Behind the Scenes: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Novel

by Jessica Blake

  I drop my hands and do as he says.

  “I’ve said it before,” he continues, “but I will say it again, since I obviously have to. You. Need. To. Get. Laid.”

  I stick my bottom lip out. “I think you’re right.”

  “Good. Now you’re getting some sense back in you. Do you want to get on Tinder right now?”

  “What? No. I don’t have a Tinder account.”

  He claps his hands together. “We’ll make you one.”

  “No! Ew.”

  He looks offended. “I have Tinder.”

  “I bet you do.”

  The offense increases two fold as evidenced by his eyebrows. “What is that attitude supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I just don’t want to do it that way. I don’t want to meet someone online.”

  He sighs and falls back against the cushions. “You don’t want to meet someone online. You don’t want to meet someone at bars. You’re running out of available options here. Sounds like it’s gonna be either your boss or your body pillow, and only one of those options is going to buy you dinner.”

  “Very funny,” I mutter.

  “I try. Stay here.”

  He hops up and runs for his bedroom. I bleakly watch a commercial for a multivitamin. By the time the thirty-second spot is over, he’s back.

  “I think I just need an anti-depressant,” I tell him. “Drugs would make everything better.”

  “They make anti-depressants in penis form.”

  He settles cross-legged next to me, his laptop in his hands. “If you won’t get on Tinder, we can try something else. There are plenty of dating sites.”

  I twist my finger around a lock of hair. “I don’t know…”

  “How about we just make you a profile and you can see who’s on there? You’re not obligated to go on any dates with anyone.”

  “Fine,” I concede. “Let’s do it.”

  “Excellent.” He pulls his browser up and begins typing away.

  “But what about when people message me asking to meet up and I don’t want to?”

  He shrugs, his eyes glued to the screen. “Ignore them.”

  “I don’t want to be mean.”

  He stops typing and looks at me over the top of the computer. “It’s the internet. It doesn’t count.”

  A couple minutes go by while he types and I twirl hair around my finger, imagining a dozen different scenarios in which Internet dating can go wrong. In the best situation, I meet my soul mate but have to spend the rest of my life admitting to everyone I resorted to internet dating in order to find my husband. In the worst situation, I end up dead, lying in three inches of water in the Los Angeles River, like that guy in Chinatown.

  “You know what the best part is?” Eryk asks.

  “What?”

  “Supposing your boss has a profile on the site we pick, you two won’t match up.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say, letting sarcasm drip from the words. “And why wouldn’t we match up?”

  Eryk crinkles his nose. “Well… how old is he?”

  “Thirty-one,” I say, curling into a tighter ball. Dana told me, and I mentally filed it away in a compartment I’ll never lose. “That’s only nine years older than me. My parents are eight years apart.”

  “Your parents are old as sin.”

  I make a face at him. “They were younger when they met, thank you very much.”

  “All right, well if you like that age, we can find someone else who is around there.”

  “You lost it. You’re not being funny anymore.”

  “I’m not trying to be. Don’t you have a type? Age usually is a factor in that.”

  “No. Do you?”

  “Naked.”

  He types away for a minute. “Here. You need to log into your email and confirm the account.”

  He hands the computer over to me. I settle it in my lap and go to my email. The link to confirm the profile is at the top of my inbox, but right below it is a way more interesting email.

  “Wait,” I breathlessly whisper.

  “What?”

  I’m too busy scanning the two-line email to respond.

  “Sydney. What is it?”

  I read the email over again. “I just got a message from my ex-boyfriend.”

  “O-kay… what does it say?”

  My hands drop away from the keyboard and I stare at Eryk’s face. “He’s coming here.”

  “You sound like a robot.”

  I exhale heavily. “What?”

  “You… sound… like… a… ro-bot. Are you hearing me at all?”

  My stomach rolls and a wave of nausea hits. “I don’t feel good.”

  “You say that every time we get Chinese takeout. I don’t think we should order from that place anymore. Let’s pick the one on Vine next time. Plus, you ate way too much fried rice.”

