Page 60 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 9

Blake

At six o’clock, my father stopped by for our weekly tête-à-tête. Usually, we met on Thursdays, but later this week, he had to be in New York for a mogul conference. He was impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored pewter suit that complemented his full head of wavy silver hair. My lucky old man hadn’t lost one hair from that head of hair of his. And at sixty-five, he was still in great shape, working out with a trainer at the company gym daily. I was hoping his luck would be passed on to me.

As always, we sat outside on my terrace, sipping brandies and smoking cigars. It was our little tradition. Our way of catching up on both business and personal matters.

“So, how’s the new girl?” my father asked after a drag of his Montecristo No. 4, a Cuban cigar Denzel Washington had given him at the Emmys. His voice was gravelly, and he’d never lost his “New Yawk” accent despite living out here for over half a century. My father was well aware of my history with development assistants—D-Girls—as they were commonly called in the industry. I’d been through them like water. No one lasted beyond three months. They couldn’t handle me. The joke around the office was that I burned them out. (Get it?)

Taking a puff of my cigar, I thought about Jennifer McCoy. She’s sexy, feisty, and fucking with my head. And driving my cock crazy. “She’s okay,” I said flatly.

“She’s got a sharp mind, that little fox. I was very impressed by the questions she asked during the guest lecture I gave for one of her courses. I told her to consider Conquest when she graduated, and when she sent me her thesis, I was totally blown away.”

“What did she write it on?” I asked.

“The Sexual Appeal of SpongeBob SquarePants.”

My brows did a pull-up. SpongeBob NoPants would have made more sense.

My father took another puff of his cigar. “Has she come up with any programming ideas?”

I took a sip of my brandy and then told him about her idea of targeting women with erotic programming during the daytime. I told him I was dubious.

To my surprise, my father nodded with approval. “Mommy porn. That’s fucking brilliant, son. Totally fresh and out of the box.”

“What should we do?” I asked tentatively.

He blew out a ring of smoke. “My instincts are telling me to let her run with it.”

“She wants to do focus groups to prove her theory.”

My father smiled and nodded again. “Good idea. It’s about time you did some.”

Unlike me, my father was very methodical and relied heavily on research to make decisions. Usually, they were never wrong, and he sometimes joked he should have done some research before hiring me. A man who had loved only one woman—my mother—he was not too keen about my reputation as a player or my gut-way of making programming decisions.

My father flicked the ashes of his cigar into the ashtray on the small glass table between us. “Put the groups on the fast track. And I want you to keep me informed about the findings.”

I took a drag on my brandy-laced cigar and spewed one word: “Done.” Arguing with my father had no upside. He was the boss. Period. The warm brandy seeped through my veins, making a delicious contrast to the chill of the early December air. Even in LA, it got cold, at least at night.

After polishing off the brandies and smoking our cigars down to the label, we retreated back into my office. My eyes widened. Jennifer McCoy, her briefcase in hand, was standing in the doorway. She had on a navy coat, looking ready to go home. She seemed surprised to see my father and adjusted her glasses.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Bernstein. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your meeting.”

A warm smile lit my father’s strong-featured face. “Not at all, Jennifer. My son was just sharing some of the excellent ideas you have for SIN-TV.”

The expression on her face said it all. Her eyes rounded; her mouth fell open. She had no clue I was Saul Bernstein’s son. And I had planned to keep it that way for as long as possible. To my amazement, she kept her cool. What an actress!

“Thank you, Mr. Bernstein,” she said smoothly. “I hope you’re right.”

My father winked at her. “I have a very good feeling about you, Ms. McCoy.”

She tweaked a smile. Man, she was cute when she smiled. I wanted to wink at her. My father continued.

“And I look forward to having you at our home on Friday night.”

My eyes bounced from my father to Jennifer. What-the-fuck was written across my eyeballs.

Unbeknownst to me, my father had invited her to our weekly Friday night Shabbat dinner. The night all things should be peaceful. But at our house, all hell usually broke loose. I did a quick silent prayer. Everyone behave. Please behave.

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