Big Bad Alpha: A Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  Suddenly, it was like the world had been thrown into slow motion, like a scene from a cheesy romance movie. Cain Bohannon’s beautiful brown eyes slowly drifted up my body, starting at the leather miniskirt, then up my belly, then up, around, and over my big boobs, finally reaching my face.

  I sighed.

  Or I think I did.

  Or maybe I had been holding my breath and had to let it go.

  I didn’t remember. I just knew that the moment his eyes met mine, my knees gave a little shake.

  Like I said, cheesy romance bullshit. Go figure.

  He blinked at me a couple of times and his lips curled into a slow smile. His eyes burned into me. I could feel the heat coming from them, like little lasers that were burning me up from the inside, making my nipples hard and my lady parts damp.

  “I’ll have a Grey Goose, straight up,” he said. He tucked his phone inside his jacket and leaned toward me. His eyes bounced from my tits to my eyes. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Liv,” I gushed like a silly schoolgirl. I almost curtsied. For fuck’s sake. Who curtseyed anymore? I cleared my throat and gave my head a little tilt. “I mean, Olivia Poole. My friends call me Liv. Or Olivia. Whatever.”

  The little voice inside my head was going ballistic, screaming, Christ, girl, will you just shut the fuck up?

  “Nice to meet you, Liv,” he said, holding out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Cain. This is Drew. And these are…” He frowned at the others sitting with them, as if he had no idea who they were. “The rest of the group.”

  “Um, hi,” I said, bobbing my head at the group while shaking his hand. His fingers closed around my hand and held on for a minute. A little tingle crept up my arm. I had a lump in my throat that refused to go down. He smiled again and let his fingers drift away from mine…sad. His teeth were perfect, white. How lucky they were to be so close to his lips… Shit!

  The blond guy named Drew leaned in to interrupt our little flirting session. His timing sucked.

  He said, “So, Liv, be honest with us.”

  He gestured toward the stage below. The first act was getting ready to start. It was a band called the Dead Dudes who mainly played covers of Iggy Pop songs. They were zero competition for the Flakes. I mean, Iggy Pop was like a hundred years old and never even had a hit song. Nobody gave a shit about Iggy Pop. What the heck were these losers thinking?

  Drew asked, “Are any of these bands any good?”

  I narrowed my eyes, mocking deep thought, and tapped a finger to my chin. I noticed Cain had not taken his eyes off me. I could feel his eyes scanning my body like one of those machines at the airport.

  “Most of them are shit,” I said with a shrug. “But there is a group called the Flakes that I think you’ll really like.”

  “The Flakes,” Cain said. “Why do you think we’ll like them?”

  “Well, they’re an all-girl group and they play all original songs,” I said slowly, with a serious frown, like I was explaining the fucking theory of relativity to a dog. “And they’re singer is really, really talented. And hot. I mean, you know, hot in a rock and roll sort of way. I’m not like a lesbian or anything…” Shit.

  “She’s really, really talented?” Cain mocked, giving me that smile again. I finally felt the lump slide down my throat. I resisted the urge to lick my lips while our eyes were honed in on each other.

  “Yes, really, really, really talented,” I said, throwing in another “really” and playfully bouncing a little on the balls of my feet. My boobs bounced, which made the other three guys glance at each other. Cain didn’t take his eyes off mine.

  “What’s the singer’s name?” Drew asked, cutting the others a hard look. I got the feeling he was number two on the pecking order, with Cain being the solid number one.

  “Her name?” I blinked at him and licked my lips.

  “Yes. Do you know the singer’s name?” Drew asked.

  Rusty suddenly appeared from behind me, saving me from embarrassing myself further. He gave me a “what the fuck are you doing in this section” frown.

  He rubbed his hands together and said, “Okay, Cain, we’re about to start. Liv, are you taking their drink order? I thought this was Sherry’s section.”

  “Um, we sort of swapped,” I said, leaning in to speak quietly in his ear. “So I could, you know, schmooze a little.”

