How To Pleasure A Playboy(3)

Bronson let her go. "Eyesore? My brother put a lot of time and effort into designing the new building."         

     



 

"Build it somewhere else."

"He designed it for that site, and it'll be perfect there. You'll see."

"I have a legal tenancy agreement, and I won't let you push me out."

Colored lights played over Lacey's face. Both her hair and eyes were the  exact shade of the whisky he'd been drinking, and her lipstick was dark  red to match her dress. It accentuated the determined set of her lips.  He had to admit, even arguing about the Baxter wasn't so bad when his  adversary looked like her.

"Take the money." His tone was as gentle as it could be over the music.  "I don't want this to turn into a legal battle, but I won't give up  either." Not when building the Baxter might be the only thing to heal  the rift and bring his brother back.

"I happen to have a high-profile blog, and we're about to feature you.  How's this for a headline?" She drew her hand across the space in front  of them as though conjuring it. "Pampered Playboy Throws Eighty-Year-Old  Grandmother Onto The Street."

"I've offered all the tenants a generous amount-"

"You could offer the moon. It wouldn't make up for losing our homes. And if you keep going, the whole world will read about it."

Bronson clenched his jaw, anger surging. "You're threatening me?"

"I am." The whisky in her eyes smoldered with fire.

Sucking in a deep breath, he resisted the urge to rip the DJ's record  right off the player. There'd be no more dancing with this lady in red.

"Bring on your worst," he told her. "And expect me to do the same."

"Oh, I will." Before stalking away, she shot him a glare intense enough  to melt the skin from his bones. "You've just signed up for the fight of  your life."





Three





Bronson leaned back in his office chair and read Lacey's latest tweet.

#PamperedPlayboy @BronsonReyne should fix #TheBaxter before opening a club nobody wants to go to.

The damn thing had 104 retweets, 130 likes, and 12 replies. And if she  was trying to irk him with the Pampered Playboy tag, it was working.  Calling him pampered was a joke. He'd worked hard to get where he was.

"See what I mean?" Sam, the head of his public relations team, was  sitting on the other side of Bronson's desk. "I've checked Lacey Gibson  out. She writes for Liaison. They get decent traffic, so if she's got  some kind of grudge against you, this could blow up on us."

"I met her at my club's opening last night," said Bronson. "She's one of my tenants in the Baxter."

"You want to pull that place down, right? How come you haven't evicted her?"

"The idiot who used to own the Baxter gave the tenants ridiculous terms.  I can't legally terminate their rental agreements, and their rent was  fixed years ago. It's no wonder they don't want to budge. They're paying  peanuts."

Sam tapped the folder on his lap with his pen. "And you've offered them money to leave?"

"My brother made an offer when he first bought the place, but only two  out of the eighteen tenants took him up on it. Since I raised the offer,  another nine are going. Lifting it again should get the rest out."

"Is it worth doing some promo that features the building you're planning to build on the site? Get public opinion on your side?"

"Let's leave the focus on the new nightclub for now." Bronson stared out  at the gray winter sky for a moment, thinking. "The best way to deal  with this is to lighten it up." He typed a reply to Lacey's tweet that  made him smile. And by including her hashtag #TheBaxter in the message,  she and all her followers would be sure to see it.

Full house for Play nightclub opening night. Highlight was  @LaceyReporter's sexy red dress. New favorite color. #LadyInRed  #TheBaxter

His tweet had its first Like only moments after he sent it. If only he  could see Lacey's face when she read it. Those eyes of hers would  ignite.

"What did you do?" asked Sam.

Bronson waved his hand dismissively, ready to move on with his day. He  had meetings scheduled all afternoon, and his stomach was rumbling.  "Anything else?"

Sam pulled some newspapers from the folder in his lap. "The photos from  last night. An entire spread, and they're juicy. At this rate, you could  open four more clubs."

"Leave them behind and I'll take a look when I get time."

