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by Melissa Young

“Still a cocky Englishmen I see?” Michael is just as sharp with his tongue as I am.

  I laugh and slip around to the opposite side of the desk, where my throne awaits me. I unbutton my suit jacket before getting comfortable in the seat.

  “Still cocky, yes, but I have a lot more to show for it now, as I’m sure you know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have waited for me as long as you had this morning, which I apologize immensely for. I have no excuse other than the fact that I spent the majority of the night trying to bed a woman. You know how it is? Or how it was, I suppose? Women. Can’t live with them, wouldn’t dare to fathom a world without them.”

  “If I sign with you, you had better not pull that stunt again,” Michael warns.

  “When, mate. When.” I smile at him. “So, I feel as though I don’t even need to inquire why you left Alliance, but, to be as thorough of a businessman as possible, I must. What happened?”

  “Bleaker,” Michael begins, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

  Just hearing his last name makes me feel sick. Bleaker. That witless fucknugget. Rex Bleaker Jr. is my arch nemesis and truly the only person on this planet that I have met that I absolutely despise. I cannot even stomach being in the same room as him. My hatred for him is more than just competition; he’s vile in every sense of the word.

  He’s pompous. He’s greedy. He’s slimy.

  And he’s really just fucking ugly. Buckteeth, beady little eyes, and bad hair.

  Shudder.

  “Oh, Rex Junior. Listen, if you want to kill him, I’ll drive the getaway car and help you bury the body.”

  “Write it into the contract right now, and you have a deal,” the change in tone of Michael’s voice fills the room with a sense of eeriness.

  I was merely joking, but it seems as though, Michael is taking my offer very seriously. Freddy casually places his hand on Michael’s back, a subtle way of telling him to shut the fuck up and now.

  “Do you wish to discuss this further, Michael?”

  “My lawyer advises against me,” Michael confesses. “Besides, the whole reason I left that asshole was so I never had to speak about him again, so let’s drop it. What can you give me?”

  He’s quick to put the focus back on business but I’m having trouble shaking my unmitigated curiosity. “Right. I’d say, me and my team here at Gold, we can offer you everything you had at Alliance, plus I have been playing footsies with Onyx and I know you have been in talks to branch out and create your own line of clubs. All it takes is one phone call and I’d have that locked down for you.”

  I pause to get a sense of Michael’s reaction, even though I have much more to offer, I just need to put my feelings out there.

  He nods in agreement, looking over at Freddy a lot more than he would be if he were to turn me down.

  This is looking good. Let’s keep going.

  “I was thinking, 51% brand ownership with final say in all production and one hell of a royalty deal. As well, I know Anchor Gear aren’t sucking your dick as well as they should be with that deal Alliance made with them on your behalf. They haven’t updated your sports apparel line in ages. Right now, it’s all stroking but Oscar here, he can make anyone turn that stroke into a juicy swallow and make it taste delicious.”

  Michael laughs and Freddy joins in. “You’re overpromising.”

  I stop them both in their tracks and sit upright in my chair. “Now, that is one thing I never do and when you sign with us, you’ll realize, Gold is not like the other agencies. We never make a promise we cannot keep.”

  “That also goes for your past, correct? I take it that incident is all smoothed over and settled?” Freddy probes.

  I try not to let it direct me off course. “All wrapped up neatly, complete with the bow.”

  I’m not sure it has satisfied Freddy or Michael, but I continue my pursuit.

  I shuffle with the stack of papers conveniently placed on my desk, flipping them around to face Michael and Freddy and I slowly push them in Michael’s direction.

  “As you’ll see, all of the promises, they aren’t fantasies, Michael. They are realities and all you need to do in order to make it yours, is sign on the dotted line.”

  Did I mention how much I love my team? A-Team and I have been dreaming of this moment since I lost it 5 years ago and they know the significance of this to me. Therefore, while I was AWOL in the middle of the night and the split second they caught wind of Michael ditching Alliance, they drafted up the most tempting contract that even a saint wouldn’t be able to resist signing on the dotted line.

