“Skyler, I hate to say this, because I love you. You know I do. But, I’m your agent and manager. You have signed two contracts for two different movies this year. One will have you starting work in New York in six weeks before you leave for Milan about halfway through the film. I can cancel the Versace deal, the Aubade lingerie shoot, even the follow-up perfume campaign with the Rolland Group. Give you some time to rest.”
“Thank you . . .”
She sighs. “Don’t thank me yet. You are contractually obligated to shoot those movies. So, between now and the start of the next film, you need to find that fire inside of you.”
A shiver of dread rips through my chest and squeezes at my heart.
“And what if I can’t?” I whisper, my voice coated in emotional turmoil the likes of which I haven’t experienced since I lost my parents a few years ago to that boating accident. “The trip of a lifetime,” they’d said. Thanked me up and down for the private yacht they were going to sail around the world in, enjoying their fifties. They only made it out to sea that one time before . . .
“I’m going to find you help.” Trace juts me out of my wicked thoughts with her statement.
I frown. “What kind of help?”
Tracey inhales long and deep before adjusting her shoulders straight and locking her gaze with mine. “There’s a company called International Guy. They do a variety of things for women in positions of power.”
I can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from my throat and spills out, sounding loud and brash in the quiet stillness of the room. Living in the penthouse of a New York City apartment building affords you more than luxury. Being on the fortieth floor overlooking Central Park has its benefits, and quiet is one of them. Thank heavens.
“International Guy sounds like a men’s cologne!” I snicker behind my hand.
Tracey smiles. “Yes, well, they come highly recommended and do unorthodox work. I’m going to see about hiring their team.”
I push back against my headboard and hug the pillow. “And what is it that you think they can do for me?”
Her face turns into a blank mask before her saucy smirk takes over her pretty, simple features. “Bring back your muse, of course.”
The end . . . for now.
NEW YORK: INTERNATIONAL GUY BOOK 2
To Eric Rayman, Esq., my attorney.
You made me laugh.
You fed me great Italian food.
You protected me.
You saved me.
Thank you.
1
“What did you say your name was, again?” I ask the pixielike redhead sitting on the other side of my desk. Normally I pride myself on remembering names, especially of pretty women. As I shuffle papers around my desk, I’m at a loss for why I don’t have any record of her appointment, and I can’t find her resume. The entire scene is frustrating to say the least. I don’t forget meetings, and I certainly don’t schedule myself for anything before noon on a Monday morning.
“Wendy.” She smiles sweetly. “Wendy Bannerman. I double-checked the appointment time with Andre. He said we were a go. You’re doing interviews all day, but I hope to woo you with my intellect, top-notch work ethic, and mad cyber skills.” She grins and leans back, crosses a leather-clad leg over the other, and rests her hands on top of her knee.
Giving up on searching for her resume or any notification that I had an interview right at ten when I walked in today, I sit back and focus on the woman. Thin, average height, with sharp, delicate features. Fire-red hair, which is absolutely not natural, but she works it well. Her outfit is an interesting choice for a job interview. Black leather pants, a white blazer with what I assume is a graphic tank promoting a band she enjoys underneath. Cutouts in the tank show flirty bits of yellow lace that I can tell cup a small but perky handful. Around her neck is a silver-studded black leather collar with a small padlock dangling at the indent at the base of her throat. A variety of leather, silver, and chain bracelets run up both of her forearms where she has the blazer sleeves folded up. Chunky silver rings glint in the sunlight as she adjusts her position while I take her in. My gaze falls to her feet. This is where she steals my heart in one go. Red combat boots finish off her look.
She cocks one of her eyebrows and dips her chin. “This is me.” Wendy waves a hand from her head to her toes.
I grin. “I like a woman who knows who she is and presents that to the world.” Her cheeks pinken as I place my elbows on my desk and rest my chin in my hand. “So, tell me about yourself, Wendy.”
