Just The Tip: A Manning Brothers Novel Page 7

  “I’m sorry Ms. Walsh, but we just doesn’t see YBF customers identifying with hardcore porn stars,” said the monotonous voice. “Softcore yes, but not what you did.”

  I almost wanted to scream into the earpiece that it wasn’t me, there’d been a huge mistake. But who would believe that? So I’d hung up the phone and turned to my only ally left. My sister Tina. Family stands by family right, or at least it should, and I’d flown out to San Francisco on the red-eye, covering my head with a scarf to escape recognition.

  Thank god Jake, her husband and my ex-fiancé wasn’t there. I would have died, he’d be laughing so hard at my predicament.

  “Teen, Green Guys must have found a girl who resembles me to do the video for a few thousand bucks. Please believe me,” I said forcefully. “Please.”

  Tina looked skeptical. “Jenna, I’m not sure,” her voice trailed off. “And you know there’s no love lost between you and my husband, Jake’s never liked you.”

  “I know!” I said, struggling not to raise my voice. “But I need your help, and I need Jake’s help in particular. Manning Pharma has a ton of people working for the company, Jake’s dealt with public relations crises in the past. Please ask him for me, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know Jenna,” said my sister, her cheeks flushing. “He still blames you for Janie almost dying.”

  I shook my head resignedly. The Pernacular debacle had nothing to do with me, but somehow Jake thought I was responsible for Janie’s ill health.

  But before I could speak, Tina interrupted. “Jake’s on a business trip right now, but I’ll ask,” she said resignedly. “I’ll do it … for Mom and our family, if not for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said relieved. The Mannings were my last hope because Rafe still hadn’t returned my calls … breaking my heart.

  14

  Rafe

  “Mr. Connor,” piped my secretary from outside, “Call for you on Line 2.”

  I frowned. This was odd, I’d asked not to be disturbed except in urgent circumstances and it was unlikely that anything would happen now that New York fashion week was over. What was it? Some designer having histrionics because the latest embroidered silk from Italy hadn’t come in yet? Some young model giving lip because she was homesick? I sighed. All in a day’s work as CEO.

  “Fine, send it through,” I growled. The phone rang and I picked up.

  “Rafe Connor,” I barked shortly. This better be good because there were a thousand things on my to-do list, including reviewing our financials and finalizing bonuses. Time was money, and dollars were lost with every wasted minute.

  “Rafael, Jake Manning here of Manning Pharmaceuticals,” said a deep voice.

  I immediately felt my hackles rise at the sound of another alpha male. Okay, he was probably in San Francisco, I knew Manning was one of those biotechs located on the West Coast, but the pseudo-proximity got to me. A nasty feeling ran down my spine but I made myself stay calm.

  “What can I do for you?” I said in a deceptively smooth voice. “Manning and Levast are hardly in the same industry.”

  The man chuckled over the phone. “No, definitely not except that your clientele seem to ingest a lot of our prescription drugs, but that’s a discussion for another day. I’m calling because we have an issue that’s troubling us both … Jenna Walsh.”

  That shut me up. I knew that Manning had once been engaged to Jenna, breaking it off to marry her sister instead, so there had to be a lot of history there.

  “What can I do for you?” I repeated again smoothly, giving away nothing. I wondered if he knew that Jenna and I had been an item, her fragrant hair wrapped around my neck, that sweet pussy squeezing me tight as I erupted again and again into her body.

  “Well, if you didn’t know already, my wife and Jenna are twins,” he said dryly.

  I did know that. Jenna had assured me they were nothing alike, Tina a curvy brunette to Jenna’s slim blonde. But twins have a psychic connection right? Or was that a myth?

  “Yeah, I know,” I growled. I didn’t want to talk about Jenna, she’d been haunting my nights despite the fact I’d paid her off. Usually buying jewelry for my former paramours wiped the slate clean, mentally and physically. Usually, I felt absolved of all guilt, ready to move on with a new woman, the hottest new thing to catch my fancy, but it’d been different this time.

