Chapter 2
DATING SCOOP WITH COLE PRIME: THE PHYSIQUE HE FAVORS (YOU JUST MIGHT BE LUCKY!)
The Inside Scoop magazine headline brings a smile to my face.
I peruse the cover, grinning at the cover photo they chose for the editorial.
It was a shot from John Stu’s Formal Collection.
In the photograph, I'm leaning on a black Rolls Royce in an all-black suede three-piece suit, black satin sleeves, a formal shoe, a diamond choker on my neck in place of a tie, and a single white rose clenched between my fingers.
A great choice, if I do say so myself. I nod in approval, proceeding to flip through the pages until I find the article.
As I skim through the piece, an unwavering grin of disbelief stays glued to my lips.
I roll my swivel chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office with the perfect backdrop of New York’s noon-time skyline.
I lean back and continue skimming until I find the line that made me curious enough to open this speculative gossip paper.
This billionaire bad-boy’s type is a light-haired, hazel-eyed, slim beauty with just a hint of curves. The model types who ooze sex appeal. If you're in this category, count yourself lucky; you just might…
I close my eyes and swallow a bitter laugh.
If only they knew. Images flash behind my eyelids; images I don't want to see right now.
But I am powerless as a flood of memories begins to play.
Her smiling face… Her chubby fifteen-year-old cheeks hiding chocolate…
Her more defined cheekbones as she blows out the figure twenty candle on her birthday cake…
Her soft body becoming pliant in my arms as I hug her during her Master's degree graduation ceremony…
Suddenly, the door opens behind me, and I'm pulled out of my reverie.
“Daydreaming, I see,” comes the easy tease from my best bud, Dean McLean .
If only he knew.
Dean McLean and I have been best friends since the pact we made when we were twelve.
My parents had moved to New York to allow the scandal attached to the Prime name to die down when I was ten years old.
Dean had been my first friend after our fistfight over who got to sit at the desk directly in front of Miss Delores, our teacher.
After that fight, our friendship blossomed.
We plowed through middle school like a pack of hellions.
We went through junior high and high school together, always putting our friendship over girls.
Our bond strengthened in business school, after I lost my older sister in a car crash.
Dean was there for me. Always had been, and always would be.
But, if he learned of who I've been having steamy sex dreams about in the last couple of years, I could kiss our friendship goodbye.
Dean had moved on from Business school to take over his family's business.
At the same time, I bought a struggling supermarket chain store and turned it into Prime Universal.
It soon became a multi-billion dollar supermarket chain store with branches in four continents.
We're each successful in our rights. But he had one thing I longed for – love.
Dean had one-upped me by falling in love with Lenny a few months ago.
Our days of carousing were gone, and I was now a lone soldier on the frontline.
Here I am at thirty-two, and I could run a multi-billion dollar company like a strict army battalion, but I couldn't even get myself to fall in love, not when I was pining after one, sweet-faced girl.
I twist my chair around to face him, replacing the look of longing I had seen reflected on the glass behind me with a look of annoyance.
“That was so funny I'm falling over with laughter,” I scoff, flinging the magazine across the burnished surface of my mahogany desk. Dean smirks while helping himself to a chair, picking up the magazine as he sits down.
“You didn't knock,” I state calmly. It was the usual banter between us. Dean doesn't look up from the magazine.
“I didn't notice the door.” He says casually, still looking over the magazine cover.
I grin, then resume reading the daily sales report, which has been sitting on my desk for some hours now. I knew the figures by heart already. Sales were good, but they could be better. Our profit margin has stayed almost the same for the last two months. I've got to do something about it.
“Why were you reading this? ”
Dean's question catches me off guard. I frown and lean into my chair. “Because I was curious, and I want to be abreast with what is being said about me.” My matter-of-fact answer should put an end to his questions.
