“Okay, then it’s time for you to delete your social media accounts and go to bed.” He let his hand rest on my upper thigh.
I wiped away the tears that had tried to form and hugged him when I was allowed to stand. Then I did exactly what he said. I sat down at my computer—gingerly, because of the soreness he left on my sit-spot—and deleted my social media accounts. It wasn’t like I was just going to lose contact with the people I truly cared about—I had their contact information saved in my phone. Once my accounts were deleted, Greyson hugged me one more time before leaving me alone in my room. I could have gone to sleep—I was certainly exhausted. Instead, I turned my laptop back on and started working on my first assignment. Every time I shifted in my chair, I got a reminder of why I was so determined to make sure all of my assignments were perfect. Greyson lit a fire on my ass—and it was one hell of a motivator.
He keeps showing me why I need a Daddy. I know I made the right decision when I asked him to take on that role—I just wish there was a way for it to become more.
10
Greyson
Several days later
Chrissy settled into her new role quite well. After she got a spanking for wasting time on social media and deleted her accounts, she became very focused on her assignments. I looked over them every night and while I had a few pointers, she was doing very well on her own. Her work was excellent, well researched, and I was pretty sure her professors were going to see that she was serious about her education.
It really didn’t take very much guidance to get her to that point. I helped her bring the confidence simmering below the surface to light and gave her the right motivation to focus on what was important. She might have lost her way in high school, but she wasn’t as bad as she thought she was. She was crying out for attention. She wanted someone to peel back the layers and see that she was nothing more than a lonely girl in need of love and discipline. I had done that, and she was finally on the right path.
“We have a situation.” Lauren looked up at me as I walked into my office building.
“Yeah, my phone has been going crazy since I parked my car. Let me guess—Ricky missed practice again?” I leaned against the edge of her desk and tried to hide my immediate frustration.
“It’s a little worse than that.” She turned her computer monitor towards me. “A paparazzi got some pictures of him—out with a girl last night.”
“So what?” I shrugged. “He goes out with a lot of girls…”
“Yeah, but this is Marshall Smith’s wife.” Lauren’s jaw tightened and I finally realized why she was so concerned.
“Oh bloody fucking hell!” I threw up my hands. “Okay, get me a meeting with Marshall Smith’s agent. We’ve obviously got some damage control to do here.”
“I don’t know if this is a situation we can control.” Lauren shifted her computer monitor back around so that she could see it. “This is a disaster…”
“Have you been able to get in touch with Ricky?” I walked towards the door of my office.
“No, he’s not answering his calls. Don’t worry, I already sent someone to check on him.” She nodded quickly.
“Thanks?
??” I sighed and sat down behind my desk.
Marshall Smith was the star wide receiver for the Los Angeles Bashers, and Ricky’s favorite target when he threw the ball. Marshall could turn any decent pass into a touchdown and some of Ricky’s bad passes had become legendary because of Marshall’s miraculous ability to catch any ball he could touch. They were a team and if they weren’t on the same page, then it was going to be disastrous for the rest of the season and there was no way the Bashers would make it to the Super Bowl. I needed to know how bad it was. Ricky loved the ladies—but his teammate’s wife? That was practically treason.
Ricky, what the fuck have you done?
I pulled up the pictures that the paparazzi took. There were pictures of Ricky having dinner with Emily Smith, pictures of them outside the restaurant looking cozy—but nothing that proved they were involved—except the final shot—the one of them getting into a limousine together. A few hours later, that same limousine was seen parked in front of the Ritz-Carlton. Thankfully, there were no shots of Marshall Smith’s wife doing the walk of shame, but people could connect the dots pretty easily—especially when the paparazzi practically drew them a road map. The court of public opinion was already in session. Multiple news outlets had picked up the story and it was making headlines.
“Ricky is on his way.” Lauren walked to my door. “He says this is a huge misunderstanding.”
“Right…” I growled under my breath. “Have you been able to get Marshall Smith’s agent on the phone?”
“No, not yet.” She shook her head back and forth. “I assume his phone is probably lighting up like yours is right now.”
“Mine—isn’t ringing.” I looked down at my phone.
“That’s because all of your calls get forwarded to me.” She chuckled slightly. “Speaking of which—I’ve probably missed ten calls in the time it took for me to walk over here and tell you that Ricky is on his way.”
This place would go down the drain without her…
After I signed Ricky Bonds as my first big client, I considered expanding and bringing in additional agents to help manage everything. Ricky Bonds was the kind of client you could build a powerhouse agency around. But—I saw what that was like in Chicago when I worked with Sam. There wasn’t much of a relationship between the agency and the client. I wanted clients that hired me, not clients that hired my agency. I might not have had a full stable of superstars, but I knew every one of my clients. When I worked for the agency in Chicago, I had so many clients that I barely even got a chance to sit down with them, much less find the right endorsements deals or provide them with what they needed to expand their personal brand.
“He’s here…” Lauren gave me a warning—and then the doors flew open.