  Despite spending six figures on a piece of jewelry, I’d felt curiously listless afterwards, my thoughts turning towards the girl even though I should have been a clean slate. What the fuck? I shook my head ruefully. I seriously needed to get out, I was getting soft. I made a mental note to take out the newest, youngest girl Jason Alexander had just booked. I’d gotten a look at her comp card and she was pretty, blonde and slim … with big boobs just like someone I knew.

  Fuck! This was all wrong.

  But Manning continued.

  “So my wife tells me that Jenna came begging for help,” he said dryly. “This scandal with the porn video is allegedly made up. Not the scandal itself,” he said, “but rather the girl in the video isn’t Jenna.”

  That made me pause. I’d watched that video more than a few times myself, and I’d know if it wasn’t her, I’d sampled those creamy curves myself, tasted the ambrosia between her legs. I’d know, wouldn’t I?

  “I’m not sure what exactly you’re saying,” I said slowly. “What exactly is Jenna claiming?”

  “That the girl in the video isn’t her,” snorted the other man. “As if. That bitch is a slut, I’m sure she’s just manipulating her sister again. Anyways, I wanted to let you know because the papers reported that Levast was embarrassed by her actions, your sales plummeted after the scandal was revealed. I thought you might like to take a shot at the cause of your problems.”

  A shot? It was true, our sales had dipped a bit but it couldn’t be attributed to the Jenna debacle, at least not entirely. Orders after New York fashion week hadn’t been as strong as in previous years but there were a dozen reasons why, including bad designs, a recession, editors not connecting with the clothes, that sort of thing.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked smoothly. My company’s sales numbers were none of this fucker’s business and there was no reason to share our proprietary information.

  “I’m not even sure,” the other man chuckled. “There may not be anything for us to do, the girl’s so fucked and it’s all her own doing,” he rasped. “I have to say, it feels good, given my wife’s past with her sister. Jenna gets what she deserves.”

  That took me aback. I knew Manning was a ruthless businessman but this girl was his sister-in-law and ex-fiance. What a fuckwad.

  “What do you know about Green Guys?” I asked smoothly, ignoring Manning’s callous comments.

  “A lot,” he said dryly. “I’ve got contacts in LA and Green Guys is dirty, sure, but you know how the celebrity sex tape business is. They take orders, just like everybody else, when the dollar signs are right.”

  “I’ll give them a call,” I said shortly. “I’ll put my guys on it and try and find out who the girl was, if it wasn’t Jenna. What about the pictures?” I asked. “Is she claiming those aren’t her as well?”

  The other man snorted again.

  “Nah, she admits those are her,” he replied. “Can you believe it? Jenna pulled the poverty card, saying she had no money to pay law school tuition and was forced to do it. That’s fucking bullshit, I dated her at the time and she definitely didn’t act like she had nothing, in fact she was spending my money like water.”

  Okay, this was a little more believable. At least the photos were real, there was some truth mixed in there. But I was done with this Manning asshole. I hated him already, the way acted totally blameless although he’d been the one to break off the engagement.

  “I’ll make a call,” I repeated harshly. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “No,” said Manning shortly. “You figure it out. The longer this bitch roasts in hell, the happier I’ll be. Make
sure she never gets back to me or my wife,” he commanded before clicking off.

  I don’t take orders well from other men but my professionalism kept me calm and cool. I owed it to Levast to figure this out … and I owed it to myself.

  15

  Rafe

  The Los Angeles sunshine was unbelievably bright, the glare painfully reflected off of windows, cars, anything shiny. I felt out of place in my dark suit and mentally made a note to instruct Santino to pack something lighter next time. Of course, I’d hopped on my plane the moment I got a hold of Green Guys, so Santino hadn’t had much time, but I hadn’t expected the city to be so oppressive either.

  Because it was. Hollywood was dingy, hardly the glamorous, bright lights big city made out in movies and books. Instead it was strip mall after strip mall, Korean grocery stores and Laundromats endlessly lining the faceless roads that seemed to go on forever.

