“No one’s ever spoken to me in French,” she purrs.
“Je vais te baiser si fort que tu ne pourras pas marcher pendant une semaine.” She waits for me to translate for her, her fingers stroking my neck. “I’m a little rusty, but essentially, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”
“So romantic,” she laughs. “More.”
“Uhh, how about German? Du wirst heute nacht auf meine zunge kommen.” I bend my head down and whisper in her ear, “You’re going to come on my tongue tonight.”
“You speak French and German and look like this? How is that fair to other men?”
“A little Finnish, too, but that sounds like shit no matter what words you say.”
“Mallory Mitchell?” A man in a tux interrupts us just as I’m about to whisper more filth into her ear. “Max Cooper, from Cooper Media.”
“Oh, Mr. Cooper! How nice to see you!” Mallory separates from me and the loss of her body contact makes me want to send this Mr. Cooper through the wall.
“Lennox, this is Maxwell Copper, CEO and Founder of Cooper Media. He offered me a job when I was a junior in college but it didn’t work out.”
“Nice to meet you,” I shake his hand. “Guess I should be happy it didn’t work out or I wouldn’t have her in my corner now.” I nod at Mallory, happy to keep heaping praise her way to minimize the emotional fallout from tonight I know she must be internalizing.
“Yes, actually that’s why I had to stop and see you. Lennox, we’re huge fans and Mallory, my buddies at UG have been raving about you all night. I have to say, we’d love to be involved.”
“What do you mean?” Mallory asks.
“We’d like to do an exclusive. Infinity Magazine would be perfect, global digital coverage and print in the US, plus sixteen countries in Europe, and eleven in the Asian markets.” Cooper’s eyes are big, darting between Mallory and I. He’s practically salivating.
“An exclusive?” I ask.
“Yes, your life, your career, the wins, the losses, who you really are. Your story, as you want it told, no bullshit. Mallory, you’d have total control.”
“Oh, wow. That means so much that you would offer that, Mr. Cooper. Really, I am honored. But Mr. Gibbes doesn’t do personal stories.” Mallory smiles but I see the twinkle in her eyes dim a little.
“Damn, that’s too bad. I think you have a story to tell, Lennox.”
“Everyone has a story, Mr. Cooper,” I reply.
“Yeah, you’re right about that. Here’s my card, if you ever change your mind, please.” He hands a card to Mallory and one to me.
Mallory thanks him and I follow her as she picks up another champagne from the open bar and I order another scotch. “What was that about?” I ask her as she downs half her glass in one go.
“That,” she comes up for air, “is daddy’s worst nightmare, his nemesis, arch-rival. He’s Robert Mitchell’s Digby DuPont,” she giggles. “My dad threatened to stop paying my college tuition if I went to work at Cooper.”
“That’s messed up,” I shake my head and watch Mallory reach for another glass of champagne. “You know, we’ve done our work here tonight, I think it’s probably safe to leave anytime you want now.” I’ve lost count of how many glasses she’s had but she’s power drinking now and can’t be having a good time.
“Ooo, auction time!” She hiccups as the lights flicker alerting the room to focus their attention as another identical man in a tuxedo takes the stage. “Let’s go watch horrible people complete to leave as little money as possible to cancer research while still getting credit and one-upping each other!”
Mallory drags me near the stage right next to Lydia and Robert who immediately purse their lips and tsk when Mallory wraps an arm around me and cuddles into my side.
“Mallory, you’re drunk!” Her father sticks his fat head into our space and seethes at her. “You look like a tramp!”
“Hey,” I shake my head at him and warn him as clear as possible, without causing a scene, that I’m not above causing a scene. Mallory flips him the bird and Lydia gasps.
What kind of father calls his daughter a tramp? This is insanity. I have no idea how Mallory escaped her childhood and became a reasonably functioning adult.
Bidding starts, donation for some specialized medical equipment in a new treatment wing of the local children’s hospital. A few people call out their cheap-ass bids, $1,000 here, $2,000 there.
“$10,000!” Robert yells and smirks at me, the crowd claps.
“I hate him,” Mallory mumbles into my side, slurring her words.