  Rusty glanced down at my mutilated T-shirt and frowned for a moment. Then he made an “aha” face and smiled. “All right then. Get their drinks and let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away,” I said, forcing a smile.

  I looked at Cain and this time curtsied for real.

  I fucking curtsied.

  I’d never curtsied in my entire life.

  The little voice inside my head was laughing its ass off.

  I quickly walked away so Cain wouldn’t see how red I had turned.

  My one chance to schmooze Cain Bohannon, CEO of BEG and Mr. Fuck List himself, and I freakin’ curtseyed. I could only hope my performance onstage would be more impressive than my waitressing.

  As soon as I dropped off their drink order at the bar, I rushed into the bathroom and puked my guts out. The night was not starting out as smoothly as I had planned.

  CHAPTER SIX: Cain

  “Please tell me it’s almost over,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table and burying my face in my hands. I’d downed six old fashions and decided that no amount of alcohol was going to make this night any better. The only saving grace was our waitress, Liv, the blond beauty with tits out to there and an ass up to here.

  I leaned in to Drew and whined. “Jesus Christ, man, this is sooo fucking painful.” I glared at the three talent acquisition idiots who had set up the battle of the really, really bads. They had the fearful look of men lined up for execution. I snarled at them.

  “Let me hear you guys say, ‘Do you want fries with that?’ Come on, motherfuckers, say it.”

  In unison, they said it.

  “Good,” I said, waving at them like they were a bad smell. “Practice that, because tomorrow that’ll be your fucking job.”

  Over the last two hours, we had heard ten of the worst bands on the planet. I had lost interest after the third band, a death metal trio that called themselves Satan’s Bitches. I wished I could say they were the worst of the worst, but they weren’t. Not even close. By the time the tenth band was through, I was ready to drive railroad spikes into my ears because it would be far less painful than sitting through another band.

  Like I said, the only reason I hung around as long as I did was the smoking-hot waitress with the big tits and big ass that I would have loved to have sunk my teeth into.

  Olivia Poole—Liv, to me and her other close friends—was a gorgeous blond with big blue eyes and plump lips and a fucking smile that made my balls tingle. Too bad she wasn’t famous. I would have her riding the magic pony in the back of my car.

  Still, a blow job in Rusty’s office would not be something I would turn down. Maybe I’d suggest that to her after the show.

  The talent guys huddled together in a tight ball on the other side of the table and tried to pretend they were no longer there.

  Drew had consumed twice the number of drinks I had, but he was somehow holding it together better than any of us. If anything, he just grew a little more flamboyant when he drank. He spoke with his hands, sweeping them through the air like Mr. Miyagi from that old Karate Kid movie.

  He bumped me with his elbow and nodded at the stage below. The stage lights were off between acts, but I could make out dark figures getting into place behind the microphones and drums.

  “Okay, this is the band Olivia, the waitress, told us about. The all-girl group. The Flakes. At the very least, maybe they’ll be worth a blow job in the limo after the show.”

  “It’s scary how much we think alike,” I said with a heavy sigh. I leaned forward in my chair with my elbows on my knees and waited for the stage lights to com
e up.

  Rusty appeared at the mic under a spotlight. The crowd hooped and hollered at him.

  “Okay, you bastards, calm down,” he said, waving his hands in the air. He had used a little card that contained a brief bio to introduce each group. He held the card with the Flakes’ intro up to the light and squinted at it.

  “Our next group consists of three young ladies from right here in NYC. You’ve seen them here before on open mic nights. They’re gonna do an original song called…” He glanced over his shoulder at the lead singer, who was still in the shadows. “Is this right? Okay… They’re gonna do an original song called ‘Fuck Your List.’ Give it up for the Flakes!”

  The stage lights came up to reveal a skinny goth girl who screamed heroin addict on drums and a chubby redhead with pierced everything on bass. My eyes locked onto the lead singer. I felt the breath catch in my chest. I smiled. The lead singer was Olivia, our waitress. She glanced up at me for a moment, our eyes locking, and then waited for the drummer to count them off.

  “One, two, three, four…”

  As the song started, a hard-driving punk beat that made the crowd go wild, I glanced over at Drew. He was looking back at me. Both our mouths were hanging open.

