Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry
Read Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry Online
Authors: Mallory Monroe
BIG
DADDY SINATRA 4:
CARLY’S
CRY
BY
MALLORY
MONROE
Copyright©2016 Mallory Monroe
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reserved. Any use of the materials contained in this book without the
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WITHOUT THE WRITTEN CONSENT
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THE AUTHOR AND AUSTIN BROOK
PUBLISHING.
This novel
is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any
similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The
specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas
of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s
sake.
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WHAT LOOKED LIKE CRAZY met Carly
Sinatra as she entered the conference room at Reese
Marketing.
Her entire staff was there, six consultants
in all, and all six were talking at once, answering phones, writing different
ideas on the whiteboards all at once.
They had so little continuity that it appeared as if they were six
people handling six different cases.
When, in truth, they were all handling the same case.
The case of the former NFL quarterback.
Carly sat her briefcase on the table
in the back of the room and then leaned her butt against the table.
She watched her staff talk and write with
each attempting to be the one to find the magic answer, when there was no such
thing.
But Carly let them do their
thing.
Her adopted father taught her the
power of observation and she used it to stunning effect in her role as public
relations director.
That was why she
didn’t speak.
She had to first see where
they were coming from, she felt, before she could know where she needed to take
them.
Upstairs, in what the employees
called the Watch Tower, Trevor Reese and his client, former New England
Patriots quarterback Ethan Campbell, were watching too.
They were watching a series of closed-circuit
monitors of Trevor’s entire operation, but specifically of his conference
room.
His very chaotic conference
room.
And Ethan was not impressed.
“How are they going to help me,
Trev?” he asked his long-time publicist.
“They’re as shocked as my fans are.
And they’re so young!
How are
these kids going to turn this around?”
Trevor, sitting behind the desk,
calmly sipped more coffee, his large violet eyes dancing with mirth.
“Carly will handle it,” he said.
“You just watch.”
Ethan continued to stand behind
Trevor’s chair and watch the monitor, but he remained unimpressed.
Those young Harvard hotshots never impressed
him.
Just a bunch of fast-talking
nerds
with zero common sense.
And common sense was what he felt was
needed.
It didn’t take a genius to know
what he’d done and how much trouble he was in, and what he could possibly to do
to beat the rap.
It took a
slickster.
Carly Sinatra was a gorgeous
girl with a smoking body, a body he had every intention of breaking one of
these days.
But in Ethan’s eyes, there
was nothing slick about her.
Trevor kept his eyes on Carly.
Because he knew her.
He knew, as Carly sat in that conference
room, she wasn’t interested in being slick.
She was interested in solving the problem.
That was one of the reasons why he hired
her.
She was young, but she’d already
amassed a reputation as one of the best crisis managers around.
She was working out of California but wanted
to return to the New England area where she once attended school when one of
his head hunters told him about her, and he gladly snatched her up.
And brought her to Boston.
And now seeing her with that innate
patience, as her staff continued to chase their tails, made Trevor all the more
certain of his choice.
Because she never
once made her presence known.
It was her
staff, after talking themselves into exhaustion and writing up all of the
whiteboards, who finally bothered to look to her for answers.
“What are we going to do, boss?” one
of her consultants asked.
“We’ve come up
with every conceivable option, and not one of them are viable.
We could all lose our jobs if we don’t get
this right!
You know how Mr. Reese can
be!
What are we going to do?”
“The first thing we will not do,”
Carly said calmly, “is panic.
That we
will not do.”
Then she exhaled and sat
on the edge of the table.
“Tell me
exactly what happened.”
Most of them found such a request
unnecessary.
Surely she’d seen the
morning news and read the morning newspapers?
But they knew Carly.
They knew it
wasn’t about whether or not she knew what happened, but whether or not she knew
that
they
knew what happened.
This was her way of getting their scattered
minds back on the same page.
Murial Roadonsen spoke up.
“Ethan
Campbell was found in a hotel room with a girl he thought was twenty-one.”
“But who turned out to be?” Carly
asked.
“Thirteen,” Murial said.
Carly felt an inward jolt.
She even frowned.
“How could anybody in their right mind
confuse a thirteen year old for a full grown woman?
Either he’s dumb as dirt,” she said, “or
thinks we are.
Which is it?”
Upstairs, Ethan heard her comment and
ran his hands through his hair.
“
Got
damn, Trev!
She’s worse than the media.
I won’t stand a chance with her running my
PR!”
“She’s making valid points,” Ethan
responded.
“Just shut up and listen.”
Ethan looked at Trevor with hate in
his eyes.
One day he was going to put
that arrogant asshole in his place.
But
right now, he needed a powerhouse like Trevor on his side.
He therefore shut up, and continued to
listen.
After some of the staff members gave
their take on Ethan’s motivation, with most judging Ethan guilty as sin in any
event, Carly changed course.
