From New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo comes a deliciously decadent romantic comedy.
Max Milan was destined for a decadent future. A penthouse in Vegas. A villa in the Mexican Riviera. Luxury sports cars. And unlimited stops at the pussy buffet.
Then he made one tiny—epic—sex tape and it all came crashing down.
Now he’s trying to get back on his feet, trying to secure a deal that will put him back in the spotlight.
Then she turns up.
She’s his potential new agent. And he’s never needed to ace an interview this badly. If he can only convince her that he’s not just an ex-con—and ex-boyfriend—with an unsavory past.
He’s Max Milan. And he’s downright edible.
WARNING: Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.
At twenty-six years old, I was pretty proud of the fact I’d never actually been on a job interview. In fact, I was so proud of this that, as I walked into the lobby at Pringle & Windsor Management, I was certain my confidence alone would get me a contract. It didn’t matter that Pringle & Windsor was the most prestigious entertainment agency in the business. It didn’t matter that I was coming in here asking for representation after a falling out with my previous agent. It didn’t even matter that I was fresh off a two-year stint in county lockup. I was certain the moment I walked into that office and turned on my charm, Barry Pringle would sign me right there on the spot.
I’ve never been more wrong.
The lobby at Pringle & Windsor’s Manhattan office is modern and cold. The boxy gray sofas with no arms and asymmetrical glass coffee table look like they could take an eye out if you tripped in here. I approach the receptionist with her sleek black hair pulled back in a ponytail and her blunt-cut bangs half covering her vibrant blue eyes.
“I have a ten o’clock with Mr. Pringle.”
She raises her eyebrows and draws in an exasperated breath as she shakes her head. “You obviously didn’t check your voicemail. Mr. Pringle had a family emergency. He tried to reschedule all of his appointments last night. He’ll be back from his ranch in Montana in eight days. You can wait until then or you can meet with another one of our agents. There are a few who’ve agreed to take his appointments.”
“I came to see Barry. I can’t reschedule. I can’t book another trip to New York. And I can’t talk to another agent. This is my career.”
She tilts her head looking unimpressed. “Those are your two options, sir. You can reschedule or you can see another agent.”
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. “Fine. What are the names of the other agents?”
“We have Fred Burton, Jacob Waterstone, and Elara Brinkley. They are all taking Mr. Pringle’s appointments in the interim.”
My lips curl into a warm smile as I run my hand over my half-inch of dark stubble covering my head. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
She stares at me for a moment, unable to speak, then she shakes her head. “I’m Olive.”
“Olive? What a beautiful name. Olive, I’m not sure if you know who I am.”
“I do. You’re… You’re Max Milan…. You just got out of jail.”
I nod slowly. “Correct. Do you listen to my music?”
“Yeah. I love ‘Whipped.’ That was my favorite song last year.”
I try to ignore the physical pain in my chest that comes when someone reminds me how popular I was last year. I was in prison last year. But during my twenty-two months in jail, the landscape of electronic dance music changed. There are more opportunities out there for EDM musicians than ever before.
But I don’t want to take just any job. I want my penthouse back. I need an agent who can get me another Vegas contract.
“Well, Olive, then you’ll appreciate how important it is that I meet with the right person today. Of the three agents you just named, who’s the youngest?”
“Elara. She’s, like, twenty-six or twenty-seven and she just started working here a few months ago.”
“And Barry trusts her with his clients?”
“She’s really good. If you go with her, you’ll like her.”
I hook my thumb into the pocket of my jeans and discreetly point to my crotch to focus Olive’s attention on my sizable bulge. “Do you think she’ll like me, Olive?”
She blinks as she shifts her eyes away from my crotch to look me in the eye. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. She’ll definitely like you.”
I wink one of my green eyes. “Good. Let’s reschedule with Elara.”
Olive nods and picks up the handset on her corded phone. “Miss Brinkley? I have a Mr. Milan here to see you. Are you available?” Olive’s eyes dart toward my face and I wink at her again. She tries to suppress a smile as she goes back to staring at her phone. “Yes, of course. I’ll let him know.” She hangs up the handset and appears breathless as she looks up at me. “You can go right in. Her office is through that corridor,” she says, pointing at a beechwood door to the left of her desk, “the third door on the right.”
“Thank you very much, Olive,” I say, my eyes locked on hers. “I won’t forget your kindness.”