  “We’ve been had,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Fuck Your List?” he cackled, his hands sweeping through the air. He had to shout so I could hear him over the song. “I think this song’s dedicated to you, Mr. Bohannon.”

  I nodded in agreement and focused all of my attention on Olivia. She was really into it, singing and jumping up and down as she hammered out the chords on the cheap guitar strapped low at her hips. Her big tits bounced at her chest. She was practically screaming the words, like a young Courtney Love, but I could tell she had a good voice. I had an ear for music. I could spot a real singer from a mile away. Sadly, most of the singers on the charts today would sound like shit if their voices weren’t run through a harmonizer. Not Olivia Poole. This girl had a set of pipes inside those magnificent tits. I wanted to press my ear to her tits and hear more.

  I licked my lips like a hungry wolf and grinned at the words booming from Olivia’s sweet lips. For a moment, I felt an odd sensation in my chest. Then I realized my cell was buzzing in my inside jacket pocket, making my hard nipple tingle.

  Olivia was killing it onstage.

  “YOU’RE GONNA BE PISSED…

  BUT I DON’T WANNA BE KISSED…

  SO FUCK YOUR LIST…

  FUCK YOUR LIST!”

  She had the crowd chanting along with her now.

  “FUCK YOUR LIST! FUCK YOUR LIST!”

  I tugged the phone out of my pocket and read the text message from Katie Berry, a BEG pop singer whose last album hit number one on the Billboard and bought me a new beach house in Malibu.

  I smiled as I read the text. In town 1 night… Cum mark me off your list…

  “I have to go,” I said, leaning into Drew so he could hear me over the pounding beat of the music. I nodded at the Flakes, specifically Olivia, who had the crowd eating out of her hand. “Give her my card and have her come in tomorrow to talk about recording a demo.”

  “Wait, there’s one more band,” Drew shouted, tugging at my sleeve. “Where the fuck are you going?”

  “Got a fire that needs putting out,” I said, wiggling my phone at him. The talent monkeys were all looking at me with fear in their eyes. I leaned over the table and smiled.

  “Don’t worry, boys, your jobs are safe for now,” I said. I leaned down to whisper in Drew’s ear. “You pick the winner. These idiots wouldn’t know a star if it fell out of the sky and hit them in the fucking head.”

  “Do you want me to pick her?” Drew asked, his Botoxed forehead slick even though his eyes were frowning. I shook my head.

  “Pick the best band,” I said. “Just give my card to her.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Olivia

  “Second fucking place? Seriously? Give me a motherfucking break!”

  Mona had been raving for nearly two hours, ever since that mohawk motherfucker and his group of heavy metal assholes took the top prize at the battle of the bands. Turned out, the entire group had mohawks, all different colors. I guess that was their thing. They were lucky Mona didn’t hold them all down and take her scissors to them.

  I was as shocked as she was, because I thought we’d killed it, but killing it with one song didn’t mean we had what it took to make it big in the long term. Who knew, maybe Cain Bohannon didn’t like the song I’d written about him. Maybe he had taken it as a personal insult or something. Fuck. Sometimes my brilliance got in the way of my common sense. Whatever.

  Or maybe Cain hadn’t been involved in picking the winner. When I looked up after our set, he was already gone. So maybe Blondie and the other BEG guys just liked the mohawk motherfuckers the best and crowned them the winners. At least we got second place, which was five-hundred bucks to split three ways.

  Mona tore off her ripped denim jacket the minute she kicked in the apartment door and threw her drumsticks across the room.

  I held up my hands to try to calm her down. “Mona, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not fucking okay,” she said. I’d never seen Mona so upset. She had even cried a little on the subway, something I’d never seen her do. Her black mascara had streaked down her cheeks.

  “We’ll get another shot,” I said.

  “No, we won’t.”

  “Yes, we will,” I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and giving her a shake. “You’re drunk and it’s late. Just go to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  She heaved a sigh that seemed to take all the air of her, like a balloon going limp in my hands. I pulled her into a hug and kissed her damp cheek.

