The tap of my new, Italian, tan leather shoes echoes against the shiny marble tiles. I have tapped into my feminine side, shopping all weekend with Charlie and Kate for a new outfit—a suit and shoes to wear today. It was eight hours of my life I will never get back. Who would have thought that women could be so indecisive? I had labels I stuck to and stores that knew my name, making it easier when I needed something new. That was back home. Here, it’s all about status.

Rodeo Drive—friend or foe?

The sales assistants fussed all over me, handing Kate and Charlie champagne while they sat on fancy chairs making me try on several suits. I knew the first one I tried on was THE one. It was a navy suit that fit me perfectly; no need for alterations. Yet they still managed to convince me to try several others, despite my reluctance.

By the end of our shopping trip, I vowed never to go out with them again. Charlie obsessed over every minor detail, and Kate, she is THAT annoying friend that constantly has her head buried in her cell.

The both of them rambled on about how I should act, what I should say, and things not to do around Scarlett. It was like I had never been around women before.

And while I sit here, waiting impatiently, their silly voices ring in my head.

“Make sure you shake her hand. It shows professionalism plus women like to touch men’s hands. It gives them an indication of how big their pecker is,” Kate said.

“Maintain eye contact. Women love eyes. And use her name often, nothing sexier than some nice name calling,” Charlie added.

“Unbutton your shirt a little. A nice, tanned torso is a real eye-catcher,” Kate continued. “And do you have reading glasses? Nothing like a studious man with a dirty side to him.”

Inside my head, I’m groaning and telling the both of them to shut the fuck up.

The reception area is all white—white leather sofa, white desk, white walls. It could easily be considered boring, if not for the giant black-and-white portraits of Scarlett hung on every wall. Her pose and sexy smile draws you in. The sultry red lips, her signature, are deliciously inviting. All of a sudden, my nerves consume me. I find my foot tapping louder, and this lush sofa, when shuffling my body, makes this squeaky sound similar to a fart. The room, large as it is, only echoes the noise, giving the illusion that I just can’t hold things in.

Presley is sitting beside me, twisting a loose curl around her finger while reading some notes on her file. She pauses for a brief moment, adjusting her jacket, before closing her folder.

“So, how was Vegas?” I ask, making small talk.

“Fun. We got drunk, and I mean blind drunk. Haden almost lost our life savings on the blackjack table, but aside from that, a nice break from a very energetic toddler.” She smiles.

“I can imagine. Charlie’s daughter Addison, she’s a little firecracker. Non-stop on the go all the time. I don’t know how Charlie does it, especially without a nanny all the time.”

“She’s a lot like me. Nannies are great, but I didn’t bring my child into the world to be raised by someone else. It’s all a balancing act, juggling work and being a mom. And some days, everything just falls apart and a nanny would be like a walking angel.” She sighs, continuing on, “We got home last night and Masen, our son, wouldn’t let go of Haden. We were so tired and were desperate to crash but he wanted our attention. Life doesn’t stop just because we’re exhausted.”

She swipes through her cell and shows me a picture of her son crashed out in the middle of their bed. “This happens almost every night now. I try taking him back, but he wanders back in and Haden just lets him sleep with us.”

I don’t want to say it, but talk about killing the romance in the bedroom. If I ever have children, they will never, ever, be allowed to sleep in our bed. I’d want my wife to myself every night. Yes, I am that selfish.

Stop. Now you’re talking kids? You’re being brainwashed.

She continues to talk more about her son, how her sister and partner live not far away and help out whenever they can. She also talks fondly about Haden, despite their petty arguments in the office.

“Haden is great at running that office. He knows people and he knows business,” I compliment, impressed with his management skills.

“He is extremely intelligent. But trust me, first impressions aren’t his strongest point. I couldn’t stand him at first. In fact, he was such a jerk that I couldn’t be in the same room as him.”

I laugh. “But look at you now. Some things just have a way of working out.”

