CHAPTER 5
Drake
I survived Bring Your Kids to Work Day and my father told me Gunther Saxton was impressed by my presentation to the kiddies. Fortunately, there was no repeat of last year’s food fight, and the kids were so well behaved you would have thought we got them from Central Casting. We were one step closer to making the deal happen.
The rest of the day went by without a hitch. With pitch season around the corner and the pending acquisition of my father’s company by Saxton Enterprises, I spent most of my time out of my office…meeting with in-house character designers, storyboard artists, story editors, and animators as well as with ZAP!, the cutting-edge ad agency that was putting together a sizzle reel to show to network development execs. One thing worried me: while we had a full development slate, none of the shows we had in development felt like the next big hit. Both my father and Gunther were counting on me to find that needle in the haystack.
My temp, Dee, was doing a great job holding down the fort while I was in meetings. In fact, she was perfect, attending to my every need and whim, from keeping me on schedule to running to Starbucks to get me a much-needed Vanilla Ice Blended and warm chocolate chip cookie in the middle of the day. I, on the other hand, wasn’t doing such a great job suppressing my feelings about her. While her behavior toward me was very professional and not the least bit flirtatious, something about her fucking turned me on. My dick was twitchy, especially when I caught sight of her taking off her sweater and unbuttoning the top buttons of her blouse, which exposed just the tiniest bit of her lace bra and made me fantasize about what lay beneath. From the way they pressed against the silky fabric of her blouse, I could tell her tits were full and firm with nipples that I imagined were succulent and rosy.
I hadn’t been this turned on in ages. Maybe it had to do with my recent self-imposed period of celibacy, but I’d seriously never had so many fantasies about a woman. Most chicks were just one-night hook-ups that fit into the find, feel, fuck, and forget category. But Dee, ever since that barfing incident, had lingered in my head. I fantasized about her kneeling at my feet and giving me head, fucking her on the floor and over my desk, then banging her against a wall. She didn’t wear any kind of wedding band, so I assumed she was single. I refrained from asking her because I didn’t want to know she was off limits and have to say adiós to my fantasies. Plain and simple: I didn’t bang married ladies; that’s where I drew the line. Maybe I was a little bit of a manwhore (okay, understatement) and marriage-phobic, but I at least respected the institution. Enduring their share of ups and downs, including one horrific tragedy, my parents had stayed together for almost forty years and were still madly in love. Not a small feat by Hollywood standards. The number of celebrity divorces in this town had made my best bud Brock Andrews a millionaire. And somewhat of a celebrity in his own right.
Before I knew it, it was six o’clock. While I usually didn’t leave the office until seven and sometimes later, tonight I was meeting Brock at the LA Kings Valley Ice Center for our bi-monthly hockey game. I grabbed my laptop bag and headed out of my office. To my surprise, my new temp was still at her desk. Her eyes glued to her computer screen, she glanced up at me. She looked a little tired.
“Hey, you don’t have to stay late.”
She quirked a sweet little smile. “It’s okay. I was just studying the “To Do” list your regular assistant was kind enough to send. I’ll make sure I have your schedule for the rest of the week printed out and on your desk before you get in tomorrow.”
“Thanks. See you in the morning.”
“Night,” she replied, her eyes already back on the screen.
I lingered, tempted to ask if she wanted to come watch me play hockey.
“Hey, do you have plans for tonight?”
“Yes, I’m going out later.”
I hardly knew this girl, yet I felt a little dejected and rejected. I shouldn’t have been surprised by her response. Cute, single chicks like her didn’t stay home at night. If she didn’t have a boyfriend, I bet she had a hot date every night.
I inhaled a breath while she ignored me, then bid her good night one more time and split.
Friends since kindergarten, Brock and I had both been playing hockey for as long as we could remember and now belonged to an amateur team known as the Mighty Dicks. The name of the team suited us well; combined, we were a bunch of spoiled rich pricks, who were determined to win and had enough testosterone among us to melt the ice. Suited up in my padded uniform and a protective helmet, it felt good to be on the ice. After a stressful day, it was my way of chilling and using my big stick to score goals. It was also my way of releasing my pent up sexual energy. And I had a lot of it. Not so much because I hadn’t used my God-given big stick for over a month, but because ever since my sexy temp stepped into my office, I had the burning urge to bury it in her pussy and score a goal of another kind. My hormones were raging.
