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Casey Hagen/Hagen Novels, LLC
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Operation: Girl Next Door/ Casey Hagen. -- 1st ed.
Created with Vellum
OPERATION GIRL NEXT DOOR
Trevor Myers knows how to make it big in the business world: a charming smile, connections, and balls-to-the-wall fearlessness. The master of all three, a partnership with his firm is all but in the bag. That is, until his boss dangles it over him and his coworker like a prize on a game show. Trevor will do whatever it takes to lock in what is rightfully his, even if that means calling in a doozy of a favor from his best friend that crosses bro code lines.
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Piper Bradley is on the precipice of making a career-altering decision. Agonizing over impending change and letting go, Piper decides a weekend trip to clear her head is just what she needs to be sure of her decision. Before she can so much as dig out sandals and sunscreen for some much-needed fun in the sun, her brother calls in a favor from his best friend…Trevor Myers.
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Assumptions. Surprises. A battle of wills…
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And so begins the battle between Trevor’s playboy ways and the elemental pull of the girl next door.
1
the partnership
TREVOR MYERS SAT WITH HIS leg confidently crossed over his knee, in a room full of eager employees perched around the conference room table. He smiled as he brushed a piece of lint off the breast of his Armani suit jacket. He was finally going to make partner. As the top contracting agent at Williams and Stensky Ad Agency for the past four years, it was about damn time.
He’d just had to wait for someone to leave the company to slide right in on a wave of charming smiles, firm handshakes, endless favors of the female variety, and the boatload of Benjamins he’d raked in.
A whopping forty-eight million in Benjamins to be exact.
He eyed the hungry schmoes around him, all sitting with their three-piece suit-clad chests puffed out, chins jutting forward, hanging on Davidson Williams’ every word, just hoping for Williams to rain advancement crumbs over them like fairy dust.
Good luck guys, because again, he had this in the bag.
He’d spent four years making himself the best friend of every potential client. He’d been their confidant. He quite possibly had some answering to do in the afterlife for the “favors” he provided in this one. Nothing illegal. He wasn’t stupid. Immoral? Yeah, but then, he wasn’t the morality police and if a client was going to cheat on a spouse, they would cheat, whether or not Trevor delivered their flavor-of-the-moment to them.
His phone vibrated. Sliding the phone out of his breast pocket, he spied Monica’s sly, sensuous smile and wink. He’d taken the picture of his latest flavor on a friend’s yacht three weeks ago.
He’d cropped out her tits.
A damn shame that. They were possibly the most magnificent pair money could buy. Her bronze skin hid the scars left in their making and thank fuck she hadn’t upgraded too far that she looked distorted.
He’d call her back right after Williams handed him the partnership. He’d call in a favor and make an available table appear at La Bernardin. Once he filled her with the French food she loved, he’d feast on her lush curves for dessert. With any luck she’d wear those thigh-high boots of hers that made a man want to fuck the bad…
The sudden quiet of the room interrupted his carnal thoughts. He looked up to find every pair of eyes around the table focused on him.
Rachel, quite possibly the most ravenous woman in the business world, a woman with no scruples, and his closest competition aimed a feral smile his way. That smile sliding into a smirk, she crossed her arms and practically vibrated in her seat as she kicked her crossed leg rhythmically under the desk. He knew that hostile energy. He’d missed something while his mind wandered, and she’d gained the upper hand. Given the opportunity, she’d go in for the kill. Josh and Mitch looked at him with that “sorry bro” look, their eyebrows raised, and glanced away. Others visibly snickered.
Oh, he’d missed something alright. Something big.
“Are you in, Myers?” Davidson Williams’ asked, his eyes narrowed, impatience rolling off him in waves.
What the fuck? In? Why the hell would he ask him if he’s in. It’s a partnership. He’d have to be insane to not be in. Trevor tugged at his suddenly tight tie, glanced around, and pasted a smile on his face. Fake it 'til you make it. That was the saying.
“Of course. I’m so in,” he said with his most winning smile.
Williams leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers under his chin. “So, you have someone in mind to bring?”
Huh? His smile slipped. “To bring?” His leg fell to the floor as his chair snapped upright.
“Yes, it’s a couples’ retreat after all. If you’ve got your eye on this partnership, that is,” Williams said raising a salt and pepper brow.
“Uhhh…” Trevor stammered.
Sebastian elbowed him. “You need a girlfriend,” he whispered as he leaned over.
“What?” Trevor whispered back.
“He needs a fucking miracle if you ask me,” Zack muttered from his other side.
“Trevor’s a single guy, Mr. Williams,” Rachel offered with a curl of her shiny blood-red lips. The gleam in her eye telling him just how much she enjoyed tossing another complication into the mix.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad. I had high hopes…”
The roaring in Trevor’s ears drowned out Williams’ voice as it all came together in one fucked up picture. He didn’t have the partnership in the bag. He had one last schmooze to make, this time to his boss since that cool forty-eight million hadn’t been enough, and he needed a woman to do it.
A real woman.
At least one who could hold her own in an intelligent conversation for more than two minutes.
So not Monica.
“I’m not single,” Trevor said with a feigned conviction born of experience and a touch of sheer panic.
Sebastian’s gave him a 'poor bastard' look.
Trevor racked his brain. Nervous sweat broke out along his temples. Christ, he hadn’t been nervous since he’d been in middle school hiding rogue boners.
Monica didn’t fit the bill. Hell, none of the women he knew did. His sister had warned him that his, as she called them, man-whore ways would eventually bite him in the ass, and it looked like his time had come.
Williams sat forward. “Oh. Who’s the lucky lady?”
Lady? He didn’t know any ladies. He knew fast women with even faster libidos. And none of them were the kind of women you use to impress the boss.