Poor Little Rich Slut

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Eight months prior…

“I am not an ice queen!” I shrilled, flinging my martini glass over the garden wall and against the brick façade before me.

I could feel the tension in me begin to trickle away as I let off steam. But my relief didn’t last long.

“What the f**k!” a strange voice interrupted my moment. A second later, a head popped up from the other side of the low garden wall. A man turned my way as he stood up and gazed at me from head to toe. “Don’t think I ever accused you of that.”

My hand went to my face in shock. “My God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

“Yeah, I was sitting right there on the bench,” he pointed to where I couldn’t see. He shook his head, amused. I wasn’t sure if he was handsome; his grin was so disarming, being both cocky and charismatic. He had a presence about him that moved through me like a silent steady wave.

“Please, I was…”

“No, need to explain.” His smile seemed to broaden even more. “Breaking glass just does something to the soul, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes. I suppose it does.”

“So, I guess we haven’t had the pleasure. I just got back in town.” He held out his hand to shake mine.

I could feel the awkward introduction coming on and fended it off before he could say more. Getting my wits about me, I said, “Listen, you seem to be a reasonable man. Let’s just forget this ever happened. You never saw me… How would that be?”

He nodded, looking a bit surprised but not at all dismayed. “Sure. I’m easy. Never saw you—although I’m afraid it’s going to be hard to forget your pretty face.”

I blushed. “Well, you’re very kind. But I better be going back inside.” I found myself wanting to say more, needing to explain when no explanation was necessary.

So unnerved by the man’s earnest, plainspoken spirit, I practically stumbled on the hem of my white evening gown as I turned around and moved back inside the ballroom I’d just fled. I’m sure I’d be missed by now and, at that moment, resented that fact. I’d just as soon leave the Mayor’s Ball for good. I certainly didn’t want to see my date, Ashton Vickers, after what he said drove me outside in an insane rant. But I was almost certain that I couldn’t spend another second with that strange man in the garden. He couldn’t have been more gracious under the circumstances, but I felt as if he could see right through me. A dangerous thing for a woman like me.

***

My heels clicked authoritatively as I made way down the corridor. I nodded, giving those I passed a pleasant smile. I assume they knew why I was there, but with Daddy, I could never be sure. My first day on the job I expected things to be a little awkward, a little rocky perhaps. After all, there was a changing of the guard. d**k Meredith had been canned the week before and not everyone thought it was a good idea, especially since I was taking over. I could hear some saying under their breaths—‘smells of nepotism,’ afraid my father had made a big mistake this time.

But Gordon Rule does not make mistakes when it comes to the management of his companies. He’d been grooming me for this position ever since I showed an interest in becoming part of my father’s grand empire, which includes everything from designer toiletries to gourmet food to Haute Couture to the latest magazines on art, science and decorating. I’d told him I wanted a position at one of the magazines. He said that once I had my MBA from Stanford, I could have my choice—editor-in-chief of any one of the half-dozen publications he owned. He recommended I choose the biggest and most successful since he was priming me for taking over the entire publishing division.

I got my MBA at twenty-five, then interned in two fast-paced magazine environments where I ruthlessly tackled the industry making sure that I knew all the angles from finance to marketing to editorial content. I indulged my desire for success to such a degree that I succeeded in leaving my friends behind. I didn’t have time for parties and a social life. Except for playing a vigorous game of tennis three days a week and doing yoga every morning for a half hour, I spent my time in the pursuit of my career and little else.

I’d sworn off s*x early on, while I was an undergraduate at Yale. After seeing a picture of me falling down drunk—I swear it was the only time I’ve been drunk in my life—splashed across the society page, with some loathsome comment impugning my character, I resolved right then that I’d walk the straight and narrow. I had nothing against s*x, but given my father’s wealth, my older brother’s youthful and well-chronicled indiscretions, and the family good looks—which I seemed to have inherited—I was a prime target for sleazy journalists who were out for gossipy headlines about the world’s elite. I had my plans and would not let reckless partying, or even a hint of loose s*x, soil my reputation. After that one picture, I provided no more fodder for the gossip sheets.

The fact that I was a virgin at twenty-eight years old didn’t seem at all strange to me, although I certainly didn’t want to admit that to anyone. The truth was, I was beginning to feel edgy and nervous about my squashed s*x drive—was it even healthy? Obviously, the incident at the Major’s Ball with Ashton Vickers signaled some restive something going on inside me. How his accusation stung! Ice Queen. It repeated in my mind and I wanted to shrivel away and die.

But not today… I couldn’t think that way today.

Everything was perfectly in order. I was immaculately dressed in a crisp navy suit to signal my authority. I had it designed especially for this moment. The white silk blouse was intended to soften the look. Walking confidently to my new world inside Daddy’s publishing realm, I couldn’t have been more proud or sure of myself and my ability to show this organization that they had a competent and innovative leader ready to make Country Manor magazine a trendy new-millennium tour de force.

I slipped into my office, closed the door and gazed at my big walnut desk—over the weekend I’d arranged everything so I’d be ready for this Monday morning. I was about to break out into a squeal of delight—I’d won my victory in spades—but as I moved behind my desk and turned to sit, I spotted at the far side of the room, a strange figure with his back to me, inspecting a knickknack in the walnut étagère against the wall.

