Lily
Holy testosterone.
Gage Hollingsworth is a force of nature. Mikki invited me to Rhys’s birthday party. Dom insisted I come.
Gage ordered me to come. I hate when my father abuses the power-play between us––he holds the purse
strings––as a way to order me around, so I’m confused as to why I find the command so darn sexy coming
from this brooding stranger.
The man is unsettling. Even the way he walks. So much swagger. After a much-needed drink to cool
down because I was burning up like a wildfire from the proximity to my hunky
chaperone-slash-bodyguard, Gage suggested I work the room.
So, here I am, making friends. After an animated conversation with two video producers, I was chatting
with a forty-something cinematographer agent with a flamboyant dress sense. Bless her for pulling off a
red vinyl strapless floor-length gown which she wore over a white turtleneck, embellished with a cascade
of bold necklaces, her wrist circled with wide silver cuffs.
As I was stuffing a Manchego cheese and chorizo sausage puff into my mouth, she lost her shit. I was so
caught off guard, I almost choked. Freaked out, my eyes bounced around the room, searching for the
eminent danger. There was no bogeyman and the roof wasn’t falling in.
Joel Banner was in the house.
The woman has a thing for younger men with British accents, especially when they talk dirty to her in bed
while they drive into her like military tanks. That was way more than I needed to know about her. Getting
drilled by Joel is on her bucket list, so she left me standing there, as she chased after him.
Great. Before I put myself out there again, I need to fill my belly. After piling delicious appetizers on a
small plate, I find a little alcove, removed from the event’s hustle and bustle, where I can eat in peace.
As I savor succulent angus beef meatballs stuffed with blue cheese, a man who’s much older than my
father—if the salt and p epper hair and wrinkles on his over tanned face are any indication—clad in a
purple suit, lavender shirt unbuttoned enough to show chest hair, and wearing a pair of gold loafers,
approaches.
“You’re hired,” the stranger says, pointing a finger at me. I frown, a half-eaten meatball speared with a
toothpick frozen in the air. Smiling brown eyes stare down at me. I drop the appetizer on the plate and
place a hand in front of my mouth, chewing. I swallow. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re hired.” As if it makes more sense the second time around. “I don’t remember applying for a job.”
“You’re considering the videographer program?” “Yes.” “You’re going to graduate at the top of your
class.” He smiles wide, revealing a row of too white veneered teeth.
“Don’t tell me, you’re a psychic.” The man lets out a booming, fake laugh. “You’re beautiful, funny,
charming, and sexy as hell.”
Eeew. And you’re an annoying old man. “I’d extend a hand, but you’re eating,” he says. “My name is
Cadoc Cork Phallusburg.”
“Hi, I’m Lily.” “No last name?” “Nope.” The quicker I wrap this up, the quicker I can go back to stuffing
my face.
“It’s your lucky day, Lily. I can make all your dreams come true.” My eyebrows rise. “That’s quite the
promise.”
“One I can ke ep.” You’re full of it. “You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I strive for in life.”
“If you’re here”—he gestures to the room—“I’ve got what you need in spades.”
I try hard not to roll my eyes. “I’m the CEO of Gennadius Records,” he says, “and I have a long list of
new talent in need of music videos. I want to hire you.”
“I haven’t even started the program yet. And it’s not due to kick off until next year.”
He takes a st ep closer, crowding my space. I take a st ep back, but my back hits a wall. “You’re going to
ace the program and you’ll be one hot commodity.” “Your unwavering faith in me is... cre epy.” He
laughs. My statement wasn’t meant to be funny. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know talent
when I see it. Why wait until a competitor snatches you away? I want you all to myself.”
“I’m sorry, but—” “If I had to rate you from one to ten, I’d give you a nine, because I’m the one you’re
missing to make you a perfect ten.”
God, that was lame. This time, I don’t suppress the eye roll. “You’re lucky to be in the right place, at the
right time.” I want to tell this guy off, but making an enemy on day one of arriving in a new city, might
not be wise.
“I’ve been watching you since you were talking to the dean—who holds me in high regard, by the
way”—this man’s inflated ego matches my father’s—“out of all the girls—”
“I’m a woman.” He gives me a onceover that makes my skin crawl. “Indeed. All that to say, I choose you.
I want to mentor you.”
Stranger danger. “Mr. Phallusburg, I’m not—” He places a finger over my lips, silencing me. I lower my
gaze, going cross-eyed. Is he touching me? Yuck.
I’ll have to wash my mouth out with soap a million times. I might also need disinfectant. And bleach.
“Perhaps you could come back to my place so I can show you why my last name is Phallus-burg.” He
winks.
Gross. A de ep growl resonates, and a large hand clamps hard on the cre ep’s shoulder.
The dirty old man squeals like a wounded animal, his face contorting in pain, as he folds over.