Seducing Lola Read online

  “Flattered,” he chuckled as he made his way into my office and sat in one of the chairs across from me. “Definitely flattered. I am a catch, after all. Most women and men alike would kill for my attention.”

  I laughed. “What are you doing back from the New York office? I thought you weren’t scheduled to return until next week.”

  “I figured you missed me too much and decided to cut the trip short.”

  I sat back in my chair, twirling a pen between my fingers. “You’re like a ringworm. Just when I think I’ve gotten rid of you, you come back.”

  “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He rested an ankle on one knee and threw his arm along the back of the chair. “Honestly, we got the business meeting part of the trip wrapped up fairly quickly, and there’s only so much ass kissing I can take. If I had to sit through one more dinner with that fucking brownnoser Peter Wilkinson and his human pin cushion of a wife, I was going to hang myself.”

  I chuckled at the thought of Wilamena Wilkinson. The woman had been nipped, tucked, and sucked so many times it should be illegal for a plastic surgeon to touch her. The last time I saw her was when I traveled to New York for a conference over a year back. Peter brought her to one of the happy hours and I’d spent most of the night worrying that if she so much as sneezed, her entire body would rip at the seams.

  “She try to corner you in the men’s room and suck you off?”

  Caleb’s eyes went wide. “How’d you know!”

  I shrugged, internally cringing at the memory of my own personal run-in with the life-sized Barbie doll. “I might have had to suffer through the same thing a time or two before I finally told Peter to keep his trophy wife in check.”

  He shivered in the chair. “Man, just the thought of those talons she calls nails anywhere near my junk makes me want to lose my breakfast.”

  I clicked on a link on my computer and spun the monitor around for him to see. It was a picture of him with his face buried between some exotic-looking chick’s boobs in the middle of the city’s hottest nightclub. “Well I’m glad to see the terror didn’t have any lasting effects.”

  A wide smile split his lips as he sat back in the chair and let out a sigh. “Ah, Tatiana. That one had the power to make everything better,” he announced with a dreamy, glazed-over look on his face.

  “Victoria’s Secret model?” I guessed.

  “Sport’s Illustrated swimsuit edition.” He winked. “The cover.”

  I gave a low whistle, my eyebrows rising. “How’d this one take your standard morning-after brush-off?”

  “Wouldn’t know,” he said with a yawn. “Didn’t hang around long enough to find out. She sucked me dry and I bolted before she woke up.”

  “Jesus, man,” I snapped. “One of these days that shit’s going to get you stabbed, and the last headline about you will be how you were found dead in a ditch with your dick severed from your body.”

  “Please,” he scoffed. “Any woman who wanted to kill me would have to get through Mama Lockhart first, and that woman adores me. She’d never let any harm come to her favorite son.”

  I scowled at him. “You know you aren’t actually her son, right?”

  He let out an exaggerated gasp and jerked back. “You shut your lying bastard mouth! Just wait until I tell her you said that.”

  Rolling my eyes at Caleb’s dramatics, I turned the monitor back around to face me and closed out of the celebrity gossip site.

  “So…,” he drawled, drawing my attention back to him. “What’s new with you?” The shit-eating grin on his face told me he already knew exactly what had gone down while he was in New York.

  “I take it you heard?”

  “Oh I heard all right.” He rubbed his hands together, clearly getting too much joy out of my humiliation. “I listened to the podcast and everything. I have to ask, dude.” He sat forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “That Brooke chick, was she a fireball in bed? The crazy ones usually are.”

  I picked up my stapler and chucked it at his head. Only reason I missed was because he had quicker reflexes, honed from years of dodging scorned women.

  Standing from the chair, I pulled my suit jacket from the back and slid my arms in. “If you’re done being an asshole, there’s somewhere I have to be,” I told him, giving him a look that said “Get the hell out of my office, fucker.”

  He stood and followed me to the door. “And what’s so important you don’t have time to catch up with your BFF?”