As soon as the man left, his assistant poked her head in the door. A  deceptively frumpy woman in her fifties, Carla combined relentless  efficiency with a wicked sense of humor. She'd worked for Bronson for  eight years, and he couldn't imagine doing without her.         

     



 

"Ready for lunch?" she asked. "Or are you still too busy being Sydney's most sought-after playboy?"

"Starving."

She disappeared, and a few minutes later came back with a trolley loaded with food.

"That's too much," he protested.

"Not when you work all day and spend the whole night at your club." She clicked her tongue. "Did you get any sleep?"

"The grand opening. Had to make like I was enjoying myself."

"And again tonight?" She laid the food out on the big table that took up half his office.

"Every night for the next couple of weeks."

"That long?" Her tone was sympathetic. She was the only one who  suspected that Bronson was a little tired of his nightclubs. But  non-stop partying was part of his reputation. If he let that slip, it  might affect business.

"Before opening the next one, I might take a holiday."

"That's what you've said for the last eight years." She took hold of the  trolley to push it back out. "Well, if I can't make you sleep, at least  I can feed you. But you'll have to eat fast. You've got half an hour  before your next meeting."

Before eating, Bronson checked his phone. Sure enough, Lacey had replied to his tweet.

You know what's sexy? Doing the right thing. Save #TheBaxter

He snorted. Then typed.

Here's a list of sexy things. 1. You. 2. My new building. #GoodbyeBaxter

The reply came back a moment later.

Ready for a protest outside your nightclub? Bad 4 business. #TheBaxter

Bronson let out a long breath, then called out to Carla. "Find this Lacey woman's number and get her on the phone."

"Will do." A few minutes later, the phone on his desk rang. "I have  her," said Carla's voice when he picked it up. Then he heard the click  that told him the call had connected.

"Lacey, it's Bronson."

"Your assistant already said that. Can't believe you're so pampered you  can't make your own phone calls. When you go to the toilet, does she  wipe for you?"

He gritted his teeth. "What would it take for you to move out?"

Lacey snorted. "Forget it. I can't be bought."

"I'm doubling my offer to all the remaining tenants. Twenty thousand dollars if they're out by the end of the week."

There was a long silence. Then, "You're offering twenty thousand  dollars?" She sounded stunned. "Why can't you spend the money repairing  the building instead?"

"There's no point fixing it when I'm pulling it down."

"It has beautiful bones. Have you even been inside? Believe me, it's worth saving."

"Have you seen the plans for the new building? There's no comparison."

"At least take a look inside, see the high ceilings and the plasterwork.  If you fix it up, it'll be amazing." The passion he'd seen in her face  last night came through in her voice. She'd lived in the Baxter a long  time, so Bronson could sympathize. But his brother had put a lot of  effort into the design for the new building and Bronson was counting on  him wanting to come back to Sydney to see it built.

"I'm leveling the Baxter," he said. "One way or another."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, take the money."

She drew in a sharp, angry-sounding breath. "Go to hell." The phone disconnected, leaving him with nothing but dead air.

He replaced it, then got up and paced to the windows and back again. How  long had it been since anyone had hung up on him? And how many people  would turn down that much money to move out of a building that had to be  falling to ruin?

An alert flashed up on his phone. A new tweet, and of course, it was from Lacey.

Public protest at Play nightclub next week. Hit @BronsonReyne where it hurts! #TheBaxter

He cursed. A group of protestors waving placards could put people off  going into the club. If she wanted to play dirty, he'd have to fire some  shots of his own. First he'd notify the other tenants about his  increased offer. Maybe once she was living in an empty building, she'd  see sense.

Carla stuck her head into his office. "I've had a message from the boss  of your construction team. He's asking if you'll be ready to set a start  date for the demolition soon."

"Getting those tenants out and pulling the building down is my top  priority," said Bronson. "Tell him to have the team ready to go by the  end of the month. He can count on it."