Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake (19 page)

Just as I begin to get back to a more relaxed state, the arrogant asshole in question fires a shot across the bow, via my assistant, Brian. Knowing I just got off the long call with Jackie, Brian is reticent as he buzzes me and asks for a moment of my time. When he steps into my office, I see the look on his face and know immediately that something is amiss.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I have some gossip you need to hear, but you’re not going to like it.”

I wait, and when he doesn’t continue, I gesture with both palms. Spit it out, dammit, I don’t have all day.

He takes a breath, then says, “I have it on very good authority that Mason Stark and Mona Simmons had sex last night in the Melrose Star’s men’s room.”

It feels like an arrow has hit me square in the forehead and is searing my brain. On the outside, though, I’m calm and composed. I lean back in my chair and ask, “Who’s your source?”

“Eric Leininger.”

I recognize the name as one of Mason’s agents, and Brian answers my next question before I can ask it.

“I know him from college.”

What man calls an old college friend to spread gossip about his own boss? Especially this quickly after the alleged incident? It smells fishy.

Brian must see the skepticism on my face because he adds, “Eric thought it was funny. He texted me just twenty minutes ago about it.”

I don’t mind my assistant being on good terms with someone from a competing agency, but I make a mental note to talk to him about keeping that gossip a one-way street.

I thank Brian and dismiss him, then call a detective I keep on retainer for things like this. It shouldn’t be hard for him to verify that Mona and Stark were at the Melrose Star last night. I consider calling Mona and asking her what the hell she’s trying to pull, but refrain because I can’t risk losing Cheyenne Parris since she’s the best-paid actress on my roster. Still, I need to know is she’s doing something behind my and Jackie’s backs.

Try as I might, I can’t come up with a reason why Mona would have sex with Stark, especially in a restroom, of all places. She’s not naïve enough to think he would change his mind about Drake Manning taking less money, giving up some seven hundred grand in his own commissions.

My instinct tells me this wasn’t Mona’s doing as much as it was Stark’s.

Even then, why would Stark want to have sex with Mona, who doesn’t remotely fit the profile of the women he dates? He and Manning are notorious for the hard-bodied bimbos they date, but Mona is smart and doesn’t appear to spend much time in the gym. It makes no sense at all from any angle, unless the both just got shitfaced and stupid.

The more I think about it, though, the more I’m convinced something is up. Mason Stark is no chump, and every move he makes is carefully calculated. He’s one of the best agents I know and built his agency even more quickly than I built mine. Last year his Media Arts Unlimited actually squeaked past my Creative Talents by a hair to push CT out of the top ten Los Angeles-based agencies. Of course, he’s got Drake Manning pulling more than his weight, while my artist roster smartly remains more diversified.

The detective calls me back just a few minutes later to tell me the Melrose Star’s bartender said Mona and Stark were together last night at the Rose between eight and nine, then left at the same time. Neither seemed drunk.

Dammit. What the hell is his angle?

A thought occurs to me: The idea that Brian’s college friend texts him this tidbit just twelve hours after the bathroom coupling took place is a huge red flag. I call my good friend Robin Easter, a publicity agent I’ve known for years. Robin knows more people in town than anyone.

She picks up on the third ring. “Robin, this is Claire Jarrett,” I say. “I need to ask a small favor. Do you happen to know any of the first-rung agents at MAU? Someone you know well enough to answer a question regarding his boss?”

“David Simonson and I go way back. He’ll be honest with me if I promise it’s off the record. What do you need?”

“Ask if he’s heard any rumors regarding Mason and Mona Simmons from yesterday. I’ll owe you one.”

I know Robin will call that favor one day, but this is important. She agrees and hangs up.

As I try to work, the image keeps popping into my mind of Stark and Mona going at it in a men’s room stall. Since I know the décor of the Melrose Star’s restrooms, the picture is far too life-life for my taste. Although I’d never tell him to his face, Mason Stark is a seriously sexy man. Handsome face, tall, great hair, hot body, arrogant as fuck. Throughout the morning, my brain keeps returning to Stark’s naked back and his bare ass as he thrusts in and out of Mona.

Robin calls back just before lunch. “David says the office gossip is about a particularly nasty comment Mason made to Jackie Hightower yesterday, something about her licking balls. Mona was there, but so were you, right?”

“I was,” I concur. “I was curious if word of that had already leaked. Jesus, gossip flies at light speed in this town.” I thank Robin and hang up.

That bastard.

Apparently, nobody in his office is talking about the far more salacious act Stark committed with Mona Simmons. That tells me Stark likely told only Eric Leininger, asking him to pass it on as “gossip” to his friend at CT – my assistant, Brian. Stark didn’t want the story to leak as gossip, probably to spare Mona the embarrassment, but he definitely wanted it to get to me. Mission accomplished, asshole.

However he talked Mona into it, I have to admit that although it’s immature and mean, it’s also deviously brilliant. It’s a message from Stark to me:

Fuck you and your equal pay demands.

And now it’s up to me to retaliate.

Before, I was just putting on a show for Cheyenne Parris, agreeing to take Mona’s request to Jackie to see what happens. I figured Jackie would give it a quick veto and that would be the end of it. Instead, for some reason Jackie decides it’s time to right every wrong Hollywood has perpetrated on actresses over the years. God knows Jackie’s been on the wrong side of the industry’s patriarchal ways, with all the vicious rumors about her. When I spoke to her moments before that meeting with Stark, Jackie said, “You know, it’s time. What’s right is right.” I assumed she meant it in some abstract sense, not in the sense that she was going to march into the meeting and actually try to make it happen then and there.

Afterward, I was willing to just let Stark and Jackie hash it out, knowing that Stark would win, and then everybody could get on with the business of making movies.

Now Stark has made this about me.

I’m guessing he couldn’t resist taking a shot at his rival. In the past, though, such behavior was limited to a gloating email when he poached a client from me. This was nastier. Maybe he figured I’d back off my equal pay request if I thought Mona was secretly in his corner. That won’t be happening, though. The man obviously doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.

I push the intercom button.

“Brian, get me T.J. Holland’s phone number. And don’t mention this to your buddy Eric.”

I’m about to make it my mission to get Cheyenne Phillips the money she wants for this movie.

I am also going to make history and be the first agent to secure equal pay for equal work.

And I am going to assfuck Mason Stark in the process.

L
iving in the Pacific Northwest
, Alexis Adaire spends too much time indoors, cuddling under blankets with her husband and muse, emerging from the bedroom periodically to refill her coffee mug and jot down ideas. Does Alexis draw upon personal experience for her short story ideas? She will never tell.

Alexis keeps her twisted identity separate from her everyday life; no one knows what debauchery lies behind her violet eyes. Although, she admits this double-life she leads — mild-mannered office worker by day and erotica novelist by night — keeps a glow to her cheeks and a sly smile to her lips!

Alexis takes her readers to those secret, unspeakable corners of their fantasies they never knew existed.

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