Dick Dynasty: Porter Part 6

"It's a good thing my junk is insured, Lorraine. I'm convinced you're going to tear the thing off one of these days."

"No," she said with a knowing grin, "I like your movies too much! Beaber Feber is my favorite!" She waggled her eyebrows at me and threw her head back with a laugh that made my skin crawl.

"Do you mean Beaver Fever?" The misp.r.o.nunciation was a train wreck I didn't even want to think about.

"That's what I say! Beaber Feber! Don't you speak English?"

She went on a tirade in Korean that I could only imagine had something to do with stupid Americans and their inability to understand their own language.

I bit my tongue and let her do her thing while my b.a.l.l.s finally came out from their hiding place just beneath my tonsils.

"You have hot date tonight?"

"Sort of," I sat up from the table and reached for the jeans around my ankles, "I mean, she's hot, I just don't know where it's gonna lead. Clearly, I hope to take her to bed, but she's not like other women. She's a bit hot headed and a lot guarded. It wasn't such a good combination for our first encounter. She's almost kind of scary."

"Ooh," she said with a solemn nod, "You really like her. I see."

"No!" I defended, "It's not like that at all!"

"No no no," the three words came out as one, "I see your eyes change when you talk about her. Is okay. You need to be careful though. Don't let her break my favorite client!"

She scampered through the door before I had a chance to convince her that I was only trying to get in with her casting firm.

I had already banged my way into one industry; I wasn't above doing it again.

I jerked my jeans up around my hips and fastened my belt before walking out into the lobby to pay the bill for my torture session.

"Always a pleasure, Lorraine," I said as I signed the credit card receipt.

"The pleasure is always for me," she replied with a wink.

My smile faltered and I waved awkwardly as she once again began to laugh at her own joke. She had an insane talent for making a run-of-the-mill appointment to wax my b.a.l.l.s an intense exercise in awkwardness.

Unfortunately, she was the best, and I only used the best. Especially when my d.i.c.k was on the line.

I slid my aviators back into place as I stepped onto the sidewalk and into the late-afternoon sun. I'd made it out of the appointment with time to spare and headed for my Land Rover.

As I drove, I tried to piece together how the impending conversation would go.

She'd still be frosty for sure, but even her ice queen act couldn't hold up against my charm for too long. I would just have to pour on the boy-next-door appeal and come off as harmless. If she knew my angle, she'd shut down in a heartbeat.

Holly Nash would definitely not fall for the bad boy p.o.r.n star act that got me between most thighs. No, Miss Nash was going to take some work. Work that I fully intended on turning into a game.

With any luck, we'd both enjoy it in the end.

I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant ten minutes before seven and parked in a stall at the back of the building. The mirror in the driver's side visor helped me soften my appearance a bit. I pressed my hair forward and the bangs up and to the side so that I almost had a pompadour. There wasn't much I could do about the scruff on my jaw, but the aviators had to go.

Those few simple changes made me less predatory and a little more innocent looking than I'd ever been in my life.

A clean shave would've been the perfect touch, but there was only so much I could do in the front seat of my SUV with only five minutes before we were supposed to meet.

After a final once-over, I locked up and headed for the front door.

"Can I help you?"

"I have a reservation for seven-thirty under Hale."

The gentleman glanced down at the podium he stood behind before nodding his head curtly, "Of course, Mr. Hale. Right this way."

I followed him to an intimate booth in the back corner of the main dining room.

"Shall I bring your guest straight back?"

"That'd be great. Her name is Holly Nash. She'll probably ask for me by name."

"Of course, sir. Your waiter will be right with you."

"Thanks, Jeeves."

I could see the change in his eyes the moment I said it and had to exercise every ounce of my self-control to not laugh in his face at my own joke.

The poor guy probably heard it all day long every day.

I made a mental note to tip well in hopes that he'd get a cut of it at the end of the night.

