“Drake, this could be a great opportunity to pick up a distressed asset,” he said. “Our finance guys have combed through the numbers and there’s hidden value there.”
“How so?” I remarked.
“Evidently, the magazine’s got a strong subscriber base of men in the 30-55 demographic, exactly who we want to hit. There’s some fat in staffing but that’s easy to cut after a potential acquisition.”
It was true, the 30-55 male demographic was highly sought after by advertisers and perhaps we could do some cross-marketing, grabbing eyeballs for our other male-oriented publications. Even if we kept Hustler going for only a year or two, that might be enough to steer customers to other trade glossies, acting as tastemaker and big brother in one.
I grunted.
“Alright, get me some numbers and we’ll attend the auction,” I said. It was a strategic decision more than anything. Even if we had no intention of seriously bidding for Hustler, it was good to press the flesh, scope out the competition, show your face when all the other players in town were at the races.
But I have to admit, there was an ulterior motive. Would Cleo be there? It sounds crazy, but it was a real possibility. I’ve followed my little step all these years, watching her from afar, following her every move while reminding myself again and again that she was no longer interested, that she’d run off without any notice for a career on stage, leaving me with nothing.
Because somehow my little step has morphed from run-of-the-mill stripper into adult entertainment magnate. I’d been stunned watching the transformation. First up had been the branded sex toys. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, after all she was an erotic dancer and guys would buy that shit up. So when she made her first million selling CleoWorld latex pussies, I’d had a good chuckle, throwing the catalogue onto my desk with a snort. Okay, I admit, I ordered one as well, using it in my shower in the mornings, dreaming of my luscious girl.
But the empire-building continued. She started a magazine, and then a website, doing live cam work, and judging from the number of subscribers, was making quite the pretty penny. One million subscribers paying fifty bucks a month … that’s fifty million per month. Can you believe it? Fifty million per month. My little girl hit the big time, albeit in an x-rated industry, but success is success, don’t let people talk you down.
So yeah, Cleo is a big-time player in this field now and Hustler is right up her alley. She’d know how to turn it around, how to find new advertisers, how to beef up the content to appeal to new subscribers. She’d be at the auction for sure … and I’d be waiting.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cleo
The bankruptcy auction was packed. I strode into the conference room, accompanied by my lawyer and my banker. All eyes were on me because most of the people in the room were old white guys and I was the only young, appetizing female in the bunch.
Not to mention I’d done myself up to look like a porn star that day. Sure I could have gone in wearing a boring business suit but might as well let these guys see what they’d come to see. I wore a long red dress, clingy with a deep vee, with sparkly red heels, my hair swept into an updo. Totally inappropriate for a business meeting, but competition beware … I was dead serious about getting Hustler.
As we took our place at the conference table, Ben leaned over solicitously to pour me some water.
“Thanks hon,” I purred, trailing a long red nail up his sleeve. Both Stuart and Ben were so silly. They were professionals, a lawyer and a banker, both married with small children, and yet whenever I saw them they leered at me despite the fact that I was paying their salaries.
I used it to create an image though. I wanted the men in this room to know that I had two admirers, two dudes with stiffies who were willing to throw their wedding bands into the Hudson River at the crook of a finger. With a sly smile, I let a hand trail up each of their thighs, skimming their bulges, much to the shocked gasps of the men around us. Hmm, just like being in the Donkey Club again.
“Thanks boys,” I purred again. “I’m ready to get started, is everyone else?”
There was a hushed silence before a deep voice rang out across the conference table.
“Ms. Jones,” the voice rang out. “I believe we know each other.”
I gasped, whipping my head around to pinpoint the source of the voice. Holy shit, it was Daddy! Drake had never looked so good before. He was dressed in a navy blue suit, sharply intelligent and commanding even among this group of sharks.