Tonight, we were playing the best team in our league. Our fiercest competition—the Manchots, which was French for penguins. The Canadian ex-pats, who composed this team, thought they were hot shots and born with pucks between their legs. So far this season, they were undefeated. Fuck them, I thought as the game went into sudden death overtime. My heart was racing, my focus on the puck. The puck flew across the ice to the other team, but one of our defensemen blocked it, hitting it straight to Brock, my fellow forward. Through our helmets, we made eye contact, and in a split second, the puck was mine. It was a long shot, but I had to take it. Without wasting a second, I whacked the puck with my stick and watched as it swept across the ice straight past the Manchots’ stunned goaltender into the net. The score: 2-1. Victory was ours! Cheers and man hugs all around.
Brock high fived me. “C’mon, man, let’s go out and celebrate.” And get laid. “I’ll buy.”
I thought about his offer. It had been a while since I’d been out on the town. Gunther Saxton, whose holdings included amusement parks, electronic games, and pre-school brands, had made it crystal clear to my father that if I was going to take over and run his animation company I needed to change my image. “Form equals meaning,” he’d stressed repeatedly. “I can’t have someone like your son running an animation company who’s out screwing every starlet and supermodel in LA. A family brand needs a family man. Someone who is settled down with a wife and kids.”
Every time he mentioned the wife and kids part I inwardly cringed. Settling down was the last thing on my mind. I was just not the marrying type, let alone the family man. And, of course, the mention of kids always reminded me of all the kids that might be mine as the result of being a sperm donor. I hated to think about the consequences if that secret ever got out. Whoof.
My past aside, the deal was majorly important to my father so I agreed to low key it for a while…stay away from the Hollywood scene and stay out of the tabloids. At first, it sucked balls, but I’d actually gotten used to it, and to my astonishment, I found myself not missing the meaningless hook-ups night after night or the superficial nightlife. Though this was the longest dry spell I’d endured in my adult life, I felt rested and productive. A sabbatical. Yet, despite my commitment to living a temporary celibate life until the deal was done, my buddy Brock managed to sweet talk me into going to a new Hollywood hot spot to celebrate our victory.
“Man, I think I’ve gotten too old for this shit,” I grumbled, taking in the five-people deep bar.
“Bro, you’ve got to get back in the game. Your dick can only last so long without being laid. It can even fall off.”
Mentally, I rolled my eyes. In his office, Brock thought with his brain; he was one of the sharpest, shrewdest attorneys in LA, specializing in high profile, sticky divorce cases and family law. But once outside his glass-and-steel tower, Brock thought with his dick. He didn’t just check out attractive women. He checked out women. Fat ones, skinny ones, tall ones, and short ones. Women of all color though the equal opportunity player had a predilection for leggy blondes whereas I was an ass-man. He approached the opposite sex no differently than one of his high-profile cases—no risk, no gain. Score a win. His eyes roaming, he was already on the prowl. Brock the Rock had earned his name.
“Maybe you’ll meet Miss Right here tonight,” he chuckled, giving me a man pat on my back. “And make your old man happy.”
“Yeah, right,” I retorted, the sarcasm dripping. All skin, sex, and heat, this was no place to meet your future wife. Nor was I looking for one.
“Check out that babe at eleven o’clock,” he said, pointing in her direction. “She’s hot as shit.”
My eyes followed his and landed on a tall, lithe blonde in tight-ass jeans standing at the bar. Yup. He was right. A margarita in her hand, she was definitely off the charts hot. The face and body of a goddess with radiant waist-length hair, mile-long legs, and spectacular tits that spilled out of her low-cut halter-top. But what really grabbed my attention were her defined, full lips. As she made eye contact with us, she took a long sip of her drink and then licked them. I felt my cock stir.
“Fuck,” muttered Brock under his breath. “I saw her first. She’s mine.”
In addition to speaking three languages fluently, Brock was an expert on the body language of women. He could read exactly what they wanted and how they wanted it. Then say what they wanted to hear. He was ready to conquer. And score. Flashing a seductive smile, the blonde turned around so her back was to us.
“Check out that piece of ass,” crooned Brock. “C’mon. Remember, I make the first moves.”
A short minute later, we were at the bar. Luck had it that there was an empty seat next to Ms. Blond and Gorgeous.
“Hey, beautiful. Anyone sitting here?” Brock asked, pulling out the barstool while I stood next to him. I was already feeling like his sidekick.
She turned to face us. Up close, she was even more striking. Her skin porcelain, her eyes sapphire, and her luscious lips lightly glossed. They reminded me a lot of my new assistant’s, especially the way the corners turned up like a Cupid’s bow. They were lips made for cock sucking. She smiled seductively again.
