Chapter 8 : Three Men At Once

Simone

"Oh, my God, you suck at telling stories," Mandy complained as I retold the story for the tenth time that night.

The event had officially ended over an hour ago, but apparently, it was a tradition for all the agents from Owens Group to stay after an event like this for a social hour. Frankly, I was exhausted, and my feet hurt. All I wanted was to take a hot bubble bath and freak out over the events of the night by myself. These girls were not going to let me off that easily, though.

"Okay, so he and his bitchy girlfriend were arguing in the kitchen," Mandy said.

The girls "oohed" and "ahhed" as if they hadn't already heard this. Half of them had witnessed it. I did notice with some interest, though, that Crystal had kept her mouth shut.

"So they're fighting and yelling, and Nick totally storms off and barrels right into Simone," Mandy said excitedly. Her hands were moving wildly as she reenacted her version of events. She was definitely hyperbolizing some things, but I wasn't going to stop her.

"So she looks at him with these big doe eyes, and he looks at her with these sexy bedroom eyes."

I rolled my eyes at this. He definitely had not been looking at me with bedroom eyes.

"And he practically threw her over his shoulder and carried her out of here caveman style! But he settled for taking her business card, so now she's going to get to work with him for hours!"

There was a collective wistful sigh among my co-workers, and I felt my body flush from head to toe. At this point, I'd be happy to sell a house to anyone, but now I was on the hook for America's Hearthrob. I'd probably end up in tabloids or something. The man couldn't eat a piece of pizza without it being front-page news. I suddenly felt very hot and uncomfortable. I had a hard time catching my breath.

Mandy finally stopped talking to look at me with concern.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" she whispered lowly so that only I could hear her. "You're going to be great!"

"I'm so jealous, Simone," Holly chimed in sweetly. There was nothing snarky or rude about the way she said it. "I've had to sign a few NDAs in my career, but I've never worked with anyone as high profile as Nick Morgan!"

An NDA, or Non-Disclosure Agreement, was a legally binding document that prevented agents from talking about their famous clients. From my understanding, Owens Group had a reputation for being a firm that signed the most NDAs every year. We worked with a lot of famous celebrities and media moguls. Discretion wasn't just suggested, it was legally required. That didn't stop the girls from swapping stories about their clients. They just couldn't say their names.

"I remember one time I was helping a certain hotel heiress who said the bedrooms were too small for her dogs," Mandy laughed. Her arm was around me, and she rubbed my shoulder supportively.

"Oh, god," another girl laughed. "I once had a racecar driver who needed a garage for fifteen cars. Fifteen!! There was nothing in his budget that had such a thing, so he fired me! Like, sorry you aren't willing to spend another $10 million; it's not my fault you're ridiculous!"

We all laughed at this, and I felt my spirits start to lift. Maybe I'd have a horror story about Nick in a year or so, but that was part of being in this industry. It was almost a rite of passage.

"Too bad you'll never get him signed," Crystal finally piped up.

Everyone looked to stare at her, and we all shifted uncomfortably. A storm was clearly brewing.

"Why do you say that?" I answered defensively. We'd already had a knock-down, drag-out fight the other day. I really wasn't in the mood to do it again.

"Well, if nobody else is going to tell you, I guess I'll be the bad guy," she said with a smirk. She clearly loved being that bad guy. "Nick Morgan has hired and fired at least ten agents in the last few years. He's never satisfied."

I felt my stomach sink. The thing was, I knew she wasn't just being bitchy. My mind was suddenly bringing up articles I'd read in the past about his many real estate deals that had fallen through. He was notorious for leaving his agents high and dry.

Shit! Why hadn't I remembered that when I gave him my card?

"Rumor is," Crystal was saying, "it's not because he's not willing to sign the deals. It's because he sleeps with his agents and then never calls them again. They get so mad that they fire him as their client."

She crossed her arms and looked smug. Good ol' Crystal, bringing down my buzz when something good was happening.

"I'm sure you're not above sleeping with your clients. I mean, how else are you ever going to sell a house? Just be careful with that one!"

"I would never sleep with a client," I said with an edge to my voice. How dare she accuse me of being so unprofessional?

"Sweetie, nobody is buying that," was her only response. What a f*cking bitch.