Wendy licks her thin lips and inhales audibly. “Let’s see, I graduated summa cum laude from UC Davis out of California with a bachelor’s in computer information systems. I moved to the East Coast for my boyfriend, who scored a job here as a director in an advertising agency.”
I frown and stop her. “Which one?”
One of her eyebrows rises toward her hairline. “Which one what?”
“Which advertising agency?” I ask, deadpan.
“Uh, well, the biggest.”
A short chuckle leaves my lips as I cross my arms and brace my elbows on my desk. “Which would be what? You don’t know where your boyfriend works?” I challenge, knowing the girl is full of shit. So much so her eyes should be brown, not the crystal-blue-sky color currently appearing freaked out because I caught her in a lie.
“I’m not sure I understand why you’re asking about my boyfriend, when I’m the one applying for the job.”
She’s attempting to steer the conversation back to an area she’s more comfortable with . . . mainly her bullshit lies.
I shake my head and figure, if anything, I need to give this girl/woman—I’m not sure if she’s as old as she’s claiming to be for someone who would have graduated with a bachelor’s from UC Davis—a lesson. I’d bet my bank account Wendy’s not a day over twenty-one. Maybe even younger.
“Wendy, I’m going to be straight with you. I know women. Very well. And I know you’re lying through your teeth to make yourself look better.”
Her eyes widen, and she swallows slowly. I’ll bet her mouth is dry as the Sahara desert. Being caught in a lie will do that to a person.
“I . . . uh . . .”
“You didn’t go to UC Davis. I don’t even think you’re old enough to have started college let alone have already graduated.”
Her head snaps back. “I could be a genius.”
“You could, and that wouldn’t surprise me. How you got in here, knew I had interviews today, and made yourself an appointment is rather impressive. Though I’ll warn you, anything else out of your mouth better be the truth or you are out of here.” I point toward the door of my office.
Her facial expression softens, and a muscle in her cheek starts flickering. “Parker, I’m not going to beat around the bush. You seem like a no-bullshit type of man.”
I grin. Knowing I’m finally going to get the truth out of the girl, I lean back and wait for it.
“I hacked your system to get an interview. I know you and your two partners need an assistant something fierce. After reading through the requirements you sent the headhunter, Andre, I knew I was the right woman for the job.”
Irritation tingles at the edge of my subconscious, but I steady my voice. “You hacked our system?” This time I’m the one cocking a brow. Little minx.
She shrugs. “It’s not like it was hard. Your firewalls were nothing to get past, and don’t even get me started on your filing system. I can tell you exactly how much money International Guy made for the last five years. I know your Social Security number. If you’d like, I can tell you what it is, along with Royce’s and Bogart’s too.”
“By memory?” I’m flabbergasted by the gall of this woman, but also impressed by her moxie.
Her lips flatten into a line. “Yeah, I have a photographic memory.” Wendy shrugs and glances outside my office window. Her voice is less confident when she continues. “I don’t have a college degree, but I’m willing to work hard, have no family
besides a boyfriend I’m committed to, so I can work any hours necessary and travel on a whim.” Likely unaware she’s doing it, she fingers the padlock dangling from her neck, which leads me to believe her relationship with her boyfriend is very committed. As in, he’s collared her and likely wears the key to that padlock on a chain around his neck.
“Are you afraid to ask a millionaire her bra and panty size?” I toss out.
Wendy’s corresponding smirk surprises me. “No, but I can do you one better.”
I tip my head and pin her with my gaze. She attempts a doe-eyed expression, only her eyes are not guileless and innocent. No, she has the depths of an old soul hidden behind those sky-blue orbs.
She stands abruptly, grabs a satchel she has at her feet, and pulls out a slim laptop. “Who’s your next client?”
I think about making one up, but in order to see what she’s got in her, I go for gold. “Possibly Skyler Paige.”
