His Nasty Little Pussy

BRADY

I woke up the next morning sprawled on my couch. Light from my balcony spilled into the living room, blinding me. My head pounded, and my

mouth like sandpaper, my tongue dry.

“God, can someone turn off the sun?” I groaned.

“No can do, buddy.”

I gasped, bolting up to my feet. The quick movement almost made me vomit, but I swallowed back the urge, squinting against the glare to stare at Rich.

“Oh, what the fuck are you doing here?”

I realized I was still dressed in my tuxedo and dress shoes. My jacket was draped over the lamp, my billfold on the floor, and my cards scattered across the tile.

At least I was in my penthouse, but still. How the hell had I gotten back?

Rich was in his boxers, eating a bag of peanuts he’d taken from my pantry. “You snore in your sleep.”

“Why are you in your boxers?” I sighed, collapsing back on the couch, trying to remember the rest of the night.

I could barely focus on anything other than the dull throbbing between my temples.

“Unlike you, I don’t sleep in my clothes,” Rich said. “Then again, I also don’t get hammered at my parents’ anniversary party.”

His words were like the ring of a bell. The memories slammed into me one after the other: Tess storming out of the party and disappearing into a cab, calling Rich for backup, returning to the party, and slamming back one whiskey after the next.

“You came to the party?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” Rich said. “You invited me, but you were in rough shape when I showed up. Your mom pretty much begged me to take you home.” He snorted. “It was actually pretty funny. You were trying to convince

Brooke to start a karaoke party.”

“Oh God,” I whispered. I leaned forward, unsure if I was nauseous or starving. It was rare for me to overdrink like that. I had a three-drink rule that I rarely, if ever, broke.

What had triggered me?

Definitely not my parents. I was used to the constant stream of their complaints and unasked for opinions about my love life.

I leaned forward, my hands resting on my knees. A stack of stapled papers on the coffee table caught my attention. I recognized the letterhead and yanked the papers from beneath an empty whiskey bottle.

The corners were ripped, and the ink was smeared from caramel whiskey stains, but the writing was still clear. It was Tess’s contract-the one she’d slapped against my chest before getting into the taxi.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“What?” Rich asked.

Normally, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth. Rich and I shared personal details and confided in each other often, but after the shit he’d given me for the Tess contract, I’d made a mental note to not discuss things further.

A mental note my hangover helped me forget about.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m pretty sure I fucked everything up with Tess.”

Rich chomped down on more peanuts. “Like…you didn’t get to fuck her kind of fucked up?”

“No,” I sighed, my headache too intense to get angered by Rich’s constant ability to bring everything back to sex. “I invited her to my parent’s anniversary party. And I think she thought I was trying to use her to piss my parents off.”

“Well, were you?”

I heaved a giant sigh. “Not intentionally. I mean, I introduced her to my parents as my business partner. Because that’s what she is. Or was going to be…but she never signed the contract, and now I think I fucked up.” “Yeah, kinda,” Rich said.

I blinked. “You think I fucked up on something you didn’t agree with to begin with?”

Rich sat down across from me. “Fuck my feelings for a second, Brady. Like you said yesterday, it’s your company. Your decisions. If you want Tess to be your business partner, then you must treat her like your business partner. Which means not involving her in your fucked up family life.” “That’s not what I was trying to do,” I said.

“But that’s what you did. You don’t remember this, but we talked about it a lot last night.”

I groaned, falling back against the couch. “Oh God.”

“And I’ll ask you right now what I asked you last night. When have you ever invited any other business partner of yours to your parents’ anniversary party? Or any event that had absolutely nothing to do with your business.”

I leaned forward, pressing the palm of my hands against my eyes. “Fuck.”

Rich snorted. “That’s your favorite word today, isn’t it? He sighed and looked at me intently.

“Listen, you said you’ve never been in a situation before where you’re doing business with someone who was a stranger you fucked on a plane, especially one who happens to be a, and I quote, ‘an intelligent genius.’ So you’re not sure how to approach working with them because with the prior sex, you’ve already crossed a line that you wouldn’t have crossed with your typical business associates.”

“Damn, I really did talk to you last night. That’s what I was going to say.”

“I mean, honestly, Brady, wasted you does a much better job selling your ideas than sober you. Hell, after last night, you had me wanting to work for the girl. But I’ll give you credit. The ‘no sex’ clause you also told me about last, well, I recommend sticking to that. Because this whole situation is further proof that sex complicates everything, especially when it comes to business. And this is where I tell you that I agree with you. I did research on Tess’s product. It’s good.”

“Right! It’s really good,” I said. “So, now what? How do I make this up to her?”

Rich pressed his lips together in thought and splayed his palms out in front of him. “Well, for starters, let’s pretend you two didn’t have sex, and you didn’t upset her last night. Let’s say she’s just a potential-but hesitant -business partner that you need to convince to work with you. What would you do?”

“I would explain how Wyler Marketing differs from other companies that offer the same service.”

“And this is where you need to take it up a notch,” Rich said.

