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  Overexposed

  A Client Liaisons Novel

  Written by Amelia Oliver and Kate Hastings

  Copyright © 2018 Amelia Oliver and Kate Hastings

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, events or locations are entirely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  EPLIOGUE

  COMING SOON

  OVEREXPOSED

  The Client Liaisons Series

  Book Two

  Amelia Oliver & Kate Hastings

  The Client Liaisons titles are interconnected standalone reads, best experienced in intended order, however can be enjoyed individually.

  This is an erotic romance story.

  Contents suitable for 18+.

  PROLOGUE

  Piper

  Walking into the ESM conference room, most of my colleagues are already sitting around the long, white, oval shaped table in metal and white swivel chairs. I’ve made it in before Sawyer, so I sigh a little and calm my racing heart while I find a seat, taking the one empty beside Rebel.

  “Hey, Pipes,” she says with a wink, giving me a quick look before returning her attention toward the flat screen on the adjacent wall.

  Looking up as well, I see it’s on some sort of gossip show and clips from a gala over the weekend flash on the screen. Cassie and her boyfriend, Congressman Jake Reid, appear on the red carpet and me, along with the rest of the staff ooh and ahh. They look gorgeous together and totally in love. It’s rare for Cassie to attend big public events with Jake. While our colleague and friend is more than comfortable working with the media when it’s needed for her clients, she’s not a massive fan of being the focus of it. I look over the table at Ryver, both of us sighing and I know we’re likely thinking the same thing. Cassie is radiant as she looks up at Jake, and is as equally stunning in her deep navy gown as he is in his tuxedo. I wonder what that feels like, being so taken with someone that you don’t even notice you’re surrounded by photographers capturing your image as you swoon.

  “Damn our girl did good. I know he’s her guy and all, but that Montana man of hers…dressed in a monkey suit…frankly, is enough to make me mois––”

  “No. Do not finish that sentence, Rebecca,” Ryver interrupts a grinning Rebel, who only chuckles at being cutting off before she can use her favorite word.

  “You know she only says it because we react,” Allyson comments primly without looking away from the television.

  Reb’s lime green polished, stiletto shaped nails tap out a beat against the table. “Take a cleansing breath, Ryver. No need to get your chakra’s all bunched up over one…little…word. Moist!” Rebel blurts out the last word, hooting contentedly when the entire group lets out a collective groan. Typical Reb, just had to keep pushing. It’s a good thing we love that ride-or-die chick to death.

  The music coming from the sound system changes to something more exaggerated as the political segment ends and a different story begins.

  “Bad boy Seth Mitchell is back in the headlines again. He was seen here leaving Panacea Club, belligerent and very chatty with the paps. After the club, Seth and his crew headed over to In-and-Out Burger where they were rude to staff and ended up having a food fight-”

  The man, no sorry, the boy, since he acted about twelve, was one celebrity I could barely stomach. He was rude, obnoxious, foolish and clearly lived to get his name in the papers. I really can’t stand people like that. Celebrities who are only famous because of the stupid shit they do and in turn, only do those things. It annoys me even more since I know for a fact you can live a life as a famous person and not be in the press constantly. I could totally just see his people calling paparazzi and letting them know where he was at all times for photo ops.

  “Ugh, why are we watching this?” I comment.

  “Research,” Sawyer says, coming in through the glass doors with her leather folio against her chest. Trendy reading glasses pushed into her hair and to-go cup of coffee in her other hand.

  Sawyer Elliot – owner and founder of Elliot Scott Marketing, LA’s premier marketing, promotions and rebranding company. Also, my boss. We all look at her as she floats in, because she was so elegant it literally looked like she glided on clouds or some shit. Some repeat what she said in confusion and she nods, walking to the head of the conference table while looking around the room at all of us. Ducking my head, I focus on the papers in front of me, not wanting to meet her inspection.

  “Seth Mitchell is a new client now, I need someone to represent him.”

  Oh great.

  Okay, I must actually let out the thought because everyone looks at me, including Sawyer.

  “Piper. You’re exactly who I had in mind.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Piper

  Pulling my red Jetta up the winding canyon roads of Los Angeles, I turn down my music; like it will help me find the address I’m looking for better or something, and glance at my phone again. GPS and phone signals are shit, even if the elite and most famous people live here. It’s a beautiful sunny California day, perfect weather for the beach, and the last thing I want to be doing is working, but here I am. The house numbers come into view, posted on the black gate that lines all the homes and I turn into the driveway, stopping at the closed gate and reaching my hand out the lowered window to press the intercom button.

  “Piper Quinn to see Mr. Mitchell,” I state loudly, before releasing the button.

  The gate clicks before they begin to part, and I drive in. There are trees and shrubs lining the property to keep any photographers or fans from seeing beyond the gate. When the house comes into view, I simply look for a place to park. Sure, the house is huge, and new, and a monstrosity, just like ninety percent of the other houses I see all the time.

