SOLO
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
Deborah Bladon
Copyright
First Original Edition, October 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Bladon
ISBN: 9781926440071
Cover Design by Wolf & Eagle Media
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations either are the product of the author's imagination or are used factiously.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
Also by Deborah Bladon
The Obsessed Series
The Exposed Series
The Pulse Series
The VAIN Series
The RUIN Series
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Thank You
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About the Author
Chapter 1
Libby
"Have you fucked anyone in the chorus?"
This is when I wish like hell I'd brought my ear buds with me. Listening to this guy try to pick up Claudia isn't my idea of the way to spend an elevator ride early on a Monday morning. You'd think that landing a part in a Broadway play would mean work, work, and more work. It wouldn't mean the incessant sexual undertones that drive through every rehearsal and meeting day-after-day.
"No," she replies calmly.
"I wasn't talking to you," he snaps. "You. I'm talking to you."
Considering there are only three of us riding this slow ass elevator to the fourteenth floor I guess I need to address this. "Me?" I turn to face him and I feel an instant need to find my balance. I rest my hand against the chrome bar that stretches along the walls of the lift. He's hot. Like smoking hot as hell hot. Why didn't I notice him when I got on?
"What's your name?"
"Libby." This is one of those moments when I wish my parents would have given more thought to what I'd feel like being a twenty-two-year-old woman carrying around the name of a four-year-old. Libby? I've hated the name since I was in grade school. It screams sweetness and light.
"Libby?" he repeats it back. "I like it."
"What's your name?" I try to sound somewhat invested in this. I know his type. I've met dozens of guys just like this since I've moved to Manhattan. He's looking for a quick fuck. He's wearing an incredibly expensive three-piece suit and cuff links that cost more than my first, and only, car. I wouldn't be surprised if most women fall to their knees in his presence and give him and his dick exactly what they want. It can't hurt that he's got the most intense green eyes I've ever seen and jet black hair that is tousled enough to make him look that much more irresistible.
"You didn't answer my question." He takes a heavy step towards me as more people enter the elevator on the third floor.
I push back into the chrome bar, the coolness of it seeping through my thin t-shirt. I almost wish I would have worn something nicer to the rehearsal hall. Who knew I'd end up face-to-face with this? "What question?"
"Have you fucked anyone in the chorus, Libby?" His voice is deep and intimate. It's too intimate for such a small, crowded place.
"That's none of your business." I inhale the scent of his cologne. It's luxurious, subtle and intoxicating.
His hand darts to my waist as more people join the most interesting elevator ride I've ever encountered. "It's more my business than you know."
I roll my hips away from him. I can't want this man. I can't let any man tear my attention away from my work. "I doubt that," I whisper. "I really doubt that."
"Don't doubt me, Libby." He pushes his body closer to mine, the unmistakable firm outline of his cock pressing against my stomach.
I breathe a heavy sigh of relief as the elevator finally chimes its arrival on the fourteenth floor. "This is my stop." I try to push past him, but his hand holds firm to my waist.
"It's mine too." His right hand jumps to the wall behind me, trapping me in place. "Allow me to formally introduce myself before you run off."
My eyes dart over his shoulder to where Claudia is throwing me a confused look as she exits the lift. "I need to go," I say. "I can't be late."
"Don't worry about being late. I'm Alec Hughes."
"You're Alec Hughes?" I feel my breath catch. "You're the investor. You own my play."
"Correction, Libby." He leans in closer until his lips are almost touching mine. "I own the play. You work for me."
I feel all the blood drain from my face. I may actually faint. I've listened to one actress after another talk about Alec Hughes since I landed a spot in the chorus of Selfish Fate. This is supposed to be the next big musical to hit the Great White Way. It's also the proof that I've needed to show my parents that my decision to move to Manhattan to pursue a career in theatre has some merit. I can’t blame them for doubting me. I'd invested years in getting a business degree in Denver and leaving right after graduation to come here did little to impress them. I'm now standing almost lip-to-lip with the one man who holds all the control for my future in his big, strong hands. They are the very same hands that are still trapping me in place.
"It's nice to meet you." My voice is rigid and alert. I know who he is now. We both know that I'm completely mindful of the fact that he's here for one reason, and one reason, only. This morning cuts will happen. People will be dropped before we move into previews. He's here to lower the gauntlet and from the energy pouring out of his body, he won't even bat a gorgeous, long eyelash when he whips people's dreams from under them.
His eyes charge over me before his hand snakes its way to my arm. "This way, Libby."
