Hooked Up: Book 2 (27 page)

I called Sophie.

“Did you deal with Indira?” I asked her when she picked up.

“She’s full of shit—she was just winding you up, Alexandre. Of course she hasn’t forged your signature.”

“I thought as much. Did she admit that?”

“In so many words. I’m having tea with her today at the Ritz, just to smooth things over. Want to join us? We could pass by and pick you up.”

“No, don’t. Please,
you
deal with her, Sophie. I don’t want hoards of angry relatives hunting me down. Right now I have other issues, which I need to sort out. I’ll be back in New York tomorrow. I’ll call you then.”

I could have sworn I heard water running. I made my way to where the sound was coming from, and lo and behold, Laura was running a bath. Worse, she was
in
the bath. Nude. There, in the pristine, all-white bathroom was an oval tub, smack bang in the middle of the room. Laura was lying right in it, coated in frothy bubbles, splashing about.

“Jesus, Laura, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Ssh, Alex, don’t shout. I thought I’d have a little soak, that’s all. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

I don’t wear knickers.
I turned around, my back to her;
this
view of London, Laura nude, had not been on my agenda. “Laura, you’re not even supposed to be up here; we were meant to meet
downstairs.
Fine, pop by to say hello, but you can’t just fucking
move
in on me!”

“Alex, I’m in pain! Why do I have to keep reminding you of this? Have you any idea what it’s like . . . your muscles aching and pinching and throbbing all the time? I just need a hot soak to make me feel better. Will you be an angel and fetch me my Bloody Mary? I left it in the living room by mistake.”

“Laura,
please
.”

“Bring me my drink, Alex, and stop being such a bore. Oh yes, and a magazine. I forgot that too.
Vogue
or
Interiors
. Nothing tacky.”

“Laura, please. I’m engaged to be married!
You’re
married. Fine . . . we can still be friends, but you
in the bath at my hotel?
This is going beyond the boundaries of friendship—this is
too fucking much!”

“Alex darling, please stop being such a pleb. Just bring me my drink and magazine, I’ll have a nice quiet soak and then I’ll leave. Or better still:
join
me. This bath is big enough for two.”

She was incorrigible, but I knew that the only way to get her out of that bathtub would be to physically manhandle her, which I wasn’t about to do. “Ten minutes,” I warned. “Then it’s time for you to leave. You said you had something important to discuss but that was obviously a ruse to hang out with me. I can’t just
hang out
anymore, Laura. Not like this. Pearl and I are getting
married
.”

“Yeah right. Winter’s a long way off.”

I turned around in surprise. She was sitting up, erect, with her chest out, her breasts little and pert—fluttering her eyelashes at me, and smiling.

“How do you know that?” I demanded, turning my back on her again. I don’t know why I even bothered—I’d seen it all before.

“Oh you know, Elodie and I chat every so often. I call her for news once in a while.”

In-fucking-corrigible
. I drained my Bloody Mary—the kick of alcohol felt good—I needed it to ease my irritation. “Ten minutes, Laura. I’m not bringing you your drink or any magazines because making things more comfortable for you here is
not
my intention.”

“Alex, you
will
come around, darling, believe me. Because I have a little surprise for you.”

I narrowed my eyes with suspicion. “Like what?”

“Ooh, that would be telling.”

“I’ve got work to do. I’m going next door. Ten. Minutes. Only. Then I’m sending you home in a cab.”

I left the bathroom, wondering how I’d forgotten about Laura’s manipulative ways. Still, it was nothing I couldn’t handle . . .

Or so I thought.

I
SAUNTERED THROUGH Central Park on my way back to the office, taking my time, mulling over what Daisy had said. I thought of Sophie and her dark past, how she’d worked as a prostitute when she was only seventeen. Alexandre never judged her for that and even got angry with me when I made a benign comment.
So how then, would he judge me for one thing that happened in my past? Would he think less of me? Would it spoil everything?
Both Daisy and Anthony seemed to think it wasn’t worth the risk. But Alexandre was a forgiving person. He’d love me anyway, surely?

Or would he? Perhaps things were better left unsaid.