Wendy doesn’t even blink at the name of the highest-paid A-list female actor in the business. Instead she nods and sits, sets the laptop on her thighs, and her fingers fly across the keys. She nods a couple of times, bites her lip, and while she does so, I watch the magic unfold. Wendy’s eyes twinkle and become an impossibly bright blue as she works. Her back straightens, and a warmth fills the room. I can tell the minute she’s found what she wants, because a sense of pride shines out of every pore as she turns the screen my direction and points.
“Credit card purchases for the past six months. As you can see, multiple purchases of underwear and lingerie from Agent Provocateur.”
“That tells me nothing except she has a penchant for expensive underwear,” I respond drolly.
Wendy shakes her head, flicks a button on the keyboard, and a black screen pops up. “That’s her exact purchase at Agent Provocateur. I hacked into their database. According to these matching sales dates for one Skyler Paige Lumpkin, which is her real last name by the way, she wears a size medium in panties and a 34C bra cup. Why ask when you can find out their size and leave the client with a modicum of privacy?”
I let out a long breath and sit back in my chair. “You’re good. But how do you know Skyler Paige is Skyler Lumpkin?”
“Because while I was digging into Agent Provocateur, I was digging into Ms. Paige, who, incidentally, was born Skyler Paige Lumpkin. Would you like a copy of her birth certificate? I can get that too.”
“I’ll be damned.” I chuckle and shake my head.
“Want me to dig into an old girlfriend, a business associate? Whatever it is, I’ve got the skills,” she touts proudly.
“And is all of this legal?”
Her eyes widen, and her brows rise right into her layered red bangs. “Er . . . not so much. Though I promise nothing traces back to you. I’ve got my bases covered.” Her tone drips with sarcasm. “I press a single button on this keyboard and everything is poof, goes up in smoke. I’ve triggered it to implode if necessary.” She gives me a sly wink followed by a Mona Lisa smile.
“Jesus!” I rub my forehead.
Wendy clears her throat, slaps her computer closed, and puts it back into her satchel.
“Can you handle three hard-headed, completely different personalities telling you what to do, possibly at the same time?”
She grins and winks. “Of course I can.”
Doing something I don’t often do in business, I make a split-second decision without even running it by the guys. Bo won’t give a damn. Royce might have some concerns, but he’ll trust my judgment. “No reason to beat around the bush. We need someone right away. If you want the job, you’re hired.”
Wendy hops up and lets out a rather girlie squeal and a whoop, complete with a fist pump.
“When can I start?” Her eyes are alight with what I think is glee.
“You available now? I’ve got a meeting scheduled later with Skyler Paige’s agent—”
“Tracey Wilson, owner of Triumph Talent Agency, and from what I gather from my digging, the woman is really close to the actress, or she’s a friend.”
“Damn, you are good,” I whisper, still a bit in shock that the mother lode of assistants simply walked into my office. She may be unorthodox, but she’s exactly what we need.
Wendy smiles. “I know, boss. Now what do you want to know about Skyler?”
I shrug. “Put together a file of information you would consider comprehensive and have it to me by three today. I meet with Ms. Wilson at four, which will give me some time to run through the information.”
“You got it. I assume the empty desk in front of your office is my new space?”
“Smart and beautiful. Like that in a woman.” Tits and ass don’t hurt either, although Wendy doesn’t have much of either of those.
Her lips tip up into a half smile, but those cheeks still pinken. I love a woman who can blush. Says a lot about her responsiveness. I’d never go there with my new assistant. Aside from bangin’ the occasional client, all of us agreed that whoever we hired in this role was hands off. We want this woman as a part of the team, not a plaything.
“Watch it. I’m taken.” Again, her fingers seem to mindlessly go to the lock around her neck.
“Minx,” I fire back jovially, wanting her to know I’m playing around. Soon enough she’ll learn when I’m being playful or serious.
She laughs. “Now that nickname I’ll take. I’m going to go settle in and start digging into Skyler’s life. I’ll set myself up, get the lay of the land—unless you have some things you want to show me?”
I swear the woman is too good to be true. Young and smart as a whip.
