Page 62 of Mr. Perfect

“Mr. Stonewall,” Brutus says, just as Mac is about to take a seat next to me. “Do you mind giving us some privacy?”

“Look, Allen,” Mac says.

“Allen?” I ask.

“Yeah, Allen,” Mac stresses. “That’s his real name. And yes, we certainly do go way back. So when my father asked me—”

“Oh, that’s rich, Mac. Rich.” Brutus—Allen—laughs. “I can’t believe you’ve fooled everyone—”

“I’ve fooled everyone?” Mac says, his voice rising. “Please. Look, we’re here to do business. So, no, Miss Hatcher would not like a drink. She’d like to apologize—”

“She already apologized, Mac. Just relax. Why are you so uptight?”

“Do you want to reschedule this interview or not?” Mac snarls.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask Mac. “Would you just go get the drinks and let me handle this, please? Jesus, what is wrong with you? You dragged me all the way out here and now you’re sabotaging my efforts!”

“Ellie—”

“Mac! Seriously, what is your problem?”

“Yes,” Brutus/Allen says. “Tell her what the problem is. Let’s talk about the past, shall we?”

Why the hell are men so stupid? Clearly this is about me and why do either of them think that this is anything other than some caveman power play? “We’re not here to talk about the past, OK? You guys?”

I wait for them to finish their staring contest and then Mac says, “Fifteen minutes.” He says that to me, but he’s looking at Brutus. “Fifteen minutes and we’re out of here. If you don’t want the interview—”

“Oh, I want it,” Brutus says. “I told your father that much on the phone. But I’d like to discuss the details with your celebrity concierge.”

Mac shakes his head, ready to protest, but then his damn phone buzzes again and he looks down at the message and frowns. “It’s an emergency, Ellie. I’ll be right back.” Mac walks out of the room. A butler or house attendant goes after him and I have to give myself a mental shake to get back on track.

He’s had a lot of emergency calls today.

“Now,” Brutus says, closing the door and walking back over to me. He takes a seat on the couch, his knees practically touching mine.

Aw, fuck. Is this what he was after? He’s making a move on me? Why? Dear God, why? I’m just an ordinary girl trying to make it through a few more days of this job. Why do people I don’t even know have to complicate things for me?

I gather myself, then scoot over and turn my body to put a little more space between Brutus and me. “Brutus,” I say. “As I was saying. I’m so very sorry for what happened last week. I deal with a lot of people who have peanut allergies, so I knew better. I was just off my game that day. Things were out of sorts. But Stonewall Entertainment would really love to have you back at your earliest convenience. So do you think next month will work for your schedule?” No need to drag this out any longer than necessary. Let’s just cut to the chase.

“Relax, Ellie.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. I’m not stuffy. I don’t mind people calling me Ellie. But he was calling me Miss Hatcher a few seconds ago and now it’s Ellie?

Brutus takes the opportunity my silence afforded him and slips a hand over my knee. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says.

“What? What do you mean?”

“A friend of mine got wind of a certain book you’ve been shopping,” Brutus says, nodding his head towards the closed door. “Are you looking to be published, Ellie?”

“How could someone you know possibly have heard about that?”

“I have my ways.”

“Well, it’s not relevant. I’m not here to discuss my personal life with you, Brutus. And I’m certainly not going to consider some kind of sordid affair in exchange for a publishing contract.”

“Why not?” Brutus asks, raising his eyebrows. “Everyone does it. Favors, Miss Ellie Hatcher, given and owed to the right people. That’s the only way to get ahead. And I know you want a favor from me today. Why not start our relationship off right? One for you, one for me. I have contacts with your literary agent. She owes me many favors. I could just call her up and tell her to get that book of yours published ASAP and she’d make it happen. Or I could call her up and say there will never be time for that book on anyone’s schedule. Which would you prefer?”

“Favors?" Jesus Christ. I really don’t belong in this executive world. “I’m afraid you’ve insulted my ethics, Mr. Brutus. And I realize that I was sent here to nail this interview down, but—”