  Multi-tasking is something you must conquer in this industry, being able to focus on the task ahead of you while coming up with what the next 10 steps will be in the exact same thought. As a result, all of the promises I just made to Michael, are all further outlined in this contract I just presented him with and for the cherry on top, I reach for the 24K gold plated pen tucked away neatly in the breast pocket of my suit jacket.

  “What do you say, Michael? Are you ready to sign your name in Gold?”

  Michael is unable to stifle the smile forming on his lips as his glance constantly shifts between my baby blues and the perfect contract before him.

  Freddy has been studying it the moment it came before him, flipping through the pages with eagerness and vigor. He turns to Michael, gobsmacked.

  “It’s all here.”

  “You better not disappoint me, Oscar.” He takes the pen from my fingertips.

  I shake my head and reach for the bottle of champagne, which is still perfectly chilled. “Trust me. I never disappoint.”

  ten

  What can I say?

  Things come easy to me now but it wasn’t always this way. I can assure you. These past 5 years have put me through hell and back more times than I can recall. Maybe that’s where most people’s alikeness to the devil and myself are birthed. However, I pushed through it and now the beautiful hints of petrol on this 50-year-old scotch paired with the leather and char of this gorgeous Cuban cigar, make it all worth it.

  I stand, in the crisp New York air on the rooftop of my office building and I allow myself to soak it all in. I don’t often give myself these moments of utter relish, but I’m learning to without feeling guilty about it.

  I inhale a puff from this cigar, allow the smoke to fill my lungs and breathe it out, slowly, enjoying every pull. I bring the scotch up to my lips and take a sip, letting the richness from the oils coat my mouth in its entirety. I look around, at all of the iconic structures that make New York City the stand out that it is, and feel as though, not only do I belong, but I am made for this.

  And all that is missing, in this near perfect moment, is the taste of a woman and much to my chagrin, apparently that might be the hardest thing I have to do to today.

  Go figure.

  Riding this wave of confidence, I fetch my personal phone from my suit jacket and pull up Jane Smith’s number in my contact list. It’s quite astonishing, really, given how enigmatic she has been, that she gave me her actual phone number and didn’t accompany her terribly fake name with an equally fake number.

  I’ll take it. Gladly.

  I press upon her name and hold the phone up to my ear, trying to block out the wind fanning around me.

  She answers and offers no reprieve. “So… are you going to explain yourself?”

  I waste zero time getting right back under her skin. “Um, good girls go to heaven, bad girls go home with me?”

  I can hear her scoff over the poor connection. “So what am I?”

  “A good girl… for now.”

  “And what does that make Sarah?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Um, my friend, who you went home with last night?”

  I laugh at how daft I can be. “That makes Sarah a very drunk girl, which is an automatic no-no.”

  “So you didn’t sleep with her?”

  “Not at all. Thought never even crossed my mind.” It’s a bit of a lie, since i
t had for a split second but she doesn’t need to be the wiser.

  “So, all of that, for what?”

  “Didn’t your mum teach you when you were a young lass, that if a bloke teases you on the playground, it’s because he likes you?”

  “So all of that to get a rise out of me?” She barks.

  “You know how it is for us men. We aren’t given permission by society to actually relay our feelings in a well-constructed, coherent manner. Therefore, we must concoct rather fucked up ways of telling women we fancy them.”

  No response.

  “So, are we still on for tonight?” I prompt her.

  “Well, actually. There is this other guy I was thinking of going on a date with tonight.”

  Oh, of course there is.

  “Oh, is that right? Well, how about when it goes to the shits, you call me?”

  “Or you can just call Sarah again?”

  “Listen, darling. Even if I had had sex with Sarah last night, when would I have been given the opportunity, considering I was texting you all last night?”

  I find her jealousy rather fetching.

