Wow. That’s brilliant on Stark’s part, positioning Drake Manning of all people as a champion of women’s rights. It’s also breathtaking in its audacity. That’s like Colonel Sanders being awarded a medal by chickens.
“So just like that, Manning agrees to give away seven million so he won’t look like a Neanderthal?” I ask. “Color me skeptical, Jackie. They’re bluffing. He’ll never do it.”
“It’s already done,” Jackie says, trying her best to get it through to me. “Stark signed the new contact a couple of hours ago. You can call Cheyenne and Mona and tell them the good news: She and Manning will each be paid exactly twenty-three million for Texas Flood. I’ll have Cheyenne’s new contract sent to you first thing in the morning.”
“So this is really happening? It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Believe it. We’re keeping a lid on it for now, so tell Cheyenne and Mona not to say anything just yet. I already got in touch with Samuel English so Variety can break the story first thing Friday morning. He’ll be calling tomorrow to get quotes from you, Cheyenne and Mona.”
Neither one of us says anything for a few seconds while I try to process the news.
Jackie breaks the silence. “This is huge, Claire. It won’t change Hollywood overnight, but it’s an important first step. We made a small bit of history today, and generations of actresses will be better off for it.”
After the call, I finish toweling off. I plan to get dressed before calling Cheyenne, but only get as far as my panties before deciding I can’t wait. She’s ecstatic, and why wouldn’t she be? Not only is she seven million bucks richer, she’s also established herself as a pioneer of women’s rights in the film industry. Not bad for a twenty-five-year old who got her first big break wearing a topless bikini in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue while still in her teens. It seems only fitting that I placed that call wearing nothing but panties.
Cheyenne’s not the only one who made out on this deal; between her sudden raise and T.J. Holland’s casting in The Phantom Peril, I’ve made over two million dollars in just two days.
The only ones taking a financial hit are Stark and Manning. They’ll get their public images re-polished a mere forty-eight hours after the Variety article took their shine off. The more I think about it, though, the more I sense something’s not right about this. There’s no way those two guys walk away from seven million dollars of guaranteed money to make an altruistic feminist statement.
I smell a rat – a rodent named Mason Stark.
I quickly relay the news to Mona, then throw on some jeans and a little tank top. As I grab a hoodie and head for the door, I dial T.J.’s number.
“Hey, it’s Claire. This won’t be made public until Friday, but I wanted to let you know that the Texas Flood salary issue has been settled.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I say. “I’m in the middle of something and can’t talk right now. I’ll call tomorrow with more details, but it’s official.”
“That’s awesome news.”
“I need a favor, though: Do you have Mason Stark’s home address?”
* * *
Dammit. Stark’s house has a gated driveway. I consider climbing the gate, but come to my senses. There’s no reason he wouldn’t just let me in.
I’m anxious as hell as I push the intercom button and look up at the nearby security camera. A moment later the iron gate swings open.
When I pull up to the house, Stark is standing in the front doorway with that smug smile on his face. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who just lost a lot of money.
“Claire! Lovely of you to drop by.”
“Cut the shit,” I say as I climb out of the car. “How did you do it?”
He steps aside and gestures for me to enter. “Come on, let’s have a drink and I’ll tell you everything.”
I’m really not in the mood to drink with Stark, but I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t know the truth behind this.
He stops me in the foyer and says simply, “Shoes.” I have no idea what he means and scrunch up my nose at him. “Just had the hardwood floors re-done,” he says, gesturing to his own pair of sneakers sitting neatly against the wall. It seems like he’s always trying to exert control on me. I reluctantly slide off my shoes and leave them there as we continue inside.
Stark’s house is even nicer than I expected, likely because his decorator’s taste is tasteful and expensive. I know he likes to invite current and prospective clients to his home, and this is a convincing testament to his success.
I take a seat on a couch while he makes the drinks. “Bourbon on the rocks okay?” he asks.