“What do you mean?”Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

Rich smiled. “With a new client starting with you on a blank page, no history, just telling is fine. But with Tess, it’s not enough. With Tess, you need to show her how Wyler Marketing is different. And then you need to show her how she will have a say in the use of her product. Make her feel like an equal.”

I snorted. “I never thought I’d hear you say that about a woman I’ve fucked, Rich.”

Rich laughed. “Hey, everyone has their moments.”

I nodded. “Yeah, this one is definitely your moment,” I said. “Because you’re right-you’re fucking right. And you just gave me a great idea.”

It took me less than twelve hours to connect all the components for my plan. In any other situation, I would have taken at least a week to get everything together, but I didn’t want to jeopardize losing this business opportunity with Tess.

After putting everything together, I sent her a text that evening.

Let me apologize for last night. I came up with a marketing idea for Perkins Formula. I’ll send a car to your place tomorrow at noon.

She responded an hour later. No thanks.

I considered driving over to her dad’s townhouse to talk but decided against it. I typed up a quick response. Well, if you change your mind, the address is 437 Seaside Drive. Noon.

She never responded. Ultimately, I continued with the plan because even if she didn’t show up, I would have something to show her after what I had in mind took place.

I arrived at the beach in the Hamptons a quarter to noon the next day. My hangover was gone, but my nerves were tangled, my mind on edge. The mansion I’d rented for the day belonged to a celebrity chef who only lived here one month out of the year. And, of course, it had a two-week rental minimum, so for the one day of shooting, I’d shelled out a couple hundred thousand.

When I entered the foyer, the house was bustling. Cal was corralling the models into a line in the living room, handing out the script for the screen test. The thirteen women all glanced up at my entrance, their postures shifting, faces blushing. They looked like carbon copies of each other, their tall forms dressed scantily.

“Eyes on the script, ladies,” Cal ordered. “Coffee in the kitchen, Mr.

Wyler.”

Cal, my savior.

I spotted a full buffet and coffee bar set up in the kitchen and made a bee-line for the breakfast bar. I got two steps before the videographer, an eccentric artist who went by the name Quincy, spotted me. He was framing shots and paused.

“Brady!” Quincy shouted. “My man.”

He shook my hand tightly and glanced around. “So where’s this product? Perkins Formula? Let’s get this rolling.” “Should be here any minute,” I mumbled.

Quincy’s eyes blew open, and his signature grin wavered. “Brady, man, you know I planned this last minute. I start back up filming CQ’s music video tomorrow.”

I glared at him. We both knew that CQ’s newest music video was still in the process of filming…but since I’d offered him double his usual price, he’d paused filming for the day.

CQ’s people had already been blowing up my phone, annoyed that I’d stalled their production. I got mild enjoyment from disrupting the rapper’s day, but I also knew it only gave me one chance to get this done.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

To my great relief, Brooke shuffled through the front door, clutching her purse like a lost relic.

I waved her over. “Please tell me you have the cream.”

Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Why else would I be here? But mom will kill me if she finds out I took it from her bathroom. It’s her last bottle.” “You’re my hero,” I whispered.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she hissed. “But boy is it nice you being the family disappointment for once. You were a fucking mess at the party.

Dad’s pissed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled.

Brooke crossed her arms. “So you want to explain why I’m stealing mom’s last bottle of Perkins Formula? If Tess is your business partner, shouldn’t you have access to her product?”

“She’s not exactly my partner yet. This is me trying to do damage control.”

Quincy spotted Brooke and grinned. “Brooke, darling!”

“Quincy,” Brooke trilled. “Aren’t you supposed to be on CQ’s shoot today?”

“Taking a day break.” Quincy smiled. “Is this the star of our show today?”

“Yes,” Brooke said, handing the bottle over.

“Perfect,” Quincy said, carrying it over to the camera.

Brooke narrowed her eyes at me. “Damage control for Tess while damaging CQ’s shoot. I see what you’re doing.”

“Hey,” I muttered. “I had to get something good out of this. If Tess doesn’t show, at least I could find some enjoyment in pissing CQ off.”

Brooke pointed behind me. “Well, it looks like it might be your lucky day.”

I spun around as the remainder of Quincy’s crew carried video equipment through the open front door. Behind them, I spotted Tess, standing in the doorway, a mixture of confusion and hesitance on her face.

Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, and she was wearing glasses, its dark blue rims making her tan skin pop. She was dressed conservatively in jeans and a green sweater. Fuck! She looks so adorable. I skirted around the video crew and met her at the front.

“You came,” I said, making no effort to hide my surprise.

She crossed her arms, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and I got the sense it was less out of anger and more out of discomfort. “What is this?”

I shrugged, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Our first marketing campaign for Perkins Formula. Before you say anything, just know that you don’t have to agree with anything. Just let me show you my vision.”

She hesitated and glanced around the mansion, biting her lip. I leaned forward, balancing on my heels, my anticipation building. What she said next would make or break this whole thing.

Tess sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine,” she said, throwing her hands.

“Show me what you got.”