Instant Gratification (Always Satisfied Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

  “Dive in. The water’s warm when you follow your dreams.” He mimes swimming. Through tropical seas, I suspect. “Also, kudos to you for having the balls to jump without a safety net.”

  “Wish me luck.”

  “To all the safe landings. Now how about telling me the details?”

  I begin to share my plan when a sexy, smoky voice whispers, “Jason.”

  I jerk my head in a matchstick response. What the hell? I’m not Jason tonight. I’m Jay.

  But it’s Valerie beside me, beckoning for me to join her at her table.

  For a moment, fear crawls up my spine and slinks under my collar. But just as quickly, I say no to it. I’m not afraid of my worlds colliding anymore. I have Truly, and whatever happens with work, I’ll sort it out.

  I follow Valerie and sit next to her.

  She smiles like she has a secret. “I remembered you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It came to me in a rush in the middle of the night, and I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I popped out of bed, hopped onto the laptop, and looked you up. I’d heard you on my friend Ryder’s show. And I went and listened to several of your podcasts. And read all your blogs.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “I don’t need much sleep. My brain is always whirring. And when I read them, and I heard your voice, everything clicked.”

  Tonight, I don’t even consider hiding under the bar till the morning. I simply lean back in the chair, cross my leg at the ankle—no manspreading here—and I wait. “And what clicked?”

  Her brown eyes seem to twinkle. Her lips curve in a devilish grin. “As you may know, I run a multinational media conglomerate. And in that capacity, I often acquire other companies.”

  “Sure. That would seem a normal course of business.”

  “And I’ve acquired a prominent men’s magazine in the United Kingdom. Gentleman’s Style. Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course. It’s better than Esquire. And GQ.”

  “It is indeed. And I’m going to be expanding it in the United States.”

  That’s quite interesting yet surprising, given the state of print periodicals. “But magazines are a dying breed,” I say, since page counts are down, ads are down, and so on.

  “Of course. But brands aren’t. And the brand name has value. Imagine a Gentleman’s Style series of books. Handy little gift books sold in the front of stores on tips for men. Or perhaps a revamped website with the type of articles that search engines love. Five Tips on Better Communication. The Top Ten Ways to Impress a Boss.”

  It sounds fantastic. “I can imagine that perfectly.”

  She leans closer, clearly enchanted with her new property. “And podcasts, since they’re the future. Can you picture a quick-hit podcast on top tips of the day? I can.”

  “I think I can too.”

  She taps her finger against her lip. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  “You’re going in the direction of creating a US presence for a popular and well-respected British brand,” I say, since I’m pretty sure I have that right.

  She sighs as if she just can’t believe one wouldn’t grasp the concept. “Jason Reynolds, I need a voice, someone with a point of view. I need a front man. I need you.”

  I blink and sit bolt upright, rubbing my ear. She didn’t just say that, did she? “Pardon me?”

  She laughs, a deep, throaty sound. “You heard me right. I want you to be the front man. I want you to be the voice—and the face if you’d like—of Gentleman’s Style in the United States. And don’t worry, you can keep up your work on Ryder Lockhart’s show.”

  “Oh, he already let me go.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s not what he told me when I called him today.”

  “You called him today?” I feel like I’m trapped on another planet, trying to decipher distant radio signals.

  “Of course. He’s a business associate. I wouldn’t poach his talent without talking to him first.”

  “It’s not really poaching at this point.”

  She raises one eyebrow. “Be that as it may, are you interested in my offer?” She puts forth a number that nearly dislocates my jaw. I’m tempted to ask if it’s a joke, but I’m also certain I’ve advised readers and listeners never to ask that when offered a financial figure more than you ever dreamed of.

  “I’m incredibly interested,” I reply.

  “Then it’s yours. I’ll have a deal memo sent over tonight.”

  “Tonight? Aren’t you heading out on your honeymoon?”

  “Of course I am, but I don’t send out the contracts. I have people. And someday, you’ll have people. Mark my words—I can always spot talent. As an author friend of mine once said when she discovered the perfect narrator for her books: You’re a gold mine.”

  “Smart author.”

  “Very smart, and a smart narrator to keep saying yes to her.”

  “You’ve got my yes.”

  “One of my favorite words.”

  When I say goodbye to the newlyweds, I do feel like I’ve discovered a gold mine, but it’s not only in the job.

  It’s in the woman I take home with me.

  49

  Jason

  “A gold mine? You don’t say?” Truly tugs on my bow tie, unknotting it in the elevator to her apartment.

  “Evidently. Did you have any idea you were fucking a gold mine?” I slide a hand under her dress as the lift shoots us up to her floor.

  “I had no idea. But this changes everything. My boyfriend is made of gold. And apparently makes gold.”

  I laugh at her designation. “Boyfriend? Is that what I am?”

  “You’re definitely no longer just a friend. And I’m pretty sure we don’t say lover anymore unless we’re at a seventies party.”

  The elevator stops at her floor, and we exit. “I can’t take you to a work event and introduce you as my lover? Or if I did, I’d need a Tom Selleck mustache or to be dressed for disco?”

  “Something like that,” she says, laughing as we head into her place.