  I gave him a side-eyed glare as we walked through the offices toward the elevator. “Well, if you’re so up to date on all the gossip that’s been happening here while you were off motorboating swimsuit models, I’m sure you heard about a little public apology that’s going to be taking place.”

  “Wait!” he shouted, drawing undue attention. “That’s happening today? No shit?”

  “No shit.” I hit the Up button and waited for the elevator doors to open. “And I’d like a front row seat while it happens. Trust me, if you met this girl you’d understand just how painful this is going to be for her.”

  “It’s a little sadistic how pleased you look about it,” he said. I hadn’t even realized I’d been smiling until he pointed it out. “I’m so proud.” He hit me on the back and wiped an invisible tear from his cheek as the doors opened. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  “M-Mr. Lockhart,” the red-faced man — I think I heard him being called Jerry during our conference — sputtered the moment I walked through the sound booth’s door. Good Lord, if the man didn’t reduce his stress and lose a good forty pounds, he was liable to keel over from a heart attack any day now.

  “Good morning.” I gave him and the scrawny kid sitting beside him a pleasant smile.

  “Uh….” The kid seemed dumbfounded to see me. “Hi?”

  “I’m—”

  “Grayson Lockhart. Yeah, I know. I think half the country knows who you are. And probably some other countries too. Is it true you turned Taylor Swift down when she hit on you during a party in LA last year?”

  I stared him down and quirked an eyebrow as he visibly swallowed under my unrelenting gaze. Jesus, where did people come up with shit like that? I was seen at one function that she just so happened to be at, and the gossip rags went crazy. We hadn’t crossed paths the entire night. “No,” I answered dryly, leaving out the fact that it had actually been a different Top Forty pop princess I’d spent the night fighting off. I won’t name names — being a gentleman and all — but let’s just say the woman was still as crazy as she’d been when she shaved her head and went berserk on a car with an umbrella.

  Jerry hit the kid in the back of the head. “Will you shut the hell up, Andrew?” he hissed before looking back at me, his face turning a frightening purple color. “Sorry about that, Mr. Lockhart.”

  “That’s quite all right.” I smiled, showing there were no hard feelings. “I hope I’m not too late.” I turned to face the glass that led into the studio. Lola and her co-hosts hadn’t noticed I was standing there so I got the chance to take her in, unencumbered. She had somehow managed to clean up just fine after her trudge through the rain, and I felt myself getting hard at just the sight of her once again.

  Baseball, CNN, Larry King, Nana after her Zumba class. Yeah, that last one did the trick; my stupid dick quickly deflated. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Late for what?” Andrew asked.

  “The show.” I knew the smile that passed over my lips was downright wicked, but I couldn’t seem to care. If there was anyone in that room who would understand the pleasure I’d get at someone else’s expense, it was Lola. No doubt that if roles were reversed, she’d be standing right where I was, videotaping the whole damn thing.

  Jerry looked at me. Looked at the glass. Looked back at me. I could see the understanding cross his ruddy features before it was replaced with genuine fear. “Uh… I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, sir. Maybe you’d be better off just… listening?�
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  A sinister chuckle rumbled up my throat. “And miss this? No way in hell.” Just as I finished speaking, the “On Air” light in the studio lit up and the three women slid their headphones into place. Lola’s seductive voice reverberated through our little room.

  “Good morning, lovely listeners. You’re back on with Lola, Sophia, and Daphne, and you’re listening to Girl Talk on 95.6, KTSW.”

  Fuck me, just two sentences in that voice of hers and I understood why Girl Talk was one of our highest-rated shows.

  “Now, if you were listening the other day, I’m sure you heard the ‘In the Act’ segment.” Something from the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I looked over just in time to see the black-haired one — Sophia — lift a legal pad, the words “Pucker up, bitch! Time to kiss ass” written in big bold letters. Jerry smacked his forehead. Andrew choked. Lola, she and her friends still oblivious to my presence, held her middle fingers up in the air as she spoke clearly into the mic.

