Sweet Seduction

by Camilla Stevens

  “Rule number one in negotiation, Layla, never let ‘em see you sweat. And right now you look like a penguin in the Sahara. Just be calm. I know you’re nervous about seeing Patrick again”—she shot him an annoyed look—“don’t deny it. The sooner you come to terms with how you feel, the more control you’ll have over the situation.”

  “I’m not—”

  She was interrupted by the sound of the front door to the office opening. Her breath caught in her throat and she went through a short bout of hyperventilating. Saul came around the desk to place a calming hand on her shoulder, looking at her with concern until her breathing slowed.

  “Calm,” he whispered. She nodded, taking deep breaths to recover.

  “Hello!” she heard Patrick call out from the front.

  Deep breath.

  “I’m coming,” Saul said, giving her one last look. She nodded again and followed him out to the front.

  She stopped short when she saw him.

  He looked so different from the Patrick in jeans and shirts with rolled up sleeves who liked to tease her while he ate cupcakes. It was the suit. The suit that he wore incredibly well. It was obviously tailored, the way the charcoal gray fabric hugged his broad chest and shoulders, narrowing down to the waist. He had on a smart tie in dark blue with small, light blue figures patterned over it to match the color of his dress shirt. Even his hair was different, now gelled and styled to create a more professional appearance, instead of the windblown, relaxed look he had after 7 hours in a convertible.

  It was sexy as hell.

  It retrospect, Layla was glad Blaire had insisted on a “formal” Girls' Night yesterday when she heard Patrick was headed back up to Olla. It had been a long night of minimal drinking (no need to show up hung over) and plenty of pampering. By the time Blaire was done with her, she had been waxed, plucked, exfoliated, moisturized, pedicured, manicured and “replenished”—whatever the heck that meant—to near perfection.

  Despite that, she felt completely inadequate with this far more imposing version of Patrick, even with her chic little white, sleeveless dress and dark tan pumps. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she watched Patrick reach out to shake Saul’s hand.

  “Patrick,” he greeted him with a friendly smile.

  He gave Saul an awkward grin. “Perhaps we should keep this professional, Mr. Weinstein.”

  Layla frowned. Was this his way of permanently distancing himself from her? Was he really just trying to be “professional?”

  Saul, ever the unflappable man that he was, took it in stride, even chuckling as he responded. “Very well then, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  She didn’t like it. She had a sudden urge to see the old Patrick again, no matter how annoying he had been. Let him tease her with that stupid grin. Let him lick all the cupcakes he wanted in that lewd manner of his. Let him lick—

  He turned to her and her mind went blank. She tried to read his eyes but all she saw was professional politeness as he held out his hand.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald,” she said embracing a persona of cool indifference.

  “Ms. Brown.” His large hand devoured hers, his skin warm and his grip firm. She wondered what it would be like to be held like that, warmly and firmly.

  Saul watched the two of them until Layla pulled her hand out of his. “Shall we?” he said guiding Layla to the small conference room. She sat down next to Saul on one side of the table as Patrick took a seat on the other side. Just watching him unbutton his coat to reveal how snug the dress shirt was against his well-muscled chest and shoulders, sent a warm, sensual wave through her body. She turned her attention to Saul.

  Control. Contrary to what Saul had said, acknowledging her feelings for him would most certainly not give her control. In fact, she’d probably turn into a simpering hot mess if Patrick so much as smirked at her, the way he looked today in that suit.

  “So, let’s be honest Mr. Weinstein, the two million dollars was just to get our attention,” Patrick said. “I’m here to say, ‘message received, loud and clear.’”

  “Well, let’s not be too dismissive here, Patr—Mr. Fitzgerald. There have been some serious ripple effects for my client due to that catastrophic event.”

  “Perhaps we can refrain from using hyperbole,” Patrick said. “After all, your insurance is covering the repairs for the shop. There isn’t much left to cover for after that is said and done.”

