Chapter Fourteen

NOAH

I think of a million ways to get out of meeting Morgan, none of which seem plausible.

I texted Kate a dozen times, each response back from her was to grow some man balls. The conversation then led to an uncomfortable discussion on man balls in which I warned her of my need to block her number if the conversation persists.

“You know, if you lived here, I wouldn’t have this problem,” I tell Kate after calling her, frustrated with her text responses.

“How on earth would that make a difference?”

“Well, for starters, Charlie wouldn’t push the whole relationship bullshit if she thought I’d stay out of trouble. If you were here, I’d be busy with you.”

Kate laughs through the receiver. “Gorgeous, if I were there, we’d get into too much trouble. We’re good that way. Listen, I have to go. Now be a man and show her who has the balls.” She hangs up the call abruptly, leaving me in a no better position than I was earlier.

Presley wants to get started with this project and has worked on some basic questions she wants to ask Morgan. Nothing too personal, just run-of-the-mill questions which will educate the reader on how Scarlett grew up to how she found herself in Hollywood. Presley makes mention of some of the more challenging questions she wants to ask Scarlett herself. Some of which are not public knowledge and will definitely be the focal point with the press. I’m not sure how she dug up the information, and I decide to let her handle the scandalous side.

The marketing interns are a great team. Haden is a strong recruiter and knows talent when he sees it. I spent the morning running through some less critical projects to clear the way for this more significant one, making sure everyone knows what their performance targets are and the deadlines for which they need to adhere.

A little after lunch, Haden walks into my office.

“Hey,” he says casually.

I look up from my laptop. “What’s up?”

“Bad news. Presley’s come down with a stomach bug.”

“Is she okay?” I ask with concern.

“She pretends to be.” He laughs sincerely. “Our son caught it off some kid he was playing with, so now it’s her turn. I’m probably next. Nothing worse than having to hold your wife’s hair back while she projectile vomits in the car.”

I cover my mouth in disgust. And the poor fella has a sweet ride too.

“So, listen, I know you have that meeting this afternoon with Morgan. Presley is adamant we still move forward despite her not being there.” He removes his cell from his pocket and taps away. A few seconds later, my email pings.

“These are the questions she wants to ask Morgan today. If you could ask them instead, that would ensure we don’t fall behind.”

My whole career has been in marketing and only that. This seems to be a little in left field and entirely out of my element. How should I ask the questions, and what type of answers am I looking for? Do I counter questions if I’m unsatisfied with a response? Jesus, I don’t want to fuck up this important project.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Haden mentions before I speak. “You’re not sure how to ask the questions in a way we can capture and translate it into words.”

“You read my mind, boss.”

“All you need to do is inform her you’re recording the conversation. Simply ask the questions Presley has mapped out. I think you’ll do great.”

With the slight boost in my confidence, he leaves my office, and I quickly read Presley’s notes before departing and driving to the meeting.

I arrive at the coffee shop early, not wanting to come across as unprofessional. And so, with plenty of time to spare, I open my laptop and answer some work emails. Right on time, I see Morgan walk through the door. Her stride is elegant with an air of confidence in her white dress which is shorter this time, and more noticeably, the plunging neckline shows off some very sexy cleavage. Her hair is loose but tied halfway up, and she’s still wearing her signature red glasses.

She scans the table, looking around me. “Good afternoon, Noah.”

“Morgan,” I greet, standing up and courteously pulling her chair out.

“Thank you,” she responds with a forced smile.

That smile irritates me. So unnatural and cold. Do I really bother her that much that she can’t stand being in the same room as me? She appears almost repelled.

“I apologize for Presley’s absence. She’s quite unwell. However, I do have her notes, which I’d like to go through with you.”

Morgan’s expression changes to panic, her eyes looking everywhere but at mine. “She’s not here?”

I shake my head, pursing my lips. “Just you and me. Is that a problem?” Posing the question and goading some sort of reaction from her, I wait patiently, tapping my fingers on the stark-white linen tablecloth.

Her eyes unwillingly watch the tap of each finger, and slowly, with a deep breath, she parts her lips and raises her eyes to meet mine. “Certainly not, Noah,” she says with a reassuring smile. “Shall we begin?”

The waitress stands at our table, young and blonde with a playful smile that screams ‘fuck me tonight.’ Her uniform is a white tank and a short black skirt. Extremely short. I’m thinking of ways to get her number on the sly because I need to feel a woman’s body against mine.

It’s been forever since I’ve seen a pair of tits, let alone hold them in my hands.

Except for Kate’s, but we all know how that night ended.

“Can I please have an espresso and a glass of water?” Morgan orders, her head buried in the menu.

The waitress takes her order, then waits for me to answer, moving a little closer as she jiggles her small titties in front of her notepad. They’re cute, but lack that mature bounce I’ve grown fond of over the years.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Nice order,” the waitress says, striking up a conversation. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here?”