“You have poor taste, though.” Dean dumps the magazine on my desk and crosses one leg over the other. I squeeze a sheet of paper into a ball, aim, and throw. My paper ball misses Dean by a hair's breadth.
“Hey!” He yelps, ducking.
“Watch it!” I warn, squeezing up another piece of paper, “I have great taste!”
Dean shakes his head, holding up his hand in mock surrender, “Okay, okay! Let's pretend that you do. For the sake of what I want to talk to you about, I need you on my side.” Dean chuckles, and I straighten in my seat.
“Is it about the wedding? You're backing out? I knew it!” I say in a rush, laughing as I hop off my chair to clap him on the shoulder.
He shoves me away, laughing, “No, man! Backing out for what? I love Lenny, and time isn't speeding by fast enough for me to make her my wife.”
I chuckle and rest my hip on my desk, “So what's the news?”
Dean waves me off, reclines in his chair, and kicks his feet on the table. “I need a favor, but that can wait until after I bring you up to speed on the wedding plans.”
I roll my eyes at him and push his feet off my desk. “Dude, you got engaged less than a month ago, and now, you no longer have respect for me or my office. You're putting your stinking feet on two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Dean puts his hand into his jacket, “Want me to write you a check for a new one?”
I chuckle and wave off his suggestion.
“As I was saying, we’ve picked April 15th for the wedding, and we’re putting your billionaire checkbook to good use. We're getting custom Tom Ford suits.”
I nod, making a mental note to get Julianna to book an appointment at Tom Ford’s office. “Got you! What else? ”
“Bachelor's Eve party is up to you,” I flex my wrist at the statement. “But nothing devious! I want to make Lenny my wife very much, so no strippers. Keep them far, far away.”
I frown in outrage. No strippers? Who is this, and what has he done with my best friend?
Dean laughs. “Wipe that stupid look off your face, or my fist will. The wedding planning is up to Lenny and my mum, and that's it. Oh, and you can't bring any of those types to my wedding,” Dean remarks, nodding at the magazine.
I shrug and fold my hands across my chest. What a wedding! No strippers and no dates for me. I nod in agreement, ready to respect his wishes.
Even though our mood has been lighthearted, I know there is something seriously wrong for Dean to come asking for a favor. Dean is proud, like me. Whatever he wants has to be very important.
I clear my throat, “So, what's the favor?”
He shakes his head, “Playtime is over. Back to business.”
I shrug. “You know me. Hit me, what's the favor? You never ask unless it’s do or die.”
“Right. This sort of is.”
I nod and wait for him to continue.
“I need a job… for Dora.”
His announcement knocks the wind out of my sails. I hadn't seen that coming. I school my features to hide my panic.
“Her job is shitty. She refuses to work for the company because she wants to strike out on her own. Her pay at her current job is rubbish. Her colleagues are Satan’s spawns, but she's rejecting all my offers! I'm at my wit's end. She needs a better job, and you know her resume is impeccable.”
He extracts a sheet of paper and hands it over to me.
I accept it and peruse Dora’s achievements.
By the time I reach the end of the resume, I am thoroughly impressed.
Hadn't I been thinking a few minutes ago about how badly I needed to do something about the sales margin?
Well, this is life handing me a silver spoon.
Why should I turn down the opportunity to increase my revenue and get past the barriers Dora erected since that kiss on the lawn?
A sense of fear creeps down my spine. Do I want Dora in my space?
Can I keep her at arm's length? I'm certain there are more sales personnel with more qualifications than Dora, but Dean is asking for a favor.
And he never asks. I swallow my reluctance and nod at Dean, “Pretty impressive. Our girl has done well. Consider her hired, not just as a favor. You know I don't joke with my business. I know an asset when I see one and she’s an asset.”
Dean nods in relief and pulls me into a hug. “Thanks, bro! I don't owe you one! You, on the other hand, owe me big for handing you this treasure.”
I chuckle and say to myself, “Believe me, I recognize this treasure, and I'm going to hold on to her.”