Easy Come (Plaything Book 1)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Easy Come

  Plaything #1

  Tess Oliver

  Contents

  Plaything Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Sweet Spot

  More from Tess Oliver

  Sugarplum Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About the Author

  Easy Come

  Copyright© 2017 by Tess Oliver

  Cover photo by: Sara Eirew Photographer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Easy Come is Book #1 in Tess Oliver's new, insanely hot, 'Plaything' series. If you enjoy quick, super sexy escapes with irresistible alpha males this series is for you!

  Chapter One

  Georgie

  Kyla, my coworker and one true friend, cast me a sympathetic smile over the top of her computer monitor as I walked past her desk. "Good luck."

  "Said the executioner to Anne Boleyn as she knelt down to the chopping block." I stopped to grab a handful of M&Ms from the bowl on her desk. I popped the candy in my mouth for some sugar fortification.

  "I'm sure she just wants to talk about topics for next month's issue. You're always so good at developing those."

  I reached for some more candy, but Kyla covered the bowl with her hand. "Georgie, you are going to give yourself the usual case of nervous hiccoughs with the way you're gobbling those down. Now, go in there, and face the executioner."

  "Thanks for the moral support, buddy." I headed down the long hallway that led to the editor's office. It was one of those cold, characterless passages, and I could always swear it got narrower, almost suffocating, as you neared Meredith's office. Or maybe that was just stress pressing down on my chest and pushing air from my lungs. Meredith Vee, editor-in-chief of Contemporary Life magazine, had not earned the top spot in the company. She had been born into it. Her dad, Michael Vee, had been a well-loved and highly-respected journalist, and the people at the magazine adored him. When Michael was running it, Contemporary Life had been a periodical I was proud to work for. But after a stroke had forced Michael into early retirement, his eldest daughter, Meredith stepped into his shoes. It only took those of us on the writing staff one dreadful day to know that she would never come close to filling those brown leather loafers. And now, Meredith had taken a perfectly respectable news magazine and turned it into a rambling, almost salacious tabloid. I knew my articles weren't cutting it anymore because I was still writing about things like girls in Africa fighting for the right to go to school instead of juicy stories about the latest movie mogul and his torrid affair with the nanny. I had been trying hard to keep my writer's page filled with relevant world news. I was still getting away with it only because under Michael, I had won a few prestigious awards for my stories and high praise for the magazine. But I knew Meredith was unhappy with my subject matter.

  I knocked and waited in front of the door where Meredith had replaced her dad's understated name plate with one three times the size and plated with gold. I could hear her voice as she finished up a phone call. Even through the thick door, it was impossible to miss the angry edge in her tone. She was always angry.

  I stood there, alone in the hallway, trying to keep down those hiccoughs Kyla had warned me about, when Meredith barked an order for me to come inside.

  I swallowed to keep away the stomach chirps and pushed my glasses back on my nose, as if they might shield me from the death rays shooting from my boss's eyes.

  Meredith was a woman who, on first impression, was very beautiful. But once you got to know her, the beauty shrank behind a wretched personality. She'd recently had her lips done, making her look like a crazy circus clown. It was hard not to focus them. And as bulbous as they looked, she still managed to pull them in a tight mean line.

  She waved imperiously at the chair in front of her desk. She'd had her dad's comfy office chairs replaced by hard, straight backed torture seats.

  "Georgie, I was just reading your story about the refugees for the next issue, and I'm afraid we can't use it. I know my father gave you a lot of leeway because you were his—" Her long red fingernails curled in air quotes. "Star reporter. But I'm in charge now, and the magazine is going in a different direction. I need you to get on board with that journey. No more of this oozing with empathy, dripping with sentimentality, thought provoking dribble. Nobody wants to read that shit. We need to appeal to the masses, and the masses want sex. They want scandal."

  I chirruped with a hiccough and quickly pressed my arm against my stomach to staunch the flow of more embarrassing noises.

  Meredith tried to lift a judgmental brow at the sound, but Botox had made her face as stiff as a stone statue's.

  "I put a lot of work into that piece. Couldn't we just use it this month and next month—"

  "Nope. Here's your assignment." She tossed a paper across the desk. It fluttered off the side and down to my feet.

  I leaned over and picked it up. The word Plaything was written above a city address.

  I looked up from the paper. "Plaything?"

  "Yes, it's a multi-million dollar company. They have a monthly subscription service where the subscribers get a box of erotic toys, lingerie, adult movies and other crap. It's a wildly popular company. I want you to go in there and get the dirt on them. It's run by four men, a bunch of notorious playboys."

  "Dirt? Why do you assume there's dirt?"

