International Guy: New York (International Guy Series Book 2) Page 2

  Her eyes turn into fine, daggerlike points. “Whatever you did for Sophie Rolland impressed her enough that, when I told her about Skyler’s need to cancel her contract, she dug further. Shared with me some of her own issues after her father died and how International Guy, namely you, Mr. Ellis, helped her come into her own. I need you to do whatever it is you do and make it to where my best friend can do what she loves most in the world—act. Bring her back to herself. Whatever it takes.” Her next words float on a whisper. “Skyler means everything to me, and I’m prepared to pay top dollar to ensure she comes back to her normal self.”

  “And what if we can’t fix what’s broken in her?” I’m eager to solve Ms. Paige’s problem and to clearly understand any specific expectations Ms. Wilson may have. What we do does not have a step-by-step guide. Each client and prospective outcome is different, as is what we would consider a success.

  Tracey squints. “I was under the impression that you do what needs to be done. This needs to be done. I’m afraid you’re my last resort. Her friends, business associates—no one has been able to bring her out of her funk.” Interesting that she didn’t mention Skyler’s family.

  I push back into my chair and turn around to face the skyline of Boston. It’s beautiful this time of day. The sun getting closer to the horizon, the brick buildings looking redder through the golden rays of the setting sun, the light glinting off the gleaming sapphire of the harbor. Boats dot the surface of the water, making me wish I were there, feeling the wind on my face. The ocean has always had a calming, easing effect on me. Right now, I could use the peaceful respite, which immediately makes me think of Skyler. She could probably use a respite as well.

  Turning my chair around, I focus my gaze on Tracey. “I’m going to need full access to Skyler. Meaning, I will personally be moving in with her. I assume she has a guest room in her house?”

  She nods, her eyes filling with hope. “And your fee?”

  “For full access . . . a hundred thousand a week.”

  “Done. What else?”

  “Cancel everything in her schedule for the next four weeks.”

  “But . . .”

  I shake my head. “In order for me to work with Skyler personally, get into her head, dig around, find out what’s really bothering her—causing her to leave the one thing, according to you, she loves doing most—I’m going to need the time unhindered. She also needs to know she’s not being weighed down with upcoming things she’s just going to bail on, potentially making her feel like a bigger failure to you and whatever client you have her booked with. Make sense?”

  “Yes. I’ll make arrangements. When can Skyler expect you?”

  “Sounds to me like she needs me now, but I need to make arrangements and discuss my sudden absence with my partners. I’ll have my assistant schedule my travel for this Friday, which will be billed to you. All expenses, everything over and above my weekly fee, will be sent at the end of each week.”

  “That’s perfectly reasonable. I’m committed to doing what it takes to bring Skyler back.”

  “Commendable. I can tell she means more to you than an A-list client.”

  “Skyler’s like my sister. Above all, I want to see her happy.”

  “Then that will be my goal.”

  Tracey stands abruptly and holds out her hand. “Mr. Ellis. We’ll be in touch.”

  “Yes, I do believe you will be seeing a lot of me very soon.” I grin, and the woman finally cracks a small smile. “You know, Tracey, you’re a whole lot prettier when you smile.”

  The remark earns me a light chuckle and a gleaming, full-toothed smile.

  “Nope. I was wrong.”

  Her smile falls a little as she reaches the door to leave my office.

  “You’re a knockout when you smile.”

  She chuckles louder and walks out the door. Mission accomplished.

  I press a button on my phone. “Hey, Wendy, book me a first-class flight to New York City along with a driver, leaving Friday afternoon. No return flight just yet.”

  “You got it, boss man.”

  “Also, tell the guys we need a meet up at our regular spot tonight at seven.”

  “No problem. Where’s your regular spot?”

  “Lucky’s.”

  “The bar?”

  “Yep.”

  “Got it. Email going out now. I’ve also scheduled appointments to introduce myself to them tomorrow since neither came into the office today.”

  “That happens. Told you, some days and weeks you might be here on your own.”

  “Bogart tried to tell me he was busy. I told him his credit cards were all on hold until he came into the office to meet me. At first, I don’t think he believed me. For two hours. He called later and told me he loved me and would be here tomorrow for our meeting. I told him his credit cards would be back in working order after our meet.”

