Friends with Benefits
Page 1
Olivia Gaines
Davonshire House Publishing
PO Box 9716
Augusta, GA 30916
THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events are locales or persons, living or dead, are entirely a coincidence.
© 2013 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin
Editor: Patriotic Poodle Productions, Summerville, SC
Proofreader: Amanda Beaty Chambers, http://bit.ly/NdyHOs
Translations: Michelle Paola Pacheco
Cover: http://koougraphics.net/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.
ISBN-13: 978-0615784151
ISBN-10: 0615784151
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8
First Davonshire House Publishing August 2013.
Letter to My Mother
I read “Letter to My Mother..." tonight. Excellent! .... It had me spellbound from the beginning! I thought I'd read a few pages, then finish in a day or two—-but I couldn't put it down! And the length was perfect! Looking forward to reading the others! – Dorothy Wheeler Johnson
I must say, I never get a chance to sit down and read any other books except the bible. I am now reading A Letter To My Mother which has captivated my attention until I just want to sit home and read this book on my tablet. I am in tears. - Dellavon McCurdy
Lizzie’s Vengeance
I love the fast pace of your story line, getting to the points with enough detail to describe, and the words painted a picture in my mind then moved on ... – Dora James
Two Nights In Vegas
I'm glad I got this wonderful short read. I WAS BREATHLESS and loved this so much I hope to read more about Marc and Nadine. I so loved this thanks for making me hot and bothered Olivia Gaines! – Sharon Bell
I love it. It was raw sexual, hot and tantalizing to the imagination. Can't wait to read what happens with the second chapter of Nadine and the mystery man. – Dora James
The Perfect Man?
The "I just don't have time to read" excuse is null and void now. Olivia Gaines writes for the busy reader. She'll keep you engaged from cover to cover without the extra fluff. – Ruebena Thomas
The Basement of Mr. McGee
I liked this one, there are some funny moments in here. To see this in a movie would be fun to watch.- Ms. Williams
Also by Olivia Gaines
The Bounty: Revenge Can Be a Bitch
The Bounty: Lizzie’s Vengeance
Two Nights in Vegas
A Letter to My Mother
The Perfect Man?
The Basement of Mr. McGee
A Few More Nights
Being Mrs. Blakemore
A New Mommy for Christmas
Shopping with Mrs. Blakemore
Beneath the Well of Dawn
The Cost to Play
DEDICATION
For Uncle Buddy; there are no words to truly epitomize the vision of you dancing that night.
Thank you for being different and just being, you.
"Easy reading is damn hard writing."
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.
Write On!
Let us begin our story...............
This is Grayson Broche.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty- One
Chapter Twenty- Two
Chapter Twenty- Three
Chapter Twenty- Four
Chapter Twenty- Five
Chapter Twenty- Six
Chapter One
THE VIEW FROM THE BALCONY was often an inviting scene. Below, lounging about the pool, were beautiful people who wanted to be seen or were waiting patiently to be picked up and made relevant. The climb to importance in standing and social status which would be determined by the longevity of the next person they chose as a bed partner. If chosen correctly, a book deal or a reality show could be possible, but it took time. It took money. It took the right clothing, but more importantly, it took being seen with the right person.
For him, the beautiful people were as misleading as the pool itself; crystalline and inviting, but filled with bacteria. Caution was not germane to the chemicals and salts that the staff added to keep down the algae and fungi, because at the end of the day, someone always pees in the pool. In the middle of the night moans and grunts could be heard by people who think it is a good idea to copulate in water. He never swam in the pool, nor ventured to lounge at its side. The whole area was shark-infested and at times, he felt like a defenseless guppy.
Modern relationships had become confusing and left him wanting. What he yearned for and wanted was unclear, but it was very clear that he no longer wanted what he was receiving. As he stood on the balcony, he noticed the ample-chested young beauty eyeing him. He raised his beer bottle to acknowledge that she had been seen. She raised her bikini top to extend an invitation for him to come downstairs to see more. A nod of his head was given to the young ingénue, before he retreated into his condo, closed the blinds and turned on the game. That was some nonsense he wanted no part of; been there, did her.
It had crossed his mind on several occasions to put the condo up for sale and purchase a three- or four-bedroom home in Marietta or Kennesaw to get out of the city. He definitely needed to get out of this building, since he had slept with almost every single female tenant. Married women often invited him for coffee, pie or some other obscure reason to enter their front door, so in the middle of the night or the afternoon, he could slip out the back. As much as it pained him to say, he was tired of sex.