  “Go to bed, honey,” I said. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  “Okay, sorry. I just hate that pink mohawk motherfucker,” she said, wiping her nose on the back or her hand.

  “I know. Me too.” I pushed her toward her bedroom door. “Go to bed.” She stumbled into her room and I closed the door.

  Ordinarily, I would have been pissed and crying right along with her, but something told me we hadn’t really lost, at least not yet. I went into the bathroom and closed the door. Even though we’d only done one song, I was mentally and physically exhausted. My body ached because I’d been twisted in a bundle of nerves all night, starting the moment I saw Cain walk in the door.

  I turned on the water in the tub as hot as I could stand it and sprinkled in some bath salts. It was almost two in the morning, but a good hot soak would do me good. I lit several candles and turned out the light. I set my phone and earbuds on a towel next to the tub and then bent down and opened the door under the sink. I took out Mona’s Magic Box and set it next to my phone.

  I stripped off my clothes and dropped them on the floor. I smiled at the mutilated T-shirt because I thought it might have been our good luck charm, but it hadn’t worked out that way. At least it got Cain to notice me, which was a pretty good consolation prize. Performing always made me horny as hell. And I had a really, really vivid imagination. Cain Bohannon would be its star for a long time to come.

  I slid my panties down my legs and took off my bra, letting my big boobs bounce free. My panties were damp, and I knew it wasn’t from sweat. I could smell my tangy juices soaking the crotch. My scent just made my juices start to flow again.

  The business card I’d slipped inside my bra drifted to the floor. I picked up the card and stepped into the bath. The water was hot, but it felt wonderful as I lowered my body into the tub.

  “Ahh…” I sighed as little beads of sweat flushed over my face. I brought the card closer to my eyes so I could read it in the candlelight. “Now why would you want to talk to me, Cain Bohannon, Founder & CEO, Bohannon Entertainment Group?”

  Cain’s gay, blond assistant had slipped me the card as he was leaving the club. They’d already proclaimed the mohawk motherfuckers (hmm, that was a great name for a band) the winners, so Mona, De
s, and I had been sulking at the bar. I thought Blondie was going to give us the old “good job, ladies” routine. Instead he pulled me aside and slipped me the card.

  “Come to the office tomorrow at two,” he said. “Alone. Cain wants you to meet with A&R to discuss doing a demo of your song.”

  “What’s A&R?” I asked suspiciously. I’d already had a few shots, so my brain wasn’t operating at full throttle. “Is that like S&M? If so, I’m not into that shit. I mean, not much…”

  “A&R? Really? Artists and repertoire,” he said, giving me a look that said I should have known the meaning if I was serious about my music. He rolled his eyes when the term didn’t connect with me. He pointed to the three guys who were waiting for him at the door.

  He said, “Those idiots that were sitting up there were from A&R. They’re responsible for scouting fresh talent and nurturing it during the recording process.”

  “Okay…” I blinked at the card and then frowned at him. “I don’t understand. Why do you want me to come alone?” I gave him a stony look. “If this is just some way to get me in the sack, you can forget it.”

  “Darling, if I got you in the sack, I wouldn’t know what to do with you,” he said with a smile. “Mr. Bohannon liked your song. More so, he liked the way you sang it. He wants you to meet with his A&R people to see if they think you should cut a demo.”

  “A demo?”

  He sighed. “Yes, darling, a demo.” He tapped a finger to the card. “Be there at two and come without your scary friends.”

  “Um…okay.”

  He kissed me on both cheeks like we were old pals and flitted out the door. I stared at the card for a moment, debating whether to tell Mona and Des about it. I decided to wait and see where the meeting might lead. I hated to disappoint them again, so I slid the card inside my bra for safekeeping.

  I set the card on the towel and slipped in my earbuds and tapped the music player on my phone. I was a punk rocker on stage, but now, at this moment, I needed something soothing. I chose Josh Groban’s first album. As Josh’s deep, golden voice softly filled my ears, I closed my eyes and let my imagination manifest Cain Bohannon.