Instant Gratification (Always Satisfied Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

  “Sure. I’ll help you out. But help me out first. Which friend?”

  “You know. Let’s throw another shrimp on the barbie. That one.”

  “Jay. Jay, who’s from Sydney,” I say, using the fake name Jason set up for this ceremony.

  “Yes! You’re like Stephen Hawking. How do you do that? Do you do brain exercises? Is that how you’re so sharp?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Anyhoo, that’s him. He’s cool. I like that accent. Ooh. Idea! Can you do a little g’day, mate accent when you intro me to Monster Energy Bull Rider Drinks, or whatever that sponsorship is you’re getting for me?”

  “No. I love you, man, but I’m not pretending to be Australian.” I’ll go to the ends of the earth for my clients and their deals, but I’m not going to perform like a trick monkey for their amusement.

  “Fine, have it your way. But you rock! Never forget that. So, the bad news is I lost Jay’s number. And I need it. Because guess what?”

  “You want to hear him say g’day, mate?”

  He cracks up. “No, but I’ll add that to the list. Along with the dingo ate my baby. But I have to talk to him, because he needs to be my best man now.”

  “I thought Jako was doing the honors?”

  “No, man. I’m at the hospital right now with him. Didn’t I tell you that?”

  I roll my eyes. “You told me you were with Jako. You didn’t say you were at the hospital. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  “I do. I need a new best man. I’d ask you to do the speech, but that’s not cool. I love you and all, but I gotta have some boundaries. That’s what my fiancée keeps telling me. Boundaries. Anyway, Jako broke his leg doing a gazelle flip. That’s the other bad news. And that means he can’t do me the honor of being by my side next weekend. He’s so fucking bummed. He wrote a speech too. Well, half of it, and you know how Jako is. He hates writing. He hates words.”

  “Words can be little devils.”

  “But no worries. We came up with a plan in the ambulance. He’ll FaceTime from the hospital bed in his cast, and Jay will deliver his speech. It’s going to be rad. Can you hook me up with Jay-man and he can do the speech?”

  “I’m on it. One tip though. Don’t call him Jay-man.”

  “Right. Thanks. Jay-boy it is.”

  The next weekend, the wedding goes off without a hitch. Jason’s buddy Troy has taken over his business. He has zero problems pretending he’s Jay-man or Jay-boy—and brings his guy Sully along to fill in as the extra groomsman—and in his role, Troy delivers the first half of Jako’s best man’s speech and the second half of what, I presume, he wrote.

  It’s stellar, and it makes Zane smile like he’s won a lifetime supply of sunflower seeds. The wedding is everything my longtime client could want, and that’s what matters most to me: happy clients.

  After the reception winds down, Zane claps me on the shoulder. “You’re the man. You know that, right? I’d be nothing without you.”

  I’m not saying I want him to think that, but I do like that he does. So I keep my reply simple. “You know I’m always happy to help.”

  That’s my goal: go the extra mile. Then another mile. This business is insanely competitive, and being an agent, a negotiator, a therapist, a sounding board, a dartboard, and a fucking wedding planner, along with an occasional Uber driver, is par for the course. It’s how I stay ahead, and I always need to be ten steps ahead, given the way the competition is breathing down my neck.

  Zane smacks my chest. “Man, you did more than help. You saved the day. You always save the day. I owe you like ten million presents. Want me to send you a new car? I want to get a new Jeep. I could get two. One for you, one for me.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “I’m all good. Also, I hope you like your gift. I got you a little something.”

  His eyes sparkle. “Dude. You did not have to get me a present.”

  “I know. I wanted to.”

  I don’t have to stick around to know he’ll be over the moon when he receives his lifetime supply of a certain snack food. “Anyway, glad it all worked out with the new Jay. And congrats again.”

  When I leave the wedding and hop into an Uber, my regular line rings. Private. Could be anyone—team owner, publicist, potential client.

  “Summers here.”

  “Hey, man. It’s Lorenzo.”

  I sit up straight, a burst of possibility flaring in me. “Lorenzo. How the hell are you?”

  “I had two RBIs tonight, and we won, so I’d say I’m fantastic.”

  “That is definitely fantastic. You’ve been putting up the numbers all season, man. But tell me something, how’s your mom? Last time we talked you said she was having chest pains. How’s she doing?”

  “She’s all better. And hey, thanks for asking about her. That means a lot to me, and it makes me feel even better about what I want to ask you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because it shows you care about me. About my family. And that’s why I’m hoping you’d want to negotiate a fat new contract with the Yankees for me? Think you’d be up for that?”

  Fireworks spark across the whole night sky. “I’d love nothing more.”

  A couple days later, Jason joins me for a Yankees game in my box seats.

  He surveys the swank setup, complete with catering and plush velvet chairs. “Still slumming it, I see?”

  “Yeah. Maybe someday I’ll move up to the third baseline.”

  “I trust business is good?”

  “It’s excellent. Lorenzo is all mine now.”

  “Ah, so evil Leather Pants Poacher didn’t nab him?”

  I scoff. “No way. I’m still the man. And your new biz is taking off?”