“It’s reserved for my sister. She went to the ladies’ room. You can have it until she gets back.”
“Great,” said my companion, scooting onto the stool while I leaned against the bar.
“Watcha drinking, angel?” Brock asked, already on the make.
“A pink margarita.” She took another sip.
Another almost empty margarita glass was on the bar counter where Brock was sitting. Probably the sister’s. A little bit of salt still coated the rim.
The blonde finished her drink, but before she could set the glass down, Brock took it from her.
“Can I buy you another?”
Oh, man, he was slick.
“Sure.”
“You know what, I’m going to order a pitcher.” Brock turned to me. “Is that okay by you, bro?”
“Go for it.” I really wanted a gin and tonic, but I wasn’t about to fuck things up.
While Brock got the attention of a bartender, the blond babe smiled at me and then returned her attention to Brock after he placed the order.
“Why don’t you introduce me to your friend, stranger?”
“Sorry. This is my buddy, Drake, and my name’s Brock.
“Hi,” she said breathily, sizing both of us up. That’s what chicks did. Mentally, they were calculating how much money we made and how big our dicks were. The more the better. I guess we passed the test because she didn’t brush us off. At least, not yet.
“I’m Lulu. So, what do you guys do?”
Yup. She was going for the jugular. Not wasting a second to see if we were worth her time. Or should I say, net-worthy. Brock responded.
“I’m a lawyer. And Drake’s in the entertainment business.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on Brock. “Cool. What kind of law do you practice?”
“Family law. Did you read about the woman who sued her sperm donor and won child support?”
My muscles clenched. Brock’s cockiness was bad enough, but every time he brought up this case (he had no clue about my little extra-curricular college activity), I saw my life savings pouring out of my bank account like water. Given all the women I’d likely impregnated, I could be cleaned out for life. And I’m sure my old man would cut off my inheritance. Maybe even boot me out of the company.
Her eyes lit up. “Yeah, that was all over the news. You represented her?”
“Yeah, that was me.” Brock flashed a big shit-eating grin. He could be such a pompous asshole. But I guess it took one to know one.
Lulu raked her manicured fingers through her mane. “Wow! You’re like famous.”
Rich and famous. Still smiling smugly, he did his Mr. Humble Pie bit. He really had his act down to an art.
“Yeah, kind of,” he replied, eyeing her cleavage. Subconsciously, she adjusted one of her spaghetti straps. When it slipped down her shoulder again, Brock nimbly slid it back up.
“Thanks,” she breathed out, batting her eyes at him. Oh yeah, she was on fire, and I was positive that whatever little lace panties she had on were melting. Things were looking good for Brock. The bartender returned with the pitcher of margaritas along with two salt-laced glasses, one for Brock and the other for me. As Brock filled Lulu’s glass and then his, the chair to his right became vacant and I took it, taking my glass with me.
“So, Lulu, tell me a little bit about yourself,” Brock lilted, setting the pitcher down in front of me. While most men wanted to talk about themselves, Brock was smart enough to know that women loved it when men took an interest in what they did. His favorite pick-up line was coming.
“Are you a supermodel or something?”
Flushing, Lulu giggled. “Hardly. I’m a Zumba instructor.”
“Well, you sure have a great body.”
That you can’t wait to fuck.
“I bet you have a lot of great moves.”
I could feel the heat rising between them. Sparks were flying.
She guzzled her margarita before saying, “Yes, you could say that.”
“I have a few too.”
That was for sure. His gaze traveled down her taut body. He was mentally undressing her. Eye fucking her. I just knew what was going on in his head. This beautiful babe butt naked, bent over with her sweet ass in the air. And him behind her, banging her hard. His own kind of Zumba. Or was that my fantasy? A familiar voice cut my ruminations short.
“Excuse me. You’re sitting in my chair.”
Holy shit! Could it be? I wondered as Brock stood up and I froze.
“Sorry,” my buddy apologized, spinning around.
Lulu jumped in. “This is my sister…”
I heard her name on her lips before she said it.
“Deandra. But I call her Dee-Dee.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Brock and this is my friend, Drake.”
“Drake?” Her voice cracked with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
My heart raced as I cringed. My head bowed down. But beneath the bar, my cock bounced up.
Hesitantly, I looked up and faced her. She looked as sexy as sin, dressed in tight jeans that showed off her curves and a sheer short-sleeve blouse that fell off her shoulders. Her thick, wavy hair was loose and grazed her shoulders like a whimsical cape. The silence between us vibrated as loudly as the dance music that was blasting.
