Trade Read online

  TRADE

  by

  Tabitha A Lane

  TRADE

  By Tabitha A Lane

  Kindle Edition, Copyright © 2015 Tabitha A Lane

  All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover by LM Creations

  Tabitha A Lane-Facebook Page

  Sign up for my newsletter here!

  Chapter One

  “Her nipples must hurt like hell.”

  The air, sweet with the scent of wildflowers, was warm against Max’s skin. Like the woman standing next to her, she stared into the periwinkle blue sky at the small pink dot.

  “You couldn’t pay me to do that.”

  She glanced over. A look of horror marred the face of her assistant, Cameron Bailey as she squinted into the sky.

  “Luckily, she’s paying us.” After six months running F.M.R., nothing surprised Max. Fantasies Made Real catered to anyone who had a fantasy and the money to fulfil it, with only one rule. They never did the same fantasy twice. Today’s client, Jackie Moore, was a fifty-something who’d always yearned to skydive naked. Strapped to the tandem skydiving instructor, she hurtled toward earth through the clear skies.

  “Should we be watching her?” Cam frowned. “I don’t want to make the woman uncomfortable—should I look away, or at her when she lands?”

  Max’s hand stroked the robe she held ready. “Act as though she’s fully dressed, I’ll wrap her up once she has the parachute harness off, and you can pop the champagne. We need to share her excitement, congratulate her for living her dream. She’ll be so high on the experience she won’t care about exposing herself. Just don’t be weird.” She grinned. “Act natural.”

  She craned her neck. A red, white and blue parachute opened, the naked body of their client jerking upwards for a moment, then floating toward them.

  “That was totally, fucking brilliant!” Jackie’s eyes shone and her smile was so wide her cheeks must be aching. Both sets were probably aching—being buffeted by the wind on the way down had reddened her skin and she was shivering from exposure to the cold air—but she seemed oblivious, still floating.

  “You were fabulous. Thank you.” She embraced her skydiving partner, full frontal.

  “You’re welcome.” The tandem skydiver’s face flushed scarlet. His hands hovered a couple of inches away from her bare back as she hugged him, and he cast a pleading glance in Max’s direction.

  “Here, Jackie. You don’t want to catch a chill.” She held out the robe.

  Jackie slipped one arm and then the other into the soft cotton, then accepted a glass of champagne from Cameron and held it up. “I can’t thank you enough. I’m going to tell all my friends about F.M.R. Every single one.”

  Job done.

  Max waved to the Mercedes SUV, and it set off across the field in their direction. While Jackie sipped her champagne, Cam walked to the second parachutist who had been filming the dive.

  “We should get you back to the hotel.” Max accompanied Jackie to the car and opened the door. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” She returned to Cam. “I’ll see you later in the office. We need to get the footage edited and prepare a DVD for Jackie as soon as possible.”

  Cam nodded. “I’ll deal with it. See you later.”

  Max took the bottle of champagne with her and joined Jackie, and the driver set off across the field to the motorway.

  It was late afternoon by the time Max returned to her inner London office. She’d arranged a spa session for Jackie in her hotel after the dive, followed by a full-body massage, and when she’d left, her client had been beyond ecstatic.

  F.M.R’s receptionist, Maria, looked up as she entered. “How did it go?”

  “Good. She was delighted.”

  Maria checked the notepad on her desk. “There were a few messages. I’ve left copies on your desk. Nothing that won’t wait until tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Is Cam in?”

  Max nodded. “She’s editing the video.”

  Max walked into her office—the largest in the company. Not because she was the boss, but because she needed to have an impressive, private space where she could talk to potential clients. A fantasy could be anything and for the client to reveal their deepest secrets and innermost desires, they needed to feel as though there was no possibility of being interrupted or overheard.

  She dropped her briefcase next to the large walnut desk and sat to check messages. There was a tap at the door, then Maria walked in carrying two large steaming cups of coffee. “I thought you could use one of these.”

  “You’re an angel. Is the other for Cam?”

  When Maria answered that it was, Max stood. “I’ll take it through to her.”

  Cam’s brow was furrowed as she stared at the screen, clicking her mouse to advance the footage filmed earlier frame by frame. She looked up.

  “I brought coffee.”

  Cam grinned, paused the video, pushed her chair back from the desk, and extended her legs. “I’ve been crouched over like I’m riding a motorbike for ages.” She stood, and stretched up, then twisted her torso side to side. “Ah, that’s better.” She reached for the mug. “Thanks.”

  “So, how does it look?”

  Cam rotated the huge monitor around, and let the recording play. “The filmographer did a great job.” Jackie’s wide smile and bare boobs filled the screen. Then the view drifted, revealing the lips of her vagina being buffeted by the air. “I’m wondering if I should leave the flapping pussy in though. What do you think?”

  Max’s mouth opened then closed again. Jackie’s vagina was doing things she couldn’t believe were real. “We’ve got to leave that in. Wow.”

  “I know.” Cam smiled. “Well, if I don’t have to edit it out that makes the job a lot easier.” She swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “How did it go at the hotel?”