I follow his lead because there's no other choice. "Okay," I mutter under my breath. I can't walk into the rehearsal hall with him. I don't want that stigma attached to my face. I can't be that one woman he picks from the chorus line to fuck this season. I've heard the rumors. The innuendo isn't muted at all. Alec Hughes loves his women innocent, naïve and willing. He always leaves them in a pile of emotional dust after he's used them. My career is way too important to me. I'm not going to become the next name in his personal playbill.
"Mr. Hughes." The high pitched voice of the director, Sharma Newsome, pulls at my left.
"Sharma," he says sharply. "I'm busy."
"I need to use the …" my voice disappears into the air in the small hallway. I'm inches away from the ladies' restroom. It's the retreat I need. I'm going to bolt in there and with any luck at all, by the time I walk into the rehearsal hall, he'll have his sights set on someo
ne else.
"I compiled a list of the candidates I like." Sharma pushes a piece of paper at Alec.
"Fine." He extends a hand to scoop it from her, pulling it into his fist without even the slightest glance.
I use the opportunity to make a dash to the restroom. I push on the wooden door, the creaky hinges alerting anyone else who may be in the dimly lit space. Being in the heart of mid-town, the building is showing its age, but it's a big, welcoming and enveloping space. It's the perfect retreat for everyone involved in the production of Selfish Fate. It's the space where my dreams are slowly coming true.
"You okay, Lib?" Claudia flips the words over her shoulder as she stares at me from one of the rectangular, chipped mirrors lining the wall just above a row of white, industrial looking sinks. "He looked like he was ready to fuck you right there between the ninth and tenth floors."
I blush at the image behind the words. If it was anyone else, I'd tell them to quiet down, but Claudia has been one of my best friends since I set foot in New York. She's brash, direct and has no filter. "That's Alec Hughes."
"You're obviously his pet project for the season." The words don't contain any emotion. There's no jealousy woven into them. Distaste isn't there either.
I pull a tube of clear lip gloss over my bottom lip. "I don't want to be."
She cocks a perfectly sculpted brunette brow in the mirror. "Why not? He's amazing. Did you see the way he looked at you? What was that?"
I had been pulled into him the moment he looked at me. He's the definition of everything any woman could ever want in a man visually. "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie. I have to lie. I don't want her to know that feeling Alec Hughes press himself against me has cleared my mind of just about everything, including my own name.
"You're a good actress, Lib. You're just not that good." The emphasis on that rips through me. "He was practically inside of you."
I laugh, not so much at the notion, but to bring some sense of lightness to the conversation. "I'm a great actress," I push back. I am. I'm not being egotistical. I don't throw the words out callously. I'm confident in my craft. That's why I'm here in the first place. I gave up everything to come here to pursue this dream. I know I have what it takes.
"You actually are." She reaches to push a wayward strand of my blonde hair towards the high ponytail I hurriedly crafted as I was racing towards the subway just a short thirty minutes ago. "Fix your hair."
I nod as I stare at myself in the mirror. I opted for no make-up again today. My brown eyes pop under my thick lashes enough that mascara is just a wasted expense. On a good day, or a date night, I'll opt for eyeliner and a tinted lip liner. Today I'm bare, exposed and hopeful that this won't be my last day preparing for my Broadway debut. "This is it." I turn to look directly at Claudia. "Good luck."
"I'm Irish, luck is part of me." She taps herself on the chest. "You don't need luck, either. You've got Alec Hughes waiting outside that door for you."
"I doubt it," I chuckle. I do doubt it. By now, Alec Hughes will be in the rehearsal hall with another chorus girl pinned to the wall.
Chapter 2
Alec
What the fuck was that? I promised myself I wasn't going to fuck an actress in Selfish Fate. I'm here to cut the fat out of this production, not to seduce anyone. I'd blown my load down the throat of a waitress I met in Chelsea last night. She was eyeing me up over dinner so I gave her my number and picked her up when her shift ended. She had my dick out and in her mouth within minutes. That should have been enough to tide me over until I could find someone to fuck later this week. That pretty little blonde in the elevator changed everything. How the hell am I supposed to go into the rehearsal hall and sit down with my cock aching to be inside of that?
I can't keep doing this.
I can't stop doing this.
Just when I think I've got my cock under control I step into an elevator and see an ass like that. It's round, so plump and so tight. Those snug yoga pants she's wearing are doing nothing to hide that ripe, beautiful body she's trying not to display.
She dashed into the ladies' room when the director cornered me about the cast cuts today. I almost barreled right in after her. I can picture it now. I'd have her pressed against the wall, her ass right there as I rammed my dick into her from behind. I need to taste that. I have to have that. I don't give a fuck about being professional. I own this musical. She's part of it. I want her.
"Mr. Hughes?"
