Chapter 13 Rosalie
ROSALIE
The sleek downtown office of Maxwell and Company buzzes with energy as I step through the doors.
My heels clack along the polished marble flooring in a steady staccato, mixed with the ever-present hum of conversation and keyboard clicks.
Trish, aka our chaos coordinator extraordinaire, gives me a quick smile as I approach the reception area.
“Welcome back, Rosalie!” Trish says. “Did you have a nice mini vacay?”
Only if you consider countless orgasms with the sexiest man you’ve ever met “nice.”
Since I can’t say that without giving her all the tea, I go with, “Morning. I did. But I suspect you’re about to tell me I’m going to pay for having Monday and Tuesday off.”
Trish winces dramatically as she hands me a stack of messages. “I sent quite a few people to your voicemail and gave another few your email address, too.”
“Great,” I reply, stretching the word out.
“But the good news is, you only have one appointment today. Avery wants you to sit in on her Zoom call with Gabbie and Ethan Baldwin at two o’clock.”
“Damn, now I want a cupcake.”
“I know, right?” Trish laughs. “I could go for one of their pina colada tarts.”
Gabbie and Ethan are celebrity chefs who own Baldwin’s Sweet Temptations, my favorite bakery franchise. Every time I’m in Santa Monica, I have to stop by their original location for a cannoli cupcake, or if I’m lucky and it’s not sold out for the day, a slice of their triple chocolate cheesecake.
“Well…” I shake the stack of messages. “I suppose I’d better get to it. Thanks, Trish.”
“Anytime, Rosa. By the way, you had a delivery about half an hour ago. I put it on your desk. Be prepared for my inquisition once you get caught up.”
I tilt my head in question, trying to figure out what she meant by that. “Thanks, Trish.”
She chuckles. “It’ll make sense once you see what it is.”
I head toward my lovely corner pod, passing a series of other workstations tucked behind frosted glass partitions.
When I duck into mine, I’m greeted by a stunning sight—a large crystal vase filled with two dozen lilac roses.
My breath catches, and I step closer, fingertips grazing the soft petals.
Lilac roses have been my favorite for as long as I can remember, a preference very few people know about.
Roses might be a common flower, but to me, the lilac shade is an understated beauty, so subtle and unique.
It has an inexplicable calming effect, reminding me to take a deep breath and literally smell the roses.
Curious, I pick up the small card nestled among the blooms. A huge smile stretches across my face as I read the inscription.
Miss you already, Pip.
There’s no signature, but only one person calls me Pip, so there’s no question who sent them.
I retrieve my phone out of my purse as I’m taking a seat, intending to text Logan, but my boss, Avery, strides into my workspace before my ass even hits the chair.
“Welcome back, Rosalie. Nice flowers,” Avery says in the no-nonsense tone she’s known for. “Let’s talk about Jett’s image strategy.”
Some people may think her abrupt arrival and instant demand is rude, but Avery Jacobs-Maxwell is one of the kindest, most understanding people I know, with a wicked sense of humor.
She’s a badass in the public relations world—one of the top in the industry—but it didn’t come easily.
In this business, no matter how hard you work or how much you contribute to the bottom line, when you’re a woman—especially one as stunningly beautiful as Avery—you have to be tough on the surface to be taken seriously.
Even though the majority of publicists in this country are women, most of the PR executives those women report to are men.
Avery’s husband, Liam, may have founded Maxwell and Company with his New York counterpart, but she was promoted to partner after single-handedly bringing in so many large-scale clients during her first year as a publicist with our Entertainment Division that Maxwell’s already impressive profits grew astronomically.
Not only that, but she somehow managed to tame the bossman, ridding him of his infamous playboy ways.
If the rumors are true, Avery and Liam used to hate each other’s guts, but professionally, they meshed so well that they begrudgingly tolerated working together.
It’s honestly hard to imagine, though, because that man worships the ground she walks on and makes no attempt to hide it.
I always joke with Sylvie that I want to be Avery when I grow up, and I don’t think it’s difficult to see why.
I turn my computer monitor on and say, “Of course. Let me just get signed on.”
“No need,” she says. “Take a walk with me. I need coffee, pronto.”