  “A woman’s entire career was destroyed. I’d say that’s pretty catastrophic.”

  “Yes, and Lion Studios can appreciate that.”

  “Can they?” Layla blurted out. She couldn’t sit there and watch these two go at it like she wasn’t even there. She especially couldn’t watch Patrick act as though nothing had happened, even if he was just doing his job. “Is that why they only offered $20,000?”

  For a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes that told her he understood what she was really asking: was that why he only offered $20,000.

  “That offer was…unfortunate,” he said, almost angrily; then he quickly recovered. “We at Lion Studios didn’t appreciate the entire picture.”

  “So ‘you at Lion Studios’ saw the YouTube video as well?”

  “Layla, it would be best if I were the one to do the talking here,” Saul said giving her a warning glance.

  She looked at Saul, then sighed, settling back in her seat with her arms crossed.

  “Members of our legal team are aware of the impact of social media and the effect it may have on your business. However since you bring up the YouTube video, and I will assume you are referring to Becca Valentine, the aggrieved party who’s wedding cake was presumably destroyed—”

  “Presumably?” Layla blurted incredulously.

  “—it has come to our attention that the wedding at issue was cancelled due to…extraneous circumstances beyond that of the cake.”

  “Yes and do you know what happened then?” she retorted, leaning in closer.

  “Layla,” Saul said, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Please.”

  “No,” she said, a mixture of anger, indignation, frustration, and disappointment overwhelming her, “he needs to know. Oh wait, I’m sorry ‘we at Lion Studios’ need to know.”

  Patrick sat there looking at her calmly, his face completely unreadable. It infuriated her all the more.

  “Yes, she found out her fiancé was sleeping with one of her bridesmaids,” she said. “Yes, that was presumably the real reason for the cancellation of the wedding.”

  There was no “presumably” about it. The destruction of the cake story made for good social media, especially when tied to a future blockbuster film. It was apparently a much sexier series of events than facing all of your 2 million subscribers with the embarrassing news that you had been cast aside for one of your best friends. Eventually, Becca had revealed the truth only to find out that story made for even better YouTube views.

  It only made things worse for the Di-vine Delectables bakery.

  “Layla, you aren’t helping,” Saul scolded.

  “Yes, well, since you bring up the wedding,” Patrick said, reverting back into lawyer mode, “It can no longer be said that your reputation has been negatively affected, or at least not as much as bef—”

  Layla gave a sharp laugh. “Do you have any idea how superstitious brides are, Patrick?” she asked incredulously. She didn’t care about being professional anymore. She needed him to understand.

  “No bride wants to find out on their wedding day that their fiancé, the man they thought they would spend the rest of their life with, has been cheating on them. Do you know what people are calling Di-vine Delectables, or at least what used to be Di-vine Delectables? The Bad Luck Bakery. I’m sure the ‘members of your legal team’ have picked up that little nickname,” she said bitterly.

  The thought of a bunch of little minions in Hollywood scouring the internet to dig up dirt on her and her bakery so that Patrick could use it against her
was too much. The first tears ran down her face.

  Still, Patrick remained impassive.

  “Perhaps we should take a break—” Saul suggested.

  “No,” she said, then she leaned in. She needed a reaction from him. Something, anything to show her that he still cared. “Tell me Patrick, would you order your wedding cake, a cake to celebrate the most important day of your life, from the ‘Bad Luck Bakery’?”

  His face remained a mask of controlled apathy.

  She wiped the tears away, no doubt smudging the makeup that Blaire had applied early this morning. What did it matter? Patrick Fitzgerald was gone.

  “Oh wait, it’s nothing but sugar and flour, right?” She spat.

  Patrick shifted his gaze to the paperwork in front of him, flipping through it importantly. Then he coughed and his gaze came back up to meet Saul, who she could feel staring at her sympathetically.

  “Perhaps it would be best if we took a break,” he said to the Saul.

  “Don’t bother,” Layla said in a monotone. “I don’t care about the money anymore.”

