“Because you need to be calm, cool, and collected for your upcoming interviews,” Miranda says as the limo starts to slow down. “You can’t start getting annoyed and chewing out the reporters on camera just because they ask you about your anacon . . . umm, romance life.”
“The hell I can’t,” I growl. “My personal life is no one’s business.”
“These are different times, Gavin,” Miranda says softly. “The days where people only want to hear about your talent are over. They want to hear about what you’re wearing, who you’re dating, who you’re thinking about sleeping with. And considering that there’s a . . .” her words trail off, but I catch her meaning.
The video. It always comes back to that goddamn video.
“It’s bullshit.”
Miranda shrugs. “It’s just what it is.”
I sigh, leaning back and unbuttoning the blazer. “The next time a reporter asks me about my sex life or my dick, I’m walking off. I don’t care if it’s on the red carpet of the fucking Oscars. It’ll be better than giving them another sound bite. At least during football season, they ask about the game first sometimes.”
“You’d better not,” Miranda warns.
I clench my jaw, wanting to reprimand her for scolding me like a child, but I resist the urge.
“Tell me again why they picked this place?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Because it’s a little podunk city,” Miranda says. “Remember, you’re supposed to be this badass who plays around with the main heroine for some of the movie. You two have known each other since you were kids, and they’ve got to get some background scenes.”
“Oh yeah. The big dying scene,” I say with a grunt, remembering the script. At least my character goes out with a bang—literally. A hit squad rattling my car with machinegun fire before they blow it up with a rocket? Guess I’m tough to kill. Too bad I won’t do much for it. It’s all stuntmen. “When are they filming that?”
“Umm, I’m not exactly sure,” Miranda says. “But you’ll have time to practice and get your lines down at least.”
I grunt noncommittally and then ask, “How detailed are these love scenes supposed to be?” I know I’m supposed to have at least one bedroom scene with the leading lady of the movie, Leslie Hart.
“It’ll be shot in darkness with blue light, according to what I saw from the studio,” Miranda says. “Don’t worry, the Anaconda isn’t going to be making his big screen debut. Who knows? They might use body doubles for a lot of it.”
I shake my head in disgust as we come up on the hotel. “Fuck,” I mutter, seeing the paparazzi parked outside, irritation causing me to clench my jaw. “Figures. I can’t go anywhere without these vultures showing up.”
“Pull around the side!” I yell to the limo driver, who’s kept his mouth shut the whole time we’ve been bickering. The guy’s a pro. I’d have jumped out several stop lights ago if I had to sit there and listen to us.
He just nods and waves, pulling around the corner and driving a bit farther before pulling over. I grab a hooded coat, pull it on, and throw the hood over my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miranda,” I tell her, flashing a wink.
I slam the limo door and slap the roof before Miranda can reply, and I walk away, ignoring the people on the sidewalk. I’m through a side entrance within two minutes, easily evading the vultures with cameras waiting at the entrance.
I head up to the front desk, keeping my sunglasses and hat on. Thankfully, the manager’s on duty, and while he trips over his tongue a few times, probably still worried about the chocolates, I slip off to the elevators and up to the top floor. Room 603.
I unlock the door and head inside, yanking my coat off before throwing it at the sofa. I don’t even pause to take in the opulence of the room or the breathtaking view of the skyline through the floor to ceiling windows. It’s nice and all, but I’ve stayed in plenty of five-star penthouse suites and I’m used to luxury.
There are several bags waiting for me on the floor. Miranda must have sent them ahead.
I pick up one of them to see what’s so important inside, and when I do, I see a dress and some stilettos. Someone sent up the wrong bag.
Annoyed, I sling the bag at the table and into one of the chairs, not caring when the chair falls over onto the floor.
I check one of the other bags. This one has my clothes. I set an outfit out on the bed, dark slacks and a white dress shirt. I’m supposed to be having dinner in a few hours with Miranda and a big movie exec to go over a few things before shooting. And I can’t go to the meeting if I smell like cigarettes and musk.
