Exposing the Bad Boy (2 page)

“Hah! You too,” he said. Ferris bounced a meaningful leer between me and the women. “It was a good time. Real fucking good.”

I cleared my throat, moving his way with careful steps over the bodies. “Then you'd be up for doing this again. Yeah?”

“Yeah, hell yes.”

The smile that tugged at my cheeks grew. Between us, I extended my hand. “You already know that Maximal is willing to sponsor you. You'd get to do this every night, if you wanted.”
Easy, easy, don't push too hard.
My fingers twitched. “I'll be honest, my memory is fuzzy from last night, but am I crazy, or do I remember you saying something during those shots off that red-head's stomach about being ready to sign with us?” That last part was a lie. I didn't recall Michael saying anything about signing.

I was hoping he didn't, either.

In front of me, his forehead wrinkled. It was a mere beat, maybe two, but my lungs screamed as I held my breath. Had I pegged him wrong?

Michael’s palm crushed onto mine, shaking vigorously. “Let's do it. Sign me up for whatever the fuck Maximal wants to give me. I'll take it.”

Now
I could relax. Slapping his shoulder, I scanned the room. I was relieved to find my purse on a nearby chair, and more so, my phone inside. “You're going to love it, trust me. The perks are amazing. Let me make the call, and we'll get all the official junk squared away. You just relax next to those titties over there.”

He said something, but my ear was clamped on the phone already. It didn't matter what he was saying at that point. Plus, he sure looked pleased to be bouncing on the mattress besides the stirring women.

Gripping the front door, I stepped out into the hall.
I did it, I got him!
I was thrilling with delight. Ferris had been on Maximal's radar for weeks. Heck, he'd been on everyone's. We knew other sponsors were going after him. They had money, power, perks...

But they didn't have
me.

Even if the drinking and partying was scraping me down by layers, I soared at the chance to pull in another whale. At twenty-two, I was the youngest recruiter on the team, and one of the only woman in the company. Every athlete under my belt got me a bonus, more respect, and extra fame among my peers.

Who didn't want that?

“Corbin,” I said when the line clicked, “Don't be
too
shocked, but guess who I just won for us.”

“Ferris. I know.” My boss sounded less than impressed. “I need you to do something else, Ellie. Something more important.”

Heat bloomed along my neck. “Sure. Something more important than landing Michael Ferris—which I just did. Michael Ferris, current BMX star roaming the circuit. Formerly unleashed. Now hooked. To us.” I paused for emphasis.

Corbin laughed, throat sand-papery from too much tobacco. “Okay okay, sorry. Yes, good job signing Ferris. I promise, I'm impressed.”

Tension slipped from my shoulders. Calming my voice, I settled on the bottom of the stairwell. “Ignore my sour mood. I had a rough night.”

“Three clubs, I saw the receipt on the company card.”

I held back an embarrassed chuckle. “What were you saying was so important?”

“Come to the office. We have someone we'd like you to chase down.”

“'Chase down?'”

“You'll understand. I'll see you in twenty.”

Glancing at my phone, I noted the time. “Corbin, let me go home and change first. I'm not fit to be seen by anyone.”
And I hope my car is where I parked it.

My boss snorted. “I don't care how you look.”

“
I care.”
My fingers tugged at my sticky, dark hair. “Give me an hour. I'll even bring you lunch.”

****

M
aximal's headquarters was a giant building downtown. Glistening like morning dew, the windows dripped from top to bottom. There was a statue in the middle of the court, dark metal that had been shaped into a surfer riding on a wave. At night, they lit the water spouts.

The company had gotten off the ground years ago by leaping on the hardcore surfing craze. From then on, they'd spread their brand in the form of energy drinks and gear worn by every extreme athlete they could find. The perks for those we sponsored were great, but the company always gleaned the biggest rewards.

Once we signed someone, we rolled in money gained by the athlete. They wore our brand, we put them in commercials, and the masses bought our products by the bucket load.

In the shine of the main lounge's mirrors, I straightened my hair. I'd taken a shower, fixing my bed-head and replacing it with a wind-tossed look. My stained dress was now a crisp sports jacket and dark jeans.

