Read Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2) for Free Online Page A

curved into a wicked smile. “And doesn’t director of client relations have such a sexy ring to it? Shayne Callahan, director of client relations. Hmm. A step up from matchmaking coordinator, don’t you think?”  
    Director? Me? Yesssssssssss! Long-awaited promotion, here I come.  
    “Of course, if I don’t land this account, that won’t be possible. Such a shame. You really are quite talented. Now,” she said, dropping my chin, “I need to choose an ensemble that’ll make him come in his pants.” Then she called over her shoulder to Xander, “And not the pink taco.”

    * * *

    AFTER HELPING VAL pick out a dress that properly showcased her assets, I headed to my work area. The chaos up front had died down a bit, but Nicole’s laugh rang out every now and again, and it was enough to make your ears bleed. I’m not kidding. Have you ever heard pigs squealing toward an orgasm? Me either, but I imagine that’s what it would sound like. The other tenants on the floor had sent the building manager so many noise complaints regarding her laugh that it was shocking she didn’t get slapped with a restraining order for assaulting everyone’s eardrums.  
    And that was only one reason I wanted to muzzle her.
    Even with just a clear privacy divider and no door, the square office that comprised my work area still felt like a safe haven of sorts. The rug was black flokati, the chairs an ebony and white damask that had been my favorite design for years. To my right was a small window view of downtown, and behind me, a black wall with a collage of wedding announcements and invitations from couples I’d worked with. And my favorite thing in the office—the new amethyst-colored desk Ryleigh had gotten Hunter to make for me as a birthday gift a couple of months ago. It was adorned weekly with fresh calla lilies, courtesy of my visits to the flower market a few streets over.  
    The office itself was an homage to the city—I’d found everything in the fashion district on super sale, and I could never resist buying local, especially when it was a bargain. If you’re going to spend the majority of your time at work, you may as well make the space you inhabit pretty, no?
    After powering up my computer and kicking off my joggers—yes, commuting required those if I actually wanted to be able to walk—I traded them in for a pair of work flats. I rarely ever wore heels, and not just because I was tall. After all my super-embarrassing run-ins, I’m sure you can guess why.  
    Scrolling through my email, I starred the ones with the subject line “Ask the Matchmaker” so I could come back to those when I started my weekly column. I responded to the rest in a matter of minutes, mostly requests from local media for Val, as well as advertising proposals, which I redirected to Jenna to deal with.  
    My phone buzzed.  
    “Yes, Nicole?”
    “Your nine o’clock is here.”
    I glanced at my watch. “It’s eight fifteen.”
    “So?”
    I sighed. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
    Clicking open the eager client’s file, I made a note: Forty-five minutes early. Prompt in L.A. traffic or overenthusiastic due to desperation?
    As I headed toward the front desk, I noticed the frazzled energy had further dropped to a simmer and the mess was cleaned up. The man sitting in one of the fine white Italian leather pavilion chairs that Val had picked up on vacation last year had a head of slicked-back inky hair, a finely pressed suit, and a superior smile on his face.  
    Oh God. I knew the type right off. Please don’t let this guy hit on me. Not this early in the morning. My hangover can’t take it.
    I forced a pleasant smile on my face and held out my hand to introduce myself. His eyes roamed up and down my body, and his hand lingered a little too long on mine. His body language screamed “too confident,” but his limp, clammy handshake said quite another thing.  
    “Miss Shayne Callahan, I was expecting an interview, not a