Signing Bonus

1 LONG OVERDUE

Creditors have better memories than debtors. Benjamin Franklin

TRICIA STONE

The Prudential Building, Chicago

PAST DUE. DELINQUENT. FINAL NOTICE.

I crumbled the invoices marking my downfall in my fist and stuffed them into the recesses of my briefcase, knowing the debt and diminishing credit score were worth my father’s health and safety. I’m going to lose my business, Master of Many Trades, if I don’t hook a big client soon. Last week, I’d resorted to cold calling in my own office building to drum up customers, which had netted me nothing but embarrassment.

I stepped off the elevator outside Cyrus Fletcher’s office; he’s a sports agent and attorney whose business was built on the backs of big time Chicago athletes. His office had been one of the victims of last week’s cold calling marathon. His accommodating assistant managed to get him out of his office to see me then, but ‘Fletch’ wouldn’t give me the time of day. He’d looked me up and down, smirked, and shrugged me off as if I was yesterday’s box score. Then he stepped back into his office chuckling as if I’d managed to

amuse

him

.

Every woman in the Windy City knew Cyrus Fletcher—his beautiful smirk was plastered on billboards advertising his law firm from the North Shore to the South Side. You couldn’t claim estrogen ran through your veins if you came into contact with him and resisted the urge to give his brooding demeanor a thorough once over. A few women in my networking circles had become victims of his notorious one and done track record. I wasn’t anyone’s plaything, so I’d always stayed clear of his magnetic smile and charm factor.

I’d seen him in our office building’s elevator, the lobby, or at various social venues but he’d never noticed me. I assumed he couldn’t look down from his six-foot high vantage point to something so tiny. Plus, I’m all leather jackets, pointy-toed shoes, and dangling earrings. I’d always spotted him with uptight women in conservative suits and sensible shoes who’d never dream of hanging from the chandeliers. Last weeks amused dismissal made me feel as if I was too much of a swing on the wild side of the party for a professional guy in polished wing tips and paisley printed suspenders. Whatever, I’d heard he’s a control freak anyway.

So when his assistant called me this morning and asked me to stop by because Fletch had a proposition for me I was curious and cautious. Fletch’s assistant, Jacqui, used to be a man; she’s too big to have started out with one hundred percent female DNA. Not only was Jacqui the most beautiful Amazon woman with the sexiest voice I’d ever heard, she’s the only indication that Fletch might not be as straight laced as his starched shirts say he is. Jacqui’s gentle persuasion combined with my dwindling finances was the only reason I took this meeting. I needed a client, in the worst way. I smiled in Jacqui’s direction when I stepped into her tan-on-tan

reception

area

.

He’s just finishing a call. Jacqui indicated the creamy leather chair and watched me slip into it crossing my legs. She looked at my red Prada pumps and sighed. I can’t wear Prada they run small.

Nordstrom’s Rack, I offered, extending the sexy pumps, even discounted they were expensive but shoes were my one weakness.

Got to love a woman with a nice rack, another deep voice chortled, pulling my attention away from Jacqui. At well over six feet tall Fletch was broad shouldered, and as imposing as most of the athletes he represents in everything from minor scrapes with the law to huge endorsement deals.

Fletch moved closer to me, making his wool slacks rub against my crossed bare leg. His ginger colored hair is coiffed with a fan of spikes across his forehead, making me feel like he’s a peacock waiting to preen. Being a red head myself, I never paid much attention to males with the same coloring but on Fletch it was as striking as the gaze of his piercing

blue

eyes

.

Get Palowski on the phone for me, Fletch barked at Jacqui.

Jacqui picked up the phone receiver and made a circular motion with it. I’ve already tried several times, I think he went skydiving again.

Aidan Palowski? The closing pitcher on the Cubs was one of Fletch’s clients? Palowski was unstoppable, beautiful and quite charming from what my friend Lorelei Fields told me. He also went through blondes faster than peroxide could bleach roots.

Keep trying him until he touches down. Fletch grumbled. The kid’s giving me premature gray hairs.

He’d stop doing the adrenaline rush if he had the right woman, Jacqui offered as she punched numbers into the phone, "And you’re not much older

than

him

."

"He’s tried every blonde in

Chi

Town

!"

Jacqui giggled and tossed her black hair over her shoulder. Maybe he needs something dark and exotic.

I don’t think he’s that opened minded. Fletch protested again as he picked up my briefcase occupying the chair next to me. Let’s speak in private.

I glanced at Jacqui when Fletch told her to hold any calls other than Palowski and she cocked a waxed to perfection eyebrow. Remember to tread lightly, she said from behind both

of

us

.

Fletch held the door to his office open for me, but when I walked past him he leaned in and drew a deep breath. At least I think he did. It shocked me that he’d invaded my personal space twice in under a minute. I tried to cipher out his unprofessional behavior, which didn’t match his straight-laced silk bow tie and coordinating suspenders.

To center myself I admired the view of Lake Michigan, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths while I tried to figure out what he was

up

to

.

He directed me into a plush chair on the other side of his desk and relaxed into his office chair, folding his hands across his taut abdomen. He stared at me for long moments. "I don’t usually hire women

like

you

."

The hair at the nape of my neck rose and prickled against my tailored collar. Women like me? What the hell did that mean? Excuse me? I managed

to

ask

.

You’re a bit flashy for my taste. He cocked his head to the side, examining my body, not my face, my body. I prefer my women a little more discreet, but I’m in a bind. He thinks he’s in a bind now; wait until I gag the arrogant bastard! I narrowed my eyes and gave him a warning look before I said, I’m confused about what sort of services you’re looking for Mr. Fletcher.

One corner of his smile perked up. What sorts of services do you offer? he asked on a

provocative

wink

.

2 MEETING ON

MY

TURF

Always my game, my turf, my rules. Cyrus Fletcher

CYRUS FLETCHER

Ms. Stone probably thought the first time she’d come to my attention was last week when she was harassing every business in Prudential Tower, trying to drum up clients, but she’d been on my radar since the spring before. I had to admit it, a high-end call girl masquerading as a public relations specialist was a clever cover. The only reason I hadn’t busted her to the building’s management or Chicago PD’s vice squad was her

old

man

.

Last April, at the beginning of the baseball season, a particular client of mine, the one who was ignoring my phone calls this morning was then blowing off a very important endorsement meeting. He was probably getting blown by some blonde in a locker room as we speak, he’d do just about anything or anyone to ignore his marketing obligations. Even for the celebrity baseball player Palowski had a cushy life, and the impetuous bastard was constantly trying my patience. Anyway, that afternoon I was antsy about a deal I wanted him to ink so I walked down from my fortieth floor office to meet him. I glanced around the lobby of the Prudential Building, it was busy for a Wednesday afternoon, but the beautiful blossoming trees and sunny Chicago weather had lured everyone onto the streets. Whether for an