Slay Me

By: Joanna Blake

Sabrina stared at the neat rows of black stilettos. They were all nearly identical black Jimmy Choo’s. She frowned. Didn't she have a gray pair in here somewhere? Hmmm… guess not. She pulled out the newest pair and stepped into them. They were still perfectly shiny, just the way she liked them.

She was already dressed in a tight black pencil skirt, sheer black stockings and a white silk blouse. Her uniform, as her coworkers jokingly called it. It didn't bother her though. She didn't like to waste time on things like picking out clothes. It was a distraction from the lessons her parents had drilled into her for as long as she could remember.

Work hard.


Nothing else really mattered.

Besides, the outfit in all it's variations looked good on her. Really good. All her clothes were expensive and impeccably designed. She only wore the best garments, went to the best salon in LA, worked out with the best trainer.


She was the youngest in her department at Metro Records as well. It was the best recording company in Los Angeles. No. The world.


And now she'd been given her first high profile client. The biggest money maker at the label. Bigger than all the other artists combined.

Nick Falcon.

She'd grown up on his music, even danced to it at her prom. Well, if you could call awkwardly standing close to someone and swaying dancing. Sabrina didn't date much back then.

She didn't date much now either.

She was meeting her new client this afternoon for the first time. Drinks at his place. She'd been emailing with his team for weeks now.

She was ready.

She wasn't even nervous.

That was a laugh.

She was terrified.

Never mind that this could make or break her career. Never mind that if she lost her job she'd have to go running back home to her father, to the look of disappointment in his eyes. It was much worse than that.

The man himself scared her. There was something about him. Something… virile. And wild. The man did whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Throw an impromptu concert on a beach in Ibiza? Check. Marry and divorce three supermodels? Check. Fill his private jet with bubbles just to win a bet? Check.

According the tabloids, he'd done all that and more. Most of it just in the last month.

Gorgeous, with a face that graced countless magazine covers and stole a hundred thousand hearts. Talented, with a long career and at least ten gold records to his name. Rich beyond imagining, with houses all over the world, including the one she was about to visit in Los Angeles. Even with all the trappings of wealth, there was something about him that was utterly wild and untamed.

Sabrina had a strong suspicion that Nick Falcon was even wilder than he looked.

And harder to handle.

She squared her shoulders.

He'd just have to see things her way.

And if he didn't, she'd make him.


Nick was playing ping pong with his cousin Marley when the doorbell rang. He ignored it. Nick didn't answer his own door. He didn't pour his own milk. Hell, the only thing he really did for himself was wipe his own arse.

He probably could find someone to do that for him to. If he wanted to. He seriously considered it for a moment before mentally walking through the process.


God, he was bored.

The doorbell rang again.

"Jesus Christ! Somebody bloody get the god damned door!"

He threw his ping pong racket at the floor, hitting his foot.

"Ow! Christ! Where's the damn champagne gone to?"

Marley pointed to a table on the far side of the room. Nick walked over to it and swigged directly from the bottle. Then he spat it out, spraying the glass windows that overlooked the pacific ocean.

"What is this piss water?"

"Uh, looks like Dom Perignon Nick."

"I can bloody well read you twat. It tastes disgusting. It's not even cold."

He poured the rest of the bottle into a houseplant, an enormous palm that reached nearly to the ceiling.

"There you go. Now I can fire the gardener. Look! I'm doing your job for you you cod wallops!"

Marley was laughing at him. Marley always laughed when Nick got drunk. That's part of the reason Nick kept the prat around. Other than the whole blood relations business.

One of the maids came in. He could never remember their real names but internally he called them Rolly Polly, Beanpole, and Mustache. This was the bigger girl. He smiled at her charmingly. He was never rude to his staff. Everyone else, yes. But he actually respected women who supported their families through hard work and sweat.

Just like his dear old mum.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Ms. Newton is here to see you Mr. Falcon."


Marley cleared his throat.

"It's the new A&R girl from the label mate."

Thank god Marley was actually good at something. He kept track of all this shite for Nick. Somebody had to. In return Nick paid him an absurd amount of money and took him everywhere with him. Sometimes, he even got him laid.

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