I barely have time to grab my iPad and stylus pen before Avery’s out the door, walking down the hall at a brisk pace.
“As you know,” Avery begins, “Of Blood and Honor can be a game-changing film for Jett’s career, if we do our jobs right.
This is our opportunity to show his evolution from teen drama heartthrob to serious Oscar contender.
We know Jett is an incredibly talented actor, but his past transgressions on and off set are working against him right now.
The early squawking has made the studio nervous, but I assured them we had a plan to turn it around. ”
She pauses to blow a kiss to her husband as we pass his open office door. I swear to god, he looks like he’s two seconds away from bending her over his desk and fucking the daylights out of her. Jesus, it’s making me blush.
Avery’s breathing pattern momentarily changes, before she shakes herself out of it. “Where was I?”
I clear my throat. “The studio is concerned, but we have a plan.”
“Right.” She points to me. “So, as I was saying, the plan is to really focus on his personal growth. He’s no longer the douchey, drama-stirring, party-going guy of the past. All of his posts over the next six months should paint a pretty picture proving he’s a full-fledged, responsible adult now.
Not the wild teenager he portrayed on TV.
Leverage his close relationship with his mother…
people eat that shit up. Show his volunteer work with the children’s hospital, but don’t lean on it so heavily, it looks like he’s only doing it for the photo op.
Throw in lots of photos of Jett with his rescue pitbulls—animals always get social engagement.
Really work the ‘adopt, not shop’ angle there.
“Sprinkle in some sexy pictures of him at home. Maybe some shots lounging beside the pool reading a book. Or cooking shirtless, looking irresistibly disheveled, implying he’s preparing breakfast in bed for someone special.
You get the gist. We all know that sex sells in this business, but you need to be careful his entire feed doesn’t turn into a thirst trap.
Every post needs to be intentional, peeling back layers of his character so by the time the press junkets begin, people will be champing at the bit for the movie’s premier. ”
I jot down a few notes on my tablet and say, “Understood.”
She gives me a determined nod, her eyes flashing with the intensity she brings to every campaign. “I trust you to set the tone. Let’s make it impossible for audiences to imagine anyone else in that role.”
I nod, absorbing her vision and already imagining the posts that will shape Jett’s new image.
“Make sure Erin is synced in on this. She’s my number two on this one.”
“Got it.” I nod, noting to forward all copy to one our more seasoned junior publicists for approval.
Avery stops to pop her head into another publicist’s office. “Trevor, I need that press release on my desk in thirty.”
“It’ll be there in twenty,” he replies. “I’m just finishing up.”
She turns back to me and resumes walking. “While you were away, Hans Van Sant got arrested for DUI and solicitation. Now his wife’s filing for divorce, and he’s checking into rehab for alcohol and sex addiction. What a mess.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
Hans Van Sant is a renowned director and producer.
Every actor worth their salt dreams of starring in one of his films. Hollywood relationships are known for being short-lived, but Mr. and Mrs. Van Sant have been publicly flaunting their self-proclaimed ‘Romance of the Century’ for the last twenty years.
“You can say that again.” Avery laughs as she steps into the employee break room, with me hot on her heels. “I have a feeling I’m going to need quite a few of these today.”
I watch as she places a mug under the spout of our fancy drink machine, selecting the caffè latte button. As perfectly frothed milk and freshly ground espresso fills her cup, she takes a deep breath and turns toward me.
“Now that we got that out of the way… how was your weekend?” she asks, her tone softening.
Avery is one of the few people who knows why I went to Lake Tahoe.
“It was…good. Great, actually.” Dammit, I can feel my face flushing.
Her dark, sculpted brows rise as her gaze shifts to my undoubtedly pinkened cheeks. “You don’t say. Does the reason it was so great have anything to do with that gorgeous bouquet sitting on your desk?”
I bite my lip. “Possibly.”
“Interesting.” Her signature red lips curve into a smile. “If you need to talk about it, let me know. Although, I have a feeling Trish will be grilling you before lunchtime until you crack and spill all the details. Sometimes, I think that woman missed her calling as an interrogator for the CIA.”
I snort-laugh. “No doubt.”
