I Kissed A Playboy

I Kissed a Playboy

By:
Sorell Oates

Copyright © 2013 Regale Publishing

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

Faith sat, face buried in hands, around the circular table in the cramped space masquerading as a meeting room. The women and men seated at the table attempted to sound professional and formal, but Faith knew chaos was reigning supreme throughout the discussion. Charity auctions were an established, reliable and usually successful means to raise money for a good cause. However deciding what to auction had become cause for debate.

When the more glamorous wealthy women began offering themselves as ‘dates’ for the auction, Faith inhaled so sharply the water she’d been sipping flew down her windpipe causing a fit of coughing and spluttering. The booming on her back by an eager qualified first aider from the hospital administration had no effect easing her attack. Calming herself, she scanned the self-congratulatory women at the table for their allegedly inspired idea.

It was hardly original. Faith was inclined to admit. Given the wealthy attendants to the charity gala, the women ‘up for auction’ probably would attract healthy bids to help raise research funds for the hospital. It was only when someone suggested all women on the panel put themselves up for auction that Faith became distinctly uncomfortable.

‘Faiths’ were supposed to be petite and dainty, with wide brown, doe-like eyes complimenting an oval face. They were not, as she was, supposed to be tall, leggy and busty, with feline sea-green eyes set in a heart-shaped face framed by curly red hair.

The majority of women on the panel looked as if they’d stepped off the cover of Vogue. She didn’t doubt for a second they weren’t present at the meeting for the right reasons, but in truth the women had the luxury of a high disposable income, allowing them routine salon visits. Wealthy husbands afforded them a lifestyle where they didn’t have to work regular jobs for regular money.

In their positions, they could throw themselves into assisting charities to keep busy between their schedules of lavish luncheons, spectacular shopping sprees and international holidays and city breaks; enjoyed with or without their husbands.

The point was, Faith didn’t have that lifestyle. She was only twenty-three and sadly her job as a virtual assistant didn’t provide a similar opulent way of living. Her normal day consisted of spending a minimum of eight hours trapped behind a home computer, churning out a variety of secretarial and administrative tasks. Although anti-social and isolated, it did enable Faith to have an enormous amount of flexibility whereby she could contribute to the professional bodies that assisted managing her brother’s disorder, as well as permitting her to care for her brother in their shared house.

It had come as a monstrous blow to Faith when her twin brother, Gabriel, had been diagnosed with
Emery-Dreifuss
Muscular Dystrophy. One day he had been fine, but as he reached his mid-teens his love of sports diminished rapidly with him falling frequently, constantly fatigued, experiencing muscle weakness with everyday activities and deformities in his heels and calves.

The entire family knew, before the doctor’s tests confirmed it, what affliction Gabriel had. Their father had Muscular Dystrophy and passed away as a result of the syndrome not long after the twins’ twenty-first birthday. Six months later their mother died. Both Faith and Gabriel were convinced she’d died of a broken heart after their father’s too-early departure from the world.

As their parents were only children, without grandparents the two siblings matured quickly to adapt to their new circumstances. Gabriel was all Faith had left now. Although his particular strand of Muscular Dystrophy was promising, with the right care he would have a comparatively long life expectancy, it was imperative resources were available to maximize his quality of life.

Hence when the hospital’s research funding grant for Muscular Dystrophy was cut and talk was rife further costs would be reduced from the department directly impacting on Gabriel’s care, Faith joined the team established to raise funds to compensate for the recent financial disaster. She didn’t, however, fancy twirling on stage, hoping someone would pay mega-money to take her on a date. The entire debacle would become competitive; a humiliation Faith could do without.

As the women became excited and screechy at the prospect of how much fun the auction could be, Faith decided to voice her own opinion.

‘I think,’ she said as she raised her hand to silence the table, ‘that we might be limiting our options by only offering ‘dates’ to bidders. I’m wondering if we should include a range of auction items. Perhaps contact celebrities who may donate signed memorabilia or whatever that we can also auction off.’

‘But we’ll still auction off the women?’ asked a snide voice.

Faith didn’t know her name, but from her attire and energy she decided the woman thought herself queen bee of the buzzing hive.