“I beg your pardon.” I was stunned to be taken so off guard, and even more stunned when the man turned around.

My uninvited guest seemed equally as surprised to see me, although he managed to recover first.

“Well, my, we do meet again. What is it, Ms. Rule? Or will it be Ellie?” His smile was just as broad and cocky as it had been that night at the Mayor’s Ball when he dodged my flying martini glass. At that moment, it seemed glaringly out of place in my world, in my office, ruining my first day on the job.

“Excuse me if I’m being blunt, but who ARE you and what are you doing in my office?”

Before he could answer, my father rushed in. “Ah, Ellie, you’re here. Sorry I’m late. I see you’ve met Garrison.”

“Garrison?” This was Garrison Tate?

My father stared back and forth at the two of us, appraising what had become a very clumsy situation.

“We were actually just introducing ourselves.” I turned my attention back to the stranger and held out my hand. “Eleanor Rule. You can call me Eleanor.”

“Eleanor it is,” Garrison said with the same quirky confidence.

He moved forward, shaking my nervous hand with an air of triumph. I’m not sure I understood that obvious expression, but it was unmistakable. What had appeared like good-natured graciousness at the Mayor’s Ball in face of my outburst seemed more like gloating now. This was not the way I wanted to begin my day.

But so it was…

It didn’t take a week before I had my first argument with my ‘second in command’ as Daddy liked to refer to Garrison Tate, much to my irritation. It seemed that he had put him in charge of overseeing just about everything, leaving me very little to do but get used to the world into which I’d just landed. If Daddy hadn’t been in Italy buying out some small olive oil company, I would have brought the issue up with him. I wanted challenge, not pampering.

“Hey, you’re doing terrific, Heiress,” Garrison said in his usual jocular way, when I complained to him after my staff meeting.

I bristled at his term for me. At least he only used it when we were alone. At that moment, we were alone in the conference room, discussing the rocky start I’d made with the art department.

“I admit that I need to smooth things over with Anna and Rob,” I conceded. “But that shouldn’t be a problem. In any event, they, like everyone else in this company, will have to realize that things may change around here.” It sounded a little haughty but I was feeling a little strength behind my words as I methodically clipped them off. A little too militaristic? Maybe. But with Garrison, it seemed necessary to be both stern and reserved. He had a way of jarring me loose from my moorings every time he was nearby. I resolved to end that. “I have fresh, new ideas. They’ll either adjust or be gone.”

Garrison scowled and shook his head. “Geez, woman, you gotta loosen up.”

“Mr. Tate, I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“I don’t suppose you do, but you gotta lighten up. The way you come across makes me wonder if you ever get laid.”

I looked at him shocked. “What was that you said?”

“Oh, you heard me just fine, Heiress. Your prissy attitude makes me wonder if you ever get laid.” He sounded not at all his usually witty self, but self-righteously, pompously smug.

I bristled, knowing that just fed his argument. “As if that is any of your business.”

“Oh, this is my business. You run around here with a stick up your butt, you won’t get anywhere in this publishing company or the next. Things don’t work by your book of rules and regulations. Your dictatorial management style leaves a lot to be desired. It’s a damn good thing that Gordon put me in here to watch over you…”

“Wait a minute…”

His smirk faded, but his stare became intense. “What? You didn’t know? Didn’t have the smarts to figure that one out? He pulls me in from Japan, where I was happily selling cosmetics, to work with you. Why do you suppose that was?”

By then I was livid, doing everything I could to contain the wrath that smoldered under my calm. “Get out!” I found myself ordering with a pointed finger.

He laughed at my anger. “What? You don’t have a martini glass to fling at me?”

“Out!”

He didn’t have to say another word. The expression on his face said so much—the raised eyebrows, the invading gaze, the ‘I can see right through you, Heiress’– know-it-all attitude. Problem was he was too damn good at what he did to quarrel with. He’d saved my hide twice in sticky situations that first week. But this…damn him! He might as well have called me Ice Queen.

***

I got very drunk that night. It didn’t start out that way. Just a cocktail party; I’d suffered through enough of these to know what to do, how to act. I knew the host, John Sherry, and he was a gem. But his martinis were magical, Russian vodka, imported olives, just a dash of the best vermouth. The third one—and I never drink a third as a rule—just slid right down my throat giving me a heavenly high. I felt like I was floating in a dream.

When I went outside for a breath of air, it was not to throw my martini glass against a brick wall. I was followed by the ‘captain of the football team’ sort of fellow who planned on me being his next s****l conquest. His playful hands were enough to get my s****l juices flowing, totally short-circuiting all the ‘f*****g’ rules I lived by. Standing at the bar, his innuendo was titillating and sweet, and the way his hulking body loomed over me from behind seemed to engulf me in his masculine testosterone energy. I gently nestled my bottom back against his thighs and felt the pulse of his organ throbbing all the way through his clothes and mine. He slipped his hand under my dress and I didn’t turn around and slap him. That must have been a first, and it should have been a warning. Instead of a typical reactionary comeback, I whispered in his ear, pressing my red lips close to his cheek and sexily suggested, “Maybe we should go outside.”