THE PUBLICIST

PENELOPE

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The next morning ...

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I rolled over in bed, groaning as every single muscle in my body ached in pleasurable pain. My legs felt as if they were too weak to stand on, as if they had yet to recover from Ryan fucking me against my dresser, my wall, and the edge of my mattress. My lips were sensitive and sore from the way he’d bitten them—when he made me beg him to fuck me harder. And my nipples were numb from the way he’d sucked them while I rode his cock during our final round.

I wasn’t sure when he’d left or when he’d dressed me in a T-shirt and tucked me into my bed, but a part of me was wishing I’d broken my second rule and given him my phone number so we could do that all over again.

Unable to sit up, I dozed off to memories of him fucking me—smiling each time he buried his head between my legs and teased me with his mouth.

After replaying our wall sex for the fifth time, I rolled over to the other side of my bed and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I was still confused about the client who was coming in at four o’clock and I was hoping someone on my team would have some answers so we would be somewhat prepared whenever he came in.

I should definitely pick up some breakfast before going in today ...

I unlocked my phone’s screen and saw that my inbox was full of similar subject lines: “Where are you?” “Are you okay?” “What’s going on?” “The concierge is going to call the police if you don’t let us know where you are by three ...”

Confused, I opened the first message and started to type back. Then I noticed the time.

It’s one o’clock?

“What the fuck!” I stumbled out of bed and damn near fell to the floor. There was no way it was one in the afternoon. The sky outside my window was still dark, the usual ‘it’s five o’clock and I’m super early for work’ dark.

I pulled the curtains open and noticed the ominous clouds in the sky above. Traffic was at a mid-day standstill and the rain was falling over the city in sheets.

Shit. Shit. Shit ...

I sent Tina a quick “I’m on my way. Bad morning. Sorry,” text message. Then I texted our town car driver and told him I’d need a ride to work in thirty minutes.

Tossing off my T-shirt, I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to the bathroom. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Sarah?” I knocked. “Sarah, are you in there?”

“I’m actually right here.” She stepped in front of the door, swinging a key.

“You had a new lock installed on our bathroom?” I really needed to replace her with another roommate. Fast.

“Yes, I did have a new key made for our bathroom. This is our bathroom, isn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Just me and you.”

“What are you trying to say?” I crossed my arms. “Actually, can you hold that thought and just unlock the door, please? Surely we can discuss whatever the issue is after I get off work later today.”

“Nope.” She continued swinging the key. “Your guy friend doesn’t need to use our bathroom when he comes over anymore. That goes for your other friends and work buddies as well. We just completed a new study in my lab about the danger of visitor germs.”

You have got to be kidding me right now ...

“Who knows what type of mutated germs they carry, you know? They all travel somewhere new every month and I never hear them talk about fully cleaning their possessions upon their return. I mean, I’m not paying twenty-five hundred a month to deal with your guests’ germs. Also, speaking of your guests, I couldn’t help but notice that you brought someone home with you last night.”

I tried my best to keep a straight face, to look like I was taking her foolishness seriously.

“My music was on its highest volume, but I still overheard you having sexual relations in our living room,” she said. “You had them on the couch, the wall, and the carpet, so I’ve called a deep cleaning service to come here this evening. I expect to be fully repaid by the end of the week for the four hundred dollars this will cost, and from the way things sounded with that guy last night, I hope you plan on getting your mattress steamed. Do you?”

I didn’t answer her. I snatched the key from her hand and unlocked the bathroom door, quickly shutting myself inside. I heard her continuing her pointless speech through the door, so I stepped into the shower and turned up the water pressure as high as it could go.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves as I washed my hair.

All hope is not lost, Penelope ... The new client meeting isn’t until four and you can definitely get to work by two to prepare ...

I stepped out of the shower minutes later and headed into the laundry room to get my lucky “signing day” suit. I’d never failed to secure a deal while wearing it, and I always kept it dry cleaned and tucked away for special days like today.

Hitting the lights, I expected to see it hanging high on the clothing rack as usual, but it wasn’t there. It couldn’t have been there because in its place was a similar suit that bore discolored, ugly blotches of white and pink. A suit that looked as if it’d lost a long and hard battle with a bottle of bleach.