  “Layla!” Saul said, sitting up in his seat.

  She could feel her eyes getting puffy as she stood up ad looked down at Saul. “Whatever they’re offering, take it. I’ll sign whatever I need to. I just want this to be over.” Her gaze shifted to Patrick. “For good.”

  With that she walked out of the room and left the rest to Saul.

  Half an hour later he called to inform her of Lion Studios’ final offer: $500,000.

  11

  ONE MONTH LATER.

  “Why are they stalling, Saul?”

  “I don’t know, Layla,” he said, his face a picture of legitimate bewilderment.

  “It’s not that I’m greedy,” she insisted. “But my savings are seriously drying up. The insurance company is nit-picking over every detail with the bakery and I need to eat.”

  “Now Layla, you know you’ll never go hungry here in Olla. You’re welcome at any table—”

  “That’s not the point Saul!”

  He smiled indulgently.

  “I thought when I heard the amount he—they were offering, I thought maybe…but now I don’t know what to think. Does it usually take this long after a settlement agreement?”

  “Only when,” he shot her a hesitant glance, “only when they truly are stalling. The latest is that they are ‘reorganizing their corporate holdings.’”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It’s legalese for ‘Screw You.’”

  “But why? If they had no intention of paying then why even make the offer? Just to get my hopes up? To shut me up?”

  “I don’t know my dear, but it pisses me off.”

  “Do you think it’s Patrick?” Layla asked sheepishly. “Is he mad at me or someth—”

  “I can’t see that being the case. No offense, my dear, but $500,000 is more than even I could have gotten on my own. I have a feeling he had to do a few hail Mary’s to atone for that one when he got back.”

  Despite herself, Layla felt a current of hope run through her.

  “No, I think this is Lion Studios, pardon my language, fucking with you.”

  “But how long could they possibly continue stalling like this?”

  “Frankly, indefinitely.”

  That took the wind right out of her sails. “So basically, I’m back to square one. Maybe I should have just taken the $20,000. At least then I could cover health insurance!”

  Saul leaned forward in his chair to look her in the eye. “You listen to me, young lady. Don’t you ever settle in life. I don’t care if it’s money or love or even a living room sofa; you always make sure you go after what you want, and more importantly what you deserve.”

  She looked at him a while and felt her pep coming back. She sat up straight in her chair and placed her hands on his desk. “So how exactly can I ‘get what I deserve’ here?”

  Saul chuckled. “I’m glad you asked,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “I have a bold idea. It’s a little unconventional but for me it’s worth it just to stick it to those smug bastards.”

  Layla liked the sound of that.

  “Oh, this brings me back to my days as a shark,” he said, actually rubbing his palms together eagerly. “I love it when I have a client with some gumption. No one gives Saul Weinstein the runaround. And no one sure as hell messes with those he cares about.”

  “What the fuck is this fucking shit?”

  Once again, Patrick found himself staring out the window behind Spencer’s head, while James Davidson sat next to him, decidedly less placid.

  “Can you fucking believe this? They might as well have called it fucking David and Goliath!”

  That f-bomb was probably the 50th one the man had dropped this morning. Patrick was no wilting violet, liberally using the word himself every so often, but couldn’t Spencer Simon be a bit more imaginative with his vocabulary?

  The view of the Hollywood Hills was blocked by Spencer holding up a copy of Variety magazine.

  “Have you fucking read this fucking shit?”

  Of course he had read that “fucking shit.” Everyone in Hollywood had read that “fucking shit.” Heck, half the lawyers in the country had read that “fucking shit,” and were either salivating, trembling, or laughing their asses off.

  “I’m the fucking laughing stock of the industry. What the fuck am I paying you two for if not to prevent this sort of shit from happening? And I personally blame you!” He pointed directly at Patrick.

  Patrick brought his attention around. Now that Spencer was ready to address the issue, they could finally get down to business.

