by Poppy Dunne
“Groom like a monkey, or groom like a serial murderer?” I get up, huffing a little in annoyance. “Case, he’s my boss. I’m not going to do something stupid. You know me.” We both stare at each other in awkward silence. “Like, you know how I’ve changed.”
“I know, you’re a grown ass woman, and it’s a meeting with people in it. I just worry about you anytime a handsome man saunters his way into view.”
“Gavin Walker does not saunter.” That is true. Gavin’s more a glider than a saunterer. He enters a room, and it instantly feels cooler. Cooler in a hot way, that is. If that makes any sense. To saunter, well, you might need to get someone like Fraser freakin’ Drake in.
I am not thinking about him at all, so you know. So you’re aware. He’s a tremendous jackass, always has been. When we were kids, he tried putting me in an extra-large pillow case and leaving me by the mailbox. And all I did to deserve that was pants him in front of the neighborhood.
Boy, would I like to pants him now in an entirely different and child-inappropriate way.
Remember awkward sexy Rami Malek thoughts? Fraser Drake just joined that particular party. God, what is my problem today? I rub my eyes and sigh. Then I take my iPad and hustle over to Conference room C, courtesy of my uber-hot boss.
At least there’ll be no sexy shenanigans in here.
Or so I think, until I slide open the frosted glass conference door and find Gavin Walker standing at the head of a long, polished table. He looks prepared as I enter, hands braced atop the table on either side of him. He looks up at me, and a smile quirks at the right side of his mouth. Few things are as mouth-wateringly sexy as a half smirk. Did he even dress the way I like on purpose? The dark blue button up shirt matches his cerulean eyes. His raven black hair is smoothed back, shower fresh. He’s young and lithe and always ready with a smooth word and a sparkling eye.
My better judgment always tells me to be cautious around men like Gavin, but I admit my horny judgment tells me to ignore common sense. Still, I’ve managed to keep a professional distance between us, because I’m not some schoolgirl with a crush.
“Emma.” My name sounds mouth-watering on his lips. “I’m happy you’re here.”
It’d be easier if he didn’t sound so honestly pleased to see me. I take a seat at the other side of the table, all business. Open my iPad, all business. Feel the heated weight of his gaze, all business.
I love to mix business with pleasure. Except you don’t, Emma. Stop it.
“Always happy to help. Did you need something particular?”
“With you, it’s always particular.” He slides into his own seat, and I swear he winks at me. My face flushes a tiny bit, but I become preoccupied by my notes. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was hitting on me. Hell, who am I kidding? I’m damn certain he is.
“Did you reconsider signing that woman I mentioned? Nicki Persons?” She’s the best motivational diet person I’ve ever seen in my life. Got me to give up on cookie dough parties for a solid week.
Gavin leans back in his chair. “She was appealing. Everyone you find is appealing.” His eyes linger on my face. Well, feel free to linger. “But she doesn’t have that triple crown platform we mentioned earlier.”
I all but sigh. Right, the ‘triple crown’: 100k plus twitter followers, 200k plus YouTube subscribers, ten in the looks department. No matter how many times I explain to the agents over here that you don’t need to be a stunning platinum blonde to help people, they act like I don’t know what I’m doing. Considering all I do is eat up these people’s opinions, that’s kind of rich.
“So if she gets implants and dyes her hair, would you consider?”
“You know I don’t care about how she looks.” He leans forward, the picture of sad sincerity. “But I can’t get it past my team.”
Right, the infamous Gavin Walker team. They seem to keep him and his opinions on a tight leash. I can’t help the flush of annoyance that comes over me as I tap my iPad and open to a blank note page. “Man, everyone’s late. I suppose we’re the only ones who care about punctuality anymore.”
Gavin shrugs. “Meeting starts at a quarter past. You’re early.”
“You mean we’re early.” I can’t help the warm flush creeping up the back of my neck. “Why’d you make me show up five minutes before show time?”
Gavin studies me a minute, his cool blue gaze pinning me in place. “Maybe I wanted to get some time with you. Alone.”
