With His Consent (For His Pleasure, Book 13) (2 page)

Scarlett dug into her purse, desperately hoping she had enough cash on her to do the job. Inside her wallet, she found just over a hundred dollars. She put the entire wad of cash onto the desk. “This is for taking five minutes away from your post to go knock on his door.”

The man stared down at the cash. Then he glanced back at her. “How much is it?”

“Over a hundred dollars.”

He sniffed. Slowly, he picked up the bills and counted the money out. “Fine,” he sighed, as if he was doing her a gigantic favor. “Come with me.” He stuffed the money into his jacket pocket, and then slowly walked to the elevators.

They rode up together in silence, and Scarlett’s frustration and despair mounted as they went.

Finally, the two of them arrived at Bryson’s door and the concierge knocked once, loudly. He stood and waited with his head cocked to the side.

“See?” he said, sounding satisfied. “Not home.”

“Could you knock again?”

“I’m sure if he was here, he’d have heard it.”

“Please.”

This time, the concierge knocked twice, less loudly than before.

Scarlett had had just about enough. She moved in front of the door and started to pound loudly on it. “Bryson! Bryson!” She yelled, knowing that he truly must not be home. Maybe he’d left his phone somewhere. He could be anywhere, anywhere at all.

It was over.

She checked the time and saw they barely had twenty minutes left to get to Hunter’s office anyhow. A feeling of deep angst rolled through her. She’d liked this job— actually, no, liked wasn’t the right word. But she’d at least felt like maybe there was a chance it could turn into something meaningful. Something different than the waitressing jobs she’d held ever since she was old enough to work.

But it didn’t matter now. Bryson had managed to blow it for both of them. She felt a surge of rage towards him. He’d said he would do better last night. He’d said he would keep her in the loop. Instead, he’d disappeared.

The concierge did very little to suppress the grin on his face. “Well, it appears as though Mister Taylor is either out of the building, or doesn’t wish to be disturbed at this time. I think we should go now.”

She was about to try and respond with a snappy retort when the door suddenly opened.

“Hey,” Bryson blinked, as if he hadn’t been exposed to the light in months.

“What’s the racket all about?”

Scarlett spun. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Sleeping, like normal people do.” He was standing in boxer shorts and a white tshirt, and he smelled faintly of cologne and alcohol. His hair was standing up in all directions.

“Bryson, people have been calling you all morning,” she said, trying to control her fury.

The concierge backed away. “This seems like a private matter,” he said, and then turned and left.

“Thanks for your help!” she yelled after him. “Asshole,” she muttered.

Bryson ran a hand through his hair. “Scarlett, what are you taking about? Who’s been calling me?”

“Hunter. Me. There’s a meeting. We don’t have any time. Come on!” She pushed him back into his apartment.

“A meeting about what?”

“I don’t have time to explain. I’ll tell you in the cab, now get dressed, brush your teeth, run a comb through your hair. Come on!”

Bryson seemed to get it. He whipped off his t-shirt and began searching for another shirt in his closet.

His back muscles worked as he quickly pushed through the pants and shirts hanging inside. Scarlett’s breath caught in her chest, and she tried not to stare. Bryson’s body was pure perfection – hard chest, strong arms, and chiseled abs. There was a small tattoo of a black butterfly on his shoulder blade, which gave just the right edge to his otherwise pretty boy body.

He grabbed some clothes and ran into the bathroom. Scarlett watched him go, noting that he also had a tight, perfectly round butt.

Get a hold of yourself, Scarlett. He’s got a hot body, but he’s also completely and
totally wrong for you in every way.

She knew that. She hated that she had to even give herself this talk. How many wrong choices did one woman have to make before she learned her lesson?

Hunter was dressed in no time, and surprisingly, he came out of the bathroom looking quite well put together. His hair was tousled, but in a “hey, I’m so cool my hair even looks good messy” kind of way.

He was wearing a pinstriped button down shirt, sleeves rolled up, and dark brown pants with dark, new shoes.

“Not bad,” she said. “Now come on. We’re going to be late—we literally don’t have a second to spare.”

They ran out of his apartment and then waited for the elevator. He wanted to know what was going on and she did her best to explain. She told him about getting woken up by an angry call from Hunter, and Bryson’s face hardened.