“Sure.” I’m really more of a martini chick, but whatever. The couch is gorgeous, the design distinctly Italian.
“Like the place?” he asks as he brings the tumblers.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, wondering if this is the only time I’ll ever see it.
Stark sits on a nearby chair so he can face me. He holds his glass towards me, and I touch mine to it.
“To Texas Flood,” he says with a shit-eating grin.
He takes a sip of his bourbon. I stare him in the eye and down mine all at once, fighting back the urge to cough. I needed that drink to steady my frayed nerves, but it’s more than that; it feels like everything between me and Stark has become a test of wills.
He smiles, then takes my glass and walks back to the wet bar. “I’m guessing you want to know how I convinced Drake to take less money.”
“I do,” I say. “Assuming you actually did.”
Stark hands me a fresh drink. “You know me too well, Claire.”
I knew something was fishy.
“Drake won’t be earning less money than Cheyenne for Texas Flood,” he says. “In all likelihood, he’ll earn a whole lot more.”
He’s toying with me, wanting me to beg for details. At this point, I’m ready to beat them out of him. I’m also feeling quite warm. The warm air in the house, the bourbon working its way into my bloodstream, and my anger at Stark are all conspiring to raise my body temperature. I unzip my hoodie and remove it, setting it on the couch next to me. The sudden rush of air makes my braless nipples harden. When I turn back to Stark, his eyes dart away from my tits and back to my face, making me blush despite myself.
“Jackie said you signed a new contract for Mason at twenty-three million, and she promised the same amount for Cheyenne.”
“True,” Stark says as he takes a self-satisfied drink.
My mind reels as I look into the eyes of my rival, and it doesn’t help that he’s distractingly sexy in his dark jeans, pullover sweater and bare feet. Goddamn, I wish he weren’t so devastatingly handsome.
“Just tell me what the fuck you did!” It leaps out of me before I can stop it. I’m rattled, pissed off, and emotionally drained from being sexually attracted to someone I’m trying my best to despise.
Stark tilts his head slightly and gives me a condescending smile. I know instinctively that he’s implying I should already know the answer.
When I see that smile and feel the arrogance behind it, my brain finally kicks into gear and serves up the only plausible explanation.
Of course. I really should have seen this.
“You got him points,” I say, already certain I’m right. In addition to his salary, Manning will also get a percentage of the box office take for Texas Flood.
“I did,” Stark brags. “Ten percent of the worldwide gross, in return for him allowing Trident to move seven million to Cheyenne and match their salaries.”
“Ten percent of the gross could be twenty million or more. On top of the twenty-three he’s already getting.” The words float from my mouth on a cloud of disbelief. Stark has pulled off the ultimate scam.
“If the film is as good as it should be, it could much more than that,” he says. “But even if it bombs, he’ll still get close to his original agreed-upon salary.”
“And Jackie signed of
f on this?”
“Sure. She gets to make a political statement. Apparently, Jackie was more interested in the appearance of equal pay than the reality of it. Giving points to Drake was a good investment, because Trident now has a commitment for two additional films starring the most successful actor in the world. And Jackie’s pet project doesn’t get derailed.”
“But the accounting…” I say. “People will know Manning is earning more than Cheyenne. You can’t keep that quiet – it’ll leak out and the resulting scandal will ruin the credibility of everyone involved.”
“Technically, Drake Manning won’t be getting the points. Lincoln Ramirez will.”
My already-taxed brain comes up with nothing. “Who the fuck is Lincoln Ramirez?”
Stark grins. “Link is a friend of mine. You should meet him. Nice guy, though he’s emotionally unavailable.”
“So this Ramirez guy is a proxy? He gets the checks and turns them over to Manning?” I’m still confused.
“Actually, the checks will come to me at MAU, since I’m Link’s manager,” he says. “He’ll get a cut, but the bulk will be paid to Drake by MAU, not Trident. Of course, I get ten percent of that. And in return for being our proxy, Link will get half of my cut, as well as his very first producer credit.”