  I burst out laughing.

  Damn. I love having an assistant.

  Chapter 2

  “You’ve been busy, brother.” A large, warm hand curls around my shoulder where my neck and clavicle meet. I look up and find Royce’s ebony skin shining in the dim lighting of my father’s bar. The dude always looks like he’s fuckin’ gleaming. He must put some shit on his skin or something. Then again, maybe it’s his heritage. His mother and sisters have shiny dark skin too. Beautiful really, but it’s not the type of thing one guy tells another, so I merely think it and keep it to myself.

  “I sure have.” I grin in return.

  Roy maneuvers his large frame into the booth seat across from me. He lifts a hand, raising two fingers to a spot behind my head. I glance over my shoulder and find my father nodding, lifting a thumbs-up.

  “Gotta meet with a Wendy Bannerman tomorrow afternoon. Says she’s my new assistant. Which is funny, since I hadn’t had a meeting with any of the top applicants Andre sent over.” Royce pins me with a weighted stare.

  I take a slug of my Harpoon IPA, a standard ale my father keeps on draft. It’s local and has citrus and floral notes with a hoppy finish most of the patrons enjoy, me included. I lick my lips, catching the remnants of the head on my beer, and set the glass down, tapping my fingers on the lip of the pint glass. “Yep. I hired Wendy right on the spot.”

  Royce raises his brows, two black slashes above his eyes, which might as well be accusing swords. “How’d that happen?” he asks flatly with no hint of irritation, maybe more curiosity. He knows I don’t usually make rash decisions, such as hiring an assistant who is technically supposed to work for all of us. Meaning the three of us should agree on her. Bo made it clear on multiple occasions he couldn’t care less who I hired. Royce, on the other hand, likes to make big decisions together.

  “Girl’s perfect. Smart. As in wicked smart, brother. She hacked an international lingerie company to find out Skyler Paige’s bra and panty size to prove she didn’t have to ask personal questions that might make our client uncomfortable. She just went for it. And did it in like two minutes.”

  “Ho-lee smokes. Two minutes?” he repeats, awe in his tone.

  “Yeah, and the new Mrs. Montgomery-to-be put a hold on all of my credit cards until I agreed to meet with her, officially.” Bo saunters over, tugs off his leather jacket, hangs it on the hook near the booth, and pushes into the seat next to Royce. Our standard seating arrangement.

  Royce sets his gaze to Bo’s, his face devoid of emotion. “She cut you off from your dough?”

  Bo lets out a disgruntled laugh. “Totally. Can’t even purchase gas. Had to bum twenty bucks off last night’s chicklet to fuel up the bike.”

  Roy and I look at one another and back to Bo, who should be angry but seems more amused than anything else, and the two of us bust up laughing.

  “Girl has your number but good.” Roy shakes his head and smacks the table.

  Me, I get my laughter under control, holding my stomach. “Wendy is the shit. All the skills we require, able to travel at a moment’s notice, no family but i
n a committed relationship, as in committed.” I emphasize the last part.

  Bo frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean? You warnin’ me off her already?”

  Roy claps Bo on the shoulder. “Brother, we already agreed hands off employees. Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Got it. But I don’t need you reminding me,” he says, half-affronted. “’Sides, I’m intrigued by what you just said and the way you said it.” He grins. “Spill.”

  I swear these two, like a freaking high school gossip ring. Still, I give in because the info is rather juicy.

  “Wears a collar, man. As in, she has a padlock on her collar. In my experience, the locked collar means she’s been claimed, and only one man has the key. Her man.”

  “Hoo-boy! Where’s that drink?” Royce tugs at his tie, loosening it a bit. I’ve since undone mine and left it hanging around my neck.

  “Kinky.” Bo waggles his eyebrows like a horny teenager.

  Right then Pops brings over two fingers of whiskey for Roy, a bottle for Bo, and a fresh Harpoon for me. “Thanks, Pops.”

  My father grabs my now-empty glass and tosses a towel over his shoulder. “How long you boys in town for this time?” he asks.

  “A while,” Royce says.