  “Before we start taking callers, I just want to take a moment to issue a heartfelt apology.” The blonde lifted a notepad. “You’d have to have a heart, whore,” it read. It wasn’t until just then that I noticed Lola had her own legal pad and was quickly scribbling something down as she continued to talk. “Eat shit and die, twat faces.” “Because of that segment, our kindhearted CEO” — she held up another sign that said “with a little dick” — “was humiliated by a vindictive woman who used Girl Talk as a platform to exact retribution on a blameless, unsuspecting pillar of our community.” I could’ve sworn she gagged on those last words.

  I could see Sophia and Daphne were both close to dying with laughter as the shorter one of the duo held her notepad up. “A little dick you want to lick like a lollipop.”

  I thought I heard Jerry mutter at least thirty different curses, but I was too busy watching the interaction between the three women — and finding it utterly hilarious — to care.

  “Mr. Lockhart,” Lola continued as she threw her marker at them from across the room, “on behalf of myself, Girl Talk, and KTSW, I want to sincerely apologize for the events that occurred during our show. I am so sorry for any discomfort we might have caused you.” She covered the mic and leaned away, mumbling, “You pretentious prick,” to her friends. “Now we’re going to take a short commercial break and return with our first caller. Today’s topic: Is the G-spot real, or is your man just lazy?”

  The “On Air” sign clicked off and all three women removed their headsets. I took that as my opportunity to get her attention. I knocked on the glass and chuckled as all three of their heads shot over to look in my direction. Once their eyes landed on me, three identical expressions of “Oh hell, what the fuck just happened?” crossed their faces. I leaned over Jerry and clicked the button that would allow them to hear what was being said inside the booth.

  “Apology accepted.” I gave her a menacing smile. “This pretentious prick is looking forward to tonight.” Knowing it would push her buttons, I finished with, “Wear a dress.” I clicked the button again before she could form a response, then turned to Jerry and Andrew as they looked up at me, mouths hanging open in shock. “Gentlemen.” I nodded. Then I left the booth and headed for the elevators, smiling the entire time.

  After that performance, I knew one thing for sure about Lola Abbatelli.

  The woman did not disappoint.

  Lola

  SHIT.

  Shit. Hell. Damn. Fuck.

  As I studied my reflection in the mirror, I tried my best to keep my freak-out at bay.

  I breathed out through my mouth and bounced from foot to foot, shaking my hands at my side like a boxer gearing up for a televised fight. “You got this,” I mumbled to myself. “You got this. You got this.” I inhaled through my nose and stretched my neck from side to side. “So what if he heard you call him a pretentious prick?” I asked my reflection. “So what if he’s your boss? Your insanely gorgeous, rock-hard boss.” I gave my head a violent shake and squeezed my eyes closed. “No! No! He’s not hot. He’s… boring… and his nose is kinda funny-looking.” Lies. All lies. His nose was adorable and I wanted to poke it.

  “Jeez! Get your shit together, Lola!” I pointed at the mirror. I’d officially lost my mind. If anyone had seen me standing in the bathroom, having a full-blown conversation with myself, they would’ve had me locked up in a padded room. Which, I wasn’t going to lie, didn’t sound too bad at the moment. Anything would’ve been better than going on a date with Grayson Lockhart. Padded rooms could be fun, right? All that bouncing from wall to wall without the threat of breaking a bone. Plus, straightjackets probably felt like hugs.

  My cell phone rang from my bedroom, scaring the absolute shit out of me. My heart palpitated as I picked it up off the nightstand and answered with a hesitant “Hello?”

  “Ms. Abbatelli, it’s Maury from the front desk. There’s a Mr. Lockhart here for you.”

  Damn it, he beat the padded room people! Now I was stuck. I let out a slow breath. “Tell me something, Maury — how does he look?”

  “I’m… not sure I’m following you, ma’am,” he answered in confusion.

  “His face. Does it look angry? Bored? Excited? Maybe a little constipated?”

  I thought I heard Maury choke. “Constipated?”

  I stomped my foot even though no one was around to see. “I’m trying to gauge his mood here, Maury. Help a woman out, will you?”