  I came to a square block of a building, painted pale pink, the attempt at Art Deco falling face flat, appearing like a decrepit dollhouse instead. The name Green Guys was emblazoned on the door in peeling letters and I knocked although what I really wanted to do was to bulldoze this place and then maybe torch it afterwards, it was so grimy and gross.

  The lock clicked and I let myself in, going up to the second floor.

  A blonde woman who was fake in all ways greeted me from behind a desk, her lips like Lisa Rinna on an acid trip.

  “Mr. Connor, we’ve been expecting you,” she simpered, giving me her biggest smile. “Please come into the back.”

  I followed her through a set of doors to a suite decorated with a desk, a couch, a video camera, and a big screen TV. Okay, this is how porn places outfitted their conference rooms. Made sense, I guess.

  “Can I get you anything while you wait?” the blonde purred. “I’m Candy,” she added unnecessarily, batting her lashes at me.

  “No thanks,” I replied shortly. The faster this blonde got out, the cleaner I’d feel.

  “Well, just let me know,” she cooed, “I’m just outside.”

  “Okay,” I said in a clipped voice, refusing to look at her. Ugh, were all LA girls like this? The receptionist was just so fake, big tits that joggled like balloons, a face that was straight out of funhouse mirror.

  I paced in the small room and when the door finally opened again I spun around, expecting to see some seedy producer, probably some paunchy short dude, fifty with a big gut. But instead, there stood Jenna.

  “Rafe!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?” her cheeks colored.

  My body got hard at the sight of her but I maintained my iron control.

  “I should ask you the same thing,” I said harshly. “Here to do some filming again?”

  She looked down at the floor.

  “It wasn’t me,” she whispered. “I’m not the girl in the video, although I don’t expect you to believe it.”

  I wasn’t sure what I believed at this point. I was inclined to accept the truth, but seeing the girl in person, mixed emotions crept over me. She looked so vulnerable, so lost, that I couldn’t help but feel protective, my natural male instinct rising to the fore.

  I looked closely at my woman. She was thinner, that was for sure. The luscious curves were still there but instead of a solid wholesomeness, she was slimmer, more willowy. Her hair was still gloriously golden, but she’d scraped it back from her face, her oval chin now clearly delineated, the blue eyes looking even larger than before, overwhelming her features. Hmm, Jenna had been going through some hard times.

  “Thank you for the bracelet,” she murmured softly, her eyes pleading with me silently, big pools of aquamarine.

  Oh that. Right. “You’re welcome,” I growled. I’d actually picked out the bracelet myself, not leaving it to my secretary per usual.

  But it was time to get to business.

  “So did you or didn’t you?” I asked directly. “Is that you in the video?”

  “Rafe,” she replied slowly. “I swear it wasn’t me. I’ve done some dumb things but nothing like that, I promise.”

  “What about drugs?” I asked harshly. “Is there some way you were under the influence and don’t remember?”

  She blanched a bit. “There’s no way anyone could be under the influence and have no recollection of a scene like that. I’m not sure who they found as my replacement, but she’s a ringer for me, almost a real twin,” Jenna replied softly.

  And those words made me pause. I knew that Jenna and Tina were fraternal, looking nothing alike, but could it be possible? Could Jenna have been switched at birth? Maybe her real twin was the one doing the porn. I couldn’t shake the idea, my brain buzzing with possibilities.

  “Jenna,” I said slowly. “Tell me about your family.”

  “There isn’t much to know,” she shrugged. “There’s four of us girls, me, Tina, Karina and Callie. Mom and Dad got divorced when I was a kid and Dad was a deadbeat, never coming around. So Mom raised us herself and it was a struggle financially.”

  “But what about your birth?” I asked. “Is your dad listed on the certificate?”

  “I guess,” she said, looking confused. “I mean, why wouldn’t he be? I’ve never seen my birth certificate,” she confessed.

  Okay, this was the first clue that something might be awry.