"Nobody needs to buy it," I said through gritted teeth. "It's the absolute truth. I would never sleep with a client. I never have, and I never will."

"We'll see," Crystal responded with a wicked glint in her eye.

***

I finally crawled through my front door an hour later. I was still pissed at Crystal and keyed up from all the events of the night. I was exhausted and feeling a little defeated. The thought returned to me–whenever something good happened, something bad was bound to follow. I was just getting tired of the bad thing always being Crystal. I was really starting to hate that bitch.

I slipped off my heels and stumbled to the fridge. I pulled out a bottle of vodka, not even bothering to grab a glass. It was the kind of night that warranted drinking straight from the bottle.

I walked through my house to my modest bedroom. I loved my cozy little home. It was nothing like the mansions I was viewing on a daily basis. It had only two bedrooms and just a small pool and jacuzzi in the backyard. Compared to the other girls in the firm, I probably looked like I lived the life of a pauper.

It was mine, though. That was the most important thing. When I'd left my parents' trailer at sixteen, my only goal was to have my own house one day. I didn't know how or where or when, but I knew that I'd have a place to call my own.

When I had started modeling, I didn't need a permanent home. I spent so many years traveling from place to place, doing campaign after campaign. It was fun, of course. It was the experience of my life. I'd been to New York, Paris, and Milan all in one summer. I was only nineteen at the time, and I was sure that was the best my life could ever get.

Then my agent suggested I move to LA full time and work on local campaigns. She really wanted me to break into acting, but I wasn't comfortable with that at all. It felt like one more reason for people to see me as a pretty face and not as a serious adult. I also had terrible stage fright.

I loved living in LA, though. I lived in a huge loft with ten other girls for a few months. It was a nightmare, but it was also some of the most fun I'd ever had. I didn't get to go to college, so it felt like being in a sorority.

When I was able to get my own apartment, though, I'd jumped at the chance. One of the companies I worked for put me up, and I got to experience luxury like I never had before. I also experienced the kind of quiet that I'd fantasized about.

As a kid, I never had any time to myself. If it wasn't my sister or my parents, it was all the other people in the trailer park. I was never alone, never had any privacy. My dreams were too big to fit in the double-wide, and everyone knew it.

I took a deep breath as I finally stepped into the bubble bath I'd been craving for the last several hours. My tub was the reason I'd bought this house. It was a huge clawfoot soaking tub. It was the kind of tub I'd seen women soak in in movies when I was growing up. The second I saw that tub, I told Mandy this was the house. She laughed at me, but we signed the papers that night.

My brain was still buzzing from all the excitement from earlier, so I took another long sip to quiet my mind. I sunk further into the tub and considered Crystal's words. I definitely wouldn't be opposed to sleeping with Nick, if he weren't my client, of course. After all, I'd been having sex dreams about him since I was a teenager. I felt the familiar flutter of desire in my nether region and instinctively reached down.

I was relaxed and drunk. Why the hell not satisfy my horny urges too? I thought about Nick as a cowboy. It was a role he played in one of his first films, and was probably the precipice of my sexual awakening. As my fingers probed deeper into my folds, I started to imagine him as a basketball player. He'd done an Oscar-bait film about a poor kid who finds fame through basketball. Back then, I'd imagined he and I grew up in the same situation and bonded over that.

Thinking about basketball made me think back to Michael. Now I wasn't just fantasizing about a pretend Nick, but also a real memory of Michael. His large hands were covering the sides of my face and bringing me closer to him. I could almost feel my lips pressed to him, and I moaned aloud. It echoed around the bathroom and spurred me deeper into my fantasy.

Now, pretend Nick and memory Michael were both seducing me. I imagined Michael kissing and exploring as Nick played with my tits. I imagined their hands all over my body and the deep sounds of their pleasure. The two men were so different, and each knew exactly how to touch me to make me writhe in pleasure. I was so, so close to my peak.

Then, out of nowhere, I had an image of Rob in my head. He was being shy and careful, asking me where and how I wanted him to touch me. With three pairs of hands and mouths, I was overwhelmed by sensation. I came undone from my own hand and screamed loud as I tipped over the edge.

When my breathing had slowed, and my mind cleared, I let out a quick, "What the f*ck?" I'd never fantasized about multiple men at once. And all three of these men just happened to my clients. Shit.