout.
The issue wasn't with her. The issue was that I remembered who she used to be married to, and I was pretty sure I had a hunch who this scandal was about.
I opened the magazine anyway, flipping to the relevant section.
There was a picture first, of Christine standing in front of a window, gazing out of it with the light hitting her just right. Her face was supposed to convey some quiet strength or something, and I rolled my eyes at how manufactured it looked.
And below the picture was the headline: "Christine Williams-Porter Speaks Out About Her Heartbreak".
"Her heartbreak?" I said, making a face. "Sure. Okay."
"It's not a great article," Sam agreed. "But she's making some pretty bold claims against Kevin Porter. You know, the baseball star? Plays for the Empires?"
"Yeah, I know who he is. Aren't they divorced?"
She nodded. "Sure are. Which is what her sob story is all about. The tragic tale of how much she loved him and how he was an unfaithful, violent drunk."
My eyebrows hit my hairline at that. "That's a bold claim. They've been divorced for like a year."
"Somewhere in the middle she talks about how she's been searching for the strength to come forward and talk about this. To save anyone else from having to suffer like she has." Sam draped a hand dramatically over her forehead. "But it's just been so hard."
"I'll bet," I snorted. "If half of it is true, I'll eat this keyboard."
"True or not, it's all anyone's talking about right now," Sam said. "Trending on Twitter, and there's been at least six or seven articles dropped on different blogging sites about how people expected this of Porter. The floodgates are opening for this poor guy. They've got pictures of him partying in Cancun, Vegas, Cabo. Arms around random women, drinks in hand. It could all be innocent, but..."
She didn't need to finish that sentence. "But paired with this interview, it looks real bad," I summed up. "Hot water indeed."
"Yep. It doesn't help that the pictures they're pulling up for Christine are all from that movie everyone loves."
I rolled my eyes. Christine Williams was most famous for starring in Rootless, a sentimental film about a young woman who adopts a bunch of refugee kids to keep
them off the streets and changes all of their lives for the better. It had been nominated for an Oscar, and probably would have won if a movie about the Civil War hadn’t swept that year.
I did a quick search of her name, and of course all the pictures were of her behind the scenes of the movie, chatting with multi-ethnic kids and looking beautiful and saintly.
Never mind that Christine Williams herself had never so much as publicly donated to any refugee funds, she was now associated with her character, which made her seem more sympathetic. That was just how those kinds of things worked.
Kevin Porter was made to look like a drunk with no impulse control, while she seemed like the wounded party.
I went over to Twitter, and of course, everyone was calling Kevin a piece of shit.
"'Great player, but clearly scum when it comes to treating women well'," I read out loud, quoting the tweets I was seeing. "'Wouldn't pay money to see him play these days '. 'Watch Rootless instead of the game this weekend!' Wow, they aren't messing around with dragging him for this."
The hashtag #JusticeforBriana was trending, and I rolled my eyes. Briana was the name of the character from the movie. It was all so predictable.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "So you see why we need someone with some skill to handle this."
"We're getting the deal on this?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yeah. Gordon got the call from his agent this morning. I mentioned your name and how well you did handling what's name, the chef."
"Liam Samuel," I said, already lost in thought.
"Right, him. You cleaned that up in half the time they thought it would take, and it made us look really good. You deserve this opportunity more than any of the other dicks in this office."
I laughed. Most of the guys I worked with were dicks who thought they were masters of the spin or something. I kept to myself, kept my head down, and did my work. And opportunities fell into my lap, apparently. This could be such a big break for me. Both of them were big names, and doing this right could mean big things for me.
But god. Did it have to be Kevin Porter?
He was basically a hero when it came to baseball. Joined the team three years ago, after being traded over from a smaller team down south. Now he was basically the biggest name in baseball. He'd led the New York Empires to the World Series twice since he'd joined, and they praised his name everywhere.
It was impossible to talk about the sport without his name coming up. He had something of a reputation for drinking and women, but since he was divorced, no one really cared. His ex-wife coming out with her tell-all was casting a very negative light on his past behavior, and I could imagine his agent was fit to be tied.
Kevin was the kind of star who had deals for shoes and clothes, and he also appeared on commercials for cereal and snacks and kids' toys. He'd been on more than one daytime kid’s show, talking about the importance of sharing or whatever. He was a big name, and those people would drop him like a hot box of garbage if they thought he was going to tarnish their reputation.
"You don't seem excited," Sam said, looking at me curiously. "You do see how big this is, right? If you could fix it so he doesn't lose any of his deals, or even get him more deals after this, you'd be a hero."
"I know," I said. And god, I did know. It was the break I'd been waiting for. A chance to make a name for myself. The person who dug Kevin Porter out of this mess would be talked about for years. And it could be me.
For the low, low price of having to deal with the man himself. Which was a big block.
I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. I'd been staring at my screen for too long, probably.
"I just...don't like him," I said finally, and that was the understatement of the year, but it summed it up well enough.