  “She’s still floating. Her fantasy definitely was made real.”

  “Lucky her.” There was a trace of sadness in Cam’s smile.

  Max looked closer. Cam had been quieter than usual that morning—distracted. Max’s heart clenched. The cancer couldn’t be back, could it? The woman before her was very different to the one she’d interviewed six months ago. Back then, Cam acted as though getting the job was something she really wanted, but feared she wouldn’t get. She’d been out of the workplace for two years, bringing up her daughter. Life had dealt Cam a cruel hand. She’d been diagnosed with breast cancer near the end of her pregnancy, and waited until her daughter was born before seeking treatment. A week after her double mastectomy her husband left her for another woman.

  Offering Cam the job was the best decision Max ever made. Cam had become more than an employee—she’d become a friend. Now, the thought of her facing further hardship made Max cold inside. “Are you okay? The cancer…”

  Cam shook her head. “No. No. It’s not that.”

  Thank God.

  “I’m just a little down. It’s nothing serious. Lindsay is fine too. I got this stupid invitation in the post yesterday.” She rooted in her bag, pulled out a large white card, and tossed it onto the desk.

  Max picked it up. “A school reunion?”

  “Henry and I were in the same class. An old friend phoned last night to tell me his fiancée is
six months pregnant. She didn’t want me to turn up at the reunion unawares and walk into them.” Cam’s mouth thinned. She blinked rapidly. “I could hear the pity in her voice—I got a divorce and cancer, and he moved on with a younger woman and has a baby on the way. If I had a fantasy it would be to go to that reunion with a hot young stud on my arm and be the focus of everyone’s envy, rather than have them feeling sorry for me.”

  Max knew exactly how she felt. “Do you have lots of friends from school?”

  Cam’s laughter had a bitter edge. “God no. The woman who called was the only one who actually even spoke to me—we were both mousey geeks. School was a nightmare.”

  “It was for me too.” Even thinking back to those days filled Max with a dull ache. Her friend didn’t deserve this; no one deserved being made to feel inferior, pitied. An idea took form. She made fantasies come true—couldn’t she make her friend’s fantasy come true?

  “So if you did go, who would your dream date be?”

  “I’d want someone who would make every woman there long to be in my place. Someone every woman in the world wants.” A slow smile curved the corners of her mouth. “I know Damon Fitz is a fictional character, but the actor who portrays him on screen would be my dream date. So I guess my answer is Sholto Kincaid.”

  At the sound of his name, Max forgot to breathe. It would have to be him, wouldn’t it? The one man she’d vowed never to see again. Memories piled in, hard and fast. Sitting next to him in chemistry class, flushing red every time he acknowledged her in the school corridors back when she thought they were friends. Before…

  “Are you okay? You look sort of strange.”

  “Just tired, I guess.” Max stood. “When is the reunion?”

  “In a month, but I won’t be going. I know you’re a miracle worker, but no one in the world could persuade Sholto Kincaid to bow out of the Hollywood spotlight and accompany a stranger to their school reunion—there isn’t enough money in the world to make that happen.”

  *****

  It was weird being in England—heck, it was weird being back in Europe. Sholto shrugged out of his black leather jacket, and tossed it on the sofa of the penthouse suite in his five star hotel. The London premiere of his movie was tonight—he’d be striding the red carpet with his co-star, trying his best to live up to the Damon Fitz hype—but already his mind was turning to the next movie, the next project.

  He tracked across the thick carpet to the window, and stared out over the city. It was a city of strangers—a city as alien to him as anywhere on earth. Even though he’d lived here, once upon a time, those memories were faded and indistinct. There was no-one from those days he wanted to chase up, no-one with whom he wanted to reconnect. He’d make time to visit his aunt and uncle, and then he’d be out of here.

  Hit and run.

  The phone rang. “Mr. Kincaid, I have Mr. Meisner in reception for you,” said the disembodied voice from the front desk.

  “Send him up.” Hopefully his agent would have news. He opened the door to the corridor. A few seconds later, the elevator doors slid open.

  “How’s it going?” Larry’s wide smile eased the ache in Sholto a little. “I’m stoked for tonight, aren’t you?” He walked into the suite and whistled. “Wow, this is some place. Paid for by the studio, huh?”

  “Caro is in the suite next door.” There were twin penthouse suites, served by the same elevator. The studio probably thought it was good PR to have both of its stars so close to each other, and were keen to promote the fantasy that they were secretly hooking up.

  But after spending the past few months half naked and locked in each other’s arms for the cameras, nothing could be further from the truth. They looked perfect together, but she preferred women, and he…the last thing he wanted was to mess around with a high maintenance, self-absorbed actress.

  “What are you wearing tonight?” Larry checked out the rack of designer duds in the corner. “Boss. Armani?” He flicked through the tuxedos.

  “I like the navy Tom Ford.” Did it really matter what he wore? He’d spent the afternoon with his stylist, trying them all on, and had been so bored by the whole thing he’d wanted nothing more than to escape for a few hours, to walk the streets incognito. Unfortunately, the crowd of fans outside the front door made that impossible. He’d got as far as the lobby before retreating back to his suite.