As they got into the cab and Scarlett told the cab driver the address, Bryson turned to her. “They’re going to fire me,” he said. “Aren’t they?”

“I don’t know.” She met his gaze. “Good chance they will, I guess.”

He nodded, looking out the window for a bit as they drove. Then he turned back to her, smiling devilishly. “But I’ve talked my way out of a lot of tight spaces in my life.

I think I’ve got one more in me.”

She laughed at his bravado. “I bet you have, and I bet you do.”

“I’m glad someone has a little faith,” he replied. She had to admire Bryson’s spunk, even if he didn’t have the common sense to realize how much trouble he was in.

They were mostly quiet on the drive over, and Bryson seemed in a world of his own. Scarlett’s own nerves were reaching a crescendo, as her cell phone rang. “It’s Hunter,” she whispered, almost choking on her fear.

Bryson grabbed the cell phone out of her hand and answered it. “We’re on our way now,” he said. He listened for a moment. “Okay, I’ll do that—thanks.” He handed the phone back to her.

She put it to her ear but the line was dead. “Why’d you take my phone?”

“He was calling to make sure I was on my way, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“So there was no point in you getting hassled over my fuck up.”

She sighed, putting the phone away. “What did Hunter say?”

“He said I should get my head out of my ass before it’s too late.”

Scarlett nearly laughed out loud, but restrained herself with some difficulty.

They arrived to Hunter’s offices about ten minutes late.

Running inside, Bryson grinned at her. “At least it hasn’t been dull, right?”

“I think I’d prefer dull at this point,” she gasped.

Kallie was waiting just inside the doors, looking tense but poised in a red skirt and white blouse with a gold necklace. Her diamond engagement ring glinted in the glare of the overhead lights. “I’m glad you both made it,” she said. “Come on, we shouldn’t even waste a second. Normally I’d ask if you wanted some water or needed to go to the bathroom, but everyone’s waiting.”

“Who’s here?” Scarlett asked, as they made their way up a tall, spiral staircase that led to the second floor. The building was sparse and post-modern in design.

“Dale Nolan and his agent, Greg Garrison from CML.”

“That’s all?” Bryson asked.

“That’s enough,” Kallie glared at him as the got to the landing and started down a hallway that overlooked the first floor, with glass railings. “Greg Garrison is probably the most powerful agent in the world. And he’s about as angry as is humanly possible without committing a violent crime.”

Scarlett licked her lips. “What should we do?”

“You can stay quiet, and Bryson needs to make a major apology and kiss so much ass that he’ll be using Chap Stick for a year.”

They got to the conference room and Kallie knocked quickly on the door before opening it, letting Scarlett and Bryson enter first.

Sitting around a mahogany table in the center of the room, were Dale Nolan, his agent Greg Garrison, and Hunter. Hunter rose to greet them, his eyes hard with frustration. “Good of you to make it. Late night?”

Bryson shrugged. “I wasn’t aware I’d be needed this morning. I apologize for not getting here sooner.”

Greg Garrison stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. Even standing up, he couldn’t have been more than five feet and a couple of inches. However, Scarlett had to admit that the little man carried some kind of aura—his presence was palpably aggressive. “That’s a shitty attitude, and I’m not surprised given everything I’ve heard about you,” he said, glaring at Bryson. Greg picked up a newspaper and threw it onto the center of the table where it slid to within an inch of the edge.

Scarlett looked down and saw that it was The New York Post, and that there was a picture of Bryson on the front page, sporting his black eye. In the background of the photo, Scarlett’s face with an expression of shock, hovered nearby.

The headline read: Tinsel town Tempest Hits NYC: Bridge and Tunnel Director Decked by Dale!

Dale Nolan hadn’t yet said a word. He was just sitting in a conference chair, wearing jeans and a blazer, a baseball cap skewed low over his eyes. He appeared to be texting someone on his phone.

“This is the thanks we get for supporting a first-time director?” Greg yelled. A vein pulsed in his forehead, which Scarlett was fascinated by.

“Nobody even wants to ask me what happened before they attack me?” Bryson said, picking up the paper and scanning the article. He rolled his eyes at whatever he saw there.