"Okay, that's fair, but you can't dislike him enough to let it get in the way of this deal, right? I mean, come on, Caro."
She was right. She was definitely right. Turning down something this big would be the thing that put me back. They'd talk about how I was too picky, and how I'd walked away from a serious job because I just didn't like the person.
I had to do it. As much as it pained me to admit it. It would be a good test of my skill, and I could be professional.
It had been years, almost six to be exact, since I'd seen Kevin Porter in person last. I was a different person than I'd been then, and he probably was, too.
It would be strictly business. After all, it was in both of our best interests for this to go well, right? I needed a boost to my career, and he needed for his to not crash and burn around him.
So it would be fine.
"You're right," I said. "You're right. Tell Gordon I'll do it."
Sam beamed. "I knew you'd come around. I'll go tell him right now."
I watched her leave my office, and then slumped over my desk with a sigh. For a few minutes I just stayed like that, wallowing a bit. And then I snapped out of it like I always did.
I opened a new tab on my notes file and started typing out everything I knew about Kevin's career and sponsors. It was going to be a long night, but if I was doing this, then I was doing it right.
Chapter 2
Kevin
"What the fuck were you thinking, Kev? Wait, don't answer that, I already know the answer. You weren't. You never are! You just run around like you're untouchable, and then come crying to me when you get in over your head."
I thought about pointing out that she was the one who had come storming in to scream at me, but that seemed like it would just make her yell more.
Kathleen Smith was the best agent in the business as far as I was concerned, but she had a hair trigger temper, and I was good at pushing her buttons.
Even when I hadn't even done anything.
She was standing in the middle of the men's locker room like she didn't give a single shit that a naked man could come strolling out at any second, hands on her hips, brown eyes blazing as she glared down at me.
"This is a step too fucking far, Kev. She's telling anyone who will listen this shit, and they're turning around and telling everybody else. I've already had six calls this afternoon from your sponsors. Six! Do you know how much groveling I'm having to do to get them to just listen? If you were anyone else, you would have been dropped already."
I smirked, leaning back on my hands on the bench. "Good thing I'm me then, huh?"
She just glared harder. "Of course you think this is funny. Of course you do. You have no fucking sense of when to listen and act right."
"Kath, you're not even letting me get a word in edgewise," I pointed out. "I'm just waiting for you to be done with the lecture so I can say my piece."
"What could you possibly have to say to defend yourself against this?" She practically threw a magazine at me, and I picked it up, scanning the cover quickly.
Christine looked as beautiful as ever, smiling from the cover, and I shook my head, not even bothering to open it up and read the article. I'd already gotten the gist from the internet at large that day.
Things with my ex-wife had always been complicated. Even when we were still married. And by 'complicated' I meant 'a steaming dumpster of bullshit'. She was a classic narcissist, and she couldn't stand when someone got more attention than she did.
Whenever I had to go away for games or press tours or whatever, she would throw fits, buying expensive shit with my money or sleeping around just because she thought she could.
She was a tantrum waiting to happen most of the time, and divorcing her was the best decision I had ever made.
Until now, apparently.
The hilarious thing was that it wasn't even true. I'd never cheated on her. Drinking, sure. I'd cop to that. But when we were married, I was faithful as fuck, and what did I have to show for it?
Kathleen standing there looking like I'd just dropped a racial slur on TV or something.
Once she seemed to have tired herself out with the yelling, I sighed, running a hand over my face. "You haven't even asked me if it's true
yet," I pointed out.
"It doesn't matter if it's fucking true, Kevin," she snapped. "You've been doing this long enough to know that. It matters that people are going to keep spreading it around. It matters that it's fucking up your already precarious image, and making sponsors think twice. Do you want to lose everything you've worked for?"
"You know I don't," I quipped back. "But you're standing there, bitching me out like I actually did this."
"Fine," she said. "You didn't cheat on your wife or whatever other garbage she's accusing you of. But there are two thousand pictures of you in various places, with drinks in one hand and women who are not Christine in the other. And how do you think that makes you look?"
She had a point, and I looked away with a sigh. All of those times were either before I was married or after the divorce, but with the media latching onto the story, it didn't matter. It was all fair game to be dragged up and used against me.
I rubbed my head, already feeling a headache building.
"I've warned you before, Kevin," Kathleen continued. "I've told you time and time again that you have to be more sensible. You have to be fucking smart. Imagine how much easier this could blow over if there weren't so much damning evidence."
"Yeah, okay. I get it," I said.
"Do you? Because this isn't going to just go away. You're in deep shit now. I haven't heard from Matty, but I can't imagine he's too happy about this."
I winced. Matty Morello was the head coach of the Empires, and he made Kathleen look easy-going. He didn't tolerate fuck-ups for very long, and the only reason he put up with so much of my shit was because I kept the team winning. I was a first-class player, so he overlooked some of my...indiscretions.
