Alpha Mail
Copyright © Brenda Rothert 2017
Published by Silver Sky Publishing Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-9985507-2-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
Cover Designer
Regina Wamba, Mae I Design
www.maeidesign.com
Cover Photographer
Sara Eirew
www.saraeirew.com
Interior Design and Formatting
Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting
www.typeAformatting.com
Editor
Lisa Hollett, Silently Correcting Your Grammar
Copy Editor
Taylor Bellitto
Contents
ALPHA MAIL
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Brenda Rothert
Acknowledgements
#likeaboss
THIRTY-SEVEN EXTREMELY HOT men are looking at me, each one listening to my every word. Most twenty-eight-year-old women would be loving it, but me? I’m frustrated as hell right now.
“How much clearer can I be, you guys? No dick pics. Ever. It doesn’t matter if it’s your dick or not, we don’t transmit lewd images at Alpha Mail.”
A blond guy in the front row, whose name I can’t remember, frowns at me. “But we’re supposed to keep the customer happy . . .”
“Women can live full and thrilling lives without ever getting a dick pic,” I say, an edge of frustration in my tone.
“But on the platinum plan, we can get as dirty as the customer wants.”
Who is this guy? Does he not realize he’s talking to the owner of the company? I give him a tight smile.
“Our procedure manual is very clear that the platinum plan includes dirty texts and phone sex. No photos.”
“What if the customer sends photos first? What if they ask for dick pics?”
I take a calming breath before responding. “It’s still a no. You know how to handle requests that are against our rules.”
He nods, and I think it’s finally sinking in. But then he furrows his brow. “But what if it’s . . . just the tip?”
There’s a snicker from the back row.
“Did you seriously just ask that?” I shake my head.
He shrugs, his cheeks reddening. “I mean . . . what if it’s only part of . . . you know?”
I hold up a hand to emphasize the point I’m about to make. “No photos. None. No photos of dicks, dick tips, faces, chests, balls, or even kittens.”
My company’s marketing guru and close friend, Gretchen, must sense my irritation, because she steps in.
“Tyler, we’re going to have you repeat the training on this.”
I glance down at my notes and see that my next point is going to take a while, so I dismiss everyone for a fifteen-minute break. The guys all head straight for the lounge, which is always stocked with coffee, doughnuts, sandwiches, fruit, and other snacks and drinks. I found out early on that a key to keeping a twenty-to-fortysomething male workforce happy is plentiful food and drinks.
When I’m left alone in the conference room, my mind starts racing with nervous anticipation. There are so many things I want to perfect about Alpha Mail before the tour we’re doing in a few days for investors.
Even though I have a team that monitors all the communications between our team of alphas and clients, it would only take one mistake to give the whole company a black eye. One man who takes things too far or says something offensive, and we’d have a PR nightmare on our hands. I have a team for that too, but you know what they say about an ounce of prevention.
I need this investor meeting to go well. My company is thriving and growing at an unexpectedly fast rate, and this will help us build it strategically. I never imagined the idea I hatched over drinks with my best friend Carmen two years ago would grow into what it has.
“I’ve had enough of alphas,” I grumbled to her that night after yet another relationship had ended. “They’re too possessive and temperamental.”
“Not all alphas are as extreme as Tony,” Carmen had said, rolling her eyes as she referenced the man I’d just broken up with. “Taking you into a bar bathroom for a spanking because you made eye contact with another man isn’t normal.”
We’d laughed and drunk and laughed some more as we both lamented dates and relationships from men who’d said things like, “This pussy belongs to me, kitten,” and “Who dis dick belong to, babygirl?”
Alphas are often more irritating and amusing than hot, we’d agreed that night. I’d told Carmen I liked the racy texts and sexy goodnight phone calls from my alpha boyfriends, but not the part where I had to spend nearly all my free time with them and deal with their constant suspicions and jealousies.
Someone needed to start a business where women could subscribe to get texts and phone calls from sexy, brooding alpha types without the bullshit relationship part, I’d told Carmen over our second pitcher of margaritas.
Alpha Mail had been born, my initial business plan written on a napkin at the bar that night as sort of a joke. But when I delved further into the idea after my hangover passed, there was nothing funny about it.
It was solid, fresh, and utterly perfect for the modern woman who’s over the dating scene. Keep that heart-racing thrill of getting sexy, sometimes sweet messages from a hot man, and also keep your time free for work, school, or friends.
I’d hoped a hundred women would sign up when my initial marketing campaign started. Instead, 486 had signed up in the first week.
“Sienna?” Gretchen passes me a bottle of water, bringing me back to the present.
“Hmm?” I shake my head and smile at her. “Oh, thanks.”
