Untitled #2
“Yes, boss, no, boss, anything you say, boss.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“You would.” She sounds annoyed, but I just laugh.
“If we sign Whittaker, I’ll give you a fifty-grand bonus; how does that sound?”
“Doesn’t sound like enough, but I guess I’ll accept.” The giddiness in her voice belies the fact that she doesn’t think it sounds like enough, and I know I’ve got her.
“I’ll see you later,” I say and hang up. I need to stop teasing Skye and get my mind out of the gutter. Whittaker Matlock is a huge star. If I can sign him to the firm, I know more sports stars will follow. And with them, unimaginable riches. And I’m ready to take my net worth to the next level.
I look at my watch and tap my foot impatiently against the ground.
Skye should have been here ten minutes ago.
I'm starting to feel increasingly frustrated that she's late and anxious about trying to sign Whittaker Matlock.
He is the biggest star in the NHL, and I know that I have my work cut out for me.
I let out a small sigh of relief as I see the car pull up and stop outside the club.
The driver jumps out, nods at me, and opens the back door.
I step forward so that I can greet Skye.
The first thing I see is a long, slender leg with a bright red fuck-me heel attached to it.
My eyes travel up her beautiful legs, and I watch as she gets out.
She's wearing a short, tight, black skirt, and her hair cascades down her back in ringlets.
She's got more makeup on than I've ever seen before, and she looks stunning.
I lick my dry lips as I swallow hard. My eyes are then immediately drawn to her breasts, which are almost busting out of the very tight-fitting top.
"Hi," she says. "I have the paperwork." She holds up the folders in her hand. "Do you want it?"
"Sure," I say, taking it from her.
For a few moments, I'm almost speechless. I don't know what to say. I'm taken aback by how beautiful she looks, and my loins stir as I stare at her.
"Here you go, Kingston," she says, waving it in front of my face.
"I got it," I say, snatching it from her. "So, you took your time."
"What do you mean I took my time? I had to go to the office, log in, and print the paperwork, and then, of course, we were out of toner ink, and I had to…" She pauses. "Well, you don't want the full breakdown, I'm sure, but I'm here now."
"I'm glad," I say roughly. "Thanks, McCartney," I say to the driver. "I won't be needing you for the rest of the evening."
"You're welcome, Mr. Chase. Have a good evening. You too, Miss Skye."
"Thanks, McCartney." She beams at him.
He gets into the driver's seat and takes off, and we just stare at each other.
"I could kind of get used to having a private driver." She gives me an impish smile. "And yes, that is a hint."
"Hint heard but not received," I say, grinning at her. "You ready to make our entrance into the club?"
"I guess," she says. "That's why I'm here, right?"
She tilts her head to the side, and I watch as one long curl bounces against the valley between her breasts.
"Sorry, what did you say?" I blink, distracted again.
"I said that I'm here for a particular reason, and I'm not even really sure why, other than to bring you this paperwork, which you most probably could have gone to the office and printed yourself."
"You're here because Whittaker Matlock likes beautiful women, and I don't want to approach him by myself and obviously be seeking his business."
"So what, you want to pimp me out to him?"
"No." I chuckle. "We're here on a quasi-date."
"A date?" She almost shrieks. "Oops, sorry." She places her hand in front of her lips. "Is this your way of trying to—"
"It's not a real date, obviously." I cut her off. "It's just for appearances' sake."
"Okay, so we're going on a fake date because…?"
"Because I want Whittaker to think that we just happened to be there, and you just happened to be a huge fan of his, and we just happened to get into a conversation, and I just happened to sign him." I grin. "Comprendo?"
"I guess so, but you are forgetting one thing."
"And what's that?"
"I'm not a fan of his; I don't like ice hockey; I couldn't tell you anything about it."
"And you're an actress, right?" I stare at her.
She presses her lips together. "Yes, I'm an actress, but—"
"Are you a shitty actress or a good actress?"
"Well, what sort of question is that? Who's going to say they're a shitty actress?"
"Exactly, so you're a fairly good actress."
"Hey, that's mean. What do you mean by fairly good?"
"I mean, you still work for me full time, and you haven't won an Oscar yet, so I wouldn't say you're exactly up there with the Meryl Streeps and Sandra Bullocks of the world."
"Has Sandra Bullock won an Oscar?" she asks.
"I don't know." I shrug. "But…"
"But what?" she says.
"Fine, you're not a Viola Davis."