The day was still beautiful. I took out my iPod and found
Autumn in New York
and put on my headset. What song could be more perfect? I had on my lightweight sneakers, which—as any New Yorker knows—is part and parcel of living in this city. Walking, for me, was one of the great pleasures of living here. I kicked up the crispy, golden leaves as squirrels scattered in front of me. I observed them leap up boughs of American Elm trees; a variety which had been decimated all through its range by the ravages of Dutch elm disease, but miraculously still alive and thriving in Central Park.

Sun on my back, the sky a crystal blue. People sprawled on park benches, reading newspapers, Smartphone texting, and snoozing in the morning rays. Dogs charging around, trying their luck with a squirrel catch. I regretted that Rex wasn’t with me.
Dogs complete a real walk.
I decided to pass by the apartment to collect Rex and take him to the office. He loved hanging out there and was a star amongst the staff; his treat every now and then was to come to my work and lap up the attention they lavished on him. His white cravat of a chest stroked, his ears caressed. I decided to order something in for lunch–Chinese perhaps—I had a lot of work to catch up on, and Natalie needed a second opinion about a project she was working on.

I was happily singing along to
Autumn in New York
and making a mental list when I felt the buzz of my cell. I fumbled about for it and picked up.

The voice was familiar but I didn’t recognize it straight away. I switched off my iPod so I could hear better.

“Pearl?”

“Speaking.”

“Sam.”

“Oh, hi Sam.” Samuel Myers—that was fast. Such a quick answer could mean only one thing. A “no” to my proposal.

“Lunch?”

“Oh, okay.” I looked at my watch. Lunch was now.

“You sound surprised,” he snorted.

Uh, oh—the cool, sophisticated woman in the chic suit was now wearing sneakers, had damp mussed-up hair from swimming, and was in a twisted mess of iPod wires tangled all over her head. I took a neat breath. “No, Sam, not surprised at all. I would love to do lunch. In fact, it’ll be my treat. How about the Century Club?”

He chuckled. “The Century? You’re a member? Too stuffy. Where are you right now?”

“In Central Park, at about Sixty Third, or so.”

“I’ll book a table at Daniel. Is that good for you, sweetheart?”

“It’s my local haunt, but it’s closed at lunch time.”

I heard him breathing heavily. “Oh, darn. Let’s just meet at the Plaza, then. Meet me there in . . . twenty minutes, say, in the restaurant at the Palm Court.”

I started sprinting. I needed to get there fast before he did—empty out my monstrous bag of tricks in the ladies’ room and transform myself into the glamorous ball-breaking executive I was just a few hours before.

I
T SEEMED ONE minute I was making a business call, and the next thing I knew I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Fast asleep! I tried to shift myself but felt all floppy. I remembered now. . . . Laura was here, having a fucking bath! I tried to jolt myself out of my position but I realized my arms were above my head, tied together with some sort of wire cable. In fact,
all
of me felt buzzy and floppy, except the one part of my anatomy that mattered most. When I finally focused I saw Laura on top of me, pinning me down like a vice—her nude body straddling me, her long knees digging into the sofa, either side of my hips. A scar ran down her left thigh where they’d operated on her after her accident. My eyes flicked down. The buttons of my jeans were open, my shirt, open. Fuck! My dick was mysteriously rock-hard, and she was about to ease herself on top of me.

Laura, what the fuck are you doing?
I thought I said the words, but all that came from my lips was a sort of incoherent groan.

She pushed back my head as I attempted to get up. “Ssh, Alex, just relax. All you have to do is lie there, darling, I’ll do the work.”

Madonna’s
Frozen
was playing, ringing in my ears. How apt, considering every cell in my body felt numb. Laura’s long blonde hair was flopping over me, her lips centimeters away from mine.

“Hmm, I’d forgotten how good you smell,” she purred.

She had my cock firmly in one hand and was guiding it toward her pussy like a rocket aimed for liftoff.

Any second now, that rocket was about to be launched.

I
EMERGED FRESH from the powder room at the Plaza, looking composed and primed and as sleek as a panther on the hunt. High heels back on, suit smoothed out, hair in a chignon bun, makeup perfect, just a touch of lip gloss.

Samuel Myers had something up his sleeve, I could be sure of that, or he would have just called, not suggested a lunch meeting. Or did he just want to get into my panties? Ha! Some chance. He was used to bimbos in LA—pretty young actresses who’d do anything for a break. He was fat and balding but powerful; the strongest aphrodisiac ever for a lot of females. Not me, though. Money didn’t motivate me. Even if Alexandre had been a bus boy I would have fallen for him anyway.