  “Why did your parents divorce?” I asked, my eyes penetrating. “Was there something that happened, cheating, infidelity, that kind of thing?”

  “No, not that I know of,” said Jenna slowly. “Why, what does this have to do with anything?”

  I ignored her question. “Where is your dad now?”

  But the girl didn’t answer, holding up a hand in a stop motion.

  “Rafe, I have to know where these questions are going. Why all these questions about my dad? I already told you, he’s a deadbeat, I haven’t seen him for years.”

  “Because Jenna,” I said slowly. “It’s possible that your life history isn’t what you think it is. Your twin may not actually be Tina. You may have an identical twin out there, another girl who made that porn film.”

  She gasped. “This makes no sense,” she said finally, her eyes wide. “I know my family, I’ve known them since birth. They are my family,” she said forcefully.

  “But they’ve never been kind to you right? And your dad took off pretty early? With no explanation?”

  “Yeah, but that means nothing, lots of parents get fed up and leave their kids behind. Why would my dad be different?”

  “Because we have a mystery girl who looks exactly like you. Something doesn’t smell right,” I stated firmly.

  Just then the door cracked open again and a disgusting looking old guy strolled in, his face pimpled and bumpy.

  “Ah Mr. Connor, Ms. Walsh, I see you’re acquainted,” he drawled oily. “My name’s Oscar, I’m the head of the Green Guy Productions, we’re responsible for the sex tape that’s out there right now,” he said, leering at Jenna. “It’s a best-seller.”

  I immediately hated the guy on sight, there was a nasty smell coming from him, like putrid garbage.

  “I can see you’ve been discussing something serious and I think I have the answer to your questions,” he continued. “Violet!” he called. “Come in please!”

  And in sashayed a blonde, stunning in her striking resemblance to Jenna. She was the same height, the same weight, the same stunning features except that she’d aged poorly. There were small wrinkles around her nose and mouth, crow’s feet bracketing her eyes, her skin orange and tired, the result of too many tanning sessions.

  “Hiya all,” giggled the other woman. “I understand you’re my twin, Jenna. Nice to meet you!” she chirped as her breasts bobbled.

  And both Jenna and I could only stare. Who was this woman and how did she get here?

  16

  Jenna

  It’s amazing how my family fractured after the revelation that I had a secret twin. I confronted my mom.

  “Mary,” I said carefully. “Do
you have my birth certificate? Can I see it?”

  My mom hemmed and hawed.

  “Jenna, why now?” she asked. “You have your passport, your social security card, is there some reason you need your birth certificate?”

  “Ma,” I said slowly. “I need to see it. I need to verify something.”

  “Well, I don’t have it,” she said hurriedly. “It’s in a safe somewhere, it’s been ages since I saw it myself.”

  “Ma,” I said slowly. “I’m only going to ask you once. Am I your daughter? Am I Jenna Walsh or am I a member of another family?”

  My mom sighed. She could see that I was onto the truth and determined to sniff it out no matter what.

  “Jenna, it’s a long story,” she said tiredly. “I don’t have time to share it with you now, in fact, I was hoping never to tell you.”

  I lost it. “Tell me!” I screamed. “My career has been ruined and everything I believe is a lie, my history, my sisters, even you,” I spat. “None of you ever liked me, I became a shrew because I never felt loved. Tell me there was a reason why. I need to make sense of this.”

  And my mom began. Evidently she and my dad were struggling financially around the time she was pregnant with Tina. They were friends with another young couple down the street, the Goldens, who were also financially strapped and the foursome naturally bonded, sharing the best places to shop cheaply, how to save on a limited income, that kind of thing.

  But the Goldens were evidently quite a bit worse off than my parents. Elaine Golden was expecting twins and she and her husband were panicked at the thought of two baby girls, destitute as they were, living in a shanty with peeling wallpaper, dirty dishes in the sink, no way to provide for one, much less two new children.

  They’d begged my parents to take one of the girls, figuring that it was better than having both girls removed by Children’s Services once their horrid living conditions were discovered.