  There are numerous ridiculously expensive cars lining the circle drive in the front of the house, so I park by the six-car garage. Grabbing my purse and laptop bag I keep my work files in, I make my way toward the massive front doors fit for a castle in old timey England. My black ballerina flats crunch on the gravel and I internally roll my eyes at why the fuck anyone chooses this as a material for driveways, it serves no purpose other than to annoy anyone wearing something other than tennis shoes. Once reaching the front porch, I remove a shoe and empty out the small pebbles that snuck inside before placing it back on my foot, at the same time one of the doors open.

  “Who are you?” the guy standing there asks, and I pull my sunglasses down to look at him eye-to-eye. He’s not Mr. Mitchell, but by this guy’s appearance, I’m clearly at the right house.

  He’s shirtless, with a tribal sun tattoo on his chest. He’s in a bathing suit, flip flops and reeks of tanning oil.


  “Piper-”

  “Ms. Quinn,” another voice finishes for me and that man comes into view.

  “Hi, Ronald Ashton, nice to finally meet you,” Ronald says, nearly shooing the other guy away as he opens the door wider and welcomes me inside.

  “Thank you for coming, I think we discussed most everything on the phone and today Seth’s here to meet with you,” Ronald informs me as we stand in the entryway, which opens up to the expanse of the house.

  In front of us leads out to a pool and deck area with glass doors lining the wall. The massive dining room is to one side, while a huge living room is on the other. Two staircases on either side of the entry join to create a landing that I assume leads to bedrooms on both wings of the house. I can see there’s a party or something going on in the pool area, men and women alike. When the guy who greeted me at the door opens one of the door walls to join them, music and talking bombard us and I think I see a topless woman out there. The door closes and Ronald clears his throat.

  “I feel overdressed,” I joke, hoping it will cause the mortification on Ronald’s face to dissipate.

  He sighs, and my words only have him looking even more worried. Ronald’s maybe in his forties, and I feel like Seth’s his problem client, that he puts up with his shit for whatever reason and I can tell he’s really hoping I don’t walk out right now.

  “Ms. Quinn,” he begins.

  “No, it’s fine, it’s fine. I deal with stuff like this all the time,” I reassure him, nodding out toward the pool.

  “Are the hookers here yet?” I hear a British male voice inquire from upstairs, as he comes into view on the landing. Ah, Mr. Mitchell.

  “Seth, Piper Quinn is here from ESM, remember?”

  He’s shirtless, in swim trunks like his friend, sunglasses on. He’s too high up for me to tell if he’s looking at me, let alone the sunglasses covering his eyes. Sunglasses inside, cool dude.

  “Oh,” he says flatly, clearly disappointed and not interested in putting on a front of even being appreciative of my appointment.

  “This way, please,” Ronald says, ushering me toward the dining room.

  A woman comes in and sets two glasses and bottles of water for Ronald and I onto the table, along with a smaller glass with brown liquid in it.

  “No, water for Mr. Mitchell as well, please,” I state while handing her back the glass with a smile for the inconvenience.

  “Oi, what the fuck you playin’ at?”

  Seth’s voice comes out like a whip as he enters the dining room, pushing his Ray Bans onto the top of his head and pinning me with chocolatey eyes, narrowed, while veins line his temples.

  “I’m here to make sure your career survives the bullshit you do, it’s not even eleven a.m. so no, you’ll be drinking water,” I state, focusing my attention to getting out my tablet and file from my bag.

  “She can’t be fuckin’ serious,” he asks Ronald.

  “We talked about this,” Ronald begins.

  “I agreed to let her help me keep my career afloat, not to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own place,” Seth says, raising his voice unnecessarily, like whoever can shout the loudest wins.

  “Listen, you’re not the first person I’ve had to help with this sort of thing…if you aren’t willing to take my advice in all aspects, then I can’t help you. But say so now before I invest my time and energy in you.”

  I put my hands on my hips as the three of us remain standing and Seth and myself have a battle of wills. I’ve never really looked at him before, his personality and public persona was enough to turn me off from his arrival on the scene a few years ago. His body is rather something though, lean muscles covered in tan skin, inked with several random tattoos. He works his jaw as he looks at me, more of an inspection than a checking-out. I’m wearing plaid dress pants that end at my ankles, along with a black top that’s lacy at the neck and across my shoulders before becoming cotton. His eyes are piercing, and don’t waver.

  “No,” he finally says. “Sorry to waste your time.”

  And with that, he leaves the room.

  “Seth!” Ronald calls after him, “I’m so sorry, let me talk to him and I’ll call you,” Ronald says almost pleadingly.

  “Sure, anytime Ronald.”

  I know it’s not Ronald’s fault, he cares about his client and I can see Seth isn’t one to conform. I admire that about anyone in the business he’s in, but at the same time, being too caring is maybe what’s gotten him in the trouble he’s in now.

  Packing up my things, I hear the patio doors open, letting in the sounds of the party outside, before closing and I’m left in silence.