  “Started some of my new work this week. Maybe I’ll even write a piece about etiquette when invited to a fancy suite at a ball game. Like, may I please devour all the mushroom canapés?”

  “Do you even know what a canapé is?”

  “Does anyone know what a canapé is?”

  “No one does. Also, I’m glad you figured out your lady issues and your work issues. Like I said, work isn’t everything.” I tap my ear. “See? I’m Bluetooth-free today.”

  “But I bet your mobile ringer is on high.”

  “Of course it is. Bat line too.”

  He grabs a carrot from the appetizer plate and crunches into it. “Someday you’ll meet a woman who makes you want to turn the bat line off.”

  “Maybe. For now, I see no reason to end my run as New York’s most eligible bachelor. But you’ve ended yours. How’s it going with the lady?”

  “Perfect. Totally perfect. She’ll be here any minute. She has a crush on the shortstop.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  During a break in the action later in the game, I step into the hall to take a quick call. When I’m done, I hear the click of shoes.

  I turn.

  Haven Delilah.

  She’s walking toward me, and why, oh fucking why does she have to look the way she does? That chestnut hair. Those chocolate eyes. That body. She’s a total smoke show, and the universe must be having a field day, making my biggest rival the hottest babe I have ever seen.

  “You following me, Delilah?”

  “Yes, Summers. I was up at the crack of dawn, waiting for you. I’ve been slinking behind buildings and hiding around corners just to follow you to Yankee Stadium. What a shock to run into a sports agent here.”

  I ignore her sarcasm. “That’s so thoughtful that you came here to congratulate me on adding Lorenzo to my roster.”

  She crosses her arms defiantly. She does everything defiantly. It’s so fucking sexy it should be illegal. “Congrats. Too bad you didn’t get a pitcher though. I’ve heard they have more long-term value. Oh, but probably none were on the market, since I rep half the bull pen.”

  “It’s okay. I get that you’re still licking your wounds. But I guess this makes us even now.”

  She rolls her eyes as the
caterer—earbuds in place—heads down the hall carrying an empty tray.

  Haven takes a step closer, getting in my space, and holy shit. I can smell her perfume. Or is it her shampoo? It smells like honey, and it goes to my head. Fucks with my senses. “Still having a hard time letting the past go?”

  I swallow roughly as she calls me on my bullshit, right as her insanely seductive smell is drifting through my mind.

  She pitches forward, squeaking in surprise as the caterer bumps her with the empty tray. “Oh!”

  She stumbles closer. Instinct has me grabbing her arm, steadying her. She lifts her chin. She’s inches away. Her face is kissing distance from mine. Her lips are dangerously close. Lips I know so well. Lips I’ve traced, explored long into the night.

  For a moment, all our games, all our anger sizzles away. “You okay?” I ask.

  She looks into my eyes, her chocolate-brown irises blazing with some unusual combination of heat and confusion. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  She looks down at her arm. The arm I’m holding. She seems to register my hand on her bare skin. She swallows then looks up at me.

  Her breath hitches when she meets my eyes. And what’s that I see? Is her skin flushing? Holy shit. Haven is still affected by the way I touch her.

  Well, this changes everything.

  53

  Jason

  Several months later

  After I record an episode of The Consummate Wingman, I pop into Marie’s office. “I’ve been remiss.”

  She arches a brow. “I know.”

  “Forgive me.”

  “Only if you pay up.”

  “I always make good on my bets.”

  She holds out her hand. “I did enjoy the hundred dollars. Almost as much as I enjoyed being right.”

  “And saying ‘I told you so’? Do you enjoy that at all? I can’t tell.”

  She wiggles her fingers impatiently. “I did tell you so. I told you that you two would be more than friends. And then I predicted you’d move in together in less than six months. And you acted all independent.”

  I have the decency to look sheepish. “What can I say? You were right on that count.”

  I hand her the winnings on that wager. It’s far less painful than waiting longer to cohabitate would have been.

  She taps her chin. “Next thing you know, I’ll be betting on when she’s going to pop out babies.”

  My eyes widen. “No one is saying anything about babies yet.”

  “Mark my words. You’ll be doing that after you say I do.”

  “I haven’t even proposed yet.”

  She shoots me an amused grin. “Seems we have our next wager.”

  “And that’s how you dress for the first day on the job,” I declare as I finish typing my latest column for Gentleman’s Style.

  “Why don’t you write how you undress when you come home from a hard day of work?” Truly calls out from the bedroom.

  “Fine. I’ll tackle that next.” I pretend I’m typing like a madman, making the clickety-clack sound of keys. “I don’t undress myself. My lover does when I walk through the door, and she pounces on me like the hungry, naughty minx that she is.”

  The hungry, naughty minx herself pops out of the bedroom, showing off sexy jeans and a snug black sweater. “Of course I do. That’s one of the bennies of living with you. Also, how do I look?”

  “Good enough to eat. Like always.”

  “Ooh, will you have a slice of my summer later? Maybe take a bite of the lily?”

  I stand, stalk over to her, and curl my hand around her head. “No. Like I tell you every single time, I will devour your sweet, delicious pussy.”

