Sabrina held her thighs together tightly as she pulled the papers out of her briefcase. Her cheeks were getting hot. The man was already being impossible! He was staring at her like she was a stripper!

The warm look in Nick Falcon’s eyes was unmistakable. He wanted her. And it was doing strange, tremulous things to her belly.

She felt naked in front of him. He was lazily inspecting her body, pausing at the space where her legs met. As if he could see everything. She adjusted her skirt, tucking it firmly to her knees.

He just smiled as if he knew what she was doing. Like he knew she was trying to cover herself. Trying to be modest under his illicit gaze.

Damn him!

He wasn't going to make this easy for her, she could already tell. If only he wasn't so handsome, with those high cheekbones and chiseled features…

His dark hair was deliberately tousled, curling over his stormy green eyes. His body was insanely fit looking too, especially considering he must be inching towards his mid-thirties. Broad shoulders, long legs and a flat stomach. Never mind the talent and bazillion dollars, the man was movie star gorgeous on top of it.

"You seem young to be taking on an A list client."

"I am. I was also young when I finished business school."

He smirked at her. She tilted her head and stared at him cooly.

"Harvard Business School.”

He raised his eyebrow and nodded, conceding her the point. She pulled out a stack of papers, not willing to miss a beat. She had to get this done, and leave.

Before he got to her.

Who was she kidding?

He’d already gotten to her.

"We should review your schedule. You have some promotional events to do before you leave, as well as several appearances at each stop on your tour."

He leaned back, and waved his hand dismissively.

"I don't do publicity. I don't have to."

She rested her hands on her lap. Here we go. Clearly nobody had this talk with him yet.

Thanks a lot, Wendell.

"Mr. Falcon-"

"Nick."

He was smiling again, his gaze warm and inviting as it danced down her legs. It was a look that said ‘I’d like to lick your ankles.’

She shivered, wondering what exactly it would feel like to have her ankles licked.

Jesus, did the man ever stop oozing sex appeal?

"Mr. Falcon, I am not sure you are aware but your advance ticket sales for this tour are-"

She paused, unsure how to put this.

"Not up to expectations."

"So? People show up at the last minute. I’ve never not sold out a venue.”

He was staring at her legs again, stroking his chin with one hand. He actually licked his lips a little bit. He looked completely unconcerned with anything other than what she looked like underneath her clothes.

She should have been offended. And she was. But she was also, embarrassingly, very much aroused.

"Are you prepared to play empty arenas?"

He stared at her, surprise written all over his face. Surprise and a little bit of anger. Not a little. A lot.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Mr. Falcon, that unless you do some publicity, more than half your tour will be cancelled."

"You're joking."

"No, I'm not. It's not your popularity that's waned, it's the economy. Particularly in Europe. They are simply not spending money on entertainment."

He leaned forward, a markedly unpleasant look on his face.

"Now you listen to me, miss. Music is not entertainment. It's life's fucking blood! Without music, there's nothing to stir the soul of the common man."

She stared at him without reacting.

"That was quite a speech, Mr. Falcon. But I'm afraid the numbers don't lie. If we don't do something, this tour will lose money instead of making it."

"Call me Nick for Christ's sake! Jesus."

At that moment, the scruffy blond man came back with a bucket of champagne and two glasses. He looked like a puppy, happy to be there and assuming the meeting was going well.

It was not.

"I brought champers!"

Nick sat back in his seat and stared at her while the other man popped the cork. He filled two glasses and handed her one.

"No, thank you, I don't drink."

The man stared at her, agog. He was looking at her as if she was an alien. Or a talking dog.

"What, never?"

She smiled grimly. Apparently, everyone in their world drank constantly. Not her. She’d never touched a drop.

"Exactly. Never.”

His jaw dropped.

"Marley."

Hastily he handed Mr. Falcon the second glass and stood there confused for a moment before skulking away to sit on the other side of the room.

She snuck a glance at Mr. Falcon again. He was watching her again as he lifted his champagne flute to his lips. He drank deeply, never taking his eyes from hers.

"Give me the damn schedule then."

She sighed in relief. They were too far apart to just hand it to him so she stood and walked it over to him. He smiled at her coldly as his eyes slid over her body. Again.

Jesus, the man was a walking hormone!

Sabrina found herself tottering on her heels for a second and cringed. The man had her that off balance. Literally.

She handed him the paper and went back to her seat.

He was still staring when she sat down again. He shook his head and finally focused on the piece of paper in his hand. He raised his eyebrows.

"Marley, come and take a look at this."

Marley trotted over and leaned down to see. Nick looked annoyed and waved it in the air.

"Just take the bloody thing!"

Marley grabbed the paper and stared at it, reading. Nick was back to staring at her.

"I thought you didn't do this sort of stuff?"

"I don't."

"Sooo… what do you want me to do with it?"

"Burn it."

He was smiling at her, one corner of his mouth lifting skyward. He was mocking her. Treating her job like a joke. Making her feel like a little girl.

Jerk.

"Or wipe your ass with it. Up to you, mate."

“Uh… right. Thank you?"

Sabrina would have laughed at Marley’s bafflement if Nick wasn't being such a pain in the ass. She’d known before coming here that he might take offense at his lackluster concert sales but this was ridiculous. He was being a prima donna.

"That's very entertaining Mr. Falcon but I have plenty of other copies."

She smiled at him and waved a few other papers in the air. He narrowed his eyes at her. They were playing some sort of verbal tennis match. And she was winning.

She hoped so anyway.

"It doesn't matter. I won't do them."

"Mr. Falcon, I am willing to go to bat for you with the label if you do even just a few of these promotional events. Can we compromise that way?"

He leaned forward suddenly, his hands on his knees.

"I'll tell you what sweetheart. I'll do one promotional event per city, of my choosing."

She let out a big sigh of relief.

"If…” The word hung in the air, hovering dangerously. “You'll let me rub my wang all over your tits."

For a moment she didn’t react. She couldn’t. Then her jaw dropped.

The pig! What a disgusiting pig!

Actually, that was an insult to pigs!

"What? I promise to be a good boy. But only if…”

She took a deep breath and stuffed her papers into her briefcase. She had to get out of here. She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. Then she stood stiffly.

"Good day Mr. Falcon. Mr. - Marley."

Nick didn’t bat an eye as she left. Marley followed her to the door, looking contrite. She was still choking back tears as she practically ran out of the house.

She ran towards her car as if her life depended on it.

No one spoke to her like that! No one!

She fumbled with her keys, finally opening her car door. Inside she could not fight back the tears any more. Great heaving sobs erupted from her chest. Not dainty, tiny ones.

Big tears and ugly crying. She was a joke. Not a success as she’d imagined just a few hours ago. A failure!

He'd humiliated her! How was she supposed to explain this to her boss? She couldn’t. Not really. She was going to have to lie. Slink back to the B-List artists she’d managed so far.

At least none of them would threaten to defile her!

She turned on the car just as a Nick Falcon song came on the radio. One of his older, better tunes. She stared at it for half a heartbeat and then smashed her entire hand down onto the button, making it fall to the floor.

Great. One more thing ruined by Nick Falcon.