This better be some type of joke... “Come again?”
“You heard me.” She opened another folder, a blue one. “I spent all night researching you and your issues before I read over your terms, so I find it quite ironic that you’re the one who needs a firm to help clean up your public image and work on your behalf, but the things you’re demanding make that completely impossible. In fact, most of what you’re requesting is worth far more than three million dollars, and I can now see why you paid it upfront.”
I started to ask what the hell she was talking about, but she continued to speak.
“First of all, you demand that we don’t book you for any interviews, and you refuse to practice getting any better at them?” She flipped a page. “This is coming from the man who said he can’t live without ‘fucking’ on live morning television last year? I don’t think so.”
“Furthermore,” she said, talking a mile a minute, “I’m not sure why you think you’re above attending strategy sessions with the team, but I’ve never allowed any client to skip those and you won’t be the first. Huge bank account or not.”
“Okay, Penelope, Rachel—whatever you want your name to be today.” I’d had enough of this shit already. “You can get the hell out of my office now.”
“I can get the hell out when I’m finished.” She glared at me, parting her sexy ass lips and I lost my next words.
At that moment, Leo stepped into the room, but he didn’t make his way over. Instead, he simply stood by the door and stared at us, staying far out of Penelope’s view.
“Second of all,” she said, looking down at her folder once more. “You demand that someone from my team be available on a twenty-four hour basis to personally make your coffee, ensure your dry cleaning is handled, and fetch your breakfast and lunch whenever you ask for it. That is never happening at Penelope Lauren & Associates. We are not interested in being a second branch of personal assistants for you.”
“Did you miss the part where I said you could get out of my office?”
“Third...” She ignored me. “You have some nerve to make a list of over fifty ridiculous demands that must be met on a weekly basis. They’re so beyond realistic that I’ll be surprised if any firm agrees to this.” She tossed the folder onto my desk and narrowed her eyes at me. “Even though this has made me see that you are unbearably cocky and impossible, I’ve done you a favor and made a list of things that I think will help soften your image over the next few months. I’ve also printed out the definitions of a few important terms you should know whenever you start searching for your next PR victim.”
I wanted to interrupt her never-ending rant, but I was aroused with every word that fell from her ruby red lips.
“Finally,” she said, standing to her feet. “I wish you all the best in your search for a publicist, Mr. Dalton. And so we’re clear on the last checkbox of your term sheet, I’ll verbally confirm it as you require: No, I will not represent you, and no, I will not agree to agree to any of your outlandish rules. Also, for the record, no I did not receive your handwritten note.” She finally took a breath. “I’ll be sending you a refund of your payment later this afternoon.”
“I personally think you should keep it,” I said, standing. “Maybe you can use it to buy some actual office space.”
“I’d prefer if you used it to buy some damn manners.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I liked you a lot better in my apartment, when I didn’t know who you were.”
I liked you a lot better when my cock was buried inside your pussy...
Before I could get a chance to say those words aloud, Leo walked toward us—clapping as if he’d just witnessed a real-life drama.
“Please don’t go, Miss.” He extended his hand to Penelope. “My name is Leo Dalton and I’m the CFO here. I’m also, unfortunately, Ryan’s brother.”
She looked back and forth between us before shaking his hand. “I’m Penelope Lauren.”
“Well, nice to meet you Penelope,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re not having a better introduction to Dalton International Estates & Realty. I would love to give you a formal tour and talk to you about our company if you’re up to it. I would also really appreciate it if you allowed us to start over.”
“There’s no need to start over,” I said, pulling out the business card he’d given me earlier. “Miss Lauren clearly doesn’t want to play by our rules and we have another option we can call.”
Leo snatched the card from my hand and ripped it to pieces. “Miss Lauren, if you don’t mind, can I speak to you alone so we can try to agree on some new terms? I’ll gladly welcome your input and I’ll be very gracious for the opportunity.” He looked at me, daring me to interrupt his words. ‘The tour will only take fifteen minutes and we can talk briefly afterwards in the board room. Just me and you.”
“I would love a tour,” she said. “Can I step outside and make a phone call first?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled at her. “Thank you, Miss Lauren.”
“Goodbye, Miss Lauren.” I couldn’t help myself.
“Mr. Dalton.” She gave me a look and left the room.
When the door closed, Leo picked up one of the folders she left behind. “You’ve been taking your own terms and stipulation contracts to the PR firms? I don’t recall anyone here helping you draft these.”
“That’s because I drafted them myself.”
“I see...” He put on his glasses and read my words aloud. “Clause Four: The representative company for the client will ensure that he is not subject to any bullshit meetings. Bullshit meetings include, but are not limited to: strategy sessions, interview preparations, or press readings.” He tossed the folder to the floor and looked at me. “If those are your terms, what’s the point in hiring a PR company at all?”
“You tell me.”
“You really are a piece of work,” he said. “But you know, I really like Miss Lauren—small firm or not. She’s the first person I’ve ever seen stand up to you.”
“She’ll also be the last.”
“We’ll see.” He picked up the folder labeled, “Ways to Better Mr. Dalton’s Image” and headed to the door. “Wait, one last thing. She mentioned something about you leaving her a handwritten note. What is she talking about?”
