Porter (Dick Dynasty #1)

by David Michael

  It just wouldn’t work. Plain and simple.

  There was a soft knock at the door of my office and I looked up to see Mitch’s head poking around the corner.

  “You busy?”

  “No,” I sighed, “What’s up?”

  I beckoned for him to come in and he closed the door behind him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you Holly Nash?” He plopped down in the chair across from my desk and draped his legs over one arm. “You’ve been moping around this place like an abused puppy for a week now. I can’t take it anymore. It’s almost like you’re,” he waved his hand in circles as if trying to conjure the right word, “agreeable. I don’t like it. It’s freaking me out.”

  I was thinking about how much of the story to leave out when he caught my gaze and said, “Don’t even think about bullshitting me.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath and dove in headfirst.

  “My date, if you can call it that, with Porter last week was a total failure. The man is simply impossible to talk to. We have nothing in common and I spent the entire time uncomfortable. It was awkward.”

  And my vagina wanted to eat him alive.

  “So I called Becks on my way home and made her meet me at the house for drinks. You know how she gets when she drinks,” I paused so he could nod his understanding, “Anyway, she started spouting off about Porter and I and somehow managed to get it in her head that I’m judgmental and that I have painted Porter as a stereotypical porn star.”

  “My Holly Nash? Judgmental?”

  “Exactly!” I cried, thrilled that someone was finally on my side, “I’m so not judgmental!”

  “Holly,” he swung his legs forward and leaned over to place his elbows on his knees, “I don’t send anyone into your office if they have blonde hair or weigh less than one-fifty. Why? Because I know it’s a waste of time. It doesn’t matter how much talent they have or how impressive their résumé is, you will either send them out of here in tears, or never send them on a single audition. Now, I don’t know what you have against skinny bitches and blondes, but it’s there and it’s real. You judge every person who walks through that door before they even have a chance to open their mouths.”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he held up his hands and continued before I could get a word in.

  “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, honey. We all do it. I think you’d be amazed at how many people I turn away as soon as they walk in the door. In this industry, the ability to judge someone in a few moments is paramount and you know it. What you haven’t seemed to master yet, is how to turn that shit off when you leave the office. If you keep turning people away because they’re wearing the wrong brand of jeans that day, or because one sock is sitting lower than the other, or because his smile is too white, you could very well miss out on something huge. You have got to start giving people a fair chance to make you happy, Holly. It’s time for you to let yourself live.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little bit dramatic?” I really hate it when people are right.

  “When was the last time you got some dick, Holly?”

  “Personal, much?” I asked, avoiding the topic.

  “It was a week after you had graduated from college. From a guy named Herman. Now, I don’t know if Herman was a pity fuck because his parents hated him, or if he was just hung like an ox, but that was almost half a decade ago, girl. Your kitty is hungry for some real meat. I’m not saying run out and marry the dude, but for the love of all things Cher, let him pop the cork on your vacuum sealed vagina before the damn thing grows over and vanishes completely.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I chastised, trying not to smile, “and his name wasn’t Herman. It was Herbert.”

  “His name doesn’t matter,” he rose and headed for the door, “I’m still right and you know it.”

  “My vagina is fine!” I yelled as he stepped into the hallway.

  “Use it or lose it, honey!” he yelled back as he made his way back to his desk.

  Killing him had suddenly become a very viable option.

  I scrolled through my mental contact list for someone that would have my side and tell me that I’m right. I had to know someone who would advise me not to sleep with the richest porn star on the planet.

  Somehow, I came up empty handed.

  Moments like that made me wish that I could just pick up the phone and call my mother. She would’ve been the voice of reason. She would have known all the right things to say, asked all the right questions, and, in the long run, convinced me that it had been my idea to sleep with him all along.

  “I’m so screwed,” I complained to my pen holder.

  I put my head down on my desk and tried to block out all thoughts of Porter Hale and the traitors that I called best friends. I couldn’t find a good reason not to pursue something with Porter. There were lots of bad reasons and shallow excuses, but nothing that could convince me to forget the way my body lit up every time he looked at me.

  I could tell myself that I wasn’t attracted to him until I was blue in the face: My body would still call bullshit.

  I pushed myself back against my chair, squared my shoulders, and took several deep, calming breaths.

  “Okay,” I encouraged myself, “I’m gonna say it out loud. Acceptance is the first step to recovery, right?” I sounded like an idiot, even to myself, but I needed a pep talk in a bad way before I allowed the next words out of my mouth.

  “I like him. A lot.”

  The knots in my stomach gave way to butterflies and I could feel the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I was practically giddy.

  “Like who?”

  My eyes snapped open and I jumped, tipping my chair dangerously far back. My arms pin wheeled out to the sides and my legs shot forward to try and regain my balance.

  All of my attempts were in vain. I could feel the chair going over and I was powerless to stop it. The world moved in slow motion as Preston’s shocked face disappeared from my sight and I found myself staring at the ceiling. My legs were still sticking straight up in the air and my skirt was slowly sliding up my thighs.