Copulation had begun to feel like a chore more than a want or a need. Today was one of those days when he neither needed nor wanted any. A private challenge was issued to himself; it was time to find out how long he could actually go without sex. The laptop sat on the table and a quick flip of the top, opened an application and printed out this and next month’s calendar. It had already been a week, so he crossed those days off on the calendar and took them to the kitchen to pin them on the fridge. This could be done; he needed to know what he was made of and how much sex actually influenced his decision-making ability.
GRAYSON BROCHE TOOK pride in his appearance although his hair was never quite combed. He always felt that his slightly disheveled locks added to his tall, swarthy appeal, adding an air of mystery to him. Few people could even fathom that he was an entertainment lawyer who represented some of the biggest acts in the movie and the music industry. Others could not understand how he lived in Atlanta and represented those who worked in Hollywood. It was simple, word of mouth. He was good. His team was better. He was an attorney who was honest.
The days of hands-on with the talent were behind him and he only dealt with producers, management
and the upper echelons of the business. Young actors and talent still trying to find themselves were old hat and old news. The phone calls in the middle of the night from starlets who were drinking and driving, incarcerated or plain inebriated, no longer had his number. It seemed so difficult for them to understand, as an entertainment lawyer, he negotiated their contracts and took a percentage. He was not their parent and he was not interested in babysitting their neurosis. Eleven years in the business of entertainment law had taught him one cardinal rule: never sleep with the help.
As a young man, fresh out of law school, many thought he was nuts to open his own firm without any seasoning. Who needed seasoning when you already knew the flavoring? Many young artists were being ripped off and cheated by unscrupulous business practices and companies who took advantage of their naiveté. Broche & Associates specialized in artists across all genres including stage, television, music, film, and even production. Grayson’s reputation was sound, his practices, fair and his team was completely above par. It was instilled in every person who worked with and for him: hands off the talent. Friends, groupies and tagalongs were okay, but the clientele was a no-no. Sex complicated matters. When matters become complicated, so does the money. He made it abundantly clear to the team—don’t screw with my money.
Overall, Grayson considered himself to be a good guy with a few bad habits. His main fault was he had poor taste in women. At 36 years old, he was ready for something different, but he had to have some clarity on where he was going. His best friend Charlize often told him he thinks with his eyes. Grayson had no idea what that meant, but she was the only constant in his life. They had a ten-year friendship built on trust, understanding, and no hanky-panky. Charlize was Grayson’s rock and his best friend.
And that is what prompted Grayson Broche to start thinking a bit differently.
Chapter Two
CHARLIZE CLIMBED ONTO the flexion distraction table to begin the realignment of the quarterback’s right hip. She was amazed at how whiny he was during treatment and how tough he seemed on the field in last week’s Falcon’s game. After positioning herself under his thigh, she hooked her arm under his shoulder and counted to three. One push, a shove and a twist, she heard the familiar pop while watching relief wash over Mr. Crybaby’s face.
For the past five years she had served as one of the sports medicine doctors for the Atlanta Falcons. Doc Feelme was the nickname the players gave her, but Dr. Charlize Filleman is the best in the field. It was a bidding war for her talent between the Braves, the Hawks, the Thrashers and the Falcons to get her on staff. What made her a hot commodity was she was a certified chiropractor as well as a licensed M.D. She worked on the best bodies in the business and was surrounded by rich men with too much money and gigantic egos. Women were always flocking around the training camps trying to be seen, or wanting to be a trophy. It all disgusted her.
On occasions, during the off season, Charlize prided herself on getting away for a fabulous vacation, then back to work. The thought had crossed her mind to open her own practice and patent some of her training techniques, but last year, her best friend Grayson had convinced her to write a cookbook for the pro athlete. With his connections, he scored her a sweet book deal and personally represented her in the negotiations. He was a great friend and the type of guy who had principles. He taught her early on when she took the job with the team, don’t sleep with the help— it diminishes your authority.
It was great advice. The players often asked her out or bought her expensive gifts that she refused. She watched several of the physical therapists on her staff get entangled with the athletes only to be humiliated in the end when the player married some real housewife of Atlanta type. New staff members were warned in orientation, “I am the standard, do as I do, and you will have a long career. Please, be smart, don’t sleep with the players. If you fraternize, you are fired. I will not bother to hear your side of the story, you are gone.”
Why she bothered was beyond her; every season, there was always one. It took her two seasons to get smart and only hired women who were not into men, or women who were a couple of steps below attractive. It was unfair, but it cut down on fraternization and stabilized her staff. The past three years, the team came back to camp with the same therapist which made all involved happy; without a learning curve, worked moved at the right pace.