I can actually see her blush through all the pale makeup caked on her face. I slip through the door and into a bland hallway. From here, I can see the end of the corridor opens onto an open lounge area where they probably all congregate to eat their sack lunches of turkey sandwiches or leftover Chinese, finished with a cup of espresso from their coffee pod machine while bitching about their famous clients. Boring office life. I don’t know how people deal with it.
In fact, that’s what got me into trouble two years ago. People do the darndest things to break up the monotonous patterns of their lives. I should have known the good times would be over soon when my ex-girlfriend, Bridget Kazarian, the sweetest ass I’d ever fucked suggested we make a sex tape. So sweet I had to pretend to be monogamous to keep her. So sweet and always game to try something new. We used to role play all the time. I think one of my favorite scenarios was when we pretended that I was her teenage boyfriend who’d just climbed through her window and stumbled upon her slumber party pillow fight. That scenario required us to enlist a third party.
But that was Bridget; always putting me first. Which is why she quit her internship in California to live with me in my Vegas penthouse. I was doing four shows a week at the MGM Grand when she moved in. And, of course, it was Bridget who had the idea to make the sex tape. She even titled it Edible.
Not that I put up much of an objection, but I’d just like to state for the record that it was her who brought it up. How the fuck was I supposed to say no? I wasn’t. The only problem was that, once our tape got leaked online, she didn’t want to make any more videos. And I needed a sequel.
That’s the biggest mistake you make when you get a taste of something that tastes so good but is so bad for you. I should have let it go. Just accepted that Bridget and I would not be making any more sex tapes. But I couldn’t. And it all went downhill from there.
I reach the third door on the right and it’s open just a few inches. Pushing it inward, I mentally prepare myself to knock this interview out of the park. So what if Barry Pringle isn’t here. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to call me and tell me he had a change of plans. He just pawns me off on one of his new agents whose name I’ve never heard before today.
No doubt Elara Brinkley will be some amateur junior agent, maybe even an intern, who knows nothing about booking EDM shows and securing sponsorships and deals. At least I’m more than guaranteed a contract now that the interviewer is young and female. Women can’t resist me. There’s a reason they used to call me DJ Edible. I’ll have Elara eating out of my hand before this interview is over.
I push the door all the way open and my jaw drops. “What the fuck?”
“Is that how you greet your ex-girlfriends nowadays, Max?”
“You’re not, Elara!”
“Yes, I am.”
“You changed your name?”
“So did you, Harry Johnson!”
I glance behind me to make sure no one heard her speak my real name, then I hastily shut the office door. “Is this some kind of trick?” I say, turning back to Bridget, or Elara. Whatever the hell she’s calling herself nowadays. “Did you set this up to get back at me?”
She cackles as she leans back in her white leather desk chair. “Oh, puh-leeze! How did they even fit you inside a jail cell with a head that big?”
“Same way I got inside you. Lots of lube, baby.”
We stare at each other across the glass desk for a moment. I take in her new wavy chestnut brown locks. I used to love her blonde hair, but she looks even hotter as a brunette. Her blue eyes are burning into me, daring me to make a comment about the change in her appearance or her new name. She’s hiding… because of me?
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but all I’m thinking of is that sex tape. It was her idea to record us having sex. Not mine. But, of course, I was blamed when someone hacked my computer and stole the video. I was just as surprised and angry when the video ended up on TMZ. Though, I must admit, a small part of me felt it was my duty to show that tape to the world. A sexual encounter that hot, between two devastatingly delicious human specimens, should not be kept hidden away on a laptop. It must be studied and savored the world over.
I can walk out of this office and walk out on my chance to work with the best entertainment agency in the business. Or I can suck it up and put all the bullshit in our past behind us for the sake of my career. I mean, she obviously knew I was coming. The receptionist just rang her office to tell her I was here. And she didn’t order the receptionist to throw me out onto the street. In fact, the receptionist mentioned that Elara’s only been working here a few months. She’s probably desperate to land a hot client. Maybe we can behave like civilized human beings for the sake of both of our careers.
But first, I have to make sure she knows she doesn’t have the upper hand in this situation.
“Fine. If you want me gone, I’ll leave.” I turn around and grab the door handle then look at her over my shoulder. “You look beautiful, Birdie.”
I push down on the handle and pull the door inward. I have one foot outside her office when she calls out to me.