  “It doesn’t take much for a guy,” she begins.

  “I thought we have been through this. I’m not like the other guys. I’m much worse.”

  She laughs and I’ve got her, right back in the palm of my hand. For now.

  “So, I was thinking, for our grandiose date this evening, meet me at my place at 9:00pm.”

  “But if I go into your home, doesn’t that make me a bad girl?”

  “Isn’t that what you want to be?”

  She laughs again and I can hear her cheeks flushing over the line. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “And that’s the whole point,” I inhale another puff of the cigar and exhale it. “I want you to teach me everything I need to know.”

  “You just want to fuck me.”

  “You make it sound like it’s such a bad thing?” I laugh. “But I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I wasn’t actually interested in getting to know you. I don’t know too many women as, hands-on as you.”

  I can hear her giggle again and it’s bloody adorable. She’s hesitant to accept the date offer, but I know she wants to. Desperately.

  “So, 9:00pm. My place. Arrive hungry.”

  “Are you cooking for me?”

  “I suppose the only way you’ll find out is if you say yes?”

  She exhales hard on the other line. “Fine, where do you live?”

  I hear footsteps behind me.

  “I’ll text everything you need to know. See you tonight.”

  I hang up the line and turn to find Michael slowly creeping up behind me.

  “Already making plans to celebrate, I hear?” Only the Lord knows how long he has been eavesdropping on my conversation with Jane Smith.

  I turn around fully to greet him. “What? Signing sexy deals as the one you signed today, doesn’t tickle your willy?”

  He chuckles and walks up beside me on the rooftop. “You’re terrible.”

  I take in another sip of scotch. “They often call it charming.”

  “May I?” He motions for my cigar.

  “I’ll do you one better,” I fetch a matching cigar from my coat pocket, along with the cutter and a matchbook. I anticipated him following me up here and I’m always prepared.

  He laughs. “What else do you have hidden up your sleeve?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I laugh and swirl the liquor in my glass.

  “We should celebrate,” the words flow from his lips as the plume of smoke escapes. “I’d like for you to meet my family. Seeing as how often you’ll be interacting with them. You know. Travelling to all of the PGL tours and such. I expect you there, yes? For every one?”

  “Wouldn’t dare miss it for the world and a brilliant idea. I’d be honored to meet the people responsible for shaping Michael Nichols into the superstar he is today.”

  “Perfect. You’ll set it up then? Tomorrow night?” It’s a rhetorical question, obviously. “I hear Vivo is good?”

  Oh, is that so? You’ve heard that the top restaurant in New York City, with an average waitlist of a year, whose prodigy chef was awarded with 2 stars in his first year, is good? And you want a reservation, for tomorrow?

  “So, you’ll make a reservation. For…” he pauses to count the number of guests. “10? Correct?”

  I laugh, because obviously this is a fucking joke. “Right, I’ll just hop on my flying pig and get right on it, mate.”

  After a moment of silence, I turn to look at Michael, who stares at me, deadpan. It sends chills throughout my body.

  Do not piss off the new client. Do not piss off the new client.

  “So, shall I make it for 8:00 pm?”

  Fuck me.

  eleven

  In true Oscar Rose style, I sent a car for Jane.

  In true Jane Smith fashion, she rode her bicycle over.

  I’m going to stop pretending like I shouldn’t be surprised, but this woman is making it particularly difficult.

  I was just notified by Gregory, my beloved bellman, that her and her bicycle are on their way up here to the 68th floor of my wrap around penthouse suite.

  This is about to get interesting.

  The elevator dings and the doors slide open, right into the heart of my home and a little to the surprise of Jane, who is facing in the opposite direction, squished inside the bronze encased box like an adorable sardine with her 5-speed bike propped up vertically. I don’t think she expected to be catapulted directly into my suite and figured that she’d have a moment to compose herself before knocking on my door.

  She can’t, however, be the only one full of surprises.