"Good evening, sir," a twenty-something gentleman in a crisp white b.u.t.ton up and cheap black slacks gave me an award-winning customer service smile, "Can I start you off with something to drink while you wait for your dinner guest?"

"Water would be great for both of us and I'd also like a bottle of the best Merlot you have."

"Of course, sir. I'll have your water out right away and deliver the bottle when your guest arrives."

"Thanks."

He had recognized me. I could tell by the way he kept glancing down at my crotch. The only reason I chose fine dining over fast food was the fact that the staff were all so used to waiting on celebrities that they didn't get all fangirl crazy on you in public.

Usually.

I spotted Jeeves heading toward my booth with Holly in tow and my palms began to sweat.

What the f.u.c.k?

I never get nervous around women.

I wiped my hands on my jeans as I rose to greet her. Instead of the more intimate kiss kiss on the cheek that women tended to try with me, she went in for the kill with a very formal, very firm handshake. Her grip provided a sharp contrast to the sensation of her painfully soft skin beneath my fingertips.

The sensation shot a jolt of pure desire up my arm and straight to my groin.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

Such a lame f.u.c.k.

"It's no trouble."

Harsh.

She released my hand and sat down across from the table as the waiter returned with two gla.s.ses of ice water.

"Thank you," she nodded politely to the waiter, causing her hair to swing forward from where it had been neatly tucked behind her ear. Something inside of me wanted to reach out and smooth it back into place.

I was thankful I had refrained when she returned her gaze to me. I could practically see her walls slide into place as the ice replaced the warmth that had been bestowed upon our server.

"Why am I here, Porter?"

Her question caught me off guard and I could do nothing but stare at her in response.

"We both know you didn't agree to one of the most expensive restaurants south of San Francisco just to apologize for breaking my martini gla.s.s. I might not be as worldly as you are in some aspects, but I am far from stupid."

I had the good sense to at least pretend I was offended.

"Holly, believe it or not, there are good people in the world who do things for others just for the sake of doing the right thing. Not all of us have to find a motive to justify spending time with another person."

A glimmer of fire lit behind the glaciers in her pupils.

"I don't doubt that for an instant, Porter. What I do doubt is the fact that you are one of those people."

I didn't have to act offended after that jab.

"You don't know me at all, Holly. Who the h.e.l.l are you to decide what kind of person I am?"

I could feel the steel of my own walls slide into place as I met her frigid gaze and furrowed my brow. People who do know me had said far worse things about me without it getting under my skin. And she wasn't entirely wrong, either, but for some reason the idea of her thinking so little of me without reason made me want to prove her wrong.

"This was a bad idea," she grabbed her purse off the bench at her side and stood, "I'm gonna go. Sorry for wasting your time."

"Sit down, Holly." The words came out as a command instead of a request, as I had meant them. She fell back into the booth and stared at me as if I had just pulled a gun on her.

"Stay," I forcibly softened my voice, "Have dinner with me. We're both adults here and I'd like to think we're both capable of making it through a single meal without maiming one another."

A cool mask of professionalism quickly replaced the look of surprise on her face. She calmly set her purse beside her and reached for her water cup, "Of course."

There was something about the way she held eye contact as she drank from the gla.s.s that unnerved me. She didn't even blink as her hazel eyes bore into mine; a.s.sessing, devouring, almost predatory.

Maybe I underestimated you, Holly Nash.

I returned the stare, feigning ignorance and doing my best to plaster a patient, una.s.suming look on my face. I wanted her to think I was just waiting for her to finish. I didn't want her to know that I was watching her swallow down the water and imagining that it was my d.i.c.k sliding down her throat.

I could feel myself stiffen with each gulp she took and nearly cheered when she finally put the half-empty gla.s.s back on the table. I probably would have if her tongue hadn't darted out to clear her lips of any remaining fluid as she gasped for air. That quick flash of pink between her teeth sealed the deal she had no idea she had entered into with my libido.

"So you're just a nice person, trying to do the right thing. Righting a wrong and fighting social injustice one dinner date at a time. Who knew?"