  The second the door clicks shut, I pull her against me, sliding my hands into her hair. “Hey, you naughty minx. Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

  “Thank you for stalking me before the wedding.”

  “How did you know I was stalking you?”

  She smiles, like a naughty little thing. “I saw all your missed calls.”

  “Why didn’t you pick up, you evil torturess?”

  “Because it seemed like the kind of thing I’d rather hear in person. I was right. When the person you love realizes he wants you more than work, it’s kind of an awesome thing. I know, because that’s how I feel for you.”

  Her words thrill and electrify me. They remind me that taking this kind of chance, without a safety net, was worth it. She was worth the jump.

  I grab her wrist and lead her back to her bedroom, where I strip her out of her clothes and lavish attention on her fantastic body all night long.

  In the morning, I wake up to the smell of pancakes. The scent draws me out of bed and into her kitchen, where she’s crooning into a spatula about her creation.

  “You do know that song turns me on?”

  She spins around, her eyes hooded, her voice smoky. “They’re hot off the griddle. Come and get ’em.”

  “I will. But like I said, it turns me on. I want you first.”

  “Jason, don’t you know? With me, you can have everything. You can have love and pancakes. And I’ll never serve you bacon.”

  “That sounds like the perfect way to start every single day.”

  After breakfast, and after post-breakfast experiments in other uses for syrup, followed by a long, hot shower, my phone rings. When I see it’s Ryder’s number, I take the call. But I don’t feel desperate. I’m simply curious.

  And that’s a welcome change.

  “Hey, Ryder, how’s it going?” I ask as I settle onto the couch while Truly gets dressed.r />
  “Great. Apologies for calling on a Sunday, but sometimes business moves at either the speed of tar, or of the Concorde.”

  “And never at the speed you want when you want it.”

  “That’s the truth. Listen, I apologize for the cryptic message yesterday. I couldn’t say much because of the changes going on here.”

  “No worries.”

  “Here’s the deal though. We’re expanding. And I’m taking on a new role. I’m heading up programming for all of the shows and podcasts, so I’m taking a step back from the day-to-day hosting roles.”

  “Congrats. Sounds like a good gig.”

  “It’s a great one. We’re starting new shows, a couple of food podcasts, some restaurant reviews, and a new beer podcast we picked up. An affable fellow Brit is hosting that one.”

  I furrow my brow. “Marcus?”

  “Yes, that’s him. He knows his stuff.”

  “I thought he was . . .” I trail off, not bothering to finish with taking my job. Assume nothing—that’s what I tell my guys. But in retrospect, I’d like to laugh at myself. Because that role makes perfect sense for Marcus. There’s no one better to host a beer podcast.

  “And I’d like you to cohost with me.”

  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, my jaw clangs to the floor. “You want me to be your Consummate Wingman cohost?”

  “Yes. I do. Is that too much work? Can you fit it in with what you’ll be doing for Valerie? It won’t start for another few weeks. That’s why I told you I don’t need you this week. I want to work on some formatting changes to accommodate the next setup.”

  “Yes. Yes. I say yes!”

  He laughs. “Well, that was easy.”

  “And it goes against all my own advice. Don’t let on how eager you are. But the cat’s out of the bag. I’m eager. I want this. And I’ll do a great job.”

  “Excellent. We’ll set up some meetings to brainstorm.”

  When I hang up, Truly pokes her head out of the bedroom, tugging her wet hair back into a ponytail. “What was that all about?”

  I tell her the good news, and she throws her arms around me. “I knew it. I totally knew it.”

  I look down at her outfit. “Why are you wearing exercise clothes? You just showered.”

  “I know. I can’t very well do Punk Rope with sticky syrup on me. Gross.” Her eyes light up. “Hey, why don’t you come to class with me? It’s near your place, so you can grab some shorts there.”

  I say yes to her offer too. Obviously. It’s what we’ve always done. It’s what I hope we’ll always do.

  As we head over to the exercise class, I take her hand. “So, I’ve been thinking about all this good fortune that’s fallen my way in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Well, you are a gold mine. It makes sense that everyone wants to mine you.”

  “But what I’ve been noodling on is my promise to you. How I want to help support your dreams too. I had an idea for you.”

  She stops, tilts her head, and looks at me curiously. “Go on.”

  “It’s about your bar concept.”

  50

  Truly

  That afternoon, I head over to Charlotte’s bar, when my phone pings with a text.

  It’s from my guy.

  Jason: Good luck. I can't wait to hear how it goes.

  Truly: I can’t wait to tell you.

  I put my phone away, loving the certainty that he’ll be here for me however this goes.

  When I reach the Lucky Spot, I walk straight over to my best friend. It’s early, so it’s not crowded yet.

  “Hey, you!”

  “I have a brilliant idea.”

  “I happen to like brilliant ideas. Do tell.”

  I point to her, then to me. “You. Me. Parisian-themed bar. What do you think?”

  She gasps . . . says nothing . . . just stands there, bug-eyed. Finally, she finds words. “That. Sounds. Kick-ass.”

  I smile. “I know, right? Two awesome women running a brand-new place together. We’d do a great job. Don’t you think?”