After I’ve made sure I’ve picked my most dapper attire, I walk into the bathroom, slide out of my clothes, and enter the shower stall for a quick rinse. As the cool water hits me, my mind wanders to the possibility of picking up some ass tonight. I could see myself easily picking up some chick from the event I’m heading to. Hell, maybe even someone from the hotel lobby. But once again, I’m unable to get excited at the prospect of sharing my bed.
I shake my head as water runs down my forehead and into my eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me? There was a time where I’d been happy to share my bed with one or even two. But the thought just doesn’t excite me anymore.
I guess I’m getting tired of sex that doesn’t mean a damn thing.
My mood sour, I finish rinsing off and step out of the stall. I’m in the middle of drying off when I realize I left my pants on the bed. I walk into the room while rubbing the towel against my head.
“Anaconda,” I swear I hear a sweet voice say as I’m about to pull the towel from my eyes.
Goddamn, I think, seeing the sight in front of me, then my inner voice groans. Oh, no. Not again.
The towel slips from my fingers as I see a woman dressed in a maid uniform, her eyes as wide as a doe’s as she gazes at me. Fuck. She’s beautiful. Rich brown hair frames big, brown, soulful eyes, a slightly upturned button nose, and ruby pink lips that are soft and plump. The sort of lips that I’d love to have wrapped around my cock.
My dick twitches as I look over the rest of her. Her uniform has a French maid vibe to it, showcasing her figure and legs that stretch on for days.
I’m used to seeing beautiful women, but there’s something about this girl that makes my blood heat in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
“Hi, I’m Gavin,” I say, stepping forward and then stopping. I feel stupid as fuck introducing myself while I’m butt naked. But it can’t be helped. The snake is already out of the bag. There’s no use covering him up now.
The girl doesn’t reply, her eyes as wide as saucers, her legs trembling. Jesus, she looks like she’ll need a respirator, her chest heaving as her eyes flit to my face, back between my legs, and then back to my face again.
Her mouth works for a moment as her eyes play ping pong, and I can’t help but grin at the effect I’m having on her. I don’t know why I’m enjoying this, but I am.
I boldly take a step forward, though I know I shouldn’t. She’s fucking petrified. “You all right?”
Her cheeks burning red, I hear her mumble, “I’m sorry,” before she turns and runs from the room without looking back.
For a moment, I’m tempted to go after her, but I don’t. After all, I am naked, and I don’t know where the fucking bathrobe is. But I’m pissed I didn’t get her name. She was gorgeous. And I could see the way she looked at me. I know that look.
And the image of her looking up at me with those eyes while I push into her body is going to be in my dreams until I make it a reality.
But she ran from me. I clench my jaw as I think about her plump, pouty lips and her wide eyes as she took in my naked body. My cock twitches again as I remember the lust that flashed in her eyes.
I decide right then and there that I’m gonna find her. And when I do, I’ll have those sweet lips wrapped around my cock in no time.
If it’s the last thing I do.
Want to read the rest? Get Anaconda HERE.
Preview: Mr. Fiance
by Lauren Landish
It’s fake, but it feels so good.
Oliver Steele is supposed to be my knight in shining armor. He’s tall, handsome, and as cocky as he is rich. With his good looks and charm, no one’s going to suspect a thing. No one’s going to believe our engagement is fake.
But he’s taking this thing way too far. The way he wraps his arm around me like I'm his. The way he kisses me and presses his hard body up against mine. I almost believe that it's real. Almost.
He's doing it on purpose now; he loves that this is getting to me.
Two can play his game, I won’t let him win. By the time our week together is done, I’ll leave Oliver on his knees and begging.
But the minute we’re alone in the bedroom, I know I’m in over way my head. When he undresses me with his eyes, I realize I lost before the game even started. It’s only a matter of time before I lose myself in his touch and let him do whatever he wants to me.
