And it’s game time.
I grab the copies I just made and trot over to his office. On my way, I rifle through the printouts showing the number of cases we have with any Cartwrights. Zero. Perfect.
As I near Penny’s desk, I mouth, “Thank you,” and straighten my pencil skirt, which is way too snug—thank you, Kendall. She said I needed to “add more definition to my body,” which made me queasy, but the girl was so persuasive that I gave in. It wasn’t until I raced down the street this morning on my way to meet Josh that I realized how form-fitting my clothes were.
Taking a deep breath, I poke my head into Malcolm’s office. “Hey, boss man. Do you have a few minutes?”
He chuckles and pushes back his hair. “Of course. What’s up, kiddo?”
Every fucking time with that nickname.
I close the door and settle into one of the wingback leather chairs that face his desk. Degrees from Georgetown and Stanford lord over his shoulder. Photos of him and his wife with dozens of politicians—from the mayor to the governor—decorate the light gray walls. And on the credenza behind him, an array of awards laud the firm’s philanthropic efforts.
I’ve been in his expansive office more times than I can count, but for some reason, seeing the blue-blood roots of this firm make me realize how much of an uphill battle this pitch might be.
But what’s the old adage? You lose one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take. And there’s no time like the present.
I push my shoulders back. “I have a potential client I need to discuss with you, but we need to maintain the utmost confidentiality.”
Malcolm steeples his fingers and nods. “You have my attention.”
“If I were to say we might have a shot at representing a Cartwright, would we have any conflicts of interest?”
Surprise registers in his face as he leans forward and mulls over the question. “Not as far as I know.” This jives with my research, but I needed to double-check.
He starts to smile, and I shake my head. “Before you get too excited, I have to explain that no one can know it’s this person.”
His bushy brow quirks up. “Say again?”
“He needs to stay anonymous, and that means if we agree to represent him, no one besides the partners can know he’s behind this venture.”
Malcolm waves me on to continue, but I can already see the disappointment register in his expression, so I hustle to maintain his interest. “Just because this one project is a secret, however, doesn’t mean we couldn’t represent him in other affairs if the need arose.” Yes, I’m scrambling here, but it’s not entirely a lie.
And Christ. Why did I use the word “arose”? Because that has me thinking about Josh’s dick waving its erect glory over the New York City skyline.
I motion toward my file. “Having said that, I need to apologize ahead of time for what I’m about to say, in case you find the subject matter offensive.”
Malcolm cants his head and grabs his coffee to take a sip.
Ignoring the deep blush I feel creeping up my neck, I take a breath and rush to give him the details before I wimp out. “One of the Cartwrights runs an extremely popular, anonymous porn blog where he showcases his male anatomy, and he’s getting offers for various sex toys.” His eyes widen as the last words leave my mouth. “Like dildos.”
My boss starts to choke, and coffee dribbles down his chin. Oh shit.
“I’m sorry, sir.” I grab a tissue off the corner of his desk and hand it to him.
He laughs as he wipes his mouth, but it’s out of embarrassment. Malcolm clears his throat, and the humor disappears in his eyes. “You don’t hear that every day.”
“No, you don’t.”
We stare at each other in silence, and I give him an awkward smile. “I realize this isn’t the type of business we typically represent—”
“It certainly isn’t,” he says with an edge to his voice.
“Before you dismiss this client outright, consider that porn is a ninety-seven billion dollar industry. While piracy has taken its toll, adult novelties have seen a boom in recent years, and with books like Fifty Shades of Grey becoming blockbuster phenomena—making not only erotica mainstream but fetishes as well—many expect continued growth in revenue.”
He sits back in his chair, and I know I’ve piqued his interest.
“Consider this, Malcolm. You can now walk into any CVS and purchase not only condoms and lube but also vibrators. Every Walgreens in the country stocks massage oil. You can hop on Amazon and purchase a whole assortment of bondage equipment and BDSM how-to books. In fact, I just read about a private equity firm that started investing in sex toys, which is a fifteen-billion dollar industry and is expected to exceed fifty billion within the next four years. You wanted a big client. I think I have one for you.”
I can’t believe I just said the words “dildo,” “lube,” “bondage,” “BDSM,” and “vibrators” to my boss. My stomach threatens to go up into my throat. But dammit, I want this. And I’ve done my homework. I take a deep breath, hoping I don’t get my ass handed to me.
He clears his throat. “And it’s a Cartwright.”
“Yes, sir, and his blog has almost two million followers.”
The silence is almost unbearable, but then he punches a few buttons on his phone and tells Penny to reschedule his lunch with Angela.
I’m instantly relieved that he wants to hear more.
Then he tells me the last thing I expect him to say. “Your father will kill me if he finds out I’ve let his daughter represent a pornographer.”
I hadn’t even considered that my dad could find out it, or that this would be my boss’s first concern, but I refuse to be embarrassed for doing my job.
“My father will be proud when I eventually make partner.” I give him a playful wink, the kind Kendall always gives me, and hope I don’t look like I’m having an aneurysm.
Malcolm laughs and rubs his chin. “Bring me a mainstream Cartwright business and you have a deal. But I know sometimes you have to play the hand you’re dealt.” He opens his leather-bound notebook and clicks a pen. “I’m not saying we’ll accept him as a client, but you’ve made some salient points. Now tell me which of Marjorie’s children is doing the full monty. But humor this old man and don’t get too graphic.”
On the way out of Malcolm’s office, I pinch my lips together to keep from smiling. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Just because he liked my pitch doesn’t mean this is a done deal, but at least we’re off to a good start. Life in the office might improve if I can control my own client list and workload.
“That must have gone well because you were in his office forever,” Penny whispers conspiratorially.
“As well as could be expected.” While I’m trying my hardest to keep reasonable expectations about the likelihood the partners will give me the go-ahead, I feel great about my presentation, and that has me buoyant. Giddy, actually.
Penny hands me a Tupperware full of cookies.
“What’s this for?” I crack the lid and take a whiff. Mmm. Chocolate chip.