"Fine, I'm not Viola Davis. But I could be one day if I get some really juicy and meaty roles." She laughs. "Okay, let's be real. I'm most probably never going to be a Meryl Streep or a Viola Davis, but I'm not absolutely shit."
"So, then, you can work this role tonight?" I ask her hopefully.
"I'll try my best," she says, nodding. "Fine."
"Thank you."
I grab her hand, and she looks at me in surprise.
"What's going on?"
"I think we should walk into the club holding hands, so immediately when people see us, they'll think we have a close connection."
"Fine," she says, holding my hand.
"Also, I wanted to say thank you for coming."
"What?"
"I know you had plans tonight, and I'm sorry. I genuinely am sorry that they didn't get to occur."
"Oh. Well, thank you."
"I hope the person you were meeting wasn't too upset?" I ask.
I know I'm prying, but I am curious who she'd been intending to meet.
"They were not happy, but we were able to reschedule, so we'll see."
"So, are you going to tell me more about…" I pause as she shakes her head.
"No, I'm not." She smiles sweetly at me. "Shall we make our way inside so that we can get to work?"
"Okay," I say, nodding. "Let's do it."
We head toward the front and a burly security guard looks me over.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Yeah, we're here to get some drinks and maybe some appetizers."
"Are you on the list?" He holds his iPad up.
"Sorry, what?"
"The list. This is an exclusive invite-only bar. You can't just get in."
"Oh, no." Skye looks at him with pouting lips. "But he's been promising me all night that he was going to bring me here." She looks up at me. "If we don't get to go into Club Z, we're not going to make love tonight," she says.
I stare down at her and then look over at the security guard.
"Is there nothing that we can do to get me in? Perhaps I'm on the guest list; I'm not sure."
He looks at me and then at Skye. He notices my five-hundred-dollar Italian leather shoes, my ten-thousand-dollar Rolex, and my custom-made suit, and he nods.
"What do you do?"
"I'm an attorney, a partner at a law firm here in Manhattan."
"I can see if we're allowing any non-invite guests for the evening—for a fee.”
I nod, pull out my leather wallet from my back pocket, take out five crisp hundred-dollar bills, and slip them into the palm of his hand.
"I would appreciate that very much."
He looks down at his palm, gives me a nod, and smiles.
"I think that there may be one guest spot available." He opens the door. "Have a good evening."
"Thank you."
I usher Skye inside before me, and then she looks up at me with wide eyes.
"How much money did you just give him?"
"Five hundred dollars," I say.
"Wow, that's a lot of money."
"I would've given him ten thousand." I grin at her. "But he doesn't know that."
"You would've given him ten thousand dollars just to get in here tonight?"
"I mean, I do want to sleep with you after all," I say, and she bursts out laughing.
"Very funny."
"What? Maybe it's the truth."
"You just want to speak to Whittaker Matlock so you can get his business."
"That is true, but there may be other perks to the evening."
"Really, Kingston?"
"What? I'm just being honest."
"Come on. Where do we go from here?" she asks as we look down the dark corridor.
"I think that we continue down this path and see where we go."
"I hope this club isn't creepy," she says, looking up at me nervously.
"What do you mean?"
"I hope there aren't naked women dancing around."
I'm about to make a joke, but I can tell by the concern in her eyes that she's serious.
"Hey, if anything about this makes you uncomfortable, we'll leave."
"What?” She sounds surprised again.
"If anything—"
"No, I heard you," she says, cutting me off. "But really? You would leave?"
"Yes, of course, I want to make a connection with Whittaker, and of course, he's a very important future potential client for the company. However, I do care about your safety and how you feel, and if you're not comfortable, we will leave."
"Oh, wow. Thank you. I didn't expect that you would say that."
"I'm not a jerk all of the time."
"Just some of the time, huh?" she says with a laugh, and I join her.
I grab her hand again, and we continue walking down the corridor.
The door opens as if by magic, and a pretty woman in a purple dress smiles at me. She has white-blond hair and the most sparkling blue eyes I've ever seen in my life.
"Welcome to Club Z," she says in a Russian accent. "This is your first time?"
"Yes, it is. Both of our first times." I nod over to Skye.
The blonde looks at her and then back at me.
"Welcome. My name is Anastasia. I will be your hostess for the evening."
"Oh, okay." I frown. "Do we not get to seat ourselves?"
I look around to see if I can spot Whittaker anywhere.
"We have very different areas for very different members. You are not a member," she says. "You're just a guest tonight."
"Yeah, I'm a guest, but I'm very interested in becoming a member," I tell her.
"Well, we shall see. Follow me."
She guides us to the side of the room to a small table.