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Dominick
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I heard as the conference room door flew open.
A blur of black fabric and long hair moved across the open space until the woman landed in the seat next to Daisy.
Not just any woman.
One with lean legs and an incredible ass, a face that was more exquisite than any I had ever seen.
And all of it belonged to the girl who had left my bed this morning.
The same girl Daisy had been complaining about since this meeting had started. Daisy had only referred to her as her sister, so I hadn’t made the connection.
Until now.
Fuck me.
Daisy hadn’t been at the hotel opening, and Kendall hadn’t mentioned they were sisters.
They also looked nothing alike, giving me no reason to align the two. Daisy had more of an innocent appearance with flat hair and big, round eyes. Kendall had more of an exotic appeal with unruly hair that was almost black, a petite nose, and lips that would have stolen the show if it wasn’t for those stunning light-blue, almond-shaped eyes.
Goddamn it.
I’d fucked a lot of women in this town. Clients and their family I steered clear of.
As Kendall sat beside my top reality star, an expression so apologetic on her face, I suddenly felt as sorry as she did.
“Excuse my terribly rude sister,” Daisy barked. “She moved here from Boston and apparently doesn’t know how to tell time.”
“I’m sorry,” Kendall repeated. “I’m still learning LA traffic, and it’s a madhouse out there.”
“Whatever.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Kendall, I think you know everyone here, except for Dominick Dalton”—she pointed at me—“my attorney.”
Kendall was just getting settled in her chair, taking a drink of her coffee, when our stares met.
As the realization hit her, her body froze, eyes widening, cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red than they had in the hallway of the restroom.
I liked that color on her.
I’d like it even more if it came in lace lingerie that framed her tits with a string up her ass.
“Kendall …”
She swallowed, taking a long, deep breath, trying to hide the shock that was surely echoing through her body—a feeling that produced the sexiest fucking look on her face. “Dominick, it’s nice to meet you.”
She wasn’t giving away our secret.
That pleased me.
“You as well,” I replied.
I wondered if her pussy was wet. If she’d let me spread her legs across the table, the way I had less than twelve hours ago, if we were left alone in here. If her nipples were becoming hard and erect as she gazed at me.
Like my fucking cock.
“Can we get to work now?” Daisy demanded. “I have a photo shoot after this that no one is going to make me late for.” She glared at her sister.
“I’m sorry,” Kendall whispered to her.
In the eight years I’d been practicing entertainment law, I’d seen many different shades of people. Most in the depths of their career, that level of income in line with what it took to afford me. Half of the people who sat across from me were friendly and humble; the next percentage were cocky assholes.
Then, there were clients like Daisy Roy.
In front of the camera, she was sunshine. Brands loved her airy brightness; her smile alone could sell millions of products. But once the camera turned off and the lights dimmed, there was nothing shiny about her.
She was all bitch.
Fortunately, our meetings were infrequent.
I read her contracts, I gave her legal advice, I negotiated deals on her behalf.
And I sent her my bill with an extra fifteen percent tacked on that made her attitude a little easier to tolerate.
Greg, Daisy’s agent, opened the folder that rested in front of him and slid it toward Daisy. “Here are the offers I have for you.”
Since Greg had emailed me the contracts a few days ago, I’d done my due diligence and scanned them prior to this meeting. That gave me the knowledge to answer any questions Daisy would have. Now that filming had wrapped on another season of Single Girls of LA—the series that had skyrocketed her fame—several other shows were interested in her.
“Before you read any of the offers,” Greg started, “I’d just like to say, the more screen time you have, the higher your earning potential becomes. So, look at these with an open mind, and going forward, we have to make sure you’re maintaining the image we’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
Daisy’s eyelids narrowed. “What are you trying to say, Greg? That I haven’t been doing a good job at maintaining my reputation?” She fanned all the pages in front of her. “Do you see how many are here? Clearly, there are plenty of people who want me.”
“I’m just telling you, you have to be careful. That’s the only message I’m trying to send. I say the same thing to all my clients,” he responded.
“Save your lectures. Or better yet, use them on my sister. She’s the one who can’t seem to follow the rules.”
In a different situation, I was sure Kendall could handle herself.
But with me in the room, my patience being tested, I wasn’t going to take any more shit that was directly or indirectly aimed at her.
“Daisy, Greg’s not attacking you. He’s seen plenty of careers go up in flames, and he’s only trying to look out for your best interest.” I nodded toward the stack in her hands. “He’s secured multiple deals that are extremely substantial, and he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t see your potential.”
Daisy laughed, a sound that told me I was wasting her time—and mine—and she began reviewing the first sheet. “No. Definitely not this one. It’s too physical, and I can’t stand sweating. Next.” She tossed the paper and picked up another one, instantly degrading Greg for presenting it to her.
While she moved on to the third one, I gazed at Kendall, her eyes never leaving her sister, like she was waiting for an upcoming demand.
Because I couldn’t fucking help myself, I asked, “What did you do before becoming Daisy’s assistant?”
She inhaled a large breath, slowly turning toward me. “I was an artist.”
“Artist?” Daisy snickered. “Let’s not get carried away. You were a graphic designer.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Kendall replied with no challenge in her voice, “but I did art on the side, mostly volunteer stuff.”
“To ninety-year-olds at nursing homes, whose hands were too arthritic to even hold a paintbrush,” Daisy chimed in again. “This offer is a snore-fest.” Instead of setting the paper off to the side, she shredded it.
“And you gave all of that up to come here?” I asked Kendall.
She held her coffee against her lips, even after she finished swallowing, telling me the question made her uncomfortable. “I still do some art. Not in the same capacity, but I manage Daisy’s social media, and I create and edit all the videos for her accounts and digitally master the photos.”
I suddenly had an urge to check Daisy’s accounts to see what kind of work Kendall was capable of—something I would do after this meeting.
That thought surprised me.