She continues, “Since you’ve hired me on the spot, I should probably call Andre and tell him you’ve already hired someone . . . me.” She laughs.
Best. Assistant. Ever.
“Yeah, you should get right on it, and cancel the other appointments.”
Wendy makes it to the door of my office, hefts her laptop bag over her shoulder, and holds on to the doorjamb for a moment, a smug expression plastered across her face. “Oh, I already did that.” She clucks her tongue and disappears out my door.
Either I just made the best decision of my professional life, or I’m fucked. Only time will tell.
“Have a seat, Ms. Wilson.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk.
For the last two hours, I’ve been learning everything there is to know about my celebrity crush and prospective client, Ms. Skyler Paige, a.k.a. Skyler Lumpkin. Wendy’s research is second to none. I’d have never been able to score the amount of detail I now currently hold on a client, hell, anybody, without her. Not only did she provide me with what I would consider the most comprehensive file known to man on the actress, but she’s already started poking around in our other files to see if she can help the guys with some of the projects they’re currently working on.
“Thank you, Mr. Ellis,” the very formal woman states as she takes her seat.
I take my own and assess her. I’ve found in my business the sooner I can get a read on a woman, the better off I am at doing business with her. The honey brunette before me is going to be interesting. Not only is she formal in her word choices, but she’s also a tough-as-nails professional. Her suit is fierce, black, and expensive. I can tell by how perfectly it fits that she had it tailored to her tall, athletic frame. I offer a soft smile as she sits on the edge of the seat and crosses her hands in her lap.
“How can International Guy help you, Ms. Wilson?”
“As I stated on the phone, I was referred to you by the Rolland Group. The owner, Sophie Rolland, to be precise.”
I nod. “Yes, you mentioned that. Sophie is a lovely woman. We enjoyed working with her.” I more so than my partners. A flash of pounding into Sophie’s sweet, lithe body from behind steals across my mind, which reminds me I need to return her call. Thank her for her referral and check in on her.
“Yes, she shared that your team has an unorthodox approach to helping solve problems. I have a unique situation wi
th my client Skyler Paige that I believe your company might be able to assist with.”
“Oh?” I try to sound calm and collected, but inside, I’m a raging fire at the mere mention of Skyler’s name. Reading a file on her life didn’t help dampen my interest in her either. It just made the fire bigger, brighter.
“I’m sure you’re aware Skyler is at the top of the heap for young, sought-after actresses in the entertainment business.”
“Yes, her status has not escaped notice by most of the population. Seems I can’t go ten feet without seeing an advertisement with her picture on it, someone talking about one of her movies, or catching one of her commercials or ads on the TV.”
Ms. Wilson’s expression changes to one of misery, which I wouldn’t expect from someone of her stature at this juncture. She inhales full and deep before shaking her head. “I pushed her too hard. It’s my fault she’s like this.”
“What’s your fault?” I nudge, hoping she’ll open up to me. Everything in her body language is telling me this woman needs to off-load whatever is making her face contort into an expression of disdain.
“Skyler can’t act.” She rushes the words out of her mouth so quickly I get the impression she didn’t mean to say them.
“Since I’ve seen a couple of her movies, and again, she’s the most sought-after actress of our time—your words, not mine—I’m not so sure that’s true,” I remark.
Tracey shakes her head. “No, you misunderstand. She can’t act right now. She’s lost the will. Her muse is gone. I’ve pushed her too hard, even though she was the one who wanted all of those jobs, and now she’s done.”
I place my elbows on my desk and clasp my hands. “Burnout in her career is not unusual—” I start.
“No. This is more than burnout. She’s lost the drive and will to continue in her career. She used to love acting. Now she won’t even watch television or leave the house. The press and paparazzi are littered around her home nonstop. She’s imprisoned herself in her penthouse. Won’t leave. Made me cancel several engagements already, but she has two movies coming up with airtight contracts . . .”
International Guy: Paris, New York, Copenhagen (International Guy Volumes Book 1) Page 13