I turn to face the director again. I barely know the woman. All I know is that she's eager, hungry and she's going to get this musical into a theatre so I can finally recoup on at least one of my Broadway investments. This is the third production I've invested in and I've yet to see even a dollar back. I can't keep throwing money into this but I made a promise years ago. Sooner or later I'm going to have to fuck the sentimental shit and call it a day.
"What is it?" I blurt out at her.
She's taken back. I can see by the frown lines that instantly overtake her forehead. I don't care. I'm paying her a small fortune to get this production to where it needs to be. Her incessant calls over the last few days imploring me to come down here have worn on my last nerve. I don't have time for this shit.
"We need to make some decisions," she whines. "I need your input about the cast."
My eyes jut to the restroom. The pretty blonde is still hiding behind the door. I came on too strong. She looked like a little doe that was stuck on the railroad tracks when a train was speeding out of control. She's not used to men like me. I can tell she's never had a man like me before. That just makes her that much sweeter.
"I don't give a fuck what you do with the cast." I glance at my phone. I've got a full day of meetings. Running Hughes Enterprises is taxing. It sucks all of my time. The last thing I need is to be standing in this hallway talking about singers and dancers. I write the checks, I don’t need to make every fucking decision. That's what the producer is for. Where the hell is he? Randall Myers should be here taking care of this himself.
"Excuse me?" Her tone is biting. I've offended her, obviously. Christ, the woman should be used to this by now. She's taken on an almost impossible job. We're trying to craft an entire Broadway production out of a book and musical score by two kids barely out of high school. The writers are literal unknowns. I've got nothing to back up their talent. It's like I'm climbing fucking Mount Everest with a bunch of children hanging from my back.
"You heard me." I stare at her. "I don't have the time to be called down here for meaningless shit like this."
"It's your play." She motions towards the doors that lead into the rehearsal space. "You should be interested in what's going on."
I open the door, allowing her to walk through first. "You should be handling all of this on your own." I survey the room, taking in the sight of all the dancers and singers who are betting their future on this production. Randall is nowhere to be found. This is the last production I invest in that has his name attached to it.
"You hired me and this is the way I do things." She takes a seat at a long, wooden table near the front of the space. "Take it or leave it, Mr. Hughes."
I scan the young women in the room as I lower myself into the chair next to her. Each of them catches my eye as I stop to take them in. There's no denying that every single one of them is worth a fuck. They've all heard about me. I can see it in their expressions. I don't want any of them though. I want Libby.
She's the one.
I'll have her in my bed by the end of the week.
Chapter 3
Libby
"I want Libby."
They're just three words. They're small in relative comparison to other words but right now, they feel monumental. Every single person in the rehearsal hall has turned to look at me. I'm leaning against a windowsill, one hand fisted against my thigh. The other hand pressing against my stomach, trying with determined pressure to discourage my breakfast from making a return appearance. I feel ill. I'm
so nauseous that I'm scared that I may actually fall forward, face first, onto the polished hardwood floors.
"You want Libby?" Sharma repeats back Alec's words, in a slightly louder tone than he used.
My eyes dart to Sharma. You'd think I'd crave the spotlight given my incessant need to perform every chance I can get, but right now, I just want everyone's gaze to fall to someone else. Why is this happening? I look like shit today. Why the hell is he doing this? I don't want to be that girl.
"Libby stays." He doesn't add anything to the two words. The twisted look of confusion on Sharma's face mirrors my own.
She shakes her head slightly as if to try to gauge some perspective. "You're saying you want Libby to stay in the chorus?"
Can they just shut the hell up about me already? I stand in the back with eleven other faceless dancers. Once this musical actually hits the big stage, I highly doubt that anyone without binoculars will be able to pick me out. This is the first step to what I hope will be a celebrated Broadway career. Right now I feel as though I'm teetering precariously on the edge of everything crashing down around me.
He nods slightly as his eyes skim the now smoothed piece of paper she handed to him in the hallway less than ten minutes ago. "Libby Duncan," he says my name slowly. "Libby Duncan stays."
"Fine." Her response is curt and exaggerated. I'm thankful she's tiring of his singular focus as much as I am. "What about the others?"
He takes one last lingering glance at the paper before handing it back to her. "Your choices are adequate. Fire everyone else."
There's a collective gasp in the room at his words. It's surprising to me, given the fact that we all are aware that some of us won’t be here tomorrow. It's business. It's cutthroat and unless you have what it takes, you're going to be shown the door without any pomp and circumstance.
"I'll handle it." Sharma nods nervously as if she's convincing herself that she can take on the tortured task of crushing the dreams of almost half of the people in this room.
"Libby, a moment?" Alec pulls himself to his feet, his long, elegant fingers buttoning his suit jacket. "In the hallway."
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