  “Don’t know,” Bo answers.

  At the same time I spout, “Till Friday.”

  Roy’s and Bo’s gazes shift to me.

  “Which is why I had Wendy ask you here tonight. Had my meet with Triumph Talent Agency.”

  “Well, I’ll let you boys get to your business. You want food? Cook’s got a mean pulled-pork sandwich on french bread on special tonight. Been smellin’ it cookin’ for the last coupla hours, and my own mouth is watering. Gonna wait till your ma gets here to have some. She had a book club meeting at the library tonight. Reading some new Kristen Ashley book. Again.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Mom can’t get enough of that author.” I’m thinking it’s been far too long since I’ve had a meal with my parents. I need to rectify that and soon.

  “Nope, but I reap the benefits of her romance phases.” He winks.

  “I could eat. Guys?” I change the subject real fast. No child wants to hear about his parents’ sexual proclivities. Roy and Bo both nod. “Three all around. Thanks, Pops.”

  “You got it, son.” He smiles and heads back to the bar.

  “Best guy around,” Bo comments.

  “Your dad’s the shee-it. Always has been, always will be,” Roy adds.

  “True.” We all let that sink in. It is not lost on me that the three of us are edging toward our thirties, and none of us are settled down. I’m not worrying about it. We have plenty of work to keep us focused and busy, but I do want a family one day. A boy to look up to me the way I do my pops and vice versa.

  “Anyway, guys, I asked you here because I got the job with Triumph Talent Agency working with Skyler Paige.” I swallow and clear my throat, making sure I sound confident and totally together.

  Roy grins. “Yeah, how’d that go anyway?”

  “Seems the actress has lost her desire to act.”

  Bo frowns. “And how’s that our problem?”

  “The agency, specifically the owner, Tracey Wilson, is not only her agent but her best friend. Worried about her. Says she loves to act. The only thing Skyler has ever wanted to do. Thinks she’s on total burnout and is blaming herself.”

  Roy hums. “What’s the plan?”

  “I go in. Full access. Stay in her guest room. Get the girl out of her funk.”

  Bo picks up the coaster under his beer and tosses it at me. “Totally fucking bullshit! You just want to get close to your crush. You’ve been sweet on Skyler freakin’ Paige since forever.”

  I shake my head. “Naw, man, it’s more than that. Client says she lost her muse. Who better to bring it out than us?”

  “Than you. To be specific.” Roy’s lip twitches. He’s obviously holding back what he’d like to say.

  Putting my hand out in surrender, I lay it out there. “Not gonna lie and say I’m not intrigued. And yeah, Skyler Paige has always been my dream girl, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go there with her. She needs me . . . er . . . us.”

  Royce chuckles at my slip, and Bo narrows his eyes.

  “I can’t fucking believe this. Fine. Next hot client, I’m going in.” He lifts an arm and points a finger at me. “Promise me!”

  I grin and slap at his finger. “Okay. Fine. Next client you’re sweet on, we’ll send you in.”

  Bo sucks back his beer, seemingly mollified for the moment.

  “What’s the bid?” Roy, our resident moneymaker, queries.

  This time I can’t keep the smile off my face. “All expenses paid, and a hundred grand a week. Job runs for up to four weeks. Each week, I’ll check in with Ms. Wilson at the agency, and we’ll go from there.”

  Roy rubs his hands together. “Sweet. Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to hang in the office for a coupla weeks, get Wendy up to speed. Knock out some smaller deals. Mostly, though, my momma’s been bitchin’ about not seeing me. She also needs me to do some handy shit at her place.”

  “You need help, brother?” Bo offers instantly. “You know I’m good with a hammer and shit. Plus, Momma Sterling’s cookin’ . . . I could use a couple of home-cooked meals.”

  Roy laughs around his glass. “What, your chicklets fallin’ down on the job?”

  Bo snarls. “Shit for cooks, man. Last two girls. Great tits and ass, generous in bed, but neither could slap together even a grilled cheese.”

  “Bummer,” I add into the mix. “Sounds to me like you need to stop looking at the local bars near the college and pick up a woman your own age for once. Heck, Ma’s been on my case for weeks about some girl in her book club. Says she’s twenty-eight, great personality, cooks, and loves to read.”