They were
getting nowhere bashing the client.
“Are
there any photos?” she asked.
“Only what her family has released,”
Murial said.
“There’s been no
trial.
There hasn’t even been an
indictment.
But already they’re looking
to sue the shit out of Ethan.”
“Show me what we have,” Carly said.
The projector came down, covering the
whiteboards, and Murial grabbed the remote and pressed the button.
The entire staff began commenting, shocked by
the view.
When Carly saw the photos on screen,
she wasn’t as shocked as she was disheartened.
Those photos were of innocence itself.
Those photos were of a sweet, vibrant child who looked even younger than
thirteen.
And her heart began to
pound.
And decisively, yet unnoticed by
everyone, her small hand began to slowly ball into a fist.
And she remembered every single one
of those nights.
The hand over her mouth.
That was always the first thing that flashed
in her mind.
Not the actual act, but the
preparation for that act.
His big, fat,
clammy hand would cover her mouth.
She
was usually asleep, or pretending to be, when he’d suddenly jolt her with the
feel of his hand over her mouth.
She
would try to scream, but his hand was too big.
Her little voice wasn’t even muffled.
His hand was so large, it went completely unheard.
Then he’d put on the duct tape.
That was always next.
That duct tape!
She used to cry when the tape went on, tears
would fall so hard that they would trace down her neck, until she realized no
one heard her.
She wasn’t thirteen, like
Ethan’s victim, when it first started.
She was nine.
It all started just
after Jenay and her father divorced.
By
the time she was thirteen, she was an old pro.
By the time she was thirteen, there was no need for the tape because she
stopped screaming and crying years before.
Hundreds of years before.
But he
continued to cover her mouth, and tape it, anyway.
The best of those horrific nights was
when it was just him.
He’d lift up her
gown, open her up, and ram it in.
He
came quickly, so it didn’t last as long.
He was small, so it didn’t hurt as bad.
At least not the physical pain.
But most nights it wasn’t him.
It was the men who paid him.
He got her ready.
He covered her mouth and then taped her
mouth.
He held her down while the men,
one after the other one, all musky and sweaty and despicable, did her until she
was bleeding.
It was usually three a
night.
Sometimes four.
Once she counted eight.
Each one would begin with a threat to
kill her, and her sister, if she ever told a living soul.
Then they would do her mercilessly, zip up
their pants, and warn her all over again.
Don’t tell.
Never tell.
Some pointed guns at her, some pointed knives
at her, some just pointed a finger.
Then
they’d pay and leave.
She never knew how
much they paid her father.
But she saw
them, after each encounter, pay him.
And
then her father would warn her too.
With
a gun to her head.
Tell no one.
Not even Ashley.
Not one
living soul
.
While he lived, she couldn’t
tell.
There were too many men.
Too many warnings.
Too much terror.
After he died, she wouldn’t
tell.
There were too many memories of
those men.
Too many memories of those
warnings.
Too much
shame
.
Carly didn’t realize she had completely
shut down until the doors to the conference room opened, and Trevor Reese,
their boss, walked in.
His presence
stopped her staff’s accusatory conversation, and jolted her back in charge.
The tension in the room escalated as
soon as he walked in.
Not because he was
a bad man that they all feared.
It was
because he was a powerful man they didn’t really know.
Carly had been in his employ for five months,
and had assembled her entire team less than three months ago.
For her staff, this was their biggest case
yet.
That was a source of the
tension.
The fact that Carly had already
warned them that they would be summarily dismissed if they didn’t produce
results to the big man’s liking and produce them fast, was the main source.
“Good morning, everyone,” Trevor said
in his familiar measured tone.
“Good morning, Mr. Reese,” the staff said almost in unison.
“Good morning, sir,” Carly said
thereafter.
But Ethan had no time for
niceties.
He was already frowning and
pointing.
“What the fuck are those pictures
doing up there?” he asked.
“Take’em
down!
Take’em down right now!”
Carly’s staff looked at her.
She buttered their bread, not him.
Carly, still calm as calm could be, Trevor
noticed, nodded to Murial.
“Turn it
off,” she said.
Murial quickly pressed the button and
the screen went dark.
“That’s better,” Ethan said.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?
You work for me!”
“Actually they work for me,” Trevor
said, to the inward delight of the staff.
“And speaking of work, Miss Sinatra,” he added, to Carly.
“What are we going to do about this little
problem my client has?”
Carly looked at Ethan.
He was the only man she’d ever worked for who
never came onto her.
He was the only man
she’d ever worked for who had her complete respect.
“We are going to do what we have to do,” she
responded.
“And that is what?” Trevor asked.
Carly didn’t skip a beat.
“Decimate her,” she said.
Ethan smiled.
“Well alright!”
Trevor, however, continued to stare,
unabashedly, at Carly.