  I lay there frozen for several seconds, deeply considering the merits of faking a head injury or coma. I finally blew out the breath I’d been holding since the fall and let my legs relax over the edge of the chair.

  Preston’s worried face appeared between the ceiling and me.

  “You okay?” he quickly extended a hand to help me up.

  “I’m fine,” I groaned as I accepted his hand.

  “Are you always this graceful?” he asked once I was on my feet.

  “Usually,” I ran a hand over my hair, embarrassed.

  He hefted my chair upright and made a show of brushing it off.

  “No harm no foul!” He had the most disarming smile I’d ever seen, “It’s as good as new!”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” The question shot out of my mouth as more an accusation than anything and I fumbled to smooth it over, “I mean, I didn’t know you were dropping by. There’s nothing on my schedule. Mitch usually announces when someone’s here to see me. I was surprised is all.”

  Stop talking now, Holly.

  “Mitch,” he smiled, “He’s cute. He told me I’d need an appointment to see you. Put up a fuss about you not accepting walk-ins. He’s pretty good at his job, Holly. Fortunately for me, I’m Roman Ruff. All I had to do was take off my shades and flash him a smile. He turned into an adorable little puppy dog and happily pointed me in the direction of your office.”

  So Mitch was a Hale family fanboy. That explained a lot.

  “So you broke my assistant and scared the shit out of me all in one visit? I commend your ability to make an entrance, but that still doesn’t answer my question.” I returned to my chair and motioned for him to sit in the chair Mitch had recently vacated mere minutes before. “What can I do for you, Preston, my dear?”

  He sat down and slid a manila envelope across my desk, “I
just wanted to drop this off and say hi.”

  I eyed him suspiciously, “You drove to my office, wooed my secretary, and gave me a heart attack for the sake of saying hello?”

  “Yep!” There was that smile again.

  He glanced down at his watch and clapped his hands together before announcing, “I think I’ve done enough damage around here for the day! I better get out of here before I start a riot.”

  He rose to leave and I hurried to walk him out.

  He turned before I could catch up to him and, with one hand on the door, said, “You really did a number on my brother at dinner last weekend. Keep it up. His ego could use a little abuse.”

  I stopped in my tracks and stood there with my mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

  “See you around, Holly!” and he was gone.

  My brain was having a hard time translating what I’d just heard. There were a billion and a half questions buzzing around in my head and I damn near ran out the door to chase him through the parking lot. Had Porter talked to him about me? What had he said? Did he think I was an awful bitch for the way I had run out on dinner? Why the hell did Preston think I had done a number on his brother? I beat up Porter’s ego?

  Mitch burst into the room a few seconds later, pulling me out of my stunned reverie.

  “Oh my god, Holly! Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod! I can’t believe Roman Ruff was just here! Why the hell didn’t you tell me he was so much sexier in person? I almost swooned, Holly! Me! I don’t swoon!”

  In all the years that I had known and worked with Mitchel Michaelson, I had never seen him act like this. There were A-list actors in and out of the office all day every day and not once had he ever been outwardly star-struck by anyone.

  I couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled out of me.

  “Holly Nash, this is no laughing matter! What the hell is wrong with me?”

  I sat down in one of the chairs in front of my desk and he sat in the one next to me.

  “You were just in here telling me to bang Porter and completely ignored the fact that my vagina started a revolt the moment I saw him. Now you’re in here complaining to me because you got dickmatized by Preston. If this isn’t a laughing matter, Mitch, I don’t know what is!”

  I broke into another fit of giggles when his only response was to furrow his brow at me and pout.

  “I’m beginning to think the entire family made a pact with the devil to give them power over all sex organs.” The look on his face as he spoke was priceless.

  My fit of laughter was renewed as I remembered my conversation with Becks.

  “You need to call Becks and tell her that,” I wiped the tears of laughter from my cheeks, “She doesn’t believe me.”

  “Ooooh!” he jumped to his feet, “She’ll be way more excited about this than you are!”

  He ran out of my office without even waving goodbye.

  I shook my head and smiled as the last of my giggles subsided. At least someone else could suddenly understand my pain.

  The envelope Preston had left on my desk caught my eye and curiosity finally got the best of me. I leaned forward and scooped it up, turning the blank yellow paper over in my hands looking for some kind of hint as to what to expect when I opened it.

  I slid my finger under the flap and carefully pulled it open. The glue easily gave way and I reached inside to retrieve the contents.

  Three pieces of paper had never felt so heavy.

  Porter’s brilliant blue eyes stared up at me from the first page. It was a headshot printed on thick, glossy card stock. I could tell he’d gone through the entire gamut of professional styling for the shoot and he looked almost as good as he did in person. His smile was warm and welcoming and the leather jacket he wore gave him just the right touch of bad boy to spark the tingle deep inside of me. I quickly put the photo face down on my desk before things got out of hand.

  The next page appeared to be a résumé. There were a lot of blatantly adult films, a few that could go either way, and a brief but impressive stint in musical theatre.

  The last page raised more questions than my conversation with Preston had.