The maitre’d showed me to our table, and to my amazement, Samuel Myers was already seated eagerly waiting for me. The room was massive, bordered with mirrored arched windows all around, and fleur-de-pêche marbled columns. This airy room’s crowning glory was a stained glass yellow and green skylight, way up high—the restored 1907 décor was breathtaking. Funny, how when you live in a city you neglect its best landmarks. I hadn’t set foot in the Plaza for years.

I found Samuel almost hidden behind a potted palm tree, beaming at me.

“Pearl—we meet again,” he said, in a motion to get up, although he plunked himself right back down in his chair with the effort.

“Sam,” I said, shaking his hand heartily.

“Not the most elegant cuisine in the city but there are some nice organic things on the Eloise menu. I can report back to my wife that I’m being a good boy and sticking to my diet.”

“Diets are tough,” I said. “Actually, I’ve never managed more than three hours of being on a diet.”

He snorted with laughter. “I don’t believe that for a minute, Pearl. You’re so svelte, so slim and trim.”

“I cheat.”

“Oh yes? How?” he asked eagerly.

“I swim a lot. It’s amazing what you can get away with when you go for the burn.”

He sounded disappointed and said in a glum tone, “I wish I could admit to doing the same, but I’m a lazy old man with a sweet tooth and a penchant for Cognac.”

I suppressed a grin. The waiter came and we both ordered. The swim had given me an appetite so I asked for organic grilled chicken, mashed potato, carrots, and sweet peas. Sam ordered a hot dog.

“So should we get down to business?” he breathed.

My heart started racing but I smiled serenely, wondering what was in store.

“You got me thinking, Pearl. A lot. And I want to meet you half way.

“You do?” I asked, wondering where this was leading.

“You say Thelma and Louise. I say, just Thelma. No Louise. Because the other part needs to go to a guy. I need box office. I need testosterone. I’m obliged to contract a star, which means I have to go easy on the budget. Like I said before, I can’t have two big names. That’s where your Thelma comes in. The guy and the girl. A buddy movie with a twist.”

I crossed my legs, held my hand up to my chin and listened intently. “Go on.”

“What’s the name of that woman who won a Tony Award for that play,
Seeking Sandrine
– the half-Italian actress? She was good.”

“Alessandra Demarr.”

He shook his head. “Forget it. I’ve heard she’s gay.”

“So? She’s a great actress. Even better if she’s gay—we’d see the character from a different angle—it could really deepen the story. I mean, whatever happens, the script is going to need some more tweaking.”

He pondered this and said, “I guess the advantage is that she won’t be too expensive, and the whole gay thing she’s got going could work in our favor. The two leads can play off each other. Flirt but not get involved, you know. I like it, actually. I like it a lot.”

“I had a feeling about you, Sam,” I flattered him, “I knew you’d
get
it.”

“My wife likes the idea of a female lead. My daughter
loves
the idea. We could be onto a winner here.”

“And if Alessandra Demarr’s not free?”

“Oh, she’ll be free all right. Her agent will be chomping at the bit, guaranteed. Leave it to me, I’ll sort it out.”

“Really? That simple?”

“I have to leave for LA tonight but I’ll set up a meeting. You two can get together next week or the week after.”

“LA or New York?”

“Take your pick, sweetheart. You decide.”

I looked up at the glass ceiling and pondered my options. New York or Los Angeles? “I’ll talk it over with my fiancé,” I told him, and imagined that a little trip with Alexandre might just be the tonic.

I
T’S TRUE WHAT they say about muscle memory; that your body instinctively does whatever it has been trained to do, seemingly without your brain being involved.

My brain was in a fuzzy haze. My limbs felt like the puppet, Punch, left in a tangle of strings and broken joints, abandoned by his puppet master—gone for a coffee break. My arms were still above my head, tied tightly together. I lay there, all askew, my body in fragmented pieces, but my cock like a thick, solid, wooden rod. Laura’s breath was heavy in my ear, her skin oiled and sweet as she sniffed me, her hand clamped about my dick, aiming it inside her.