BECKHAM

Karma.

That’s what it is.

It’s fucking karma.

For the first time in my twenty-seven years I spent the entire morning feeling used.

She’s good, that Odessa. I spotted her the second she slinked up to the bar last night and ordered herself a lemon drop martini. We spoke for a while, swapping stimulating conversation laced with sexual innuendos. All I remember after that point is I couldn’t get her home fast enough. By the time I got her to my bedroom, I was two seconds from ripping her dress clean off if she didn’t stop fumbling with the zipper.

I just want the upper hand back.

That’s all.

She’s a microscopic shard of glass stuck under the top layer of my skin. I can’t see her, but I sure as hell feel her.

I rotate my office chair, staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the building across from me. A cute little marketing executive with nice tits and long blonde hair likes to eye fuck the hell out of me most Friday mornings. Not that I can see her eyes from this far away, but in my mind that’s what she’s doing.

Today she’s nowhere to be found.

I slink back in my chair, running my palms along the slick wooden arms and taking in the view of the city in the morning. While my half-brother, Dane, is stationed in Salt Lake City ensuring the business end of our joint venture is running smoothly, I’m posted in the greatest city on earth, focusing on our brand and making valuable connections.

Dane was never a people person. He could command a room with authority and solemnity, but I could charm the pants off any high-powered female executives and get a chuckle from the crustiest of CEOs.

“The consultant is here.” The saccharin voice of my assistant comes over the phone system.

I twist around and press the call button. “Send him in, Julie.”

Our New York branch is small, consisting of Julie and myself, but Dane and I decided to bring someone on to set up our social media and handle press releases while I’m out hobnobbing with the people who matter. Besides, Facebook and Instagram have never been my thing. While everyone is busy posting about how much fun they’re having, I’m actually out having fun.

Never one for patience, I smooth my tie and head to the door. Clearing my throat, I check my breath quickly, and yank the doorknob.

Hell.

Fucking.

No.

The girl before me freezes mid-step, and for a split second I’m not sure which one of us is more shocked. She picks her jaw up off the floor and pulls her shoulders back, zipping her spine.

“Good morning, Beckham.” Odessa Russo pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, those familiar pink lips tightening.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I lean against the doorframe, ramming my forehead against my clenched fist.

Her arms fold and cinch against her chest.

“My brother hired someone named Sam.” And I was expecting Sam to come equipped with a set of standard issue cock and balls…

“Samantha is my first name.”

“Why’d you tell me your name was Odessa?”

“Because the last thing I need is some crazy one-night-stand Internet stalking me.”

“Lucky for you, I have better things to do with my time.” I inhale the perfume-scented air that envelops us.

Funny how she stands there in cream and pearls like she wasn’t riding my cock all last night. I can still feel the way her tits felt cupped in my hands as she rode me backwards, her pointed nipples grazing my palms.

“So you don’t go by Odessa?”

“Not usually. No.”

I can’t call her Sam. Sam is a girl next door. Sam is benign. Sam is cute and harmless like a fluffy Golden Retriever puppy. That name doesn’t belong on the smart-assed firecracker shooting poison darts my way behind thick-rimmed glasses.

“We going to get started?” She clears her throat and glances over my shoulder. “I assume you have an office for me. I don’t do shared workspaces.”

“You’ll have an office.”

“You have me for three weeks.” She pushes past me, our shoulders brushing in the doorway, and takes a seat in my chair. Her leather satchel rests on top of my desk as she retrieves a thin tablet and swipes her finger across it. “You going to stand there or are we going to get started? I charge by the hour, and the first one began about five minutes ago.”

Fucking Dane. I told him we needed to hire someone fresh out of college, someone young, competent in social media, and obsessed with branding. Bonus points if their degree is in marketing or advertising.

He didn’t listen, claiming I was looking for a hot piece of ass to fuck, and that’s when he took the reins and found…Sam.

I slip my hands in my pockets and take my time walking back to my desk. She may charge an exorbitant hourly rate, but she doesn’t get to bark orders at me or run my office.

“Last night didn’t happen.” She types into the screen of her propped tablet, her nails clicking and her eyes glued to the screen.

“Excuse me?”