  “Well….” He paused for a few seconds. “Right now he looks a little confused, and maybe even a bit scared. I don’t think he’s comfortable, and I have to tell you, Ms. Abbatelli, I’m not all that comfortable right now either.” The volume of Maury’s voice softened, like he’d pulled the phone from his ear. “Oh no, sir, I didn’t mean that she’s constipated.” Oh sweet hell. “I’m not sure, Mr. Lockhart. Hey, how would you describe your face right now?”

  This was God punishing me for the sins of my past. I just knew it. Sister Agnes told me I’d be punished for stealing that bottle of communion wine and getting drunk behind the gymnasium of the school with my friends. It was one time, God! Why have your forsaken me?

  Maury’s voice interrupted my silent pleading with God. “Oh yes, sir. Ms. Abbatelli?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Lockhart for you.” Then he passed the phone to Grayson and his deep voice trickled down the line, sending a shiver down my back. Stupid back.

  “It’s 7:05, Lola. You’re officially late. If it’s constipation I’d be happy to have the driver stop at the pharmacy on the way to dinner. I’m nothing if not accommodating.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  My fingers curled tightly around the phone like it was his neck and I was giving it a good long choke. Despite the way my body reacted to him, there was still a very intense need deep inside of me to physically maim him in some way. “I’ll be right down,” I growled through clenched teeth, disconnecting the call as soon as his low baritone laugh came through.

  Stuffing the phone in the beaded navy blue clutch lying on my bed, I slipped my feet into my tan heels and headed out the door, cursing Grayson Lockhart the entire trip down to the lobby.

  “Do not be charmed. Do not be charmed,” I repeated over the god-awful light jazz coming from the elevator’s speaker. “Remember, he’s a prick.”

  The doors opened with a ding once I reached the lobby, revealing the bane of my existence in all his GQ-esque glory. My lady parts all but shouted out the “Hallelujah” chorus at the sight of him. Stupid lady parts.

  I knew he rocked the hell out a suit, but there was something particularly intoxicating about how he looked without the tie. I don’t know why, but that small expanse of skin at the base of his throat being exposed was practically calling out to me, screaming “Lick me, lick me. You know you want to. I taste as good as I smell.”

  And sweet merciful baby Jesus, when he smiled? Well, a lesser woman would’ve melted into a quivering puddle on the floor. But I steeled my spine and squared my s
houlders as I walked toward him with a borderline vicious smile.

  “You look possessed” were the first words out of his mouth. How charming.

  I widened my eyes and gave him an exaggerated gasp. “What a coincidence! Seeing as you’re Lucifer and all.”

  He chuckled as his eyes scanned my body. Not in a creepy, leering way but in a “I’m a hot-blooded male who appreciates a good-looking woman” kind of way. I’d never admit it out loud, but when I chose the dark blue jersey knit dress that ended midthigh, came down in a V-neck that showed just enough cleavage to make the girls look good, and hugged my curves like it loved them, I’d done it with the hopes of wowing Grayson to the point where he’d hopefully choke on one of his steamed clams — or whatever he ate — and keeled over dead.

  And oh darn. Wouldn’t you know it, I failed my CPR certification back in college. But in my defense, it was college and I was really hung over.

  But as those green eyes of his shone with genuine interest, I found myself unwittingly wanting him not to choke to death, because… well, I kind of liked the attention. Stupid attention whore!

  So to brush off the icky feeling of enjoyment that I did not want to feel, I did what any smart woman would do — I went into bitch mode. I snapped my fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. “Eyes up, bub, or your crotch is going to meet the business end of my friend Christian Louboutin.” I pointed to my pumps. “You might be my boss, but I’m not on the clock and I’ll cut a bitch.”

  He just laughed.

  Okay, so maybe I took bitch mode a little over the top, but I couldn’t think straight when he was around! Do you have any clue how confusing it is to hate someone when your bits are begging to become besties with his bits? I’ll tell you, it’s a pickle.

  Shit, now I’m thinking about giant pickles.

  “You look beautiful,” he told me with a sincere smile. Son of a bitch, this guy’s good. Bitch mode went into system failure.