That moment when your body and your brain are reading out two very different signals to you at the same time. My brain says to be extra cautious, while my body wants to be extra flexible. I cross my legs and shrug.
“I hope it was worth the trouble.”
“You always are.” He smiles, a flash of white teeth as the door slides open again. Gavin’s assistant, a sweet girl in her early twenties with wild hair and Warby Parker glasses, leads in Gavin’s top agents. They’re mostly men, mostly into Axe body spray and popped shirt collars, mostly clicking their tongues at me as they settle in for the meeting. I might ‘accidentally’ trip one or two of them. Why the hell does Gavin have such an obnoxious cadre of douchebags on his team? He’s classier than all of them combined.
Ah, well. Business will biz, I suppose.
The meeting doesn’t last very long. Mainly, it’s one or two of the Axe Boys, as I like to call them, bringing up a celebrity’s newest cookbook, or advocating to sign up the newest, hottest YA novel. This time, it sounds like the Hunger Games in space with a little bit of Sense and Sensibility for the girls. I have no idea what such a book would look like, but apparently it went at auction for a cool million, so what do I know?
Gavin approves both projects, while I sit there with my iPad, pondering a bit. What was the purpose of bringing me in here? I’m not the secretary, and I’m not an agent. I know Gavin likes to flirt, but he can flirt on his own time. Why bring me into a meeting?
Well, all I can think of is Blaire Lavender and her upcoming book. Maybe this is the time. Seize the day, Emma Brightman.
“If there’s no other business?” Gavin says, pushing back from the table. The guys are stretching and cracking their backs like they just put in some serious work.
“I have a suggestion.” I wheel in my chair to face Gavin. All the guys around the table look lost and confused, like a piece of the furniture suddenly got up and started talking. “There’s this incredible blogger I follow, Blaire Lavender. She’s a self help girl—”
“Here we go,” one of the guys—Byron—says, flipping his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Chick shit.” All the men around the table chortle, but I don’t. Au contraire, I dig my heels into the carpet. And it is very plush carpeting, too.
“Like I was saying. She’s an independent self help guru, and she’s legit.” I lay out Blaire’s triple crown credentials on my fingers. “She has over five hundred thousand YouTube subscribers, three hundred k Twitter followers. And, she looks like this.” I whip out my iPad, and pull up her profile. Blaire’s a gorgeous young woman, with creamy skin and flowing black hair. The men all gather around like pigs to a honey-scented trough. I swear, one guy even licks his lips.
“Dude, she is super hot. Look at this, man.” He passes my iPad to Gavin, whose eyebrows raise a fraction. Yep, Blaire’s the full package. That makes me smirk as I add,
“And she’s trans.”
The men around me all react like I shoved a snake down their pants. What a bunch of gentlemen. Gavin’s the only one who doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, he smiles.
“I see what you’re getting at, Emma.”
Indeed he does. “It’s a fresh face in the market, with a fresh experience and take. She’s the real deal, Gavin.”
I don’t coo his name over candlelit dinner in his office; I say it outright in a meeting, giving me a little bit of power. All eyes are on me now. Gavin puts my iPad down, steepling his fingers. Finally, he nods.
“Contact her, and get a proposal together. I want to
know what this would look like.”
I’m in. I have to keep from standing on top of the table and shaking my ass in all the douchebags’ faces. Keeping a handle on myself is harder than you’d think, but I manage. After all, the assistant who discovered Blaire Lavender has to keep cool.
The meeting breaks up, all the guys side-eyeing me as they slink out of the room. Gavin holds up one hand to me, waits until all the others are out of the room. Then, he stands and slides his hands into his pockets. He glides over to me—I’m telling you, the man can glide. He leans against the desk as I stand. His eyes trace over my face.
“You did well.” His blue eyes flash, and I swear they linger on my mouth.
“So, that was a test? To see if I can hold my own with the big boys?” Not that I’d call them particularly big, but they are definitely boys.
“I wanted to know if you’d take initiative to go after what you wanted, even when out of your depth. And you did.” He leans in closer, never touching, but getting nearer and nearer to it. “You continue to surprise me, Emma.”