“If this is going to work, if you’re going to respect my opinions and ideas, you’re going to have to forget…what we did.”

“Already forgotten,” I lie, sinking into my chair and propping my hands behind my head.

“Good.” She drags a slow breath across her full lips and sits straight, pressing one final button on her device and lifting her gaze across the desk.

“I’m not calling you Sam.” I meet her stare straight on. “You’re still Odessa to me.”

She pauses, head cocked, and says nothing before returning her attention to her screen.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find that the girl I hooked up with last weekend sent me another topless selfie. Fourth picture this week. I don’t respond. It’s not like I’m going to see the fifth one and suddenly decide she’s girlfriend material, but I’m sure I’ll get another two days from now.

“Why are you smirking?” Odessa jerks my attention from the picture of the big-breasted blonde smiling in front of a bathroom mirror with a fingertip in the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not.”

“Please, Beckham. Let’s focus.” Her fingers rap against my desktop. “Your company. Tell me about it.”

“We have a website.” I sit back in my chair again, folding my arms across my stomach. My brother scolds me for being too relaxed. I feel it makes people more comfortable around me. I’m a man with more money than God, and I’ve got more game than the New York Knicks. “All that information is there.”

“Yes, but I’m more interested in how this company is described by its own Chief Branding Officer.” She adjusts her posture, tilting her head. “What do you do here and what’s so special about Townsend Energy Holdings?”

I release an inconvenienced sigh and sit up. “For starters, we’re innovative. Cutting edge. Progressive. Future-focused. Our biggest initiative involves working with national power co-ops to make alternative energy mainstream and affordable. By farming things like wind, we can bring sustainable, environmentally friendly sources of energy to homes and businesses all across America, working to reduce greenhouse gasses and limiting the need for oil drilling also benefits wildlife and climate change. Our ten-year plan includes bringing alternative energy sources to third world countries with a focus on sustainable agriculture. I can get into the global economics of alternative energy savings as well if you’d like.”

Her brows raise, and ripe satisfaction swells me from the inside.

“Smarter than I look.” I slip my hands behind my head as if my chair has just morphed into some Bahamian hammock. Speaking of which, I’d give anything to dig my toes into some white, sugary sand with an icy Corona in my hand. “I know.”

“Nah. You’re just a good bullshitter.”

I lean forward, my hands falling into my lap like dead weight. I can’t win with her. Any other woman would be drooling over some handsome asshole in a three-piece suit spewing words like “initiative” and “global economics.”

Odessa sits there, less than impressed.

“Anyone can memorize a script,” she says. “You sound like you’re reading off the About Me page of your website.”

“I wrote that page.”

“My point exactly.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You’ve used those words so many times they’ve lost their meaning. I don’t feel any passion from you when you talk about your company. There’s your first problem.”

“The passion’s there. Believe me.”

Her brows rise as her lips press into a straight line. “I don’t.”

My head angles. I’m way too blown away by this woman’s audacity to remotely consider firing her.

And she’s lucky because cutting ties with people is what I do best.

“It’s not there just because you say it’s there,” she says. “I need to feel it. Every word you speak needs to convince me you eat, sleep, and breathe this company. When I spoke with Dane, he mentioned that you were essentially the face of the T.E.H. He said you handled networking and partnerships, that your sole focus was projecting a very specific image of the company.”

“Right.”

“What is that image?”

“We’re making alternative energy sexy.” I adjust the knot of my tie. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Her green eyes roll. Any harder and they’d be in the back of her head. “I need you to be serious.”

“I thought we hired you to handle social media?”

“No.” Her nose wrinkles. “You hired me – your brother hired me to help you handle your public relations efforts. We’re starting with branding. I need to get a grip on your brand and what you’re trying to do before I can fix anything.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Fucking Dane.

“Dane said I needed help?”

“It was implied. Besides, I’m not sure why else one would hire a consultant if they weren’t in dire need of help. I’m not exactly cheap.”

“What needs fixed?”

“Several things apparently.”

I lift my receiver, speed dialing our Salt Lake City headquarters and placing the call on speaker. My brother’s assistant, Marlene, patches me through immediately.

“Dane speaking.”

“Dane, I’ve got our consultant here.” I don’t disguise my current state of displeasure. “You may know her as Sam.”