“I’m not, actually,” I answer politely. “I moved here a few weeks ago.”

“I hope you like California. I’ve been here my whole life. A true California girl.” She giggles, creating more bouncy tits.

Fuck. Keep going, beautiful.

“I can tell.” My smirk fades as Morgan clears her throat, prompting the waitress to leave.

She scurries away, and in the corner of my eye, I try to get a glimpse of her ass in that short skirt. It’s perky but nothing special.

“Should I leave you alone with the waitress, or are we here to conduct business?” Morgan voices with a touch of malice.

“Just a friendly conversation,” I insist. “Rule number one in marketing… opportunities can present themselves anywhere.”

“Like between her breasts?” Morgan mutters, keeping her lips tight and arms folded.

The evil witch has risen. I decide not to comment and begin asking the questions Presley gave me until Bouncy Tits comes back with our beverages. This time, not to rile the beast even further, I simply smile at the waitress and focus my attention again on the meeting.

The first stage of the book will focus on Scarlett’s childhood and how that evolved into acting. It’s public knowledge on the internet, but I was hoping to get some hidden facts that will interest the readers, an added bonus for the die-hard fans who think they know everything about her. I tell her, “I’ll be recording the conversation.”

But she’s quick to shut down, stating, “I’d prefer this conversation not to be recorded.”

Haden needs the information, and my memory isn’t the greatest. Could this bitch be any more of a pain in the ass?

“Look, Morgan. These are Presley’s questions. I’m just doing her job for the day. I’m really not understanding why it’s such a problem.”

“Because this is Hollywood. Anything you say can be held against you.”

Her stare is fierce, penetrating with an ice-cold expression. The glass of water sits beside her espresso. She carefully has a drink, then returns her attention to me. “Fine, if you must. Perhaps you’re not as multi-skilled as I pegged you to be.”

Did she just put me down? I’m moments away from walking out.

Taking a deep breath and remembering how much I need this job right now, I bite my tongue so damn hard I can taste the blood.

Breathe… one… two… three.

“So, let’s start with childhood. Hard and fast facts to clear up any misinformation in the media.” I press the record button. “Scarlett, real name Sarah Jo Winters, born the fifth of August 1990 in Littlerock, California.”

“Correct,” she states.

“Her father, Max Winters, was a farmer and mother, Marjorie Winters, formerly a housewife, passed away. Siblings… Violet Winters. Two years older.”

“Uh-huh.”

God. Did she suddenly climb back into that shell? I read the next lot of questions, hoping to gain more of an extended answer from her.

“Okay, so growing up, Scarlett has always aspired to be a star.”

Her body gestures indicate she’s bored with the questions. Granted, they’re not about her, but her boss instead. I finish my water in one go, counting down the time until this is over.

“From the age of three, she entered beauty contests in every county. Her mother would save every penny, sometimes doing odd jobs for locals so she could spend it on her outfits.”

“The American Dream, right?” I joke.

“To some.”

“Sorry, go on.”

“At the age of ten, a Hollywood producer happened to be driving through town and saw her at a local diner. She was singing and dancing for the patrons, and so he dubbed her the next Shirley Temple.”

“Quite an image to live up to, don’t you think?”

With a long pause, she puts the glass to her mouth and drinks some water, continuing her silence. How long do I have to fucking wait for an answer?

“She dreamed of being that. So, no, to answer your question, she aspired to something, and she followed her dream. Not many people get that chance, Noah.”

Watching her closely, Morgan fidgets with the napkin sitting on the table. The way she says those words seems odd, but perhaps I’m reading too much into it. The espresso is running through my veins, making me extremely alert.

“She’s determined,” I say.

With a darker tone, she responds, “That, and luck. She happened to be there at the right time.”

“Good karma.” I laugh inside. How ironic, me believing in karma.

“Karma?” she repeats with a sinister laugh. “C’mon, Noah, you can’t possibly believe in karma?”

She’s waiting for me to respond, but I’m taken aback by her odd question. When Rose asked me this question, I laughed it off. Then ten minutes later, my world completely falls apart. I don’t want to take that chance—Karma’s watching me with a magnifying glass.

“A wise person once asked me if I believe in karma. I don’t, but five minutes later, it bit me in the ass,” I say honestly.

She arches her brows. “What do you mean?”

“We all have a past, don’t we? Mine just collided with my future.”

“I see,” she says quietly. “So, shall we continue?”

I go back to my notes. Distracted by our change in subject, I move my cursor over the next point, trying to grasp some professionalism. Why the fuck does she make me feel so uncomfortable in my own skin?

“Her first three movies were blockbuster hits. What insight can you give me into that?”

“She loves acting. It distracted her from her mother passing away. Her sister gave up college to take over her career and made sure she stayed with the right people.”

“I guess you hear these horror stories that come from being in Hollywood. How does she manage to stay grounded?”

“The right support networks.”

