Page 1 of Bride on the Dotted Line (Blackstone Center #1)
Sienna
No sign of him.
I tap my nails against the rim of my glass, counting the seconds slipping away. It’s been thirty-four minutes. No e-mail, no sorry, I’m going to be late or let’s reschedule. Just me, the dregs of a gin and tonic, and my unraveling patience.
Across the restaurant, a door swings open. I glance up, but it’s just a group of tailored suits and briefcases. The host guides them to a table near the window, quipping about the warmer weather. Plush seats are pulled out. Sparkling water is poured.
None of those suits are the man I came here to meet.
Sighing, I go back to my phone.
Mason, 2:46PM
Still at Café de Mario?
Sienna
Yeah. Starting to think he’s not coming.
Lena
Ugh.
Typical.
Mason
Hang on a little longer. If he’s not there in twenty, we’ll re-negotiate.
Fine. Give it thirty, though. We need this deal.
Translation: I need this deal, but Mason and Lena are nice enough to pretend they need it just as badly.
Lena
Sounds good. Talk soon.
Mason
If he does arrive, put in a good word for me.
Lena
Mason … can you at least TRY to be professional?
Mason
What? He’s a babe!
I drain the last of my gin and tonic, hiding a bemused smile behind my glass. Mason asking me to flirt with a client for him isn’t exactly new. A billionaire client running late isn’t surprising, either.
As PR managers, we’re always on their clock. The busier the client is, the less they care about the public, their reputation, or the team scrambling to fix their messes. Most of the time, convincing them to change their habits is like banging my head against a brick wall.
Case in point: Nick Harwood, the man I’ve come here to meet.
“He’s out of control,” the Harwoods’ lawyer told us over speakerphone on Monday. All three members of Charters PR Management—Lena, Mason, and me—were gathered in our meeting room on the third floor of 77 Blackstone Center, sipping coffee and exchanging looks.
“Mr. Harwood,” the lawyer continued, “ Victor Harwood, I’m sure you understand—is slated to retire in three months.
The board requires the new CEO to be responsible and trustworthy.
If Nick doesn’t clean up his act, he’s going to lose his chance at the company.
It doesn’t matter that he’s Mr. Harwood’s son.
Victor and the board will not tolerate his frivolous lifestyle. ”
The lifestyle in question? Excessive drinking, trashed hotel rooms, street racing, party-crashing … the works.
The good news is, reforming a chronic partier in the eyes of the public is simple. We’ve dealt with sports stars having nuclear divorces, high-powered CEOs bullying the press, beloved authors with tickling fetishes … I’m sure we can handle a moneyed-up playboy.
The bad news is, Nick doesn’t want to co-operate.
“Victor has fired no less than six of our internal PR managers because they failed to convince Nick to turn his reputation around,” the lawyer told us. “You’re our last hope. If Nick agrees to work with you, we’re willing to compensate you to the tune of ten million dollars.”
Lena, Mason, and I stared at each other across the table. Ten million. The biggest deal our little firm has ever seen.
“That— ahem —that sounds fair,” Lena said, dollar signs shining in her eyes. Sitting next to her, Mason beamed at the prospect of working with the hottest bachelor in the city.
And me … I was seeing my father’s debts finally paid. The ticket to freedom I’ve been hunting for a year.
“Consider it done,” Lena had said. “Nick might have walked all over your other managers, but he hasn’t met our Sienna yet. She’s got the sharpest teeth in the business.”
Lena and Mason gave me encouraging nods.
No pressure, right?
Now, I glance at myself in the mirror behind Café de Mario’s bar. I’m in my fiercest gray power suit, winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut a man. I listened to my Bad Bitch playlist on the way here, and my heels are tall enough to step over anyone who gets in my way.
I look killer. I feel killer, and I know I can get the billionaire heir to turn things around. I just need him to stay long enough to order a drink and listen to my spiel.
Because I do have the sharpest teeth in the business.
And I know something about him no one else does.