“They do,” she happily agrees.

The receptionist, an older lady dressed very modernly in a white pantsuit, busily types away at the keyboard. Her fake acrylic nails tap away at a fast pace.

“Mr. Mason, Mrs. Malone-Cooper?”

Standing at one of the doors is a woman; not Scarlett, although she bears some similarity. The eyes, perhaps? Or maybe, you’ve jerked off to the image of Scarlett’s face way too often.

She waits patiently as we both stand up and make our ways towards her. She extends her hand, introducing herself as Ms. Bentley, and motions for us to enter the office.

The office is large, with the back wall all glass, looking out towards the hills. Unlike the rest of the office, this room has a splash of color, and funnily enough, no portrait of Scarlett on the walls.

“Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Bentley,” Presley begins. “Not to be rude, I thought this meeting was with Miss Winters?”

“Unfortunately, Miss Winters had to reshoot a scene for her upcoming movie. Besides, all press and business go through me first. I’m her assistant.”

How disappointing, the fact that I’d worked myself up for no reason.

Oh well, at least I could relax somewhat now. My body sinks into the chair, making it very comfortable.

I’m quick to notice how really bland the office is. Almost like a showroom. Although there is color, it’s incredibly neat and tidy with not a single speck of dust on the glass table.

Ms. Bentley looks down at her notebook, giving me a chance to gaze at her. Her jet black hair is tied up in a tight bun, accentuating her cheekbones. She wears some blush, making her face slightly flushed, but in a smoldering way. She finishes reading the contract, her eyes focusing between me and Presley as she adjusts her red glasses in order to see us. The glasses are kind of quirky, something you rarely see.

There is something unique about her, and when I scan her face again, my attention focuses on her eyes. They are crystal blue—I mean, so blue that you can’t help but stare at them. I brush it off as contacts; we are in Hollywood, after all. On closer inspection, her tits look too perky. Probably fake too.

“When Mr. Cooper contacted me, he was very insistent about how this autobiography would be a bestseller for Miss Winters,” she tells us, switching her attention between me and Presley.

“Yes.” I clear my throat. Pulling my laptop out, I click on the presentation, talking my way through what we project, along with Presley’s input. Presley had a way with words, talking Ms. Bentley through how best we would capture Scarlett’s story in a positive aspect. I, on the other hand, focused on the marketing side, tapping into Scarlett’s already huge fan base and how we could double that.

“Thank you for this presentation. Miss Winters has expressed interest in a project like this, however, she is a very busy woman. Most of the work and information you need will be collaborated by myself.”

Huh, an odd situation. An autobiography on Scarlett Winters from the perspective of her assistant? I don’t think it can work, and my dick is arguing like a mofo, swearing profanities like a drunken sailor. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I should be spending time with Scarlett, spreading my so-called charm, then getting her into bed.

“Not to be rude, but this autobiography is on Miss Winters. I’m not understanding how it’ll work if you’re giving us the information?” I question her with slight arrogance.

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.” She pushes her glasses above the bridge of her nose, her deep blue eyes watching me with a harsh stare. It’s rude to stare, so I break away, pretending to be interested at the view behind her.

“I’ve been Miss Winters’s PA and publicist since she first entered the business as an adult. You will have contact with Miss Winters to ask her some personal questions, all with her prior consent, however, any general facts will go through me,” she states.

She doesn’t break a sweat, and just when I begin to talk, Presley’s cell rings, distracting us both.

“I’m so sorry, I have to take this call.” Presley leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

“We are keen to start this project. Mr. Cooper would like to see a first draft by the end of next month. It’s a quick turnaround time, but he thinks this would make a great Christmas release,” I add, trying to ensure she understands what deadline we’re working with.

“Of course,” she responds, tapping her pen against the table, watching me with a curious gaze. She’s making me uncomfortable. And I don’t get uncomfortable.