He lets it sink in for a moment, then says, “Everyone looks good here, Claire. No villains, only heroes.”
Stark is right. It’s unquestionably brilliant, and I’m in awe that he got it accomplished in a day’s time.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I say. “And so quickly. I have to admit I’m impressed.” The praise brings an honest smile to his face. I hold out my drink and we clink glasses again. “Here’s to finding a way.”
I want to kiss him. The desire rises out of nowhere and consumes me. My sexy rival actually cared more about finding a solution in which everybody wins than he did about losing the bet with me. He has no idea I don’t plan to hold him to the wager we made, making it an even bigger sacrifice. I finish my drink and set the glass on the coffee table in order to throw my arms around Stark and give him a truly memorable kiss.
Until he opens his mouth and ruins the moment.
“And the icing on the cake is that I win the bet, you conniving little twat.”
My heart is slammed by the callousness of his words. Apart from being a dick, he’s also deluded.
“You’re either mistaken or crazy, or probably both,” I say, looking at the lips I was about to kiss. “I won that bet, fair and square.”
“How the fuck did you win? Drake is probably going to earn twice what Cheyenne Parris will for that movie.”
“That wasn’t the bet.” I stand up and put a finger in his face. “The bet was that I would be able to get Cheyenne a salary equal to Manning’s. Not points on the back end or total compensation – salary.”
“You’re splitting hairs,” he says as he pushes my hand out of his face. He rises from the chair and the volume of his voice rises as well. “You know you lost the bet and you’re trying to weasel out of what you legitimately owe me. I won’t let you do that.”
“I won the damn bet!” I’m starting to lose my temper with this obstinate jerk. “You owe me a million bucks and a pedicure! Don’t wimp out on me just when I was starting to respect you.”
Both of us are pissed off now. My blood is boiling and I feel my chest rising and falling with every angry breath I take.
Stark is doing his best to appear calm. “I don’t need your fucking respect. I need you to service me in this house for a week.”
“You’re insane if you think I’ll do that,” I say. “You’re the one who lost the bet, not me.”
“I’m going to tie you to this coffee table naked and leave you there for a while.”
I make the mistake of actually looking at the coffee table, which is right next to us, and my mind instantly imagines being tied naked there, my breasts and belly against the cool wood surface and my ass hanging off the edge.
“That’ll never happen. Be a man and honor your bet.”
Stark ignores me. “And every time I walk through the room, I’ll take my cock out and fuck you for a few minutes.”
I flash back to the feeling of his hard-on deep inside of me on my desk and my pussy involuntarily clenches at the thought. He’s a foot taller than I am, but I thrust my face toward his and say, “You’re deranged!” Pushing an index finger into his chest, I add, “Now be a man and honor the goddamn bet.”
Stark roughly grabs my wrist, then leans down toward me until our faces inches apart. “And this time, I’ll spray my cum inside of you.”
“Be a man,” I say loudly, my voice starting to tremble. Part of me recognizes the sexual excitement I’m suddenly feeling, but I’m too furious to acknowledge it.
He stares at me intensely as his hand holds my wrist prisoner. The silence in the house is deafening. I hear my own breathing and feel the blood rushing in my veins.
“You’ve never had a man like me,” he says in a low voice, his nose now an inch away from mine.
“You’re not a man, you’re a fucking coward.”
He tilts his head slightly and I feel his lips touch mine. My breath catches in my throat as he lets go of my wrist and wraps me up in his arms, kissing me like he’s been holding back the urge forever. Our tongues play aggressively, as if they’re attempting to settle the issue of the bet. My body feels small in his strong arms and my heart pounds at the sensation of being overpowered as he presses his body to mine, a hard bulge nudging my belly.
This is not happening, I tell myself. Not until he owns up to losing the bet.
I put my hands on his chest and push him back. “Be a man, Mason,” I demand, trying to sound strong in my conviction. “Honor our bet.”