“You heard me.” She opened another folder, a blue one. “I spent all night researching you and your issues before I read over your terms, so I find it quite ironic that you’re the one who needs a firm to help clean up your public image and work on your behalf, but the things you’re demanding make that completely impossible. In fact, most of what you’re requesting is worth far more than three million dollars, and I can now see why you paid it upfront.”
I started to ask what the hell she was talking about, but she continued to speak.
“First of all, you demand that we don’t book you for any interviews, and you refuse to practice getting any better at them?” She flipped a page. “This is coming from the man who said he can’t live without ‘fucking’ on live morning television last year? I don’t think so.”
“Furthermore,” she said, talking a mile a minute, “I’m not sure why you think you’re above attending strategy sessions with the team, but I’ve never allowed any client to skip those and you won’t be the first. Huge bank account or not.”
“Okay, Penelope, Rachel—whatever you want your name to be today.” I’d had enough of this shit already. “You can get the hell out of my office now.”
“I can get the hell out when I’m finished.” She glared at me, parting her sexy ass lips and I lost my next words.
At that moment, Leo stepped into the room, but he didn’t make his way over. Instead, he simply stood by the door and stared at us, staying far out of Penelope’s view.
“Second of all,” she said, looking down at her folder once more. “You demand that someone from my team be available on a twenty-four hour basis to personally make your coffee, ensure your dry cleaning is handled, and fetch your breakfast and lunch whenever you ask for it. That is never happening at Penelope Lauren & Associates. We are not interested in being a second branch of personal assistants for you.”
“Did you miss the part where I said you could get out of my office?”
“Third...” She ignored me. “You have some nerve to make a list of over fifty ridiculous demands that must be met on a weekly basis. They’re so beyond realistic that I’ll be surprised if any firm agrees to this.” She tossed the folder onto my desk and narrowed her eyes at me. “Even though this has made me see that you are unbearably cocky and impossible, I’ve done you a favor and made a list of things that I think will help soften your image over the next few months. I’ve also printed out the definitions of a few important terms you should know whenever you start searching for your next PR victim.”
I wanted to interrupt her never-ending rant, but I was aroused with every word that fell from her ruby red lips.
“Finally,” she said, standing to her feet. “I wish you all the best in your search for a publicist, Mr. Dalton. And so we’re clear on the last checkbox of your term sheet, I’ll verbally confirm it as you require: No, I will not represent you, and no, I will not agree to agree to any of your outlandish rules. Also, for the record, no I did not receive your handwritten note.” She finally took a breath. “I’ll be sending you a refund of your payment later this afternoon.”
“I personally think you should keep it,” I said, standing. “Maybe you can use it to buy some actual office space.”
“I’d prefer if you used it to buy some damn manners.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I liked you a lot better in my apartment, when I didn’t know who you were.”
I liked you a lot better when my cock was buried inside your pussy...
Before I could get a chance to say those words aloud, Leo walked toward us—clapping as if he’d just witnessed a real-life drama.
“Please don’t go, Miss.” He extended his hand to Penelope. “My name is Leo Dalton and I’m the CFO here. I’m also, unfortunately, Ryan’s brother.”
She looked back and forth between us before shaking his hand. “I’m Penelope Lauren.”
“Well, nice to meet you Penelope,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re not having a better introduction to Dalton International Estates & Realty. I would love to give you a formal tour and talk to you about our company if you’re up to it. I would also really appreciate it if you allowed us to start over.”
“There’s no need to start over,” I said, pulling out the business card he’d given me earlier. “Miss Lauren clearly doesn’t want to play by our rules and we have another option we can call.”
Leo snatched the card from my hand and ripped it to pieces. “Miss Lauren, if you don’t mind, can I speak to you alone so we can try to agree on some new terms? I’ll gladly welcome your input and I’ll be very gracious for the opportunity.” He looked at me, daring me to interrupt his words. ‘The tour will only take fifteen minutes and we can talk briefly afterwards in the board room. Just me and you.”
“I would love a tour,” she said. “Can I step outside and make a phone call first?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled at her. “Thank you, Miss Lauren.”
“Goodbye, Miss Lauren.” I couldn’t help myself.
“Mr. Dalton.” She gave me a look and left the room.
When the door closed, Leo picked up one of the folders she left behind. “You’ve been taking your own terms and stipulation contracts to the PR firms? I don’t recall anyone here helping you draft these.”
“That’s because I drafted them myself.”
“I see...” He put on his glasses and read my words aloud. “Clause Four: The representative company for the client will ensure that he is not subject to any bullshit meetings. Bullshit meetings include, but are not limited to: strategy sessions, interview preparations, or press readings.” He tossed the folder to the floor and looked at me. “If those are your terms, what’s the point in hiring a PR company at all?”
“You tell me.”
“You really are a piece of work,” he said. “But you know, I really like Miss Lauren—small firm or not. She’s the first person I’ve ever seen stand up to you.”
“She’ll also be the last.”
“We’ll see.” He picked up the folder labeled, “Ways to Better Mr. Dalton’s Image” and headed to the door. “Wait, one last thing. She mentioned something about you leaving her a handwritten note. What is she talking about?”
