Page 8 of RAKEish

The breathing continued for five in and out breaths. At least Frankie didn’t require her peons to remove their shoes like the breathing scene in How to Lose a Guy In Ten Days.

“Open your eyes.” Jane pointed toward the woman sitting on Ziggy’s left. “Isabella, Frankie would like to start with you today.”

Scott was intrigued by Isabella P. Chance. Partly because she was married to a guy with a frightful reputation around town, and partly because she had a mysterious relationship with Frankie, as in Isabella showed no fear toward the woman. None. Even Ziggy was terrified of Frankie.

“Of course.” Isabella pushed back her chair and stood. She wore a man’s white dress shirt tied in a knot at the waist, a black leather miniskirt, and stilettos. Red.

He chuckled silently. Were the shoes a power-move on her part, or had she failed to read the memo as well?

“I’m still working through my series on street wear makeovers,” Isabella said.

“Of course you are,” Frankie drawled as if Isabella had just announced she planned to dress the homeless for a charity function and then write about it. “Please, someone else go. Someone who is not trying to ruin our magazine with their mediocrity.”

Isabella smiled prettily and took a seat all while semi-subtly scratching her nose with her middle finger. Even though she was the editor of the digital side, she still pitched for the hard copy side.

“I love that series,” Scott whispered, leaning forward to see Isabella. “I’m glad there’s more to come.”

“Me, too,” Annie, an editor who sat on the other side of Isabella, chimed in. Annie was a new mother, and as such looked bone tired, but oh-so-happy. She and Isabella worked closely together.

He made a mental note to send Annie flowers this month. Last month, he’d sent her a year’s supply of diapers. It couldn’t be easy being a single mom, and he felt compelled to make her life a little smoother. Of course, he sent the gifts anonymously. “How’s the little one—”

“Scott, your mouth is moving. You must want to be my next victim,” Frankie snapped. “Pitch already.”

He cleared his throat in preparation to pitch the perfume idea, then recalled how he had imagined Doc would react to such a column. With disdain. Just once he’d like to have a column she couldn’t hate.

Luckily, his brain did the thing his brain did and provided him with a new topic. “How to fall in love with the right per—”

Frankie flashed him her shut-the-fuck-up palm.

He cocked his head and waited. It was always like this when pitching to the woman.

“Jane, please explain the problem to Scott,” Frankie ordered.

Jane, who’d taken a seat in a chair behind Frankie, popped up. “Scott, if you’re not standing, Frankie doesn’t hear a word you say.”

Frankie sat next to him. She could hear just fine. “Right. I forgot.” Scott stood. “I said—”

The palm again.

“Honestly,” Frankie drawled, “that story is better suited for our February issue. Not our June. Do better.”

She wasn’t wrong; he’d have to pitch the perfume one. “My other idea—”

Frankie palmed him again. “Scott, I”—she drew out the word I like it contained twenty-five letters and multiple syllables—“will choose what you write next.”

He raised a brow. This was a first. Frankie wasn’t one to assign topics. She preferred to watch her editors and reporters sweat until they landed on an idea she didn’t hate. “And that is?” Scott studied her for hints.

“I’ve been informed that the oh-so-blah Dr. Stone once again dissed your column this morning on her stupid little radio show.”

Diss? Another new American word to research. “She’s a nobody with a stick up her arse.”

Ziggy chuckled. “Scott said arse.”

Frankie tutted at Ziggy, cutting his amusement short. “This is not a laughing matter. Dr. Stone continues to bring into question the value of Scott’s column. Naked Runway has spent a considerable amount of money and energy hyping Scott as the rakish prince who’d ditched his duties to come to America.”

Scott gave Frankie a sincere smile. She might be an annoying boss, but she’d kept up her end of their agreement when it had come to pushing him as a rake to the public. He was banking on the publicity of his bad boy behavior to help his cause back home. “And I appreciate the fact that it is because of you and your faith in my column that RAKEish is a sensation.”

“I’ve approached legal with the possibility of a lawsuit for slander,” Frankie said in a no-nonsense tone. “If they contact you, inform them of the emotional suffering you’ve had as a result of that woman.”

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