“Sarah!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Sarah!”

“Yeah?” She called back. “What?”

“What the hell happened to my grey suit?”

“I don’t really know,” she said. “I saw it a few hours ago and realized I must have accidentally bleached it. Sorry.”

I shut the door and headed toward her voice, straight to the kitchen. I silently counted backwards from ten before speaking, to prevent myself from completely losing it.

“Sarah, that was my lucky suit and I only wear it on signing days,” I said. “Today is a signing day.”

“Oh. Well, that sounds somewhat exciting,” she said dryly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I need you to kindly tell me how you accidentally bleached a ‘dry-clean’ only suit.” My blood was boiling. “It’s always in a plastic bag, and there is always—always, a bright red ‘DRY CLEAN ONLY’ tag hanging from it.”

“I guess I don’t really know.” She shrugged, smiling. “How do you bring someone home and accidentally forget to clean up when you know damn well that your roommate is a germaphobe?”

I resisted the instant urge to lean over the counter and strangle her, but only because I didn’t have any more time to waste.

I can totally do it later ...

I rushed to my room and flipped through the other suits in my closet, settling on a black dress and blazer combination. Searching for my lint brush, I pulled my dresser drawer open and noticed there was a folded paper tucked into the side of my mirror.

This definitely wasn’t here yesterday ...

Confused, I opened it and saw a handwritten note in bright, blue cursive:

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Rachel,

I think you were lying to me last night about being “experienced.” You orgasmed three times, and that was before we ever made it to your bedroom. I also find it hard to believe you “usually wear silk lingerie.” Your drawers are full of cotton, granny panties.

—The best man you’ve ever fucked (Thank you for that compliment afterward, even though I already knew that ...)

PS—For the record, your pussy is quite phenomenal.

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UGH!

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I rolled my eyes and tucked his smart-ass note at the bottom of my drawer, realizing he was right about my nonexistent panty collection.

I slipped into my dress and heels, and pulled my hair into a low ponytail. I put on a light layer of concealer and lip gloss, then I grabbed my briefcase and umbrella.

Leaving the condo, I walked halfway down the block to my favorite coffee shop. It was the one place that never failed to instantly turn my dreariest days into my best days with its custom caramel drizzle latte.

I pulled on the door handle, but it didn’t give way. I pulled it even harder and peered inside to see that the café was empty, but the lights were on.

Since when do they close early on Mondays?

I walked to the other entry door and spotted a pink sign in the window.

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This establishment has committed HEALTH CODE VIOLATION 785-12.

CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

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“Didn’t you hear?” A woman pushed her stroller next to me. “It’s pretty disgusting how badly they failed the inspection.”

“No ...” I sighed. “I don’t even want to know what happened.”

“They had a cockroach infestation. It was so bad, that they were grinding some of the dead roaches into the coffee beans.” She smiled and held out her phone. “There’s a pretty funny YouTube video about it. See?”

I immediately walked away from her and headed toward my place.

This day can’t possibly get any worse ...

I waved down the approaching company town car and slipped into the back seat. The driver gave me a sympathetic look, but he didn’t say anything. He simply let his soft music play over the speakers.

Scrolling through my inbox, I answered what emails I could and called Tina.

“Yes, Miss Lauren?” she answered.

“Can you give me the daily updates? I’ll be there soon, but I’m in mid-day traffic.”

“Sure thing.” Papers shuffled in the background. “Well, I have good news and bad news.”

“Go with the bad news first so we can get it out of the way.”

“We lost two clients, Michael Pilot and Liam Johnson, to Drew and Associates, as of this morning.”

“Of course, we did.” I shook my head, debating whether I should ask the driver to turn around and take me back home so I could sleep the rest of this terrible day away instead.

“But there’s good news!” She exclaimed. “I found a few viable references for our mystery RD LLC client.”

“Okay, great. Who are they?”

“The Welch Group, Embassy PR, and Avenue & Associates.”

“He’s been with all of them already?” I scrolled through my list of contacts. “When was this?”