  I laugh and walk up towards her, setting my crystal wine glass filled with a freshly decanted bottle of Barolo on the front entrance table.

  “You know, you could have left your bike downstairs? It would have been meticulously cared for?”

  She laughs and struggles with her bike to turn around to face me. “My dad taught me to never lose sight of my belongings.”

  “What has he said about going on dates with men you just met?” I reach for the bicycle and yank it out of the elevator for her, propping it up against the wall in the foyer.

  “What he doesn’t know can’t kill him?”

  Proper answer. “I’ll tip my glass to that. May I take your coat?”

  “Thank you,” she responds with a very prim and proper tone. Maybe she’s trying to convince herself she’s not already taken by me. Hopefully she allows herself the chance to explore those feelings, but that’s what the wine and my charm are for.

  I watch as she slides the beige windbreaker down her body, to reveal a very cute and fitting black sheath dress that still manages to hug every perfect curve of that tight frame that first piqued my interest. Black opaque tights adorn her slender legs and all I can think about right now, is sliding them right off of her or better yet, tearing them to shreds with my teeth.

  Even though she rode her bicycle here, you would never be the wiser. She looks even more beautiful than she did last night, with slightly rosier cheeks from the wind and blown out hair. Not to mention, she’s wearing higher heels than most are able to wear while just walking.

  Color me impressed and incredibly aroused.

  “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” I compliment her as I take her coat and hang it on the rack beside me, my eyes still locked on her frame.

  She blushes and immediately starts smoothing out her wind blown hair. “Thank you.”

  Her attention shifts to me and I catch her getting an eyeful of me as well. Her icy eyes tracing up from my loafers, over my snug trousers and back up to my equally icy blue eyes. “You’re not bad yourself.”

  I desperately want her to ditch the whole I-don’t-want-you-but-I-can’t-help-myself routine, but since we are here, I’ll humor her.

  “I have to ask. Why did you not accept the car I had sent for you
?”

  Jane nods and stops playing with her chestnut tinted hair. “It was a little much for the first date.”

  “Well,” I bring my hand up to play with the stubble on my face. “It guess it’s a good thing I cancelled the fireworks display over the Hudson River then.”

  She laughs and I hope it nips this awkward tension right in the bud. I fear the moment of giving her a proper greeting or how I had planned it; a kiss that sends her directly into a sex-crazed frenzy has since passed.

  Time to press on.

  “Please, come in.” I lead the way through the foyer, allowing Jane the opportunity to soak in the skyline view from deep within the heart of Manhattan. It’s a stunning scene from up here on the 68th floor. You get a view of the Hudson River between some of the colossal towers, and gorgeous glimpses at true icons, like my personal favorite, the Chrysler Building.

  My floor to ceiling windows and nearly 360-degree view of Manhattan are not only a jaw dropper, but a panty dropper as well. This should easily be the first step into coaxing Jane Smith into bed with me. I mean, she is already alone in my apartment, after all? A few more steps and we are between the sheets of my king bed.

  I retrieve my wine glass and reach for its twin, an already poured glass for Jane. When I turn around, I expect her gaze to be upwards, taking it all in but she’s locked on me. Part of me wants to believe that I’m just that irresistible, that she can’t keep her eyes off of me. The other part of me, perhaps the more rational one in this particular moment, recognizes Jane for the no-bullshit kind of woman that she is and figures that she might not be fazed by my abode.

  Also, she’s already made it quite clear that I have zero fucking idea what I’m doing when it comes to dates. We are off to a terrific start.

  “Wine?” I prompt her, hoping to speed this process along or to just get myself slightly buzzed and far less anxious.

  “Sure. Thank you,” she takes the glass in her hands, tilts it upwards, swirls it around and takes a sip. “What is it? Barolo?”

  “Impressive palate,” I tip my glass in her direction and we allow the crystal to clank. “What other ways will you impress me tonight, Ms. Jane Smith?”