I know what I want, but I can’t tell what’s real anymore.
Chapter 1
Mindy
“Can we get some service over here?” yells a woman who’s seated at one of the tables in the packed coffee house. “You girls are moving slow as molasses!”
I slap the lids down on a couple of cups and place them in a cup holder before taking them over to the counter. I pause for a moment to dab the sweat from my brow with my apron, sighing. My feet ache from running back and forth during the early morning rush and I need a damn break.
Jesus, I tell myself as I force a fraudulent smile on my face. This is the worst morning ever. It’s a blistering hot day in July. The A/C’s shoddy, it’s like 100 degrees outside, and it feels like I’m working in the fiery pits of hell. And to make matters worse, it’s a packed house and I’m running behind. I don’t know how much more of this madness I can take.
“We’ll be right with you, ma’am!” I call out, flashing her an easy smile and a playful wink that hides my irritation. I ring up the order for a man standing at the front of the line and then send him on his way with his two iced coffees. He’s immediately replaced by another man, who spits out his order so fast I almost feel dizzy, barely catching it all. “We’re just running a little behind schedule this morning.”
“Bullshit!” the woman snaps, glowering at the line of people in front of me. She’s a well-kept, middle-aged blonde with an immaculate short hairdo, garbed in fur-trimmed designer clothes that go along with her snobby attitude. “There’s three of you back there, yet I’ve been waiting for over ten minutes for my frap.” She shakes her head, practically frothing at the mouth. “It’s ridiculous!”
A lump of anger forms in my throat. I quickly swallow it back, glancing to the sky. Dear God, give me the strength!
I grit my teeth, my eyes cutting off to the side where the equipment is. I see Cassie, one of my employees, taking her sweet ass time blending something. She’s acting like we don’t have customers piling up out the ass. Throwing her long, brown hair back, she takes in a deep yawn as if she’s tired from working so hard. If she weren’t new, I’d chew her out.
I shake my head.
At least she looks nice enough in our new uniform, a blue skirt that shows a lot of leg, with a white V-necked T-shirt with Beangal’s Den printed over the chest. But looking cute and pretty doesn’t mean shit to me if you’re not getting work done.
Sighing, I look around for Sarah, my other employee, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
Figures, I say to myself. One disappears on me, and the other is moving slower than a snail. Why did I want to be the manager of this place again?
“Ma’am,” I say as politely as I can manage, turning my eyes back on her. I signal to the waiting customer that I’ll be with him in a moment. “I understand your frustration with having to wait, but there’s no need for that language. There are kids in here.” I pause and add, “However, I promise that once you try our world-famous Tiger Caramel Frappuccino, you’ll forget all about the wait. It’s just that good.” I flash her another smile and a wink, hoping to defuse the situation.
“Ha! We’ll see! But if your service weren’t so damn bad, we wouldn’t have a problem,” the woman hotly retorts, ignoring my peace-making attempt and looking as if she’s ready for a fight.
I clench my hands, biting back a sharp response that instantly forms on my lips. Usually, I can handle even the most disgruntled customer with my charm, but this one seems immune to it. And she’s testing my patience.
Taking a deep breath, I draw myself up, then speak in calm, even tones. “Ma'am, if you can’t watch your language, I’m going to have to kindly ask that you leave.”
Steeling myself, I wait for her to challenge me. But surprisingly, she just grumbles, muttering something nasty under her breath as she looks away.
I sigh in relief. I was half-expecting to have to call hotel security to deal with this one.
For the next five minutes, I go back to frantically taking and filling orders. I have to stop three times to tell Cassie to pick up the pace. It does little good. If anything, she moves slower, like she’s silently protesting having to work hard.
Dammit. I just don’t have the time to get on Cassie's ass right now. It wouldn’t be so bad if Sarah weren’t MIA.
It just so happens that as soon as the rush of customers is gone, Sarah reappears from the back.