  She rolled her eyes, but her stiff face made it look more like a seizure. "God, you are naive for such a smart woman, Georgiana. A place like that has to be ripe with sexual harassment and disgruntled employees. I've got you an interview this afternoon with Chase England, one of the owners."

  "Chase England? Wasn't that someone you were dating?" It was an unusual enough name that it was easy to recognize, especially because she had
bragged about it for weeks. For those few weeks, she'd almost had a cheery glow about her. But the relationship must have ended abruptly, and not from her side, because the cheery glow became an icy, shadowy aura. For at least a month afterward, we all worked hard to avoid her . . . even more than usual.

  Meredith blinked her fake lashes at me. "What's your point?"

  I shook my head and folded up the paper. "Nothing. That's fine. I will head over there and see what I can find out." I waited to see if there were any other commands, but she went back to work on her computer and pretended that I was no longer there.

  "O.K. then, I'll just be on my way." I hurried out of the door. I stopped in the hallway and took a deep breath.

  It was time to look for a new job.

  Chapter Two

  Trey

  Chase strolled into the office as he was knocking on the door. In high school, Chase was that guy, the one who, at the end of the year, had the girls lined up in the hallway to write their phone numbers and a flirty note in his yearbook. And he had always been pretty damn cocky about it.

  I turned the volume down on the music. I always worked best when I had tunes blaring. Especially when I was crunching budget numbers and preparing charts for investors. "Normally, the knock comes before you enter."

  "Since when?" Chase stretched his neck up to get a look past my desk. "Why, are you getting a blow job or something?"

  "Probably the only thing that would make these charts less boring." I leaned back in the chair. It was the kind of luxury, scientifically designed desk chair that made it feel as if you were sitting on a fucking cloud while getting an ass massage. They were expensive but we'd purchased one for every employee at Plaything. "Now that you stopped my train of thought, what do you need?"

  "Big favor. Somehow, I doubled booked my afternoon."

  "Two lunch dates?"

  "Funny. And two lunch dates wouldn't be a problem. It would be a threesome." Chase plunked down on the chair in front of my desk. "I'm meeting with the investors from Australia at one, and a reporter from Contemporary Life magazine is coming for an interview to check out the nuts and bolts of Plaything.”

  "Wait. Contemporary Life. Weren't you dating the owner of that magazine? Shit, what was her name?"

  Chase rested his arm along the curved edge of the chair. It seemed he'd added another tattoo to his arm. It was still pink and swollen, but from my vantage point, it seemed to be some kind of a skull.

  "Meredith Vee. Yes Vee, capital V. And let me tell you it fits her. I ghosted her after two months."

  "Ghosted? So, you took the coward's way out. Smooth."

  "Hey, I rarely ever ghost. I always let down gently, with flowers and a nice note, but it was different with her. Meredith Vee is a ball twisting psycho."

  I snorted a laugh.

  Chase sat forward. "Really, I'm not kidding. If you look in her freezer, she's got Ziploc bags filled with balls, each one labeled with the victim's name and the date she yanked the nuts out from under the tree. I got out with my sac in place . . . barely."

  "Why is she sending a reporter?" It was my turn to sit forward. "Fuck, Chase, what the hell? You said her magazine was big on printing scandalous shit about people. Is she looking for some kind of revenge?"

  Chase shrugged. "Could be. But, what are they going to find?" He waved his arm around. "A well-oiled, finely tuned company that's closing in on its first billion and where the employees are deliriously happy?" He hopped up. "I've got to get ready for my meeting. So you'll do the interview?"

  I pointed up at him. "Yes, but I want your Aspen house for a week and no fucking blackout dates."

  "Fine, a week in Aspen." Chase headed for the door.

  "What time is he coming?" I asked.

  "Who?"

  I shook my head. "It's a good thing you are pretty, because you are damn thick in the head. The reporter? What time is he coming?"

  "Oh, that him. It's a she. Her name is Georgie Dempsey, and she's already here." He shot me his pearly white grin.

  "Asshole. Just remember if there's three feet of fresh powder, I'm heading to Aspen."

  Chapter Three

  Georgie

  It was hard not to smile as you sat in the lobby and guest area at Plaything. One side of the room was set up like a mini amphitheater, complete with vertical seats, but instead of hard metal they were made of plush purple velvet. There were four large flat screen televisions, one on each wall of the room, playing everything from cable news to sports to black and white vintage movies. The seating area was lined with offices of every shape and size. And it seemed everyone had decorated their personal workspace with their own sunique style. The center of the room was a forest of modern round chairs, each a different crayon color and each one sitting beneath a glass pendant light of a complimentary color.