“Wait until you see this Blaire proposal. You’ll be surprised into signing a major contract with her.” I keep my voice even, but a thrill rushes up my spine.
“We can discuss all kinds of surprises tonight, over dinner. What do you say?” he murmurs.
Dinner? Me and Gavin Walker? Part of me is already out the door and heading to my apartment to spend three hours getting ready. The other part of me is cautious. He’s my boss, after all, and—
The glass door slides open, and the sweet assistant girl pops her head in the room. “Mr. Walker? Call for you. It’s from a Ms.—”
“Thea, do I have to explain a closed door to you again?” He looks over to her, and his charming, mellow expression hardens to ice in a flash. Thea quails in her sensible high heels. “Didn’t they teach that concept to you at Barnard? Or were all your classes in women’s liberation and basket weaving?”
Hot damn, but that took a fast turn. Thea adjusts her glasses; I swear, the poor kid’s knees knock together. “Um, n-no. M-my specialty was in the African diaspora and—”
“Shut the door. Tell whoever it is I’ll call back.” With that, Gavin turns his attention back to me. But on behalf of the sisterhood everywhere, I shoot Thea a commiserating look as she closes the door. God, I remember being just out of college and trying to compete in the world of Hollywood. It was a terrible time. I just want to give that kid a hug.
“Sorry, I hate to be interrupted. Where would you like to go for dinner tonight?” He’s back to his charming, panty-melting act…but the magic moment’s been shaken.
“I’d love to. Really. But I’ve already got plans with a couple of my girl friends. We’re going to the Algonquin Lounge, you know the place on Melrose? Really good cocktails, really killer flapper ambience?”
“Emma Brightman. Are you turning me down?” He doesn’t say it like he’s hurt, though. In fact, a slow smile creeps over his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the chase is what excites him the most. Well, boss, chase this.
“You’re going to evaluate Blaire’s proposal? Well, I’ll evaluate yours as well.” With that, I pick up my iPad, neaten my cute but office appropriate jacket sleeves, and head for the door. “Thanks for bringing me in, Mr. Walker.”
His laughter follows me out into the hall. As I walk back to my desk, part of me feels naughty and daring for everything that went down. Part of me can’t believe how bold and reckless I was. Part of me is elated I get to contact Blaire Lavender about her proposal.
And a tiny, strange part of me can’t help comparing Gavin’s ice blue eyes and aquiline features to Fraser’s earthy, rugged exterior. Why the hell is Fraser Drake coming into the picture at all right now? Other than to drive me crazy.
What kind of crazy is a little harder to figure out.
4
Emma
“You cannot date your boss,” Moira says, taking a sip of her Rum Collins and making a face. “Ugh, is this bathtub rum? I think they took the prohibition aesthetic of this place a little too much to heart.”
“I’m not dating my boss,” I tell her for the thousandth time. “And I told you, the gin gimlets were the thing to go for here.”
It’s our favorite night of the week, ladies’ night at the Algonquin Lounge. The Lounge was where all the dirtiest mobsters brought their classiest molls back in the 1920s. There are chandeliers dripping with crystal, walls papered a lush velvet red, and even the peepholes in the ladies’ room are gilded and ornate. Only old school gangsters could be both disgusting and classy at the same time.
Tonight, Casey, Moira, and I have all gotten into the spirit of ladies’ night. We dressed up for the occasion. My beaded flapper gown is kind of crushing my boobs, but it’s worth it. Casey’s sleek black bob was made for the Algonquin. Moira, the fiery redhead of the crew, is wearing a feathered headdress that’s making her tip over a little. Ostrich feathers, man. Heavier than you’d imagine.
“Back to the most important topic.” Casey sips her martini. “How you can never, ever date Gavin Walker.”
“Look, I know he’s my boss, and I know he can be a little, like…”
“Skeezy?” Moira adds. I roll my eyes.
“Hard to read,” I finish. “And yes, he can be rough on his assistants.” My heart twists again for sweet Thea. “But he’s good at what he does, and he’s never tried groping my ass or sticking his hand down my blouse like some other unmentionables at the office.” My first boss at CAA was a man named Clint Gropier, which was, let me tell you, indicative of his personality. Remove one specific letter from both his first and last name, and you have an idea of what I mean. I demonstrated my impeccable ‘hi-ya’ karate move on him. The office cameras were the only reason I didn’t lose my job. Meanwhile, Clint got promoted, and that’s when Gavin took over.
