She waits patiently as we both stand and make our way toward her. She extends her hand, introducing herself as Ms. Bentley, and motions for us to enter the office.
The office is large with the back wall all glass looking out toward the hills. Unlike the rest of the office, this room has a splash of color, and funnily enough, there’s no portrait of Scarlett on the walls.
“Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Bentley,” Presley begins. “Not to be rude, I thought this meeting was with Miss Winters?”
“Unfortunately, Miss Winters had to reshoot a scene for her upcoming movie. Besides, all press and business go through me first. I’m her assistant.”
How disappointing. I’d worked myself up for no reason.
Oh well, at least I can relax somewhat now. My body sinks into the chair, making it very comfortable. I’m quick to notice how really bland the office is. Although there’s color, it’s incredibly neat and tidy with not a single speck of dust on the glass table.
Ms. Bentley looks at her notebook, giving me a chance to gaze at her. Her jet-black hair is tied up in a tight bun, accentuating her cheekbones. She wears some makeup, making her face slightly flushed but in a smoldering way. She finishes reading the contract, her eyes focusing between Presley and me as she adjusts her red glasses so she can see us. The glasses are kind of quirky, something you rarely see.
There’s something unique about her, and when I scan her face again, my attention focuses on her eyes. They’re crystal blue—I mean, so blue you can’t help but stare at them. I brush it off as contacts. We’re in Hollywood, after all. On closer inspection, her tits look too perky. Probably fake too.
“When Mr. Cooper contacted me, he was very insistent about how this autobiography would be a bestseller for Miss Winters,” she tells us, switching her attention between Presley and me.
“Yes.” I clear my throat. Pulling my laptop out, I click on the presentation, talking my way through what we project along with Presley’s input. Presley has a way with words, talking Ms. Bentley through how best we can capture Scarlett’s story in a positive manner. I, on the other hand, focus on the marketing side, tapping into Scarlett’s already huge fan base and how we can double that.
“Thank you for this presentation. Miss Winters has expressed an interest in a project like this. However, she’s a very busy woman. Most of the work and information you need will be collaborated by myself.”
Huh, that’s an odd situation. An autobiography on Scarlett Winters from the perspective of her assistant? I don’t think it can work, and my dick is arguing, swearing profanities like a drunken sailor. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I should be spending time with Scarlett, spreading my so-called charm, then getting her into bed.
“Not to be rude, but this autobiography is on Miss Winters. I’m not understanding how it’ll work if you’re giving us the information?” I question her with slight arrogance.
“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.” She pushes her glasses above the bridge of her nose, her deep blue eyes watching me with a harsh stare. It’s rude to stare, so I break away, pretending to be interested in the view behind her.
“I’ve been Miss Winters’s PA and publicist since she first entered the business as an adult. You’ll have contact with Miss Winters to ask her some personal questions, all with her prior consent. However, any general facts will go through me,” she states.
She doesn’t break a sweat, and just when I begin to talk, Presley’s cell rings, distracting us both.
“I’m so sorry, I have to take this call.” Presley leaves the room, closing the door behind her.
“We’re keen to start this project. Mr. Cooper would like to see a first draft by the end of next month. It’s a quick turnaround time, but he thinks this will make a great Christmas release,” I add, trying to ensure she understands what kind of deadline we’re working with.
“Of course,” she responds, tapping her pen against the table, watching me with a curious gaze. She’s making me uncomfortable, and I never get uncomfortable.
“Regarding Miss Winters, we need to meet with her. After all, this project is about her.”
Ms. Bentley keeps her expression to no more than a faint, slight smile, continuing to watch me with a persistent gaze. “And what, may I ask, is your intention with Miss Winters?” she asks, her voice rigid.
God, this fucking woman is unbelievable! I
understand her duty as an employee, but this is taking it too far.
“My intentions, Ms. Bentley, are purely professional.” I bite hard, trying to control my need to give her my opinion on her rigid ass.
“I see, Mr. Mason.” She breaks my gaze long enough to look at the computer screen and clicks her mouse before looking back my way. “Miss Winters will be in the desert shooting a movie over the next two weeks. There may be a few nights when she’ll fly home. I could possibly organize something then. That is if you don’t have any commitments after hours?” she asks with a stern and righteous tone.
I am committed to fucking Scarlett. Any which way possible.
“I’m all open,” I say, not breaking her gaze, wanting to make her uncomfortable.
She tilts her head, and although I may have said that with a slightly seductive tone, Ms. Bentley seems to brush it off. Argh, she looks like a prude, anyway.
Presley is taking longer than expected, making the small talk between Ms. Bentley and me extremely awkward.
“Nice office you have here. Do you go on set with Miss Winters much?”