Morgan talks about the team Scarlett works with, from her makeup artist to wardrobe assistant to her PR team and her newly created social media team. She has sixteen people working for her, not including her housekeeping staff and multiple chefs. I can’t believe one person can have so many people surrounding them. It shows how in-demand she is, and why directors are throwing scripts at her left, right, and center.

“Is there anything you can share that perhaps isn’t public knowledge?” I ask openly.

Keeping my gaze, she answers, “That’s a question best directed at Miss Winters.”

“Right, and that would be when?”

She shakes her head, keeping her smile at bay. “You’re very keen to meet her, aren’t you?”

“Well, it is the point, isn’t it?” I question her back, annoyed by her uninteresting question.

She doesn’t respond and avoids my persistent stare. I wait patiently, wondering what comeback she’ll have to that.

“I’m going to make something clear, in case it isn’t already. Can you please stop recording?” she demands.

I press stop, unsure why I’m following her request.

“Scarlett’s relationships are well monitored by the tabloids. Despite some of the trash you may read, Scarlett’s team tries extremely hard to protect her personal life,” she informs me. “Now, given your display of… what’s the word I’m looking for… interest in the waitress, I’d hate to think that your fascination in meeting Scarlett is anything but on a professional level.”

My jaw is clenching, biting down to stop me from saying the words I want to say. The nerve of this woman! How dare she question my integrity based on some harmless flirting with a waitress. I can feel my blood boiling and the vein on my forehead ready to burst at any moment, creating an ugly display of the hostility between us.

“I’m many things, Ms. Bentley, but unprofessional isn’t one of them. I work hard, and yes, I play hard,” I insist with a bitter tone. With my anger contained, barely, I veer in the opposite direction. She’s made me uncomfortable this entire meeting, and so now, I’ll turn the fucking tables on her. I’ve done this over and over again. I’m good at reading women, and this bitch just needs a reality check.

“Tell me, Morgan, do you get much of a social life given the hectic schedule you have?”

Her body stiffens, taken aback by my forthcoming question. “That’s a personal question, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps, it depends on your answer.”

Without saying a word, she starts packing up, answering loosely, “Not much. I’m busy. I don’t need a social life.”

“Everyone needs a social life,” I tell her, leaning slightly closer. “You’d be surprised how much fun you can have.”

I watch her sit in awe of my comment, and the way her legs twitch as she crosses them under the table.

Wow, way to go. You got through to the prude’s legs. Now what?

“I have fun, but perhaps my idea of fun is slightly different than yours.”

“Really, you think?”

“I bet you,” she says, leaning in closer to challenge me.

“I don’t take bets lightly.”

“Neither do I, Noah.”

And there it happens again, that electric current that runs through my body every time she says my name. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, and every part of me knows I can’t fuck her if I want to keep my job, and, of course, get to Scarlett.

Charlie will win.

Kate will call me a wanker.

But I have difficulty letting this one go. She ruffles my feathers in the most annoying way. I don’t know what I’ve done for her to be so resentful.

“So, tomorrow night. Why don’t we work over dinner and then have your type of fun afterward? I’m new to Cali, so I’m sure a local like yourself knows where all the fun places are,” I suggest, calling her bluff.

The prude won’t last two seconds with me in a social environment. She’ll probably break out in hives and have to go straight home. I can see it now. She’s not that tough.

“Tomorrow? Night?” She stops long and hard, thinking about my proposition. “There’s a restaurant just off Sunset that’s nice. Perhaps we can go for a walk afterward.”

A walk is her idea of fun?

Already bored with the idea, I put on a fake smile. “Sounds great.”

“I have to be somewhere at eight. Can we make it early, say five?”

“Of course. So tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she repeats.

Her body, across the table, sits only an arm’s length away. My hand itches to run my finger across her lips, and imagine what they would feel like wrapped around my cock. Fuck. Stop thinking about this! You just want what you can’t have, and she’s the most frustrating woman you’ve ever met. If her mouth was all over your cock, you’d shove it further down her throat just to see her eyes water. Maybe then, she’d loosen the grip on the giant pole she has that’s stuck up her ass.

She looks at her watch, telling me she needs to leave. Argh, honestly. This whole meeting’s a bust.

I can only imagine how boring her life must be.

All work, no play.

Then home to her litter of cats.

“The cats need feeding,” I mumble beneath a breath.

With her purse and laptop in hand, she throws some bills on the table, moving her stare back to me. “I gather you have all the information you need for today?”

“Yes, Ms. Bentley,” I respond in a formal tone.

Pushing her chair under the table, she leans forward close to me. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, igniting my senses—her expression changes. And just when I think she’ll say goodbye, her eyes become hard and hostile—a hint of fire raging inside them.

Leaning her right hand on the table, giving me the perfect glimpse of her cleavage, she watches my lips as they part with curiosity.

“Not cats, Noah, just one pussy. And yes, it does need feeding.”