  Bo makes a face like he just bit into something sour. “Great personality is the kiss of death, man. Basically, she’s a butter-face.”

  “What?”

  Royce looks up to the ceiling. “Jeez-us!”

  “Butter-face. Everything’s good but her face. Means she’s ugly, man. How do you not know this?” He takes a pull from his beer.

  “You’re a pig. Never mind. I hope you fuck endless twentysomethings who can’t cook you a decent meal worth a shit.”

  He grins. “At least my dick will be happy.”

  “Whatever, man. Raise ’em up.” I lift my fist to the center of the table. “To New York and helping a sexy-as-fuck actress find her happy place.”

  Bo puts his fist in the center, touching mine. “I could show her a happy place,” he jokes.

  Roy adds his. “Have a blast, man.”

  “To New York,” I repeat, and scowl at Bo.

  As I sit there, this feeling in my gut swells and warms. Something big is around the corner. I can not only sense it, but feel it. Shoving the weird sensation to the side, I tap fists with my partners and mentally prepare myself for the job ahead.

  I exit the elevator on the fortieth floor of what is supposedly Skyler Paige’s residence. With a deep breath and a mini mental pep talk, I scan my clothing. Brown Ferragamos shined to perfection. Navy slacks, a newer beige Hugo Boss jacket, crisp white dress shirt, and my lucky yellow Ermenegildo Zegna tie with quarter-inch baby-blue stripes slanting across the yellow perfectly. I’d checked my look in the mirror a thousand times this morning. Probably the most time I’ve spent in front of a mirror when I wasn’t standing behind a beautiful woman, showing her how beautiful she was.

  Even though I’ve felt comfortable in this look before, I still forwarded the planned outfit to Bo for his opinion. His response was, “Don’t be a pussy.” Followed by, “Brown Ferragamos versus the black Calvin Kleins.” Bo hated my chosen black shoes. Said they were too cheap for a man in my position. Honestly, they’re the most comfortable shoes I own. Still, he constantly reminds me that I dress for all of us as the face for International Guy. Guilt works wonders on me. Always has. I had to a
dmit, however, when looking in the mirror the last time, that he was right. The brown Ferragamos looked sharp, and I wanted to look my best. Aside from Sophie Rolland, Skyler Paige is the cream of the crop as it pertains to clients for International Guy. I have to knock this out of the park.

  Once again, I take a deep breath and remind myself that Skyler Paige is just a woman.

  I knock on the door. No answer. I wait a few beats and knock again.

  Strange. Tracey had just left the penthouse before I arrived. I met her in the lobby, which was surrounded outside by paparazzi. She did not lie about that tidbit of information. Skyler really was locked down in her own home.

  Lifting my hand, I knock again, louder this time.

  “What, did you forget your . . .” The door is flung open, and wide brown eyes meet mine as the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to greet holds the door open. “. . . key?” The one word slips out of her bow-shaped pink lips.

  Only that’s not all my eyes take in. Skyler Paige, the woman of my dreams, in the flesh. My go-to masturbatory fantasy incarnate is showing so much skin I have to stop myself from drooling. She’s wearing almost no clothes, as in, a pair of pale-blue panties through which I can see the barest hint of pubic hair nestled against the tiniest triangle known to mankind. A matching, almost sheer camisole, spaghetti straps, with lace on top. Her breasts stretch the fabric to the max, her quarter-size areolae and erect nipples poking through for my perusal.

  Her mouth opens, and she rushes to put an arm over her chest. I snap my eyes up to hers and do my best not to salivate at all I’ve seen already.

  “I’m Parker Ellis. Your personal shadow and new live-in guest.” I nod to my steel-gray Samsonite suitcase next to me.

  Her eyes widen. “She wasn’t kidding. Holy hell. You’re my muse guru.”

  I grin. “I’ve been called worse. Muse guru is rather complimentary. May I come in?” Lifting my chin, I gesture beyond the doorway.

  She looks at me innocently and licks her lips. My dick pays far more attention to that simple bit of flesh than my brain, which is telling my body nonstop to behave.