He reaches up and slides his fingers into the front of my tank top, brushing against my cleavage.
I look into his eyes and see the fire there. “Be a man,” I whimper.
I feel a sudden force and hear my tank top shredding as Stark rips it completely off my body. For a split second I’m acutely aware that I’m topless, then he grabs my hips and spins me around.
“Here’s your man,” he snarls as his hands make quick work of my zipper. Before I know what’s happening, my jeans are yanked all the way down to my ankles, my panties along with them. I feel Stark’s leg between my calves, then he lifts me and tosses me forward onto the couch, my clothes staying on the floor under his foot. Suddenly naked just seconds after being fully clothed, I try to spin and face him, but he grabs my opposite bicep in a tight grip and spins me back around, then puts his other hand on my head, pushing my face into the cushioned couch.
“Do not fucking move,” he says, his voice now steady and authoritative.
My knees are on the front edge of the couch, my ass facing him. My pussy responds to his command with a flood of wetness. It doesn’t matter that this position leaves me exposed and vulnerable. I’m not concerned that it’s difficult to draw a breath with my face buried in the cushion. I don’t even give a shit about the bet now. I no longer care about anything other than being forcefully taken by the man I want so badly to hate. I feel myself giving in to him, utterly and completely.
The head of his cock suddenly slides between my labia, surprising me because I didn’t see him take it out. It’s only there for just a second before he plunges into me, all the way. I scream against the cushion, the pain immediately giving way to the delicious feeling of being filled by his hardness.
Without concern for my needs, Stark warps his fingers around my biceps and grips tightly, pulling my arms back and using them to hold my body still as he fucks me. My pussy eagerly accepts his cock and wants more, harder, faster. He proceeds at his own pace, his thrusts strong and forceful.
Stark’s aggressive manner is exactly how I always imagined he’d be sexually. Just like in business, he takes what he wants. And this is also exactly who I am; I crave a man who knows my body is his to use as he desires.
> Stark grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling my face out of the cushion and backwards. I suck in a breath as he begins to pound me hard, his rigid cock repeatedly hammering into me with a rhythm I respond to instinctively. The harder he drives into me, the more I feel as if my body is merely an object of pleasure meant specifically for him.
“You’re a very dirty girl, Claire.”
I am. And with him, I want to be even more so.
“Such a little slut. I like it – it suits you.”
Every name he calls me make my pussy clench down on him.
Just when the rhythm of his pounding has me in a state of bliss, he pulls out of me without warning and spins my body back around without ever letting go of my hair. His hand roughly yanks my head downward before I can get repositioned on the couch. I feel his cock against my lips and open them wide to take him in. His other hand finds my head and he holds it as he fucks my mouth mercilessly. This is no blowjob, and requires no skill on my part other than relinquishing control to him. When he groans and explodes against the back of my throat, I’m more than a willing receptacle – I’m in total ecstasy.
As his orgasm subsides, I’m able to use my oral skills on him. While he finally pulls away from me, I kiss the head until it’s out of reach, then look up to see the man who has just done this to me. Stark has managed to remove his sweater, his lithe, taut upper body now on display for me. His jeans are lowered to mid-thigh, his slick cock pointing right at me.
He’s in a post-orgasm haze, looking down at me with abject lust. I confidently connect with his gaze, needing to let him know that nothing he just did was too much for me.
I recline on the couch as he gets a good look at my body. “Now what?” I say expectantly.
“Look into my eyes,” he says.
“I already am.”
“Don’t stop.” That was a command, and I obey.
In my peripheral vision I see him tuck his cock back into his pants and zip up. Then he climbs onto the couch, pushing my prone body toward the back to create room, his knees both nudging the same side of my waist.
Still looking into his eyes as told, I’m surprised when his finger touches me, rubbing my wet, swollen lips and searching between them for my clit.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason Page 11