“Where on earth have you been?” I gasp, setting down a tray I’ve brought over from an empty table on the counter. “We’ve been slammed out here! I’m doing three people’s jobs!”
The twenty-year-old short brunette with dimples normally has a penchant for being overzealous about her job. She shakes her head as her eyes fall on Cassie. “I bet. She was probably up all night screwing Brad’s brains out.” I hold in a groan. Sarah loves to get digs in against Cassie whenever she can. I ignore responding to the bait as Sarah looks back to me. “I’m sorry, Mindy. I was just having a little trouble back there.”
I frown with confusion. “What kind of trouble?”
Sarah tilts her head to the side, biting her lower lip. “Well, uh, my tampon—”
“TMI!” I say, cutting her off and looking around fearfully, hoping no one heard what she just said. “Jesus, Sarah,” I hiss quietly, “what are you trying to do, scare our customers away?”
Sarah blushes, her cheeks turning a rosy red. “Sorry!”
I shake my head, gently grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her toward the dining area. “Never mind that. I need your help. There’s like five tables that need to be cleaned off and wiped down, and I need a few supplies from the back.”
Sarah nods dutifully, wiping her hands on her apron and making her way over to the messy tables. “On it, Boss!”
I sigh and shake my head as I watch her nearly run into a customer on her way. A pulsing ache runs down my side as I lean against the counter for support. I really don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of the day. The stress of running this place is getting to me lately. In fact, ever since I became the operating manager of Beangal’s Den, I’ve been overworked and tired. Sure, I’m making more money than I ever have, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s even worth it.
I work so much now that I have no social life. The vibrant small-town girl who wouldn’t hesitate to give a wild bull a run for his money has been replaced by an old maid. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been with a guy and let him do the . . .
A buzz at my side and a Taylor Swift ringtone of We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together interrupt my thoughts. Grumbling, I pull my cell out of my pocket and glance around the cafe to make sure things aren’t getting back out of hand before I answer it.
“Hello?”
“Mindy, my dear!” my mother’s voice greets me in a singsong tone.
I hold in a groan. I love my mom dearly, but she’s the last one I want to hear from right now. She always gives me a headache with her constant picking. “Mo
ther,” I reply cordially.
“My God, Mindy,” she complains with a sniff, “we haven’t talked in weeks. Can you sound any unhappier to hear from me?”
I knew I shouldn’t have answered.
I try my best to keep my tone even. “Sorry, Mom. I’m just working right now. Can I call you back after my shift?”
“No,” she replies flatly. “This is important.”
I try not to sigh out loud. “Okay, Mom. You have two minutes before—”
A piercing shriek interrupts my words and I jump in surprise. I turn around to see Cassie wiping coffee off her chest at the counter. Luckily, she’d only gotten it on herself and not a customer. I swear, I don’t know what I’m going to do with this chick.
“What the hell was that?” my mom demands on the other end of the line.
I pull away from the counter, shaking my head. Then I walk around, grab a towel from a shelf, and hand it over to Cassie. “Nothing,” I reply. “Just the background noise of the cafe.”
“It sounded like a dying cat.”
Can’t argue with that.
“There was something important you wanted to tell me,” I remind her, getting back on point.
“I’m getting married next week,” my mom announces, dropping the bomb on me without warning.
My jaw drops and my heart skips a beat at her words. While I’ve been expecting this, it still feels like a shock. After the heartbreak of Dad’s sudden death during my senior year of high school, Mom swore on her grandmother’s grave that she’d never marry again . . . until she met John Wentworth, a multi-millionaire businessman.
Unfortunately, I’ve heard more about John’s status than anything else about him. During their courtship, it was almost all she talked about.
John has this, and John has that. John bought me this and John bought me that. And one of my favorites, ‘Do I need to remind you how much John is worth?’ It’s a line she likes to pull out whenever I dare question the dynamics of her relationship. I swear, I think the only reason she’s doing this is because he’s loaded.
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