I peel my gaze from the black corporate phone and lock eyes with her, not eliciting so much as a single squirm from her.

“Hello, Dane.” There’s warmth in her voice though her face is blank. I refuse to release her gaze. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m well, Sam. Thank you. Yourself?” Dane asks.

“Lovely, thank you,” she says.

“I’m calling you today, Brother, because it seems there’s a bit of confusion as to what exactly our consultant’s going to be doing here at the New York branch.”

“What’s the confusion?” There’s an edge in his tone that tells me he doesn’t have time for this.

“Sam here says she was hired to help me fix our image,” I say. “I wasn’t aware that I needed help nor that anything was in need of fixing. I was under the impression that she was brought on to set up our social media.”

“I would’ve hired a college intern if that’s what we needed,” Dane scoffs. “Sam has a proven track-record of taking little-known start ups and growing them into superstars.”

“Little late on that aren’t we?” I release a haughty chuckle, grabbing a stress ball from next to my computer monitor. I’m not sure why I have it. Nothing about my life is remotely stressful. I toss it up in the air and catch it with a determined grip. “We haven’t been a little-known start up in quite some time.”

“True,” Dane says. “We’re big. But we can be bigger. It all starts with branding.”

“Right. Branding is my thing, and branding and public relations are two entirely different things.”

“Sam has experience with both. Didn’t you check out the link to her bio? I emailed you last week after I told you I’d hired her.”

“Anyway,” I say, my tone flat. “Just needed clarification, Dane. Appreciate it.”

I end the call.

“What now?” I ask.

Her mouth forms a smug smile and the flash in her eyes is a big, fat “told you so.”

“You need a better website, something modern and sleek yet approachable and user-friendly. What you have here is confusing.” She flips the screen of her tablet toward me. “Yellow and orange? No…just…no. Who designed this?”

A flaxen-haired Dutch exchange student a few years back who was desperate for my attention after a drunken hookup. She wanted me so bad; she did the entire thing for free.

“Yellow and orange are energetic colors. We’re an energy corporation.”

Odessa’s green eyes widen, and she blows a disapproving breath past her lips as she turns the screen back and types a million words a minute.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m emailing my web developer.” She pokes the screen with her fingertip. “There. Okay, so let’s hone and polish your brand, then once we have it where we want it, I’ll blast all media venues, put out press releases, create your social media accounts, draft up some posts for you to keep in your back pocket. My consulting fee includes one future crisis. If your company is ever under media fire, you contact me, and I’ll draft up a press release to put out the flames.”

I can see how a woman like her would be good at putting out fires. You can’t argue with her. Everything that comes out of her mouth functions like definitive proof that she’s a woman who’s rarely wrong about a thing.

Color me impressed, but I’ll never admit that to her. Or to my brother. He’s still on my shit list for not trusting me.

Odessa’s phone rings, and she slides it from her bag. “Devin, hi. How are you?”

She smiles. Ear to ear. She didn’t even smile that wide last night after a round of multiple orgasms when my tongue was buried deep inside her and my fingertips dug into the flesh of her inner thighs, pinning her to the bed.

She stands, walking around my office and chatting to this guy as she flattens her palm across the top of her hair and stands by the window. I wake my computer and pull up a browser, typing in the address to my favorite travel website and pretending not to listen.

I’m due for a vacation. Cabo sounds good. Cabo in the spring is perfection.

“Thanks, Devin. You’re the best,” she says. “I appreciate it. Seriously. I owe you. Drinks on me, okay? All right…”

My grip on my computer mouse could easily pop the buttons off. Why does she kiss Devin’s ass, but speak to me with disgust in her voice?

I’m Beckham fucking King.

Any other woman would be flicking her tongue across her lips and shooting me coy glances. Any other woman would be tugging her blouse down to “accidentally” give me a peek. Any other woman would be toying with her hair and batting her eyes and raving about how amazing last night was.

Not Odessa.

A woman who wants nothing to do with me after one of my infamous all-nighters should be a blessing. I should be celebrating; not wanting to bend her over the back of my desk and show her how very wrong she is about me.

She waltzed into my life last night and out of my apartment with my crown in tow.

I’m getting it back.

Starting now.