  I'd sat myself in a teal chair beneath an orange pendant light. The chair was in the shape of a half sphere. It was cozy and cushiony enough to curl up in for a nap. Each chair came with its own assortment of literature to browse through while you waited.

  I reached into the clear plastic rack hanging on the arm of the chair and pulled out the magazines. There were two erotic, centerfold type magazines and one Outdoorsman. I shoved them back into the rack.

  Very few people walked through the waiting area, but I had to admit, it seemed like an extremely pleasant place to work. I was going to have to do some digging if I wanted to deliver on the scandal ridden article that Meredith was expecting. Of course, with the company name of Plaything, it seemed as if there had to be some less than savory, newsworthy nuggets.

  One of those nuggets walked by while I waited for Mr. England. A tall, statuesque woman with raven black hair and bright red lips strolled by wearing a bright blue corset and a black leather mini skirt. Her big breasts were all but spilling over the flimsy lace lining the corset bra. I wondered if women were required to wear sexy lingerie in the workplace. I pulled out my notepad and jotted down the words corset and dress code.

  I pushed my notepad back into my bag and glanced up as a tall, startlingly handsome man walked into the waiting area. His green eyes looked like emeralds under the mop of black hair on his head. He was sharply dressed and definitely a head turner, although not necessarily my type.

  He glanced around and spotted me in my teal sphere. He strode toward me with a friendly smile. "You must be from Contemporary Life." The beautiful male specimen stuck out his hand. "I'm Chase England." This man had spent time with Meredith Vee. Hard to believe, but now easier to see why Meredith was hanging onto some residual anger over losing the guy.

  "Georgie Dempsey." I reached up and realized that I was sucked deeply enough into the cushions that a graceful exit was impossible. He seemed to sense my sudden panic and helped lift me out of the chair.

  "Thank you. I do believe if I sat there much longer, I might just have melted into those cushions for a nap."

  "Can't tell you how many of our people I've caught snoozing away in one of those pillowy spheres."

  I followed him as he headed back to the hallway he'd stepped out of. "Oh, I suppose they get written up for that, huh?" I decided to start fishing.

  Chase laughed. "Oh yeah, we're really tough with stuff like that. A nap after lunch will get you an hour in the stocks."

  I could feel my cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Now I feel silly."

  He opened the hallway door and ushered me through. "Don't feel silly. After all, you work for Meredith Vee. I'll bet she writes you up if you leave the salt shaker on the break room counter."

  I chose not to respond, in case the man decided to start things up with her again. Though that seemed highly unlikely.

  I followed him along a hallway. Four offices were on the same side. They each had a fabulous view through massive picture windows. "By the way, I've got an appointment. I'm sorry, but somehow Andy, my assistant, double booked me this afternoon. So you'll be interviewing one of my partners, Trey Armstrong. He is sort of the central brain
of the place, runs the business end. You'll probably get more succinct answers from him." Chase stopped at a door. He was definitely eye candy with his green eyes and bright white smile.

  "Oh, well, I could come back later. Meredith sent me to speak directly to you."

  "Well, I'm one of four owners, and like I said, Trey will be able to answer all your questions." He knocked before I could say another word. There was really no good argument to the reasoning he gave. Meredith wouldn't even have to know. I'd find out some dirty tidbits about the company and write it up in a sensational article. I just needed a few months of writing this garbage for Meredith. I was sure I could find another position by then.

  Chase opened the door. "Trey, this is Georgie. She's here from Contemporary Life magazine. And I'm late, so catch you later." Chase winked at me before disappearing down the hallway.

  Trey Armstrong sat behind a large walnut desk. His office gleamed with modern art pieces and soft leather furniture. The man was a gleaming piece of art himself in his pale blue dress shirt, with sleeves rolled up to expose a few tattoos and some powerful looking forearms. Unlike Chase, Trey's dark hair was short and neat, and his hazel eyes had a more serious expression. He was equally handsome but in a less pretty way. In fact, if I were to write his description in my article I would probably use the term 'all man'.

  Trey stood up as I approached the desk. His shoulders were even wider when he stood. He towered over his desk as he stretched out his long arm. His eyes lingered on my face for a moment as his fingers wrapped around my hand. "Nice to meet you, Georgie. Can I call you Georgie?"

  "Yes, please."

  And then it happened, a strange sensation that warmed me from head to toe. The deep, smooth tenor of his voice, the firm, but gentlemanly, handshake, along with the intense hazel gaze knocked me off guard for a second. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to respond. And when I did, my voice sounded far more squeaky than I remembered.