I was ready for it that time and kept my guard up. I put on my best smile and shrugged my shoulders, trying for nonchalant, "I don't see why not."

She practically snorted in my face as she scoffed at the idea.

"I'll tell you why not, Porter. Guys like you," she pointed an accusing finger across the table at me, "you don't see others as people. You see them as objects. Just a tool to use as you see fit. Your entire career is a practic.u.m in demeaning women and telling the public that it's perfectly acceptable to objectify us."

Okay, that one caught me off guard.

"I didn't have you pegged as a feminist, Holly Nash. You didn't really strike me as the women-aren't-smart-enough-to-make-their-own-choices-and-the-only-reason-they-make-p.o.r.n-is-because-men-make-them type. I will have you know that a lot of the women-not all of them, but many of them-do it because they enjoy it. Believe it or not, I do actually get to know my coworkers off set," Sometimes I added to myself, "If you think we bring these girls in at gun point and force them to do things they don't want to do, you've got another thing coming."

I lifted my own gla.s.s of water and took a swig as I waited for the tempest in her eyes to erupt.

"I didn't say you force them into doing anything, but let's be honest: The p.o.r.n industry wouldn't exist if it weren't for men who would rather objectify women than actually get to know one as a person."

It was my turn to scoff in her face.

"You've got to be f.u.c.king kidding me!" I couldn't believe the words that had just come out of her mouth, "You don't think I get objectified? Are you high? Do you have any idea how many women pretend to be interested in Porter Hale only to be able to tell their friends that they f.u.c.ked Ryder Ruff? You're really so blinded by your s.e.x's struggle for equality that you don't think objectification happens on both sides of the fence? I knew there were some sheltered people in this world, Holly, but that is flirting dangerously with outright ignorance."

Her mask of professionalism had fallen away and there was something new, something careful and calculating, glinting deep in her eyes. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it wasn't sitting well with me.

"Let's get out your phone, Holly. I want you to go through your contacts list and find me one single woman between the ages of, let's say twenty and forty, who's never enjoyed p.o.r.n or been to a strip club or ogled some shirtless fitness model on Facebook. Just one. If you can do that, I will acquiesce and admit that I stand corrected. One woman, Holly. Prove me wrong."

She seemed to be considering my offer as she stared at me. I could tell by the way she pressed her mouth into a fine line. She may as well have been chewing on her bottom lip. She finally tore her eyes away from mine and looked down at the table, quietly fidgeting with her fingernails.

"You're right," she practically whispered, "I apologize."

When she lifted her head again, the mask was back in place. She was cool and collected once more and took a quick sip of her water without making eye contact.

When Holly did meet my gaze again, her eyes had softened. She no longer exuded the holier-than-thou aura that had clung to her when she'd first sat down. She almost seemed comfortable to be sitting across the table from a p.o.r.n star.

Almost.

"Shall we peruse the menu and flag down a waiter? I think we scared the poor kid off with our chosen topic of conversation. I busted him staring at my crotch when he took drink orders. I bet we get the bottle of wine I ordered for free," I winked at her as I picked up my menu, "Sometimes it pays to be a s.e.x object."

The date had taken a turn for the strange and I wasn't sure how I felt about it.

Never in a million years had I expected to be lectured on objectification by a male p.o.r.n star. Ever.

The weirdest part about the whole thing was that he was right.

And then for him to turn around and be completely okay with being objectified, by another man none-the-less, just blew every argument I had out of the water.

It's not every day Holly Nash gets talked into a corner.

Not only had he talked me there, I was kind of okay with staying there.

Porter Hale had a way with the words, once he was done berating me, which made it comfortable for me to let him take the lead. I could tell he was playing off my reactions and watching me like a hawk for the slightest response to his words, but that made it all the more captivating to me.

I had gone in blind and expected him to be a self-centered, egotistical p.r.i.c.k. I had been pleasantly surprised when he actually made an effort to engage me in real conversation-something beyond shoptalk and the latest who's who.