  “Me?” he responded. “I told you to pay the damn money. I told you that there was only so much corporate maneuvering we could perform to avoid paying what was due. I told you how bad it would make us look if you didn’t pay out. Now here we are.”

  “You were the one who settled for $500,000 fucking dollars!” Spencer shouted at him.

  “You gave me a limit and I didn’t go above it,” he said with a completely straight face. That was the one area where Spencer had every damn right to complain.

  In retrospect, perhaps he was too “personally involved” in this case. He couldn’t even handle one law school 101 settlement agreement without caving like a damn possum playing dead.

  Patrick had just had no idea what seeing Layla again would do to him. The first moment she had walked out of Saul’s office, his world had stopped. Then it began spinning with her as the axis around which it rotated. Her face, her voice, everything about her sent him reeling, such that any idea of not doing everything in his power to make her happy perished.

  Perhaps we should keep this professional....

  He mentally slapped himself at the line, remembering both the reaction of Saul, who he had actually become quite friendly with, and more importantly Layla, who had visibly winced at his suggestion. But they were the magic words that had brought him back down to reality, reminding him that he was there to represent Lion Studios.

  Still, he had spent the entire meeting with his fingers digging so hard into his palms he was surprised he hadn’t drawn blood. It had worked…right up until the tears fell from her eyes.

  At that moment, all he had wanted to do was reach out and wipe them away, hold her in his arms and comfort her so that she never, ever, cried again. He wanted the old Layla back, the level-headed one who kept his flirtations in check, belying what they both knew she truly felt. Now, that Layla was lost to him.

  When she had fled out of the room, every ounce of his legal acuity had gone with her. He had written the absolute maximum amount to Saul without protest and read everything he was feeling in the man’s eyes.

  “The things a woman can do to you, huh?” he’d said to Patrick with an empathetic smile.

  Little did he know the man would come back at him with a complete roundhouse kick. It was a kick he, and the rest of Lion Studios, so richly deserved, but a little painful
all the same.

  The boomerang Saul had delivered to them was so brilliantly brazen it bordered on impertinent, and it had worked. Patrick wasn’t sure whether or not to be pissed off or impressed. In the end he was a little bit of both.

  “With regard to the money, don’t be ridiculous, Spencer. This studio can make that in a day. On top of which, the test screening audience specifically loved the crash into the bakery that ended up in the movie. Never underestimate the power of cats, dogs and the comedically unexpected. Frankly, we should be paying her more.”

  He saw Spencer’s eyes begin to bulge at that and he powered through before the man could talk.

  “With regard to the, well, the way she currently has us bent over grabbing our ankles, yes, we should have predicted this as a possibility. That doesn’t change the fact that we are, as you said, Goliath to Layl—Ms. Brown’s David.” Patrick saw the look James gave him out of the corner of his eye at that slip up. “And nobody ever roots for Goliath, Spencer. The longer you let this linger, the worse it will make us, the big, bad, studio look. Right now it’s just Variety and a few business and legal publications. The moment People Magazine or TMZ gets a hold of it, you can kiss, at best, the millions you’ve sunk into this film and, at worst, any future endeavors goodbye.”

  “So, counselor,” Spencer said with a sneer, “is it your legal opinion that I pay this bitch off?”

  Patrick’s eyes went cold. “For starters, you might want to refrain from using any derogatory references with regard to Layla Brown.”

  He saw Spencer actually cower at the tone of his voice.

  James coughed at his side. “What Patrick is getting at here is that you may want to get in the habit of being neutral, even flattering, when referencing the parties in this case. We don’t want you slipping up in interviews or anything.”

  Actually what Patrick had really meant was that Spencer Simon was one slur away from getting a punch in the face, but he let his colleague’s words stand.

  “In fact, it was Patrick who came up with a solution that may benefit everyone involved. It will make you look like the better man, without appearing weak. It will also create even more media attention, positive media attention. Yes, it will mean paying out the $500,000, but you’ll get something in return. In the end it will be a win-win for everyone involved.”