“He didn’t say, and I figured you would want to be the one who called to ask questions.”

“Got it,” I said. “Thank you, Tina.”

“You’re welcome. See you soon.”

I ended the call and tried to think about who this guy could possibly be, if he’d already dealt with three of the biggest firms in this city. I was hoping he was a high-profile athlete who was trying to turn his career around, or maybe one of the many newly displaced Los Angeles celebrities who were attempting to start fresh in New York.

Smiling at the possibilities, I dialed my contact at The Welch Group first.

“Veronica of The Welch Group speaking,” she answered on the first ring. “Who is this?”

“Penelope of Lauren & Associates,” I said. “I hope I’m not reaching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all, Penelope. What do you need?”

“I have a question about a potential client who listed you as reference. He listed himself as RD LLC, so I was wondering if—”

She hung up in my face.

Seconds later, she sent me a text message.

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VERONICA: I have absolutely nothing to say about that client. EVER.

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“Okay, then ...” I scrolled down and called my contact at Avenue PR.

“Eva of Avenue PR,” she answered. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?”

“Hey, Eva. It’s me, Penelope at Lauren & Associates. I’m calling to see if you can give me any information about a former client of yours.”

“Sure. Which one?”

“He hasn’t given his name yet, but he came to us under RD LLC.”

Silence.

“Hello?” I asked. “Hello? Eva, are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Well, um ... Can you tell me anything at all about this client?”

“I can tell you that he would have to pay me a million dollars a week to work with him again. I can also tell you that if you’re smart, you’ll reject him the second he brings his special brand of assholery through your doors.”

I sighed. “Anything more concrete than that, maybe?”

“You’ll see.” She hung up and I didn’t bother calling the other reference.

By the time I arrived to the office, it was two thirty and my staff had already set out the snack trays and flower bouquets for our trademark client introduction meeting. I unwrapped a fresh pack of fountain pens and placed them at the center of the conference table.

“Did anyone have any luck finding out anything about our incoming client today?” I stepped into our break room. “Anything at all?”

The majority of the team shook their heads, but Bob raised his hand.

“I did,” he said pulling a mini notepad from his back pocket. “This detail is from Heather at Ransom & Company. And I quote, ‘He’s sexy as hell and I wish I would’ve fucked him before we parted ways. But I would never work with him again’.” He closed his notepad. “Oh, and apparently he has a ‘huge cock’ that she used to stare at from time to time during their strategy meetings.”

“Thank you so much, Bob.” I rolled my eyes. “That really, really helps.”

“You’re welcome.” He laughed. “Do we honestly care what this guy does, though? He gave us three million dollars in advance, and last time I checked, that’s enough to keep us afloat for a while, especially since Drew is relentlessly poaching from us again. As long as he’s not a crime boss or a murderer, who gives a damn?”

The rest of the staff murmured in agreement and I returned to the conference room. I watched the secondhand tick by on the wall clock—half excited, half worried.

Please don’t be a crime boss ... Please don’t be a crime boss ...

Four o’clock passed. Then four thirty. Then five. Then finally, five thirty.

Convinced that today’s signing session was some type of elaborate joke, I pushed my chair up to the table and headed into my office. I decided to work on the files for our clients who existed in real life, and when six thirty arrived with no sign of RD LLC, I called the bank. I needed to make sure the manager froze that three million until further notice.

The receptionist was putting me on hold, when a loud knock came to my door.

“Come in!” I said, and Tina stepped inside my office.

“Um ...” She cleared her throat, and I noticed her cheeks were a bright pink. “Our potential client just got here.”

What? “Does he know that he’s two and a half hours late?” I hung up the phone. “Go ahead and send him in.”

She walked out and the door opened seconds later.

I forced myself to smile, prepared my lips to say, “Hello and welcome to Lauren & Associates,” but the second the “client” stepped into my office, I felt all color leaving my face.

“My apologies for being late,” he said. “My board meeting was—” He stopped mid-sentence and stared at me, letting that familiar, sexy smirk from last night slowly form on his lips. Today he was wearing a three-piece black suit with a sapphire blue tie, and he looked even sexier than he did last night.

