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 did, 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.

ONE DAY LATER

THE CLIENT

RYAN

There has to be a way I can get out of these boring ass meetings...

I pretended to pay attention as the members of my board discussed the same ten topics they’d discussed for the past two months. Global Initiative. Press Plan. Stock Options. Repeat. It was as if they needed to incessantly reassure themselves that they’d voted to do the right thing, and I was wondering if I could go back in time to when I was nineteen years old and turn down their start-up funding.

I poured myself a cup of coffee as the financial officers began reading their monthly report, letting my thoughts drift to the only thing I was truly able to focus on this morning: Penelope.

Images of her puffy red lips and that black dress she was wearing yesterday were replaying in mind every five minutes. They’d seamlessly joined the images from the night we ‘didn’t meet,’ when she rode my cock for hours and let me fuck her against her bedroom wall.