  “We’d do an amazing job.”

  “And screw investors. I have some money saved.”

  “I’ve got plenty saved too.”

  “And we could take out loans for the rest. I know it’d be incredible, and you once said you wanted to do a Parisian-styled bar.”

  “I absolutely do.”

  “Do you think Spencer would be cool with it? I know you guys run this place together, but I kind of just want to do something with us. You and me. Girl power.”

  “Gee, let me ask him. Hey, handsome,” she calls out to her husband at the other end of the bar.

  “That’s me,” he replies.

  “Question for you.”

  He strides over, a curious glint in his green eyes. “Ask away, Snuffleupagus.”

  “What would you think about Truly and me starting a place all our own? A little Parisian-themed place.”

  He flashes his winning grin, one of the many things that stole her heart years ago. “I’d say Vive la France.”

  “That’s it?” I ask with a laugh.

  He shrugs. “Some things in life are easy. I’ve always thought the two of you would make a good business combo. And as I like to say, happy wife equals happy life. Sounds like this would make my wife happy.”

  Charlotte plants a kiss on his lips, and when she breaks it, he adds, “And you can count on me to order the first glass of vino.”

  My friend turns back to me with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile and extends a hand. “Hello, new business partner. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  When I see Jason later that night, he gives me the most delicious congratulatory kiss.

  It almost makes me forget what I wanted to say to him. “Thank you for the brilliant idea.”

  He shakes his head. “No. It wasn't my idea. It was yours. It was what you wanted to do all along. All I did was remind you.”

  “It was more than a reminder, but how about you remind me now of where kisses with you can lead to.”

  He grins. “I can definitely remind you of that.”

  And he does, all night long.

  51

  Jason

  I take a sip of my Earl Grey, waiting for Troy’s answer.

  I’m expecting a barrage of questions, since that’s his style.

  But I only get one. “When can I start?”

  “How’s today?”

  “I’m on it. I already have a plan. I’ve been writing best man’s speeches on the side to prep for this moment. I’ll keep Sully as my second-in-command, and I’ve got another friend ready for my third groomsman, just like you had.”

  “As I suspect, you’re really the best man for the job.”

  He sits up straighter. “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Twelfth Night.” He extends a hand. “I will bring honor to the humble profession of best man for hire.” Then he raises his arms above his head, shaking his hips. “And this means I can finally quit the pole.”

  Laughing, I scratch my jaw. “I feel like that’s not Shakespeare.”

  He taps his chest. “That’s one hundred percent Troy D’Angelo. By the way, you know that’s not my real name, right?”

  “It’s not?”

  “You couldn’t see through that?” Adopting an announcer’s tone, he says, “And now, taking the stage, the one, the only . . . Troy . . . D’Angelo.” He pronounces the last name like “dangle” with an O at the end.

  “Why, yes. I can definitely see through that now. But that’s an image I’d like to unsee.”

  “Me too, my friend. Me too. And thanks to you, I can be Troy Seewoster. Aspiring playwright and best man for hire extraordinaire.”

  “Your real last name is Seewoster?”

  “Yes.”

  “Piece of advice, mate. Keep the stage name.”

  He seems to consider this, then nods. “You’re
right. Troy D’Angelo I shall remain.”

  “How would you like to start with Zane Jarratt? He’s an X Games skateboarding star who needs an extra groomsman to match the number of bridesmaids. Some of his mates are out of town for the wedding. He’s a client of my friend, so Josh hooked me up with him, and I’ll pass him along to you instead. But wait. Can you do an Australian accent?”

  “Can I do an Australian accent? I am Australian. How did you not know this?” he says in a perfect rendition of an accent from Down Under.

  “Are you really?”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m from North Dakota. But have I impressed the man who’s always teaching others how to make an impact?”

  “You have. You absolutely have.” I take another drink of my tea. Yes, my exit plan is working better than I expected.

  52

  Josh

  The bat phone rings.

  Even though it’s the middle of the night, it wakes me up instantly. This is the emergency line.

  “Hey. What’s going on?”

  “Dude!”

  Dragging a hand through my hair, I sit up straight. “What’s up, Zane? You okay?”

  “I am motherfucking awesome. In fact, I’ve never been better. I’m hanging with Jako tonight,” he says, naming one of his best buds in the business, another skater on his team. He sighs contentedly. “So whassup with you?”

  I laugh. “Nothing was up, my man. It’s three in the morning. Wassup with you?”

  “Not much. Just chilling. Munching on some sunflower seeds. Man, if you could get me a lifetime supply of these, I would be the happiest cat ever.”

  “I’ll make a note of that. Also, do me a favor. Call me again in the middle of the night to tell me you’re awesome and nothing is going on but snacking.”

  He snaps his fingers. “Shit, I just remembered why I called. I need your friend.”

  I furrow my brow, trying to figure out who he means. Then again, I’m always trying to figure out what Zane means. A few too many hits on the joint when he was in high school have made his reaction times less than top-notch when he’s outside the skate park. In the skate park? The dude kills it. No clue how that worked out, but I’m glad it did. He’s been making bank for both of us for more than a decade.