Charlize just wished she was happy as well and could find someone who could also move at her speed. She had not dated in three years and was completely bored with the dating process. It befuddled her to no end why men believed that dinner and a movie equated to coming to her home and bouncing up and down on her all night. It was not her style. A connection had to be present. There had to be respect, understanding, and a spark. Heck, she would be happy to have dinner and conversation about something other than football. She worked with the team. She didn’t play on the team. No, I cannot get you an autograph. No, I will not tell you a player’s physical condition so you can bet on the game. And I will definitely, never, sneak you a picture of a player during the rehabilitation process.
The only male company she kept in the past three years was her weekly dinners with Grayson. The conversations were lively, the access he had to shows were phenomenal and she truly felt his friendship was one of the more precious things in her life. She never wanted it to be complicated or convoluted. She was honest with him when she did not understand some of his choices in women, but never questioned, just supported, and was there to pick up the pieces when it inevitably went awry. This year, she was planning a nice getaway to Kauai, and had considered asking him to come along; she just wasn’t sure how he would take it. Also under consideration, during the holidays, his family always had big lavish spreads, and she was uncertain if he wanted to forgo the annual tradition for some exotic sun. She smiled when she thought of him; a bright spot in her life.
He must have been thinking about her as well, her cell phone chimed and she answered on the second ring, “Howdy, Partner!”
“You free for dinner tonight?”
“Sure, my place or yours?”
“You come to me, and bring some wine, all I have is beer.”
Charlize knew the tone in his voice, something was on his mind. She shut everything down in the office and headed home first for a change of clothing. When he asked for the bottle of wine, she knew they would empty it and she would be staying over in the guest room. Whatever was on his mind must be a dilemma that was heavily weighted, she just hoped it wasn’t another love interest gone wrong.
Chapter Three
GRAYSON’S CONDO WAS located in midtown Atlanta in the heart of the mass of traffic, college students, and aspiring artists. His office was not far away from his home and Grayson often rode his motorcycle into work. Most of his clientele thought he was attempting to portray the proverbial bad boy with the Valkyrie, and was almost disappointed when they found out that he rode it mainly to save on gas. Charlize often laughed because her friend was such a dude.
During her first visit to his condo, she was not surprised to find the black leather couch, glass end tables, and statues of a large bathing Hebe. The painting over the couch was homage to the 80’s and the bedroom was reminiscent of a broke pimp’s younger days. It was the leather padded headboard decorated with purple studs which made her laugh out loud. The only thing worse were the bedside lamps which were covered in red velvet and the shades were embossed with the words L.O.V.E. and cut out hearts. When the lamps were turned on, they cast L.O.V.E. on the walls. Without even thinking, she unplugged both lamps and took them to the trash; he attempted to argue and she held up her finger for him to be quiet. There could be no logic, reasoning, or rationale for such hideous items. Purse and keys in hand she only said, “car, now....” and drove him to a furniture store. Together, they chose a soft brown suede sofa and matching recliner with a cherry wood coffee table accented with strong, clean lines. As her gift to him, she purchased the matching ottoman and end tables, and bought two new l
amps for his bedroom. A gentle nudge was provided and Grayson was convinced that the new headboard was his idea.
While they were out, Charlize pointed out the matching bookcases which would be perfect for his media collection and books. The paintings were replaced by show posters autographed by his clients. The bathing Hebe was replaced by a ficus and some dieffenbachia’s, which flourished in the morning sun. The leather couches were moved to the third bedroom which now served as a man cave. The hideous headboard was now in the guest bedroom along with the sexist end tables that said “seduce me.” To her surprise, Grayson asked for her assistance in picking out an appropriately sized dining room set to compliment the new living room furniture. It made her heart happy to rid his home of the glass and wrought iron set with the matching fabric covered chairs. His home now looked like a settled and established gentleman lived in it, versus a love shack for the misunderstood.
The kitchen was her favorite. For a condo, it was far roomier and more spacious than expected. Grayson had made great choices on the appliances; they considered themselves foodies who loved to cook and very rarely ate out. One thing the two friends truly shared in common was a love of health and nutrition. Each week, they sought a new recipe to try out and the best selections were chosen and put to the side. After many years, the box of recipes which had been tweaked and adjusted were now sorted and being added to her new cookbook.
Tonight, for dinner they were making roast pork with sage and pecan pesto, green beans with toasted almonds with lemon and dessert was a fruit salad with lemon mint syrup. It became important to Charlize that nothing be wasted, each ingredient should be used completely and the meal should offer more than one serving. Grayson had already prepared the pork loin in the apple cider brine and when she arrived, they chatted while he browned the pork loin in the pan, she trimmed the green beans, minced the garlic and sautéed it in a pan.