I didn't look like a business woman, I wasn't supposed to. Signing athletes meant blending in with them, getting their friendship and appreciation before offering a deal.

No one trusted you if you looked like a stuffy lawyer.

At the rounded reception desk, a young woman with curly hair and thick rimmed glasses—no doubt false lenses meant to cater to her hip look—acknowledged me with a smile. “Afternoon, Miss Cutter.”

I adjusted my purse. “Hey, Becky.”

She tapped a button, listening in her headset. “Mr. Mathews says to go on in.”

“Thanks.” Giving her a polite nod, I pushed my way into my boss's office. It was bright and airy, windows taking up the entire back wall; another typical, sunny day in lovely Los Angeles.

Corbin was reclining in his chair, slate grey eyes fixed on me expressionlessly. “Ellie,” he said crisply. “I notice your hands are empty. Where's that lunch you promised?”

“Have
some
confidence in me.” From my jacket, I pulled out two protein bars. The packaging crinkled when I tossed him one. “See? As always, I came through!”

His dark eyebrows crawled up. “Seriously?” Corbin wagged the bar side to side. “This is your idea of lunch?”

“No,” I admitted. Sitting across from him, I linked my fingers over one crossed knee. “Honestly, I forgot my promise until I was parking. Those were in my glove compartment.”

My boss's composure cracked. He couldn't hold back his laugh, the protein bar thrown at my chest. I let it bounce to the floor. “You're such an ass, Ellie.” He tapped his intercom. “Becky, can you order some sandwiches up for me and Miss Cutter, please?”

Twisting in the chair, I leaned closer. “Soup.”

Corbin blinked.

“I'm not feeling well,” I explained. “Last night was hard. So. Yeah.” My shrug went to my ears. “Soup, if that's alright. And maybe some Advil.”

Becky answered for us, voice cheerful in the speaker. “Sandwiches and soup. Yeah, I'll get right on that, guys.”

Removing his finger, Corbin shook his chin side to side. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I clean up so damn well.” My wink made him roll his eyes. “And because I'm the best recruiter in this place.”

“Right. The last one.” Reaching over, he spun his laptop until we could both see the screen. “Ellie, I wanted you here fast because there's someone I need you to get for us.”

Leaning closer, I squinted. “It really couldn't wait until tomorrow? I expected to have the day off after getting Ferris.”

“By tomorrow, everyone is going to be after our mystery man.”

Now I was curious. “Who is he?”

Corbin tapped the keyboard, opening a video. I glanced at the site, recognizing Youtube. The view count on the bottom corner proclaimed this particular video had over two-hundred thousand views.

The upload date was this morning.

What the hell?

My boss tapped the enter key to make it play. The camera was grainy, night vision. I recognized the building; it was one of the taller, under-construction projects in the city.

Unsure what was about to happen, I saw the figure step into view. The camera zoomed, catching dark hair and darker tattoos on his exposed, well muscled arms. He had on a hooded sweater with chopped off sleeves.

Baffled, I held my breath. He'd stepped to the edge of the crane, perching like a gargoyle. But gargoyles weren't real, and they certainly didn't move—or fly.

I had the awful sensation that Corbin was about to show me a suicide video. My confidence that something more was going to happen kept me from shutting my eyes.

Suddenly, the stranger jumped out into the air, plummeting fearlessly down to the city below. This was a swan dive without hesitation.

No fear.

I heard my own surprised gasp. Seconds later the chute opened, his form floating safely between buildings and electric wires until he vanished from view. “Holy shit.” The words escaped me, too fast and too honest. Looking at Corbin, I recognized the gleam in his eyes. “Was that a base jumper?” I was familiar with the extreme sport, my job revolved around such things.

From my memory, the name was an acronym for what they chose to jump from: Buildings, antennas, span and earth. People who did it would drop from dangerous heights, skirting death at the last second with their chutes.

I'd never heard of it happening in LA. It was extremely illegal to climb on city property, weren't the cops everywhere? And here was this guy, leaping at night without any worry; with pure, visible confidence even through the grainy video.

My heart was thrumming, imagining how it had to feel to do what he'd done so smoothly. Heights and I weren't exactly friends.