  I could head back to the office, but I have no other appointments for the day and decide to hit the beach. The weather’s too perfect not to. Swinging by my townhouse at the bottom of the hills, I grab my bikini, wet suit and attach my board to the top of my Jetta.

  Lathering on sunscreen, I catch a few waves before lying out on the sand on my beach towel. Checking my phone I see a text from Ronald telling me he still thinks I can help, he just needs a little more time to convince Seth. This isn’t unusual for clients, and I get it. If I don’t hear anything by Monday though, I’ll have to see if there are any new clients needing one of us.

  When I’m done at the beach, I head home and shower, getting ready for dinner at my parents house. Finally deciding on a sundress, my skin got a nice amount of sun today and although I feel warm from it, I grab a cardigan to take with me in case we sit outside.

  My parents live in the same hills Seth lives in, just a different area. Except that these gates are left open nine times out of ten. Garden lights illuminate the driveway as I make my way toward the colonial styled house I grew up in. The house is typical to one you’d find in the suburbs of any neighborhood and when my parents got married and Dad said he’d build a house, Mom wanted something like the one she grew up in in Connecticut. I guess that’s why part of me dislikes celebrities like Seth so much, this new money industry where little work is done to ‘make it.’ My parents could live anywhere, in a mansion a thousand times bigger than this, but they don’t. Money is something my parents have from working their asses off in the industry, Mom as a model and Dad as a musician. I grew up with the focus on living is not about money or having the nicest car, which was something I loathed as a teenager, wanting to be wearing the trendiest clothes and driving the newest car. But my parents know money isn’t permanent, it’s not something tangible and easily able to disappear. What’s left after that? Relationships and family.

  Like I said, it’s their money, not mine and I’m completely comfortable living in my one thousand square foot two-bedroom townhouse that I work my ass off to afford. It’s about the pride you take in what you’ve done for yourself, and I’m happy with where I am and that I’ve done it on my own. I have a sister and a brother, who both live the same way. My sister’s an elementary school teacher while my brother is a dentist and both live in other cities in California. They make a point to visit a few times a year while I routinely go to my parents for dinner at least one to two times a week. Mom and Dad still work, although work for Mom has gotten less over the years, which is mind blowing since she’s still gorgeous and looks the same as I always remember. She’s a household name as she was once a print model for a massive beauty company, and since she didn’t make it onto the scene until after she married Dad, I go unnoticed as their daughter using Mom’s maiden name, Quinn.

  “Hello!” I announce as I close the door behind me.

  “In the kitchen!” Mom replies back, and I drop my purse off on a chair beside the door on my way to her.

  The aroma of food cooking has my stomach grumbling, since I downed a protein bar after the beach and nothing since. Mom’s cooking, her reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose, dish towel over one shoulder as she sips from her glass of white wine, before adding a dash of it to the white fish cooking on the stovetop.

  “Hello my deliciously beautiful girl,
” she smiles, as I walk over and we kiss cheeks like the French and I take her glass of wine and help myself to a taste.

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask, just as the back door opens and Dad walks in with a plate of shrimp kabobs from the grill.

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” he smiles.

  Dad’s handsome in that rock star kind of way, the kind of handsome all my girlfriends growing up teased me about hooking up with him. If my mom wasn’t still hot and their chemistry wasn’t off the charts, I’d say it was possible, but it is, so no. Dad passes by with the plate and I snatch the cigarette tucked behind his ear. Mom’s wearing a cream-colored t-shirt and faded jeans, while Dad has on tight black pants with a black linen dress shirt that’s only buttoned in the center. He sets the plate down and grabs my mom’s ass, kissing her neck as he pushes up behind her and wraps an arm around her front. I love that they still love each other, even if it’s in front of me, I’m used to it.

  “Gave up quitting?” I ask, holding up the cigarette between my fingers.

  “No, just needed to smell it, ya know?” he asks and I give him a shrug with a smile, because I don’t know.

  We sit down to eat outside, candles and lanterns lighting the table as the sun sets and we can see down through the hills. My parents talk about work and ask how my job’s going, my mom fills me in on my brother and a potential new girlfriend, and Dad tells me about a new album he’s just bought and asks if I want a copy. My phone sitting beside my plate begins to buzz with a message, then again and again, to the point that I can’t ignore it.

  “Sorry,” I tell my parents as I pick up the phone and unlock it.

  Information bombards me. Headlines and sentences of a story that not only has Sawyer sent me, but also been alerted on my news account.

  Seth Mitchell Arrested:

  Noise complaint from a neighbor gets out of hand.

  Then a video begins to play, the person holding the camera has it perched above a large brick wall that must separate the property. The pool party is in the background as Seth stands right at the wall, telling the neighbor to ‘fuck off’ and spits at the guy, knowing he’s being filmed, he continues to act like a fucking punk. I groan and let out a sigh, checking to see the latest message from Ronald.