Los Angeles is a hell of an environment.
“Is that the sole reason to go out with a man, though? Because he’s not assaulting you?” Moira takes a swig of Casey’s martini.
“No, it’s not the sole reason.” He is also really, really ridiculously good looking. I sigh. “He wanted to hear my idea. He wasn’t creepy about the fact Blaire is trans. It seemed like he got turned on more because I was really take charge. That’s a nice change of pace for a man in his position.”
“He’s probably playing a game so he can get you into a few nice positions,” Casey says. Moira gives a ‘hey now’ and they high five each other. These are my friends, folks.
“I know we live among the douchiest of the world’s douchebags, but we can’t start mistrusting all men.”
“Since when did Gavin Walker appoint himself all men?” Moira drawls. She works over in HR, and has to spend her days dealing with the weirdest complaints in Hollywood. Right now, she’s dealing with a guy who refuses to wear shoes in the office. All barefoot, all the time. Her experiences have made her, shall we say, jaded.
“Every time I like a guy, you two give me a hard time,” I groan. Casey rubs my shoulder.
“Hon, we wouldn’t give you a hard time if your taste didn’t suck so hard.” She says it so sweetly and with such love it’s hard to get mad at her. I settle for slightly pissed.
“My taste is not that bad.”
“Okay. Pick out one guy in this bar, then let’s try to bring him over for a drink. If he seems like a good, reliable sort, we take back everything we said and you should totally bang Gavin Walker in his Malibu beach house.”
“He has a Malibu beach house?” Moira puts down her drink. “Em, maybe I’ve been giving you too hard a time.”
“Oh ho, it is to laugh.” I take them up on the challenge, though. Putting my drink down, I consider the roomful of applicants. Hmm. There’s one man nursing a whiskey over by the bar. He’s sweet-looking, and in fact, he might be perfect to bring over…but I have to be honest, he just doesn’t do ‘it’ for me. He seems like the kind of guy who’d have to apologize for not kissing you right.
>
There’s one rugged looking gentleman lounging on a velvet couch, but he’s also draped over an attractive woman. Telling my friends I have an eye for people in committed relationships isn’t going to help my case here.
I’m about to tell them I’m not finding anyone I vibe with, when my eyes catch him at a bar table across the way. He’s dressed in an elegant suit and tie, and he’s sipping a scotch, neat. His hair is combed back, but still slightly tousled—he must be one of those men who are permanently tousled, no matter what he does.
God, what a delicious problem to have.
“Do we have a winner? You’ve been staring at that guy for a solid minute.” Moira checks over her shoulder and gives a low wolf whistle. “And what a choice you’ve made.”
No, no. Fraser Drake is not a choice. He is to be avoided, like sexy kryptonite.
“I’m not, that is, he’s not, I mean, we’re not.” I have to stop talking, because I think my programming went haywire for a second there. Please hold. “I know that guy. We go way back.”
“You already dated him before?” Casey’s eyebrows raise a fraction.
Ew, no. I mean, imagine dating Fraser in high school? He was the stiffest kid in his grade, and one of those kids had chronically inflexible joints.
Dating Fraser now, though, would be…oh shit, he’s locked eyes with me. As I sit there, dread swirling in my stomach along with all the bathtub gin, Fraser gazes across at me with a hint of surprise in his dark eyes. He puts down his glass, and says something to the woman he’s with.
Because yes, Fraser is sitting with a woman. A woman who is about our age and is also, from what I can see, drop-dead gorgeous. A tall, leggy brunette, she sips a martini with the elegance that can only come from years of charm school. Her Chanel blouse and dark, fitted skirt hug her toned and attractive body. She is, to put it mildly, in a class all her own.
Why does my stomach lurch to see her sitting with Fraser? And why am I still staring at him with my mouth hanging open? I shut my jaw and dive back into my gimlet.
