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Chase
Thecuptrembledin my hand. I’d already consumed copious amounts of coffee, but I really needed something stronger than caffeine, especially after a night with Ivy. That girl and her sexy ways. She had the moves of a stellar dancer. Both in and out of bed. After meeting at Absinthe, we made a night of it, ending up at my apartment, where she literally kept me up all night.
I looked at my watch. It was midday. I’d been working for three solid hours and had only gotten through my first file. Puffing out a slow breath, I stared glumly at the tower of files.
Accepting that I’d only get results if I prioritized, I went to our biggest client, Mondaine Cruises, who’d been with Elliot’s since the eighties. The founding director, Max Lohan, attended our family functions.
I flipped open the folder and saw that the CEO’s name was Cassandra Smith.
Where have I heard that name?
I dialed her number and left a message. One minute later, my phone buzzed.
“After all this time?” she exclaimed.
I nearly fell back on my leaning chair and as I readjusted my weight, I spilled my drink. “Is this Cassandra Smith?”
“Yes, Chase. You’re only six months late.”
I flicked back six months—too far back when it came to remembering names of casual encounters.
I cleared my throat. “You might need to elaborate.”
She chuckled. “We met at a book launch. Some investment banker’s tell-all.”
“That’s right,” I lied. “How are you? Sorry, I’m not great with names.”
“We didn’t just chat about the sad lack of decent new releases.”
My doodle, a habit of mine when chatting on phones, went from cartoonish to angst expressionism. “You might have to enlighten me. A lot has happened in that time.”
“You only took me out to the powder room and fucked my brains out. Then you promised to call and never did. I even left a few late-night messages, but you ignored them.”
A rock hit my stomach. My regrettable past was a painful reminder it was time I grew up. I didn’t need my father to remind me of that.
“That was my excessive period,” I said, looking for any excuse. When wasn’t it my excessive period? “I must have had one drink too many.” I chuckled, trying to make light of it despite the knot in my chest.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
I exhaled tightly. “Can we meet to discuss business?”
“What kind of business?”
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I work for Elliot’s. It’s my father’s company.”
“Oh, I know a lot about you, Chase.”
“Nice things, I hope.” A thin cackle left my lips. Talk about sounding like a clown.
“Mm… not so nice. But anyway, continue.”
As I rested my testicles in her hands, which she threatened to squeeze rather than fondle, I found myself stammering. “Um… Elliot’s wants Mondaine Cruises back on our books.”
“I bet you do. I believe Whitman’s has been poaching most of your clients.”
“And I’m here to remedy that situation. We’ve got a bright new team of creatives,” I lied.
“Tonight.”
