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“So, we play by my rules?”
She smiled as she gushed hot juices all over my hand.
She squeezed her tits and moaned as the orgasm shuddered through her. “Yes… let’s play… Chad…”
I vaguely heard her say my real name, but thought nothing of it. I was too busy working my way down her stomach to replace my fingers with my tongue.
The fact that she knew who I was didn’t slow me down.
To the contrary, it just made it better for me.
The Chad Walters legend lives on, baby.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Zoe
Monday morning rolled around much faster than I wanted it to. I forced myself out of bed at 6 A.M. (I could not believe people actually got up at such an ungodly hour) and barely had time to drink a cup of strong coffee before the doorman buzzed to let me know that the car service had arrived. I was a nervous wreck. I knew better than to eat anything because I could just picture it coming back up on camera. I already felt like I was go
ing to hurl and knew better than to fuel the fire.
Breaking news…
Bestselling author Zoe Maxwell pukes on Good Morning Manhattan host…
Talk about your viral video moments…
I had picked out my outfit the night before and had it hanging in a garment bag by the front door: a black pencil skirt and jacket, along with a blue top, and sensible heels. Graham assured me the TV station would handle my hair and makeup, thank God, because I could barely get my eyes to focus as I stared at myself in the mirror while I brushed my teeth. He’d also had a service pick up the two hundred books I’d signed over the weekend (talk about writer’s cramp) and had them delivered to the station so I didn’t have to drag them along.
“You can show up naked in a trench coat,” he had teased as he ushered me out the door after dinner. “They have experts that can make even me look presentable.”
I stuck my phone and my keys in my purse, flung the garment bag over my shoulder, and went out the door. Zoe Maxwell, ready to take on the world… more or less.
* * *
It was a short car ride from my apartment to the TV studio downtown, although it took nearly an hour in the morning traffic. The car delivered me right to the front door and the driver said he’d be waiting to take me home after I was through. I had to admit, I felt a little special for a moment, a little like a celebrity, until I got out of the car and had to wait for the guard at the front desk to call someone with my name to make sure I had a legit reason to be there.
After a few moments, the elevator doors past the front desk opened and a short brunette in jeans and a WNYC t-shirt stepped out and came my way with her hand out. “Miss Maxell, thank you so much for coming. I’m Sara, one of the segment producers for Good Morning Manhattan.”
I gave her a nervous smile and shook her hand. “Hi, Sara. Please call me Zoe.”
“Great, Zoe, if you’ll follow me we’ll get up to hair and makeup.”
We boarded the elevator and she pushed the button, then leaned against the wall and smiled. “Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee? Tea? Juice? A bagel?”
I blew out a sigh and put a hand over my stomach. “No, honestly, I’m so nervous I might throw up my dinner from last week.”
She smiled and touched my arm reassuringly. “Don’t be nervous. Everyone gets a case of the jitters at first, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said, forcing a smile. The elevator doors opened and I followed her down a long hallway lined with framed photos of celebrities who had appeared on the show. George Clooney, Tom Cruise, Will Smith, Jennifer Anniston... I wondered what it would be like to be so famous that TV stations hung your picture on the wall. I doubted I’d ever find out, but it was a fun thought to have.
“Okay, you can just give me the garment bag and have a seat,” Sara said as we entered a room with a sign on the door that read, MAKEUP. I handed her the garment bag and she hung it on the door. There were two tall chairs like you’d see in a hair salon and an entire wall lined with counters filled with all kinds of makeup and huge lighted mirrors above them. I slid into one of the chairs and looked around. I wondered if Jennifer Anniston had sat in that very chair getting her famous hairdo done before the show.
Sara hung the garment bag on the door and turned to me with her hands clasped in front of her. “Okay, here’s how this will work. We are doing two segments in the 8:30 to 9:00 block. The focus is on emerging entrepreneurship and we’re featuring you in the last segment and a fitness guru in the first.”
“A fitness guru?” I asked.
She bobbed her head. “Yeah, I can’t recall his name because it’s not my segment, but he has some videos out and is really big on the West Coast, so we’re hoping that having him on will help the ratings there.”
I sort of listened as I stared at the TV that was hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room. The blonde hostess and the handsome host were doing a cooking segment with a chef I recognized from The Cooking Channel. They were doing something with eggs and kippers. I felt my stomach creeping into my throat.