‘I think the women that want to be auctioned should be, but the idea is to raise money for research funding and create a healthy account to support current resources if monies are depleted. It’s worth thinking outside the box because I doubt anyone would pay much for me,’ laughed Faith self-deprecatingly.

‘Then what will your contribution be? The event has been organized, the invites sent and the date set. Are you going to write to celebrities begging for cast-offs with the misguided expectation they’ll arrive by Friday?’

She had a point. It was already Monday. Faith would be stretched just researching the right agents to approach to acquire a collection of items in the next few days, but it wasn’t impossible.

      ‘Actually I will. I’ll do it by phone.’

‘But if that doesn’t bear fruit, you are happy to be auctioned off?’

Faith felt catty herself, resisting the urge to bare her teeth at the woman. She giggled to herself at the thought of hissing and spitting at the woman determined to publicly place her in a disquieting situation.

‘As a matter of fact I am happy to be auctioned off.’

The woman in the designer clothing and coiffed hair sat smugly.

‘But not for a date. I think the person that bids for me, I’ll take to dinner at Paulo’s Pizzas and for one week only, spend seven to nine pm volunteering with me on the Muscular Dystrophy ward. That way they’ll be informed of the syndrome, the importance of treatment and maybe donate additional money or encourage friends to assist the cause.’

Faith had always been one to think on her feet. She’d waitressed at Paulo’s Pizzas part-time through high school and college. He’d happily lay on free pizza and drink if he knew it was for Gabriel.

The woman laughed mockingly.

‘Darling do you know who these people are? The kinds of places they eat in? I doubt very much they’ll relish accompanying you to Paulo’s Pizzas, let alone devoting an entire week to menial hospital tasks.’

‘You might be surprised. Having money doesn’t automatically make someone uncaring or unwilling to help others. After all, isn’t that why you’re sitting at this table? The idea isn’t only to raise money for the hospital; it’s to increase the profile of this disorder. If you have a better way of doing it, I’d like to hear it,’ snapped Faith.

Her temper could be as fiery as her hair. The woman bristled, but the hospital administrator, Mr. Evans, cut in.

‘I think Faith has a valid point. The charity dinner and auction will certainly bring in bonus funding, but highlighting Muscular Dystrophy; its effects, treatment and research demands will most likely build a foundation for long-term goals. Rather than envisage the event as a short-stop cash cow, maybe we should look ahead at acquiring patrons who can provide ongoing financial support.’

Stony-faced, Faith kept neutral only throwing a self-satisfied glare when her nemesis caught her eye. For a fraction of a second she let a smirk creep across her pink her lips until their eye contact broke.

‘Meeting over,’ Mr. Evans announced.

Faith stole out of the meeting silently and hastily. She had no desire to have a run-in with the well-meaning, spoilt, mature women on the panel, nor did she wish to rejoice with the hospital’s administration staff over her successful suggestions being utilized at the charity gala. The best place to celebrate her win and the potential prosperity of the pending event was at home with her twin, Gabriel. It was Gabriel alone who knew how important this was to her. Without each other they were lost and there would be no family for either of them.

Chapter Two

‘What am I doing this for again?’ asked Brian, as he scrutinized his appearance in the full length mirror.

‘Because it should improve your profile in the public eye, which has taken an enormous battering of late.’

Brian spun around to grin at his public relations manager.

‘If silly English actresses wish to throw themselves at me and sell their story proclaiming ‘it’s love’ and ‘I’m the one—their Mr. Right’, they can only expect a fall. It’s not like I have a reputation for longevity in my relationships.’

‘I think she was genuinely in love with you,’ muttered his PR manager.

‘Susie, Susie,’ cajoled Brian chucking her under the chin like a sulky child. ‘I never told her I loved her and I never made promises of forever. Besides she was happy enough to reap the financial reward of selling her heartbreak story to the glossy magazines. It was tacky on her part. I don’t see why I’ve been painted as the bad guy. I’ve never once opened my mouth to the press on her unusual sexual fetishes.’

‘Too much information,’ snarled Susie, who had an enormous crush on her client.

A fact Brian was well aware of.