“I can handle this next part if you need me to. I know you have financials to go through.”
A corner of my mouth quirks up in a smile. “Did you ever think you’d use your MBA to discuss when to use the word cock and when to use dick when texting clients of the company you work for?”
Gretchen smiles back and shrugs. “It’s a lot more interesting than my last job. I had to write marketing copy for nursing homes there.”
“That sounds kinda depressing.”
“Sometimes. And also ridiculous. My boss insisted we make the places sound like vacation resorts. Fun, adventurous, and sexy!” She rolls her eyes as she imitates her former boss’s excitement.
“Sexy?” I arch my brows skeptically. “A nursing home?”
She nods soberly. “You saved me from the campaign they were making me head up called The Old and the
Beautiful.”
“Shut up.”
“Not even kidding.”
Our male workforce comes trickling back into the room. Dan, an employee who asked me out recently, grins and winks in my direction as he sits down in the front row.
I sigh inwardly. I’d never, ever date an employee. That policy saved me from having to openly reject Dan, but he’s still trying to convince me we could be involved on the side.
No way. I don’t have the time or the interest. I spend at least twelve hours a day at the office—often more. And my off time is spent with Carmen and her six-year-old son, Jack. They moved in with me last year when Carmen had to quit her job to take care of Jack full time after he was diagnosed with Batten disease.
There are no easy days for Carmen, who is a single mom. My long work days are nothing compared to what she goes through. If I can get the investment I need in Alpha Mail, it will allow me to hire home nurses to help. I dream of it every time I walk in my front door and see Carmen asleep on my couch, the dark circles beneath her eyes ever-present now.
“I’ve got this,” I tell Gretchen. “But thanks. If you could maybe work on our investor packets for the meeting Friday?”
“Absolutely.” She gives me a mock salute.
As Gretchen walks out of the room, I look out over the sea of muscles in front of me. When I was younger, I would have been hot and bothered by all this testosterone. Now I just see my employees—men who can be coached into the best alphas out there, helping build my company into a powerhouse.
“All right.” I clear my throat and click on to my PowerPoint presentation. “We’re going to run through when it’s best to use and not use certain words. Specifically: fuck, cock, and dick.”
There’s a hum of amused laughter from my audience.
“I know.” I give them a quick smile. “But believe it or not, if we use these words sparingly in our client communications, it really ups their impact. So, let’s start with—” I bring up the first slide “—fuck.”
Let’s start with fuck. My mind registers a joke in there somewhere, but I move on, focusing on my presentation. This is my last shot to strengthen our brand before the investor demo.
I just hope it will be enough. It has to. Carmen and Jack are counting on me.
Andrew Benson, a reporter for the Chicago Sun, is waiting in a chair outside my office when I approach, moving as quickly as I can in heels.
“Sorry.” I smile at him. “My meeting ran over by a few minutes.”
He grins back, brushing dark hair away from his eyes. “No problem. I walked past the room as you were speaking. That sounded like . . . an interesting meeting.”
“Yeah.” I laugh lightly. “As you can imagine, our employees have to be comfortable talking about things that aren’t usually part of an office environment.”
He nods and arches his brows. “Ready for the interview?”
“Ready. Thanks for waiting. And thanks for the call. This is going to be great exposure for Alpha Mail.”
“I’m sure the story will get lots of reads. Our photographer will be coming by in about an hour to get a photo of you to go with the story.”
I run a hand over my red hair, which is down around my shoulders today. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt and a green blouse. With a little lipstick and mascara, I can be photo-ready.
“Perfect.”
“Ms. Mills, I have Conference Room One ready for you.” My assistant, Jane, gives me a confident smile.
She does an amazing job as my assistant. If I can get the investment I need to grow the business, I’m planning to promote her into a role more suited for her talents. It’ll mean training a new assistant, but that’s okay. I believe in rewarding hard work.
Andrew follows me into our makeshift conference room. It has two tables pushed together and surrounded by mismatched chairs. I’ve focused my resources on building my base of employees, and things like office furniture have been neglected. Another area I plan to address if I can attract investors.
“So, want to start out by telling me where you got the idea for Alpha Mail?” he asks as he sits down.
He’s almost handsome in a rumpled sort of way. With shaggy dark hair and glasses, I get a Clark Kent vibe from him. But he doesn’t interest me enough to check for a wedding ring. I’m officially over men.
“I drew from my own experiences. I know there are women out there who like certain parts of dating, but other parts . . . not so much. So my goal was to help them cut through and get only what they want.”
“But the relationships they find through you . . . they aren’t real, right?”
