Page 54 of Seductive Hearts

“Go ahead. Maybe you’ll help me understand how the fuck I just lost another listing.” I couldn’t breathe. My tie was strangling me, and loosening it didn’t seem to help. My throat was tight, and even the welcome burn of the whiskey couldn’t distract me from my physical reaction to failure. It wouldn’t last forever. That much, I was certain.

It didn’t make the situation easier to deal with. “Motherfucker!” The glass shattered against the floor when I spiked it.

I slammed myself into my chair, growling when I remembered the look on that smug bastard’s face. “Same as last week. Drake Thomas swooped in and took it out from under me. No explanation, no warning. What the fuck is going on in this city?”

Maxim wasn’t blinking, studying me like I was a rare discovery. “You haven’t heard? I thought for sure while you were out, you would’ve heard something.”

The hair on the back of my neck lifted in time with a sick feeling that began to spread its way through my gut. “What was I supposed to hear? Get it out fast. I don’t feel like playing games.”

“Keep in mind, you may be able to pull some strings. Have it silenced by your uncle Connor.”

I was liking this less by the second. “Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about. What would I need to silence?”

“I’m going to ask you something, and I want your complete honesty. If we’re going to get through this, we have to be honest with each other.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll be honest with you,” I gritted out when he arched an eyebrow. “Whatever you want. Tell me.”

“Have you been fucking around with our female clients?”

“Fucking around… as in sleeping with?”

“Is that an attempt at stalling?” I didn’t much care for his shitty attitude, right down to the folded arms. “Because a piece is about to be published tomorrow morning. It’s due to be syndicated across the country. Up-and-Coming Real Estate Mogul, Son of the Man Behind Farrah Goldsmith Couture, Using His Client List as a Personal Dating Pool and Engaging in Quid Pro Quo Arrangements. You suck my dick, I work harder to sell your property for more money.”

It’s funny what a person will do when they’re caught like a deer in headlights. I didn’t know what to expect when Maxim started, but this? It was too ridiculous to believe. I barked out a laugh, equal parts disbelief and disappointment. “That’s the best they can do, whoever they are? How fucking juvenile.”

“You’re telling me it’s not true?”

“Seriously? You have to ask me that question? I don’t need to troll for pussy. It’s a lie. Not even a clever one.”

“Let’s be honest.” He sat in front of the desk, sighing as he settled in. “We’ve known each other since school. I know how you are. I’m not trying to judge you. It’s not like I haven’t partied. But you turn it into a sport. So when I hear something like this…”

“Enough,” I groaned out. “That would explain why I lost the Park Avenue property.”

My head was in a vice, tightening with every breath I took. “Johnny Davies wouldn’t want me around his wife if he thinks I’m going to fuck her.” Not that I would. Married women weren’t my thing, especially the ones who threw themselves at every man they saw.

“There’s more,” Max added. “Whoever’s behind it made up their mind to make you look like a real piece of shit. A nepo baby who couldn’t cut it in the family company, so he had to branch out on his own without the skill or work ethic to be a success without using his dick.”

“That’s bullshit!” I barked. It was one thing to accuse me of using sex to do business, but I drew the line at questioning my motives for opening Goldsmith Real Estate. I wanted something of my own, something I built for myself. I could have easily fallen back on the family’s fortune, but it wasn’t enough.

“I doubt my uncle could put out anything to counter these accusations. That would look cheesy as fuck,” I decided. “Like a kid wetting the bed and blaming the sheets.”

“We need to think of something fast, or else what happened today is going to keep happening until we have nothing left.” It was rare for him to be that dramatic, which told me he spoke the truth. Normally, he would try to find the silver lining—a positive side to the story.

There was nothing positive about this.

“Short of going door-to-door across Manhattan, how am I supposed to defend myself?” Rubbing my temples, I shrugged. “Do I sue for defamation?”

“I was thinking something a little more immediate, if possible.”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, desperate for ideas.

“Image rehab. We need you to look like a nice guy who’s been misunderstood. A hard worker who could have taken the easy way out but instead pulled himself up by his bootstraps or whatever it is old people like to say.”

I snickered. “That sounds about right.”

“That’s how we do it. And you happen to know one of the best PR people in the business, right? Last I heard, anyway.”

It took a second for what he was saying to register. “Oh. No. I couldn’t use her.”

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