  “I feel like a goddamned caged animal.” He poured two glasses of scotch, and handed one to Larry, who added water and ice to the glass before bringing it to his lips. Sacrilege. “Tell me good news. How did the meeting go?”

  Larry avoided Sholto’s eyes. His brow creased. “Ah. He’s not convinced.”

  A tight fist clenched in Sholto’s stomach. He tossed back the scotch and poured another. “I’m perfect for the role. He needs to see me. I’ll even bloody screen test for him if necessary.”

  “I told him that.” Larry sprawled on the sofa. “I told him all that. Look, you’re hot right now. You’re the hottest actor in the world. I’ve got offers of roles every actor in Hollywood would be dying to get—just not that one.”

  Yet the role of John Weatherly was the only one Sholto wanted. It was an extraordinary story: that of an ordinary man shipwrecked and forced to survive alone on a deserted island. The book, Solo, had been on the bestsellers list for weeks, and now Weatherly was collaborating with a studio.

  “Why? Did Jasper say why?” He sprawled on the sofa and stared at Larry. “Whatever he wants, I can be it.”

  “He said…” Larry obviously didn’t want to tell him, but under the force of Sholto’s glare, muttered a reply. “He said you were too pretty. Too buff. That you don’t have the substance to portray the emotional journey Weatherly was forced to take on the island. He was an overweight nobody when he fell from the cruise liner. An accountant accompanying his mother on a round the world trip, for chrissake. Eighty-one days alone on a deserted island changed him beyond recognition. Jasper feels that Damon Fitz would just be too unbelievable as a man forced to survive a shipwreck. The studio wants an unknown. They say your high profile will compromise the film. And they don’t have the budget to pay what you’re worth.”

  “I’m more than Damon Fitz.” The money wasn’t an issue, but credibility was. More than anything, he wanted to prove he was not just a pretty face. He was an actor. A good actor. Playing Damon Fitz had brought him to the lusting attention of much of the female population but it wasn’t a challenging role—he’d been seducing women all his life. He wanted a role he could really get his teeth into. Sure, he’d had his teeth into Caro’s delectable butt in After Ecstasy, but there would be no Oscars handed out for either of their performances.

  “As you suggested, I invited him to the premiere. He agreed, and I’m sending a limo to pick him up.”

  The tension left Sholto’s shoulders. Once he had Jasper Watson at the premiere as his guest, he’d charm him into considering him for the role. “I want him seated next to me—the whole VIP treatment.” There wouldn’t be much time to talk, but he needed an opportunity to personally connect with the director.

  “I know. I’ll get everything set up.” Larry’s expression was earnest. “If anyone can talk him around, you can.”

  Larry was as tense as a turkey at Thanksgiving. His fingers were gripping his drink so tightly his knuckles were white. He worked hard as Sholto’s agent, and prided himself on being able to deliver everything his client desired. Not being able to secure the screen test must have been a blow.

  “You did well to get him to come at such short notice.” Sholto smiled.

  Larry relaxed a fraction. He took a sip of his drink.

  “Have you any other news for me?”

  “I received another three scripts this week, but I told you that in an email last night. The office is swimming with sacks of fan mail—the girls in the office opening and replying to it report that quite a lot of the letters enclosed panties.” He grimaced. “Oh, and I got a telephone call today from a w
oman who said she knew you and wants you to get in touch.” His lips curled. “I know, she was probably bullshitting—but she sounded convincing so I thought I’d check. Her name’s Maxine Goode.”

  Maxine Goode. The mention of her name was enough to propel him back through the years, to a day he’d tried hard to bury.

  Now, Maxine wanted to renew their connection?

  How much humiliation could one girl stand?

  *****

  Max didn’t expect it to be easy to gain access to Sholto Kincaid. His agent’s response to her call had been beyond chilly, almost glacial. No doubt he was bombarded with requests for Sholto’s phone number, so she’d left her number instead.

  But Sholto was unlikely to ring. No one wanted to revisit the most shameful episodes in their life, and even though Sholto Kincaid seemed to be as full of himself as he’d been a decade ago, she still held out hope that perhaps he’d matured a little.

  Making the phone call was just step one in her campaign.

  Step two presented itself out of the blue with a phone call from a client. She was seated at her desk going through paperwork, when the phone buzzed.

  “Hi, I have Jasper Watson for you—he says it’s an emergency.”

  “Put him through.” Jasper was a regular client, a repeat client, the type of client she wanted to keep. His tastes were unusual, and some of his fantasies were definitely out there, but he was a straight up guy, and he always paid promptly. “Jasper, good to hear from you.”

  “Max, thank God. I have a problem.”

  Max parked her pencil behind her ear. “What’s up?” She hoped to hell it wasn’t crisis management.

  “I have to go to a film premiere tonight, and I need a date.”

  Max breathed out the breath she’d been holding. She’d stepped off the dating treadmill months ago after everything had gone so badly wrong. Jasper was a client she couldn’t afford to snub, but she hadn’t ever expected he would want to date her.

  Before she could formulate a reply, he elaborated.