“We don’t give a fuck what you
think
happened,” Greg replied. He put his hands on his hips. “You know why?”

Bryson tossed the paper back onto the table. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.” He sat down across the table from Greg and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head, like he was settling in for a nice relaxing chat. Jesus, Scarlett thought, sinking slowly into the chair next to him and crossing her legs. If this was the way Bryson was going to smooth things over, they were in a lot of trouble.

“Because you don’t matter,” Greg said. The vein pulsed more intensely in his forehead now, and his face was nearly purple.

“I don’t matter?”

“No, you don’t matter. Your opinion doesn’t matter. Your feelings don’t matter.

You are
nothing,
you are
nobody.
In this town, my client here makes people hundreds and hundreds of millions of dollars,” Greg said, pointing at Dale, who continued to text and ignore the scene playing out in front of him.

Bryson nodded, not seeming the least bit ruffled by what Greg was saying. “I get that.”

“No, you don’t get it. If you got it, you wouldn’t have strutted in here like God’s Gift to Film—like you
mattered.
You should have crawled in here on your belly, like a fucking slug,” Greg shouted, pointing at the ground and turning his back on them.

Hunter raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. “So we’re obviously all pretty upset about what happened last night. It’s a major problem. It’s a problem we might not be able to get past, which is why we called this emergency meeting.”

Kallie sat down and poured glasses of water for everyone.

“Look, it was an unfortunate situation,” Bryson said. He looked at Dale as he said it, but Dale didn’t acknowledge him. “I made a mistake, and I found that out when Scarlett explained to me that Dale was in character last night.”

Greg spun on him again. “What did he say? What did he just say?” Greg pointed at Bryson. “Did you just say he was in character? Dale Nolan is a fucking artist. He doesn’t play characters or do whatever you think he does. Dale Nolan is an enigma.

He’s like Picasso, he’s like Mozart, he’s one of the greatest actors—he’s been called a young Brando, a James Dean. And you talk about him like he’s some acting class reject prancing around, needing your pity. Needing you to interfere with him. How dare you?”

Bryon turned to Hunter and gave him a
“Is this guy for real?”
look.

“Look, Bryson,” Hunter said, “Greg is concerned that you’re not understanding the hierarchy. He’s trying to explain that Dale is doing all of us a big favor by being in this film, taking on this part, and allowing himself to be handled by a first-time director.”

Bryson opened his mouth to speak, and Scarlett sensed that whatever he was about to say wasn’t going to be good. She quickly reached under the table and squeezed his leg softly. He turned to her, and she gave him a look.
Just relax. Play by their rules.

Tone it down a little, and maybe, just maybe, this will blow over.

Bryson sighed and Scarlett saw his shoulders relax slightly. “Of course I’m very grateful for Dale’s involvement,” Bryson said. “And I’m sorry I hit him. I saw him groping Scarlett, and I over – ”

“Wait, what?” Hunter said.

Kallie sat up straight in her chair. “Groping Scarlett?” Her eyes went to Scarlett.

“What’s he talking about?”

Scarlett felt her cheeks burning as everyone looked at her. She twisted her hands in her lap. “Um, it was just a misunderstanding.”

“Of course it was,” Greg said, “because Dale Nolan does not
grope
women. And most certainly not someone like her.” He looked at Scarlett and shook his head, like the thought was ridiculous. “He could have any woman he wants, for God’s sake. Women throw themselves at him day and night. Why, just the other night Hayden Panettiere was calling him, begging him to come to her hotel room, wasn’t she, Dale?”

Dale looked up from his phone for the first time. “Chill, Greg,” he said. He glanced at Scarlett and gave her a little nod. “She’s cool.”

Scarlett swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Scarlett,” Kallie said, “why don’t you tell us what happened last night?”

Greg unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down, looking like a five-year-old who’d been sent to his room. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

Scarlett told her version of events, including how Dale had been touching her but she’d been aware of his persona and hadn’t been bothered by any of it. But she made it clear that Bryson had no idea what was going on when he came over to defend her.

When she was done talking, Hunter sat back and mulled it over. “Okay, so this is the first I’ve heard of any of this.”