‘The point is Brian, she’s the sweetheart of the UK and the States have adopted her in the same manner. Yes, you’ve been honorable by not speaking out. Irrespective of that, the stories published haven’t gained you any favor with the public. You’re the one keen to continue your celebrity status and if you want to keep it, you have to start moving away from your playboy reputation.’

‘If it’s my ‘celebrity’ that’s in question, put me in another reality TV show. They always conjure interest in me.’

Susie rolled her eyes. She’d had Brian on a show where he whittled down fifty women to one. The woman he chose, he dumped within a week. She’d entered him on a program where he and another nine celebrities were taken to a romantic island to find love. Having slept with all the women and caused complete heartbreak and havoc, Susie had decided to avoid anymore ‘dating’ or ‘love’ programs.

He’d done other reality shows, including a boys-only road-trip and a survival skills test, but somehow his love-life and careless callous disregard for the women he seduced became the primary focus of every television appearance.

It was pointless resorting to reality TV. Brian’s unending, ever-changing dating of talented singers and actresses elevated his reputation. However after the car crash fling with English actress Beatrice Cranston, Brian had stopped receiving offers from TV stations, film premieres and nightclubs that had previously believed the billionaire’s playboy presence would successfully promote specific events.

‘I’m going to be blunt Brian. We don’t have any deals on the table for TV. At this particular point, no one sees you as an asset or drawing card. Given your father’s fortune, perhaps now you could retire from the spotlight. If you’re determined to enjoy the reputation you’ve created, you’ve got to get the public thinking positively about you.’

‘Thus I start attending charity functions?’

‘That’s right. Then you’re generous with a big heart and the public make allowances for your bad boy reputation.’

‘How many do I have to do?’

‘However many it takes. It’s your call. Drop out of the game now, if you fancy.’

‘I don’t,’ he pouted.

‘Then go to the charity gala and buy something at the auction. I’ll arrange for photographers to be there.’

‘What on earth will I buy at a charity auction for,’ he picked up the invitation, ‘a local hospital raising funds for Muscular Dystrophy research?’

Gorgeous as he was, Susie could feel her frustration rising.

‘Brian, buy anything. You’ve got the money. What does it matter? Just spend up and use your own brain.’

‘Have you organized a date for me? Am I taking someone,’ he tested the boundaries of his lovelorn PR Manager.

‘No. You’re going solo. This is you and the charity; not you and yet another woman. Brian Porterhouse at a charity auction is newsworthy. Brian Porterhouse with another floozy isn’t worth reporting.’

‘Okay I get the reasoning behind it. I don’t suppose you’d care to join me?’

Susie blushed red. Brian smiled wickedly. She was a sweet girl, fabulous at her job, but plain and plump. Way out of his league, Brian couldn’t resist teasing every now and then.

‘I think it’s best you do it alone. I’ll call tomorrow for a report on how it went. Please don’t skip out on this Brian, it really is important.’

Brian acknowledged Susie’s tireless endeavors and loyalty.

‘Hey Susie,’ he called as she walked out of his dressing room.

She halted at the sound of his voice.

‘I promise I’ll go and I promise I won’t mess up.’

He felt guilty as her face shined. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, no matter what he did she always did what was necessary to make him happy.

Turning back, he admired his image in the mirror. It was a black–tie affair, but he knew his would be the finest cut suit there. The joy of having a sizable living expense paid monthly to his account and being an heir to a wealthy media tycoon, meant Brian could afford the best. Without a job or even pressure from his parents to get a job, Brian had sculpted his six-foot two frame to perfection. His torso was honed with defined pecs, a six pack stomach, bulging biceps and strong legs.

His personal trainer and personal chef guaranteed his body maintained its peak condition. He’d been blessed in the genes department. His face was strong, square and symmetrical, with full lips, royal blue eyes and hair so black, it appeared almost blue. He’d let his hair grow out, not in a hippie or hard rocker style, but he despised buzz cuts. Women adored the fringe that flopped down to his eyes when playing soccer for his local team; cutting it would be an abomination to his cultivated trademark image.

After one final check he saw it was 7pm. The meal didn’t start till 9pm. There was no real rush. He headed to the library of the family mansion to join his father and two older brothers for pre-dinner drinks. Calling the chauffeur could wait till he was laced with enough alcohol to endure the foreboding ordeal.