The Billionaire’s Past (His Submissive #10)(10)
Author: Ava Claire

Mia was doing better. She made sure she let me know that she still didn’t like that ‘mouthy bitch’ and wasn’t sure if she wanted to be represented by Whitmore and Creighton. The fact that she was considering it at all told me that she was at least thinking about her future. Of course I was sure I let her know that we could help her but more than anything I was just glad she was showing signs of the smart ass I’d met.

“That’s good,” Missy nodded. She pulled out a chair and sat down, pulling out a blank sheet of paper. “It still brings us back to the issue of signing her as a client.” She picked up a pen and spun it between her fingers. “Any ideas?”

Hands shot up like vines and I had to bite my lip to hide my amusement. A room full of Hermione Grangers.

Missy pointed the pen at a tall, dark haired guy near the back. “Paul?”

“I’ve done some research and I found out that she loves indie music and spa days. We could set her up for the weekend at Blue Heart and find out the best local band and get them to do a set for her.”

Missy crinkled her nose. “Girls day out and a concert for a client that’s way too high profile?”

“We’ll keep it small and intimate,” he suggested, his voice a little less confident. “Just Miss Kent and two friends.”

A warning sound fired in my ears and me and Missy exchanged a look. Paul’s suggestion wasn’t a bad one–but the idea of her being around friends anything like the one we’d met was.

Missy turned to the woman beside him. “Kara, what’s your suggestion?”

Kara sat up, sweeping her brown hair over one shoulder. “Well, piggybacking on Paul, I think we should woo her. A dress by her favorite designer. Shoes. Handbags. Have the chef from her fave restaurant cook her meals. Fly in treats from her favorite bakery, no matter the location.” Nods rippled across the room. “Christmas should come early. We need to show her that we have resources and we’re ready to use them on her.”

“Interesting,” Mia said quietly, her piece of paper still blank. “Mark?”

A guy a few seats away who looked like he just rolled off a wave in SoCal clicked his pen, obviously used to the limelight because he waited until all eyes were on him before speaking. “I think we just bring her in and have her talk to some other clients. Make up an all stars list of people we brought from D-list to A-list. Show her what we can do.”

All good ideas.

All very…predictable.

Missy leaned back in her seat, mulling them over. I had a feeling she’d go with door number 3 and not because Mark was batting his eyes at her. It just seemed like her style. Confrontational; almost like we were politely sitting her down and telling her she was at the bottom of the barrel and we were gonna upgrade her. It could work, done right. I just felt like every idea was just…too much.

“What do you think, Leila?” Missy glanced at me curiously.

I shifted in my seat, wondering if I should use something a little less maverick-y then silencing that nonsense. I wanted to be heard. Now was my chance.

“Nothing,” I said simply.

“Nothing?” Missy repeated slowly.

“Pampering her, spoiling her, showing our list of accomplishments?” I nodded agreeably. “They’re good. But after the first meeting and everything that’s happened since, she’s spooked. We can’t do something good. We have to do something she won’t expect.”

“Which would be?”

“Nothing.”

The murmurs that rippled across the room when I gave my suggestion were decidedly louder now and from the eyebrows rising skeptically, they thought I was completely nuts.

“Here’s the thing,” I explained, my voice a whip that cut through the chatter. I looked at Paul. “I loved your idea. I think it would have been relaxing.” Kara was next. “What girl doesn’t want to be spoiled?” I settled on Mark who was eyeing me warily. “And I think she’d benefit from seeing what we’re capable of.”

I sat up in my seat, remembering the first time Mia sauntered into this very room, already putting a wall up. Already making up her mind that she thought very little of Whitmore and Creighton and what we could do. The fear disguised as anger in the bathroom. The shaky mask in place at the hospital.

“Mia Kent has had a charmed life, even before Carolina, California. She was the only child, raised in a small town where she was treated like royalty. She was an unknown actress, but her talent made her a fortune nearly overnight. Her fans violently adore her.

Every day is filled with her being pampered and catered to. There’s nothing new or remarkable about glitz and glamour to her. She doesn’t trust us, so any sort of blow by blow of what we are capable of would fall on deaf ears. We don’t need to chase her or woo her. She’ll come to us when she’s ready."

I was done. It was the most words I’d said aloud to anyone since I’d started working here and it was surprisingly not 90% uh’s and um’s. I could tell from the downturned looks on Paul, Kara, Mark and Sia’s faces that I’d stepped on some toes but the majority of the murmuring was that of approval. But the person in charge was Missy–and the verdict was still out.

She put her pen down, picked up the piece of paper in front of her and balled it up. “I think you’re right, Leila. We need to give her some room to breathe.”

She stood up, the Missy sign that the meeting was over. “Nothing it is.”

I broke into a grin in spite of myself, not even caring that people filed out of the room without giving me any props or show of support. We were all driven, wanted to be the one called on, the one that gave the right answer. But Missy standing at the front and following through with being more receptive meant everything.

She had a one on one with another client so she hustled out, leaving me alone when my phone buzzed to life.

Mia K.

Can u come over? No W and C stuff.

It was the middle of the workday but I didn’t hesitate, plunking out a yes and asking for her address.

Section Six

Everything in the building on 1567 18th street screamed new money. From the bordello red walls with glittering white crown molding and larger than life marble statues to the security guard who nearly tased me because I wasn’t on Mia’s approved list, it was too much. When I took in the hipsters lounging in the ground floor cafe reading Nietzsche and young socialites staring at their iPhones very seriously, I instantly felt an otherness that was different from my prior experiences with the filthy rich. Sure, I’d felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb when I went to Jacob’s apartment the first time and I still felt awkward at some of the more exclusive restaurants we went to, but this was a different feeling. Where old money looked down their noses at me, these people couldn’t even be bothered. I didn’t even exist.