Avery’s expression turns serious. “But really, Rosa, if you need to talk, I’m here. I know things are hopping this morning, but I’ll find the time if need be.”
I smile. “Thanks, Ave. I appreciate that.”
See? Badass boss bitch, kind, and funny. Have I mentioned she’s my hero?
She picks up her mug, moaning as she takes the first sip. “All right then. Back to work we go.”
“I’ll get Jett’s proposed timeline and narrative to Erin by end of day.”
“I know you will, Rosalie. And I’m sure it’ll be great.” She emphasizes the last word, clearly tying it into my comment about the weekend. With a wink she adds, “Maybe not multiple-orgasm great, as your weekend clearly was, but fantastic nonetheless.”
And with that, she pivots and heads down the hall, her attention already shifting to the next task. I shake my head, laughing to myself as I pick my jaw up off the floor and return to my desk.
After sifting through all my messages and scheduling follow-ups, I start a rough draft of Jett’s posting timeline.
Hours feel like minutes as I work through his monthly, weekly, and daily content calendars, ensuring all the key events are loaded first, properly organized and beautifully color coded.
My fingers are tap, tap, tapping away when my phone buzzes on my desk with an incoming text notification.
Logan: How’s my favorite social media strategist? Get any unexpected deliveries today?
A smile breaks through the professional mask I wear, lighting up my face.
Me: I did, in fact. Some smokin’ hot guy sent me a beautiful arrangement of my favorite flowers. He’s going to get a BIG thank you the next time I see him.
Logan: This guy sounds like he’s pretty into you. (And he can’t wait )
My smile widens.
Me: I’m pretty into him, too.
Logan: I bet he’d love to be IN you right about now.
I shake my head, biting my lip as I type.
Me: Considering he’s hundreds of miles away, I suppose he’ll have to settle for another FaceTime sesh when I get home.
A rush of heat and longing runs straight to my core as I think about the phone sex we had via FaceTime last night.
Watching Logan stroke himself while he was issuing dirty commands, telling me exactly how to fuck myself with my trusty vibe, was one of the hottest experiences of my life.
Second only to every minute I spent with Logan last weekend.
Logan: *Groan* You’re killing me, Pip. My poor dick is raw from jerking off too many times, remembering how fucking sexy you were last night.
I squeeze my thighs together, trying to stifle the sudden throbbing happening between them.
Me: Send video or it didn’t happen.
Logan: Way ahead of you, babe.
Logan: *incoming video
I gasp when I see his big hand wrapped around his perfect cock in the thumbnail image. I quickly save the video, then delete it from our text thread so it doesn’t tempt me.
Dear God, how am I supposed to get any work done now, knowing that’s sitting on my phone just waiting for me?
Logan: What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?
Logan: You’re dying to watch it, aren’t you? Maybe lock yourself in the office bathroom to rub one out while you do? Make sure you turn the volume up.
For fuck’s sake. I need to end this conversation before I wind up doing exactly that.
Me: I hate you.
Logan: No you don’t. You just hate the fact that you’ll be painfully aroused for the rest of your workday.
Me: Not helping, asshole.
Logan: All right, all right. I’ll be good.
Logan: Seriously though, I miss you, Pip.
Me: I miss you, too.
Logan: Now get your ass back to work.
I smirk as I think of a way to get him back for making me so randy at work.
Me: Yes, sir. Permission to change my horribly damp panties first, sir?
Logan: *Groans AGAIN* Anyone ever tell you that you play dirty?
Me: Anyone ever tell you that you talk dirty?
Logan:
I laugh.
Me: BTW I was just kidding earlier. I’m not wearing any panties.
Me: Gotta go now. *Byyyyyyyyeeeeee GIF*
Logan: You’re evil. You’re also getting a spanking the next time I see you.
I bite my lip, my heart quickening as anticipation swirls in my chest. God, it’s only been a day since we last had sex, but my body is acting like it’s been a damn month. What is this man doing to me? I’ve never been this ridiculously horny before.
My eyes widen when I glance at the clock and see that I only have an hour to go. I really do have to get my ass in gear if I want to get out of here in time. But before I do, I add a note on my running to-do list:
Charge ALL the toys