Mister O

Jesus fucking Christ. I tug at my shirt. No way can I make it through this meeting. But there’s no way I can stop.



I did. I love untying little bows. In fact, ‘untied’ is my new favorite word.

Princess: I like dirty words, too. That’s another thing I like.





Have I told you I’m a human thesaurus for dirty words?

Princess: You don’t have to tell me. I figured that out on my own.





Then you know me so well.

Princess: Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. I also like letting go. And I like when a guy is just so consumed with making you feel good that you want to do the same to him.





I pinch the bridge of my nose as the car swings up the avenue. I swear Harper can read my mind. I lick my lips and tighten my grip on the phone.



Do you watch porn?

Princess: Does Tumblr count?





Yes. What do you watch or like to look at?

Princess: That’s hard to describe.





No. It’s not. Try.

Princess: You just want me to tell you what type of gifs or photos I like?





Yes. That would be awesome. In fact, it would make my day. It would make my day fucking amazing.



Her answer will have to wait, because I’ve arrived at the offices of Nichols & Nichols, where a well-coiffed young blonde receptionist rises from behind a sleek desk and greets me by name.

“Good to see you, Mister Hammer,” she says with a crisp, bright smile. “I’ll let Tyler know you’re here.”

“Thanks, Lily.”

Before I can even grab a seat on a plush cranberry-red couch in the lobby, the head of the firm opens the glass door. “Nick Hammer,” he says in his deep voice as he walks over and claps me on the back. I stand. The man is pure class. Clay Nichols wears a dark suit, a crisp white shirt, and a purple silk tie. “Tyler told me you were coming by. Couldn’t miss the chance to say hello and congratulate you on all your success.”

“And you as well. Love the new digs. And tell your wife she does not have to give me free liquor.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Let me give you a piece of advice. The wife takes orders from exactly no one.”

He guides me down the hall to Tyler’s office.

“My favorite client!” Tyler says as he greets me. I met Tyler back in the day when I was at RISD studying animation, and he was a history major at Brown. He’s risen up quickly in entertainment law, and it’s not only because he has a mentor in Clay. He’s just really fucking good.

“I bet you say that to all your clients.”

He shoots me a grin. “Only the ones who make me laugh.”

“Then I’ve got a funny story for you,” I say. Both men take seats on the couch. I grab the comfy chair, lean forward, take a breath, and give this the pregnant pause of ridiculousness it deserves. “Gino wants me to make the show more wholesome.”

Tyler raises an eyebrow. The guy is the spitting image of his cousin—dark hair, brown eyes, square jawline. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was his younger brother. He’s suited up, too. “That’s insane. You don’t ask Seth MacFarlane to make American Dad less fucked up,” Tyler says, stretching his long legs in front of him.

“Look, I’m not a prima donna. I’m all about giving the viewers what they want. But I just can’t wrap my head around what he wants from me.”

“Leave it to us. It’s our job to figure out what he wants, and if that aligns with what you want,” Tyler says, and for the next thirty minutes we dive into their plan for how they want to handle the renegotiation at the end of this month, less than two weeks away. It all sounds reasonable to me, and frankly, that’s why I work with these guys. When we’re done, I ask what they’re up to tonight.

Clay goes first. “I have a date with my two favorite girls. My wife and daughter are meeting me at the playground in a few hours. This man,” he says, patting his cousin’s shoulder. “He’s trying to win back an old flame.”

Clay gives me a quick download on Tyler’s romantic situation, and it’s a tough one.

“Ouch,” I say, shuddering and then meeting my lawyer’s eyes. “Good luck with that, buddy. Negotiating with Gino might be more fun.”

Tyler laughs and shakes his head. “Believe you me, I know. What would Mister Orgasm do to win her back?”

I stroke my stubbled jaw. “Aside from sending in your place a rich, hot, successful, well-endowed cartoonist to win her over?”

Tyler narrows his dark eyes and shoots me a look.

I flash him a smile. “He’d probably just let her know how much she means to him, then make her feel like a queen.”