As he continued to look me up and down, I bit my lip to prevent my jaw from dropping—silently hoping the floor would suddenly open beneath my feet and swallow me whole.

“I was told this was someone named Penelope’s office.” He stepped closer to my desk, his eyes moving from my face to my silver nameplate. “Last night, you told me your name was Rachel. Did you not?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. —” I stood up and extended my hand to him, “What exactly is your name, sir?”

“My name is the same as it was hours ago when we were fucking,” he said. “Ryan. Dalton is my last name, though.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally get an actual name from you, Mr. Dalton,” I said. “And it’s very nice to meet you for the very first time in my life, because we have never met before this exact moment in time. You can have a seat.”

He smiled his perfect pearly whites and sat in the chair.

Tina walked in and set a few glasses of water and a fruit tray on my desk before leaving us alone again.

“Mr. Dalton, is there any reason why you didn’t tell us exactly who you were instead of using a coded LLC name?”

“There are plenty of reasons.” His eyes met mine. “Before I go there, though, is your real name Rachel or Penelope?”

“It’s Miss Lauren.”

“Okay, Miss Lauren,” he said. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had the best luck with publicists in this city and my reputation tends to precede me everywhere I go. I wanted a chance to introduce myself personally instead of letting the words of the tabloids and the press do it for me.”

He leaned back in the chair and it suddenly hit me. Ryan Dalton of Dalton International Estates and Realty. The self-made real-estate tycoon and owner of over a hundred commercial properties and vacation properties. A revered billionaire, yet a complete and utter playboy.

I’d never paid too much attention to the tabloids or the lifestyle section in the newspapers, but I’d heard stories here and there about certain socialites who made me happy that I didn’t have to represent billionaires or clients who attracted such a high level of media scrutiny.

“Are the images of last night finally coming back to you?” he asked. “Is that why you’re staring at me?”

“Nothing happened last night. If it had, I think I would remember it.”

“You don’t remember orgasming five times?”

“No.” I blushed. “Let’s get back to talking about you.”

“I left you an important note on your dresser.”

“I never got it.”

“You never got it, or you never read it?”

“Both.”

He laughed his deep, sexy laugh and stood up—pulling an envelope from his breast pocket. “These are my terms. I need you to agree to them before we can go any further with talks.”

“What?” I was confused. “You’re asking us to represent you and you think that you can set the initial terms before we even get to the real initial terms? With all due respect, that’s not how the client-publicist relationship works. We need to talk now.”

“We can talk after you sign my NDA.” He pushed the envelope closer to me. “You also need to agree to comply with my company’s representation terms for legal reasons. Surely you can understand why someone like me would need that.”

“Right ...” I stared at the envelope and stood up as well. “So, honest question. Why did you even bother requesting a signing meeting if you knew you were only going to drop off a stifling stipulation contract?”

“Well, for one, I’ve already paid you three million dollars for your services.” He looked amused. “Two, I like to personally meet whoever I’m going to be dealing with, to ensure that they possess the proper temperament and stamina to handle me.” He looked me up and down again, sending my nerves into a frenzy. “Although, if I had known I would be meeting you again, I would’ve been more than aware that you’re capable of handling every inch of me. Repeatedly.”

“Mr. Dalton ...” I hated the way my body was reacting to him right now. “I really would prefer if we at least talked a little bit today. This just isn’t how I normally do business with my clients.”

“Are any of your normal clients paying you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month?”

I didn’t answer.

“Then I think I’m more than worthy of an exception,” he said. “Read the contract. If you’re open to accepting the terms, meet me at my Manhattan headquarters tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. The address is stapled to a business card I’ve included and we can discuss things in my office where there’s actually more than ten square feet.” He looked around my office. “I think the terms are quite fair, so I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Miss Lauren.”

I still didn’t answer him.

“Should I assume that you’re going to continue to pretend as if we’ve never previously met?”

“We haven’t.” I crossed my arms. “I’ll look at the contract and tell you my decision either way, Mr. Dalton. Have a great day.”

He smiled and looked me over one last time before walking out of my office, placing the final cherry on top of what was now officially the worst day of my life.