“In regards to Miss Winters, we really need to meet with her. After all, this project is about her.”

Ms. Bentley keeps her expression to no more than a faint, slight smile, continuing to watch me with a persistent gaze.

“And what, may I ask, is your intention with Miss Winters?” she asks, her voice rigid.

God . . . this fucking woman is unbelievable! I understand her duty as an employee, but this is taking it too far.

“My intentions, Ms. Bentley, are only professional.” I bite hard, trying to control my need to give her my opinion on her rigid ass.

“I see, Mr. Mason.” She breaks my gaze long enough to look at the computer screen and clicks her mouse before looking back my way. “Miss Winters will be in the desert shooting a movie over the next two weeks. There may be a few nights that she’ll fly back home. I could possibly organize something then. That is, if you don’t have any commitments afterhours?” she asks with a stern and righteous tone.

I am committed to fucking Scarlett. Any which way possible.

“I’m all open,” I say, not breaking her gaze, wanting to make her uncomfortable.

She tilts her head, and although I may have said that with a slightly seductive tone, Ms. Bentley seems to brush it off. Argh, she looks like a prude anyway.

Presley is taking longer than expected, making the small talk between Ms. Bentley and I extremely awkward.

“Nice office you have here. Do you go on set with Miss Winters much?”

“No,” she responds flatly.

“I see. It must be exciting though, and a rewarding job. Miss Winters is deemed one of the most talented actresses of her generation.” I try again.

“It is. And yes, she is.”

Okay, this is like pulling teeth. Her shirt is buttoned up, no exposure of her ample tits that look nice and fake underneath the fabric. Her skirt is long, almost reaching her knees, not giving me any glimpse of her panties. The only thing that’s turning me on are the very tall pumps she’s wearing. A camel color that looked very nice against her Californian tan. I have no idea how she walks in them, and when I lean my head to look down at the glass table, she’s purposely pushed them as far back into her chair as possible so I see nothing.

Jesus, I might as well have walked into a nunnery.

Frigid, prude, probably still lives at home, possibly with several cats. Such a waste. Stunning woman; she just needs a real man to show her a good time. Unless, she’s batting for the same team.

My god . . . YES!

She likes pussy. Such a waste, but it wouldn’t stop me from jerking off to an image of her and some woman eating each other out.

The door opens and Presley bustles through, apologizing for taking longer than anticipated. With Presley in the room, Ms. Bentley talks more animatedly about the project. Even laughing on occasion. Huh, I wonder why she was so stiff with me? Probably because she can sense how desperate your dick is to find her boss. Plus, she’s not into dick so she’s awkward around attractive men like myself.

“Well then, it was really nice to meet you, Ms. Bentley,” Presley says, standing up.

“And you,” she says with a genuine smile.

Presley shakes her hand and moves around the chair. I follow her lead and extend my hand, making sharp eye contact with her.

“Thank you, Ms. Bentley, I look forward to working with both you and Miss Winters.”

Ms. Bentley hesitates, unlike with Presley, and reluctantly extends her hand. I move in closer and shake it, holding on for a bit longer and never breaking her gaze. Just in case she does like men and Kate’s theory is true, I give her a good handshake so she knows what I’m sporting below. She looks at me for a brief moment, breaking my stare and pulling away.

“Likewise,” she responds coldly.

Presley has left the room, and just when I’m about to walk out, Ms. Bentley calls my name. “Mr. Mason?”

I turn around, surprised to see her leaning against her table in a suggestive pose. That, or my brain is desperate to conjure up that image.

“Please, call me Noah,” I say.

“I’ll be in touch, Noah.” This time, she smiles softly, cocking her head to the side before walking back around her table.

“Looking forward to it, Ms. Bentley.”

I walk out of the room to Presley waiting for me. That was odd, whatever that was. Talk about multiple personalities. Or, she was afraid of me. It doesn’t matter anyway.

I am this close to finally meeting Scarlett Winters.