“You know what I’m going to say.”
“Let’s pretend that I don’t,” I insisted.
I didn’t like being toyed with, and she knew that. The two people I needed to confide in at times like this were my best friend, and my publicist.
Life put both in the same fucking woman.
What a lucky sod that made me.
Jess watched me for a moment, choosing her words and judging my reactions before finally cutting loose. “Lex, the Patrovo Corporation invests a lot of money into proper brand representation. The athletes they slap on the boxes of cereal, or put in their stupid shoe commercials, they need those athletes to protect their interests.”
“I’m well aware,” I gruffly reminded her.
Jess raised an eyebrow. “I understand that. But what you’ve got to realize is that Brett Barker plays it safe as shit. His choice is going to be careful, calculated, and definitely not you.”
“I’m safe,” I protested, lifting my arms in protest before clasping the fingers behind my head. “Safe as they come.”
“Safe doesn’t get their photos slapped across a six-page major spread,” she grumbled, reaching into her purse to whip out a creased tabloid. She shoved it towards me, and I lazily leaned back forwards and rifled through the pages.
Sure, I was on the cover again. No big deal.
“I don’t see what you’re–”
Then I stopped, glancing at the photos. Seemed like the paparazzi fucks had stalked me to a hotel balcony, where I’d been photographed with my arms around two lovely little ladies.
I remembered them. Not their names, of course, but I recalled the three nights of glorious, hardcore lovemaking we’d had together… and how jealous the gods must have been in their various pantheons.
Of course, that didn’t matter now.
Not when I was staring at various blurry pictures, showing under no arguable terms that I was kissing one with another on her knees in front of me at cock level. In another candid photo, they were kissing for my entertainment… and in yet another, they were both at cock level in front of me, with my proud face held high and each palm resting on their heads...
Yeah, I’d almost forgotten how good those few days had been. Cor blimey, were they voracious in the hotel bed... and in the shower… and on the balcony, as the paparazzi apparently noticed.
“Yeah. Safe is the last word that comes to mind when I put ‘Lightning Lex Lambert’ and ‘corporate sponsorships’ in the same sentence,” Jess elaborated. “I’m afraid your chances with Mr. Barker were tenuous before… but now they’re shot to hell.”
“Brett Barker can ride a knob straight to hell,” I grumbled angrily, downing the rest of my ale.
“Yeah, well, he’s your meal ticket,” Jess shrugged. “You can’t exactly antagonize the Head of Public Relations for the entire Patrovo Corporation and then expect to wind up his year’s pick for the cereal boxes.”
I gave a stiff nod to the bartender, who poured me another ale and rushed it to my side. “Cheers, mate,” I offered him, and he stifled a small smile with utmost professionalism.
“You’re my publicist, Jess,” I told her after a quick, refreshing sip. “How do I get my big, grinning mug on a commercial?”
Jess sighed. “Do you want me to answer as your friend, or as your publicist?”
“Both, obviously.”
“Well, as your publicist, you need to clean your fucking act up – and fast. No more of these stunts. The only reason you even have a ghost of a chance anymore is that the entire country bloody well loves you. You’re a national icon, regardless of the pair of lips around your cock at any given moment. If you really want this sponsorship deal with the Patrovo Corporation… something’s gotta give, and it’s gotta give now.”
I read her eyes thoughtfully, tempted to lash out about my various trophies, athletic stats, or how vital to pop culture I already was.
But I trusted Jess.
I valued her.
And as an old friend and a talented representative, I let her speak to me in ways that would earn scathing destruction under any other circumstances.
“So that’s Publicist Jess speaking,” I commented gruffly. “What about the other one?”
“As your friend?” Jess asked.
I nodded quietly.
Her eyes flashed wildly again, and that smirk slipped back across her lips. As I felt a heavy pit in my stomach, she leaned forward, whispering as if anyone could hear us in this private pub room.
“I think I have an idea…”
My skepticism somehow found a new height. “An idea, yeah?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Am I going to like this?”