“Come on, beautiful, let’s dance,” said Brock, taking Lulu by the hand.
With a saucy smile, Lulu told her sister she could have her seat.
Hopping onto the stool, Dee immediately grabbed the margarita pitcher and filled her glass to the brim. I would have done it for her, but she didn’t give me a chance. I watched as she drained it, and as she took giant gulps, I contemplated what to say.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
After another gulp, she set her glass down. “The same thing you are.”
Looking for a hook-up? I refilled her glass and then poured myself an equal helping of the margarita. We were going to need it.
“And what would that be?” I asked after taking a chug of the intoxicatingly sweet, icy drink.
“You know, chilling. Checking out the scene.”
The scene was a blur to me. The only person I was interested in checking out was the intriguing, sexy woman sitting beside me. Wanting so badly to touch her, I fumbled for conversation.
“Um, how did you like your first day on the job?”
“Great. I totally enjoyed it.”
To say I totally enjoyed it, too, was the understatement of the century. At the memory of her making me come in my pants, my cock tensed. I squirmed in my chair, seeking relief.
“How ’bout another round?” I asked, noticing that her glass was verging on empty.
“Um, uh, sure,” she replied, lifting her glass to those kissable lips once it was refilled. Sipping the drink, she swiveled her neck and took in the crowd of dancers on the floor.
“Looks like your friend is really into my sister.”
Looking over my shoulder, I followed her gaze and found Brock and Lulu dancing up a storm. Brock was grinding her, and with her arms swinging high in the air, she was gyrating her hips to meet his every move. Brock loved to dance, and in no time, his hands were cupping her fine ass, pulling her closer until he was practically dry humping her. Let me tell you, Brock’s cock was dancing up a storm too. And Dee’s sister was enjoying every fucking minute.
“Do you come here often?” I asked.
“Hardly. This is a first. My sister insisted on taking me here to celebrate my first day at work in LA. I’m really kind of a homebody. What about you?”
“I get out and about.”
“I saw a lot of pictures of you online with supermodel types.”
I cocked a brow, unsure if the sudden pitchiness of her voice was to counter the loud, thudding music or the result of being buzzed. Or a combination of both.
“Oh, so that’s how you spent your time while I was in meetings all day?”
My eyes stayed on her as she took another long sip of the frosty pink drink and then licked her sensuous lips.
“I just wanted to have a better idea of whom I was working for.” She unexpectedly hiccupped, and something about the little hitch in her breath was so damn adorable, my cock twitched. She excused herself before babbling on.
“Who’s that redhead I saw in a lot of the photos?”
My breath caught. Krizia. Crazy, desperate Krizia. She’d been after me for years. “My parents’ personal publicist. It’s nothing.”
“Well, it looks like she’s really into you.”
“She’s a camera hog. She enjoys having her photo taken by the paparazzi.”
“Oh, so she’s like arm candy.” Studying my face, she knit her brows. “You’re not gay, are you?”
I practically laughed out the next sip of my drink, but swallowed just in time. “No, I’m not gay. What made you say that?”
Before she could answer, a familiar voice drifted into my ear. Brock. I spun around. A sheen of sweat coated his face, and an arm was wrapped around Dee’s sister. Getting laid was inevitable.
“Yo, Drakester, get your ass on the dance floor.”
“Yeah,” echoed Lulu. “You should ask my sister to dance. She’s an amazing dancer.”
I turned to face my companion. Even in the dim light, I could see her cheeks flushing. She nervously bit down on her lip.
“Don’t believe her. I can’t dance.”
When I turned to face my best bud again, he and Lulu were already locked in a heated kiss, her arms flung around his neck and his looped around her lower back—crawling to her ass. I hated being a voyeur. Impulsively, I grabbed Dee’s hand and coaxed her off the barstool.
“I don’t believe you. Let’s dance.”
“No, please,” she protested.
“C’mon. Boss’s orders.”
Grabbing her margarita glass with her free hand and downing what remained, she set it back down on the counter and hesitantly let me lead the way. She was buzzed; I was buzzed. The thudding music quickened my gait and anticipation zipped through my veins. Weaving in and out of the crowd, I squeezed Dee’s hand, not wanting to lose her.
As we stepped onto the dance floor, the music suddenly changed. Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” was playing. The lyrics made me even more aware of Dee’s soft warm hand in mine and think again of what that talented hand had done to me earlier in the day. It was time for a slow dance. Maybe it was all part of a plan.