Grabbing the keyboard, Corbin clicked through the video as he spoke. “Yeah, he's a base jumper. That was right here, downtown. Did you see how he avoided hitting anything?”

“How did he even get
up
there?”

“I'm betting he evaded the security guards and climbed the rest of the way, over all the scaffolding and such.” Freezing the image of him jumping, sweater dangling like a life line behind him, he tapped the screen. “No helmet, and jumping somewhere like this? He's a risk taker.”

“You want to sign him.”

Corbin met my level gaze. “I want him. Yeah.”

“It's such a specific sport, though... how will you even utilize him? There's not, like, base jumping competitions.”
Are there?
I suddenly wondered. If there were, it was clearly not popularized. The marketing for this would be a whole other world beyond BMX biking or surfing.

“I have a plan on how we'll make money off of him, Ellie. Believe me on this.”

Scratching the back of my neck, I eyed the image. “Fine. But how do we find out who he is?”

My boss grinned so wide it made me wonder if he had extra teeth. “I already figured that out, too.” From beneath his desk, he grabbed a folder. Flipping it open, he revealed a number of black and white photographs. I recognized them for what they were.

“Police booking photos.” Gripping the pages, I turned them towards me. It was a small number of men, each holding up numbers as they endured the camera. “What does this mean, he was arrested before?”

“I figured someone like him couldn't be so good, so capable, if he hadn't been doing it awhile.” Corbin was speaking, but I was staring down at the images in my hands. “Base jumpers get caught, and when they do, they get hit with trespassing charges. I just looked for men in the area who had those charges, but localized to abandoned buildings. I narrowed it further to those between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five.”

“How did you figure that age range?”
And how did you get access to such detailed police data?
I froze, sliding a grey-scale photo from the folder. It was the man from the video, those rich tattoos cascading over his hard-edged forearms. They identified him easily.

Corbin's chuckle pulled my eyes to him. He looked extremely proud. “I just guessed based on his looks. If he wasn't at least eighteen, we couldn't sign him, so I went with that as the low end.”

“Optimistic,” I mumbled. Waving the stiff paper, I glanced at the information scrawled beneath the guy's cocky smile. “Pike Moss. Twenty-one, it says.”

“That arrest was two years back. He'd be twenty-three, now.”

I set the paper down. “Should I assume, if you have
this
much on Pike, that you know where I could find him?”
Is it that easy to get background files on people?
I appreciated that Corbin had done the leg work, but his ability, his speed, in something so personal, left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Rolling his chair back, my boss strolled to the window. “That was harder. He isn't registered at any of the colleges, which was my first guess.” He waited for me to nod. “And normally, I'd just have you show up at a candidate's sporting event.”

“But he does this in secret. There's no actual event for him to attend and show off at.”

Facing away from me, his head movement was close to invisible. “I reached out to the guy who caught that footage. No leads there, either, though the kid tried to get me to cut him a check to use the video.” Corbin dropped his tone, sighing. “Again, a dead end.”

I fidgeted in my chair. “This suspense is murder. Tell me you
do
know where he is.”

There was a look of hurt in his concrete colored eye as he showed me his profile. “You're impatient to meet him, or just bored by me?”

“Probably both,” I teased. “A mix, for sure.” As I thought about how confidently Pike had fallen through the sky, I had to admit, I
was
eager to meet him. Idly, I stroked the glossy photo, finding myself studying Pike's ink. Who was he, really?

Pushing air through his teeth, Corbin waved me to the window. Kicking forward, I moved to join him. “Ellie, here's the thing. I really want this guy. Enough that I pulled a few strings that might make even
you
frown.”

My reflection in the glass showed my doubt. “You act like I don't normally have an issue with seedy shit.”

The smirk he gave me was too familiar. “Let's not debate morals. I made some calls, got his credit report and found some trails that led to bounced checks and collections from landlords.” I was sure he saw my eyes narrow. “Point is, I called one of them. They were kind enough to tell me his old place of employment.”

“You bribed them.”

“Turns out,” he pressed on, acting like I wasn't scowling, “Pike
still
works at the same place.”