The Promotion (Contemporary Reverse Harem 3)

“Okay. What’s your idea?”

“They have those matchmaking agencies.” She jumped from the bed and ran toward her room, her naked butt jiggling the tiniest bit. Ten seconds later, she returned to my room with her laptop.

“I’m pulling one of the sites up right now. Okay, here’s one that’s local and it has good reviews. It’s called VIP Match.”

“But I’m not a VIP.”

She perused the webpage. “I don’t think you have to be a VIP. Let’s see…Oh. Shit. It costs five thousand dollars.”

“What?” Who would spend five thousand dollars to get a date?

Apparently, enough people to keep VIP Match in business.

“Forget them. Not worth five thousand dollars.” She clicked on her keyboard, presumably scrolling through all the possibilities.

“Hey, here’s one where the guy pays.”

“Are you sure that’s not an escort service?” I asked.

She clicked several more times.

“Ummm…yeah, looks like it is,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Hey, maybe I should give it a shot. I could make some money and get my promotion at the same time.”

Well, that was one option.

Chapter 4

Braden

I don’t know what I hated more—lawyers, or the freaking awful offices they worked in. All kinds of fake wood paneling, furniture from my grandmother’s era, and oriental carpets. Law firms must have been single-handedly keeping rug stores open.

Then came the stuffy, stuck-up attitudes. It started with the people behind the front desk. When I first started having to hire attorneys, like when my music began to take off, I’d walk in and, of course, I stuck out like a sore thumb among all the suits. I mean, every profession has its uniform, and mine was worn Levi’s, some sort of old concert T-shirt, and a leather jacket with a hoodie underneath. If it was really cold, I’d bust out the down puffer.

I almost felt sorry for the attorneys and all their workers having to wear those fucking monkey suits. They looked so uncomfortable and…expensive. What if a little of your lunch spilled down the front of one of those jackets? If good old mister dry cleaner couldn’t work one of his miracles and get the stain out, you were screwed out of a couple thousand bucks.

Not that I couldn’t afford to dress that way if I wanted to. I could buy any of those fuckers at that firm ten times over if I wanted to. But I was practical. I wore clothes I didn’t have to worry about. If I spilled on them, or left them behind in some hotel room, it didn’t matter.

I simply did not give a shit.

I had bigger things to worry about. Like my fucking music label licensing my work for a fucking car commercial. I was seriously so steamed about that, I couldn’t see straight. And when I had an issue like this, the lawyers usually came to me for our meetings. But my schedule had been so whacked with the release of my new album that I broke down and went to their offices for a change. I also felt a little bad I’d canceled on them so many times.

But just a little. I paid those fuckers through the nose. They could kiss my ass once in a while.

So. Back in a law office. I’d forgotten how much I hated them. I’d always felt these leeches made money off the back of other peoples’ hard work. But they could come in handy once when you needed them.

“Mr. Darby?” a hot-as-shit tall blonde asked me. “I’m Maizy Strong.”

“Call me Braden.” I stood and took her hand. Damn if she wasn’t almost as tall as me with her skyscraper heels. And I was six-foot.

“Actually, call me Brade.”

I followed the sexy secretary down a long hall past a bunch of dickwad lawyer offices to a conference room with windows featuring a view of the whole of lower Manhattan. I knew without a doubt I was paying for that view with the monthly fees

they charged me. At least I got to enjoy it for the hour I was there.

I was surprised when Mary—or whatever her name was—sat down with me at the huge conference table. Secretaries usually made themselves scarce after offering coffee or water. But, hey, I didn’t mind this looker keeping me occupied until my lawyer came in.