  She shivers against me. “You better. Also, stop talking about dessert, or I’m going to try to jump you at the theater. I’m feeling pretty good after that review we got on that gal’s nightclub podcast. Coco.”

  I am so incredibly proud of Truly. She’s a powerful, successful entrepreneur in the city. She runs one of the best-reviewed and most popular nighttime establishments around, and the second-most as well, since she and Charlotte just opened Bisou. It means “kiss” in French, and given the sexy, romantic vibe she and Charlotte crafted for the place, it’s fitting. It’s also earning rave reviews in all the write-ups.

  “Why don’t you play the review for me again?”

  “Oh stop. Stop. You don’t want to hear it for the fiftieth time.”

  “But I do.”

  “Fine, if you insist.”

  She grabs her phone, taps her podcast app, and hits play.

  “Bisou, I could kiss you. Or be kissed.

  That’s how I felt when I entered the gorgeous new establishment. It drips with romance. It radiates sex. It’s exactly the kind of place that makes a gal want to throw out all her apps and meet a man in person again. Ambiance, people. That’s what Bisou has, and it has it in every single corner. From the drinks to the music to the decor, I just might try to find a way to live there.

  Until then, you’ll find me at the bar, kicking a high-heeled shoe back and forth, listening to Edith Piaf, drinking my absinthe.”

  “Can I just say, I told you so?” I ask.

  Truly grins at me. “Yes, you can. Anytime.”

  “I’m also glad you promoted Gabriella.”

  “She is a goddess.”

  “I like it because it means you have more time.”

  “Time to spend with you,” she says.

  “You have such good time management skills.”

  “That is true.”

  We leave her apartment together for the theater.

  Our apartment, I should say, since I’ve moved in with her.

  Everything is fitting these days in our life together.

  I Adam Levine’d myself these last few months. My business has taken off, and the launch of the Gentleman’s Style brand in the United States has been met with terrific audience growth and advertiser dollars. A win-win. Valerie has been pleased, and so have readers and listeners. The work I do for her brand dovetails perfectly with my cohost work with Ryder.

  And I almost hate to admit this, but that Marcus bloke? He’s become a friend. Every now and then, we go out for a beer. As long as he avoids the odes to hops, we are all good.

  I also told him he’d best keep his hands off my sister. Abby came to visit a few weeks ago, and I was sure Marcus was taken with her when we all went out. Turns out, he’s dating Coco, the restaurant and nightclub reviewer. Now, they seem perfect for each other.

  And it’s a good thing Abby’s still single, because boys are trouble, and she has school to finish. Turns out, she took out a loan, sneaky little turkey. But I’m clever too. I paid it off for her two months later, since business has been quite good indeed.

  Just focus on that whole tailbone thing, and we’ll be good, I’d told her.

  Didn't I tell you? I figured out the tailbone is connected to the brachial plexus, she’d said.

  Truly and I make our way to the heart of Times Square, ducking down Forty-Fourth Street and through the doors of the St. James Theater. She squeezes my hand. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing this show. I’ve been dying to.”

  “And I’ll admit that I’m pretty damn excited to see Nora onstage. She’s worked so hard, and she’s wanted this so much.”

  “She’s going to be amazing.”

  A few minutes later, Sloane and Malone join us, scurrying in to grab seats in the same row. They’re followed by Spencer and Charlotte, then Nick and Harper. The gang is all here. We say quick hellos before the lights dim, the music swells, and the curtain rises.

  Indiana Jones treks across the South American jungle and into the cave where an idol awaits him. After he grabs it, he races past poisoned arrows, falling stones, and a boulder that zooms, not across stage but downstage toward the apron, appearing as if it’s going to careen into the audience before Indy escapes at the last possible second. The lights go dark, and the boulder presumably rises somewhere above us all.


  A little later, Nora comes onstage, belting out, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? Oh why, oh why, oh why did it have to be snakes?”

  Turns out she was upgraded. She served as the understudy for Marion, and when the actress fell ill, Nora took over. Never underestimate the value of a good understudy.

  And somewhere in this city or on its outskirts, Troy is likely giving a speech about some fella he barely knows. In fact, I’m going to see him at a wedding next weekend, and I’m looking forward to catching up.

  After the show ends and we greet Nora backstage, giving her flowers she adores and compliments she deserves, we take off for our respective sections of the city.

  I slide an arm around Truly’s waist. “Want to go to the Luxe Hotel for a little nightcap?”

  “Not Gin Joint or Lucky Spot or Bisou?”

  “I like the Luxe. It reminds me of a certain night.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “You’re just trying to have hotel sex with me, aren’t you?”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “I like hotel sex. I like bedroom sex. I like kitchen sex.”

  “Reason number five thousand, two hundred, forty-four why you’re perfect for me.”

  When we arrive at the hotel, I hope to convince her of one more: that I know her. That I remember how we started. That I appreciate the little things, the big things—all the things.

  We step into the elevator, and I hit the close button immediately so we’re all alone.

  Just like we were the night before Enzo’s wedding. “Do you remember the last time we rode this elevator?”

  She smiles magnetically. “I do. I told you I didn’t want to live in a world where you’re out of my system.”