No Strings Attached

Chapter Six

"A manager will manage me. That is the last thing I will have."

"I could give you names of some very good ones, good people. They would be able to help."

"What needs helping? What have you witnessed in the one week that I've been your client that is so urgent?"

Hmm, he doesn't sound happy. Still, I don't bow down.

"Can I be honest?"

"Always."

"Sasha is overloaded. I've called at ten before to leave a message, and she's picked up."

"Did she tell you this?"

"I have plenty of experience with this. Every client I've ever worked with has had both a manager and an assistant. It's more organized that way."

"I beg to differ."

I smile slightly. "All right, well you can do what you'd like with your employees, but with me, there are certain boundaries."

"I don't recall any boundaries with you."

My stomach turns. "Please tell me you are alone right now."

"There's no one here but you and I, Scarlett."

"I'm serious, Giovanni. I am not your manager. I do not have time to be your manager and your publicist."

"Cil, I'm on the phone... No, no, I want the stripe trousers with that one."

Is he ignoring me? My mouth sets in annoyance. "I have things to do, Giovanni."

"I will consider getting a manager, Scarlett, but I'm not promising anything. I've already had most of my life dictated to me. I'd rather not hire someone else to add to it."

I think that's the best I'm going to get right now.

"All right." Rebecca appears in front of me, holding out a clipboard. I hadn't even noticed her come in. I sign quickly, my desk phone resting on my shoulder. "Anything else?"

"Check your email."

I'm glad Rebecca's left the room, so she won't witness the way my skin is flushing. "I will."

"Now."

"I don't have the time," I snap, even though I am clicking out of my other tabs to find it.

"Do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"Yes," I counter, finding his email sent nearly an hour ago. I click on it without hesitation.

There is a PDF, nothing else. I don't have to guess. I know what the document is. And the fact that he's sent it and is on the line with me when I open it is frightening and completely intimate.

"I see it," I utter, my voice deafly soft.

"Good. Now open it."

I click onto the PDF, downloading, but a screen comes up. It's asking for a password.

"The hotel we were at Sunday," he says, without me asking.

I enter the name and click ENTER, without a word. The contract fills my wide screen. It's only three pages long, but it's completely official and notarized. I shake my head, my blood racing. Giovanni's delicately impeccable signature is signed against one of the lines.

"Wow, this is so final."

"Yes, it is."

"I will have my lawyer look at it, of course," I tell him as professionally as possible.