“They’re real in their own way. They aren’t exclusive, and they aren’t physical, but when clients choose an alpha to communicate with, that’s absolutely the only person they’re hearing from.”
Andrew quirks his lips into a smile. “What are the qualifications to be an alpha?”
“Alphas know what they want. They don’t pussyfoot. They’re domineering and often jealous and a bit controlling.”
“And women are looking for that?”
Bless your heart, Clark Kent. You have no idea.
“Some women, sure. And I’m hoping they’ll give Alpha Mail a try.”
Jane brings in coffee, and we continue the interview for nearly an hour. When the photographer arrives, Andrew says he has everything he needs for his story. He shakes my hand and leaves, looking more than a little perplexed.
I wasn’t really expecting him to get it. So many people think women are looking for a nice man who will open doors, kiss them goodnight, and not leave the toilet seat up. I’m sure a few of them are actually looking for that. But there are enough women dreaming of a dirty-talking alpha to grow my business into an empire.
And that’s exactly what I plan to do with this pitch to investors.
#showmethemoney
TODAY’S THE DAY. I’ve done everything I can to prep for this investor meeting, but I’m still as nervous as I’ve ever been. I can sense a pimple beneath the surface of my skin on one cheek, which brings me right back to adolescence. Fucking nerves.
Gretchen’s been by my side every step of the way, helping me answer every potential question and prepare for every potential pitfall. We’ve been awake all night, and we both just returned from our trips home to shower and dress for the meeting.
“How do I look?” I ask, passing her a giant paper cup of coffee I picked up on the way back.
She gives me a sheepish look. “Kinda awful.”
“Awful?” My lips part with horror.
“You told me I should never lie to you.”
“Well, shit.” I set down my own cup of coffee and look down at my charcoal suit. “Should I change? I have a black dress in my office closet.”
“No, your outfit’s perfect.”
“Then what is it?” My voice has a note of panic. “Is it the pimple? My hair?”
I reach back to undo the knot I put my long red hair back in, but Gretchen stops me with a shake of her head.
“No, Sienna. You look like you need to get laid and sleep for a good twelve hours.”
I half gasp and half laugh at that. “True on both counts. But I can’t do anything about either at the moment.”
“We’re ready.” She gives me a confident nod. “You’ve earned this moment, so square your shoulders and go kick some ass.”
I reach for her with a hug. “Thank you, G. I won’t forget this.”
“Me either,” she says softly. “You listen to my ideas and make me feel valuable. That’s . . . a really good feeling.”
I pull back and smile at her. “Your ideas are great, and you are valuable to me.”
Her eyes get a little misty, and I feel a lump in my throat. She clears her throat and says, “I’d totally give you millions of dollars if I were sitting at that table.”
We’re both laughing when Jane knocks on my office door.
“Come on in,” I say.
Jane looks like a CEO h
erself today, wearing a sleek dark green dress. I can feel her nervous excitement. Everyone in our small company knows how important today’s meeting is.
“Everyone’s ready for you,” she says. “I’m planning to bring in coffee again in about twenty minutes.”
“Perfect.”
My phone buzzes on my desk, and I glance down at it. The text on the screen from my older brother Coop makes me smile.
COOP: Knock ’em dead today. And if any of them hits on you, call me and I’ll kill ’em myself.
He can be a little bit protective. And since our parents relocated to California a couple years ago, Coop is the only family I have nearby. I used to follow him and his friends around our suburban Chicago neighborhood like a lost puppy, because I idolized my brother. I still do.
I text back a quick thanks and set my phone back on my desk, then head for the conference room. The racing of my heart intensifies as I get closer.
Outside the conference room, I pause and close my eyes. I can’t blow this. If I don’t get this money, it doesn’t just mean old office furniture for the near future. Alpha Mail isn’t about that for me.
I picture Jack’s smile as I tickled him on the couch last weekend. His laugh is infectious. The kid melted my heart from the time he was born, but now that he’s sick . . .
If I feel this helpless and desperate to help him, how does Carmen feel? She’s his mother, and she’d lay down her life in a heartbeat to save her son, but unfortunately, she can’t. Jack is going to get worse, and all we can do is love him, comfort him, and hire the best care money can buy.
That’s where I come in. As I think about Jack, my heartbeat steadies. For him, I can do this. For him, I will do this.
I open the conference doors and walk into the room, which is full of men in dark suits. There are a few women sitting around the table too, one of them a former professor of mine from grad school. When I see several people standing against the wall, my confidence surges. I told the investors they could invite anyone else who might be interested, and it looks like they did.
“Thank you for joining us today.” I take my spot at the head of the conference table. “I’m Sienna Mills.”
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