  It was a white piece of cheap printer paper that you would find on most fax machines all over the world. Four words handwritten across the center in bold black marker had my head spinning with uncertainty.

  Give him a chance.

  I sat on my couch and sipped at a beer while I waited for Parker to arrive.

  He had sent me a text message that morning asking if he could come over and talk. He even offered to bring food.

  Something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut.

  He hadn’t asked to come over and talk in years. We had all just gotten so busy that slowing down and just hanging out together wasn’t an option for us anymore. Given his situation and the fact that I hadn’t heard from him since the fight at Preston’s house, I cancelled the plans I had already made and bought a case of beer.

  Three rapid knocks followed by two slow knocks signaled my brother’s arrival. It had been his signature knock since we were kids.

  The door opened a moment later and Parker walked into my condo with his arms full of takeout containers.

  I slid the remotes to one side of the coffee table and set the books I kept there on the end table next to me.

  He set the boxes down and sat on the couch with a groan, “I hate the traffic in this city. Can we move somewhere else and choose a new mecca for the porn industry, please? Somewhere out of the way, preferably. Boise maybe?”

  “Too bum-fuck for me. Preston might go for it, actually,” I smiled over at him, “I hear there are a lot of Mormons there though. I don’t think they’re overly-excited about the adult film industry.”

  “Mmm,” he nodded and reached for the nearest box, “Good point.”

  Something was different about him. He was focused, his eyes were clear, he wasn’t twitchy, and I hadn’t seen him brush at his nose once since he’d walked in.

  “Parker,” I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face, “Are you sober?”

  He smiled into his food without making eye contact again, “Yeah.”

  “Bro! That’s huge! How long? You’re looking great!”

  “Since that morning at Preston’s. I called Mom that day and kinda spilled my guts. She actually went with me to my first N.A. meeting the next day. I stayed at her house for the first week while I detoxed. It wasn’t pretty, Porter,” he still hadn’t looked up from his Chinese, “but she took care of me. I was a real asshole. I’d get restless and then get pissed off about being stuck in the house, which would just make me more restless. I felt like a caged animal. I tried to leave a few times even when she begged me to stay. I made it as far as the main gate once. Did you know that she owns a beanbag cannon? I woke up in cold sweats every night from the nightmares, but she never left my bedside. She was there with water and an ear every time. I must’ve kept her awake for three days straight. It’s a wonder she didn’t kill me. Then I wanted to do nothing but eat and sleep. I probably owe her thousands of dollars for all the Pop Tarts I ate. Anyway, fourteen days clean and sober.”

  I was at a loss for words. Very few things had the ability to shock me into silence, but that conversation wasn’t one I had ever expected to have.

  He finally looked over at me and what I saw in his eyes gutted me.

  There was nothing but pain staring back at me. It was like talking about it forced him to live the entire experience all over again. There was a familiar light that I had grown accustomed to seeing in them and I wanted it back. At that moment, I would have given anything to see my little brother smile again.

  Say something, you idiot!

  “I’ve been a real asshole for the last couple of years, Porter. I’ll make it up to you somehow. I promise.”

  “Parker, you don’t owe me anything. This is the best thing you could ever give me. Stay sober. That’s all I need from you.”

  A shadow of the smile I was looking for curve
d his lips.

  “You remember how I ate everything in Mom’s house? That part hasn’t gone away yet. I’m starving to death. Let’s eat?”

  “Sure,” I stood to grab plates, but he grabbed my arm before my ass had completely left the couch.

  “Porter, we don’t have cooties. We can eat out of the boxes.”

  I smiled at the memory of sharing takeout from the box with Parker and Preston as teenagers, “Of course. Want a beer?”

  “No,” his right leg started bouncing, “That’s been the hardest part. Drinking just makes me want a line and I think the point of sobriety is to avoid wanting a line.”

  “I’m such an asshole! Do you want something else? I’ve got water, milk, juice, and quite possibly a random case of Capri Suns. Which I may or may not have bought for myself this morning.”

  The glimmer returned to his eyes and a huge smile split his face as he let loose with unbridled laughter, “Capri Sun sounds great. Thanks.”

  I grabbed a bottle of beer and a pouch of juice from the half-empty box. I caught the door to the fridge just before it closed and glanced down at the beer in my hand.

  Such a douche.

  I returned the beer to the shelf in the door and grabbed a shiny silver packet of sugar water for myself.

  “Heads up!” I tossed the childhood favorite into his waiting hands.

  “Thanks. For everything.”

  I knew what he was saying, but couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say in response. I nodded at him and flashed him a smile as I jabbed my plastic straw through the foil pouch in my hand. I lifted it toward him in salute, “Cheers to you, to life, and to mom.”

  He touched his juice to mine and we each took a sip.

  “Let’s eat.”

  I expressed my agreement by ripping open a box of fried rice and practically dumping it down my throat.

  “It’s a good thing I got two orders of that!”

  I swallowed, mostly without chewing, “You know fried rice is my favorite.”

  He laughed and opened his own box of the salty fried-rice goodness, “I do. And orange chicken, broccoli beef, and for good measure, a double order of crab wantons.”