  I rub the spot between my eyes. “My ex-boyfriend is coming,” I repeat. “This isn’t about the takeout.”

  “He’s coming to visit you?”

  I shake my head. “No, the email says he’s staying with his cousin for the summer in Venice Beach.”

  Eryk sits up straighter. “Is it on the water? Find out if it’s on the water.”

  I set the computer on the coffee table so I can collapse on my side into the cushions.

  “Is this the boyfriend from high school?” Eryk asks.

  “He’s the only boyfriend. I never really had one other than him.”

  “You’ve been with other people.”

  “Yeah, but not in the way I was with Brendan.” I twist my fingers together. “And I’ve only been with two other people, really.”

  “Two and a half. Remember that guy that you…”

  “Okay, okay,” I cut him off. “I remember. Jesus.” I run my hands through my hair. “I’m nervous, Eryk.”

  “Ah, it’ll be okay.” He pauses. “When is he coming?”

  “He said he’ll be here in two days.”

  He pats my knee. “So how do you feel about this?”

  “God. I don’t know.” I look over at him and then sit up. “Maybe I should go to bed.”

  “You don’t want to finish your profile?”

  “Can we do it tomorrow?” The bratty whine makes my vowels even longer than normal.

  “Yeah.” He closes the computer. Though he doesn’t say it, I get the feeling Eryk understands. When Brendan and I broke up, it was mutual. I did what I felt was best for myself. That doesn’t make my history with the guy any less complicated.

  I shuffle the entire way to my bedroom. Here’s hoping that if and when I see Brendan, it won’t result in my laying on the floor in a crumpled up crying heap.

  *

  “And call Wrigley’s office and let him know the new writer is coming in on Wednesday.”

  I nod and scribble the note down on the growing list. I don’t know who Wrigley is or which writer Mr. Mulroney is talking about, but Dana will. I’m just here to write it all down.

  He stands and picks up his briefcase from the floor then begins putting papers in it. I peek at him over the top of the notepad. It’s our first real exchange today and it’s gone extremely well. When I got to the office this morning, I didn’t know what kind of beast would be there waiting, but Mr. Mulroney’s good mood from yesterday seems to have carried over into today.

  He looks over at me and I drop my eyes back to the paper, pretending to add an extra note.

  “What do you think of blazers?”

  Slowly, I look back at him. “Sorry?”

  “This blazer.” He gestures to the black plaid one he’s currently sporting. “Is it too much? With the stripes and all?”

  Everything looks good on you.

  It’s also adorable that he called a plaid pattern “stripes.” I would have guessed the man knew at least a little bit about clothes, but he apparently doesn’t.

  Sawdust gradually fills my mouth. I have to swallow before I can speak. “It looks great,” I croak.
<
br />   He nods. “Thanks.”

  Picking up the briefcase, he moves past me and for the door. A paper flutters from his desk and I go to pick it up for him. When I straighten, he’s only inches away. His hand extends for the paper, and I pass it over. Our fingers graze. It’s the slightest touch, but a surge of electricity goes through my whole body, starting at the point where his skin brushes against mine.

  He feels it too.

  Or at least he feels something. His eyes go slightly wide and he stares straight at me. I shuffle my weight backwards.

  “Anything else?” I ask.

  He looks like I slapped him. Which doesn’t make sense. All that’s supposed to be happening here is some simple note taking before he goes out of town for the rest of the week. Last time I checked, I made it crystal clear that I won’t be accepting any of his advances.

  His jaw ticks. “No, that’s all. Have a good week, Sydney.”

  “You too, Mr. Mulroney.”

  And yet neither one of us moves. He still looks at me, and I look back. The air between us pulses, charged with the fiery energy from the touch. Everything about his face is intensified. His features stand out in a way that makes me sure I’ll carry the image of him in this moment to my death bed. The way the corners of his lips turn slightly down. The tiny scar next to his right eyebrow. The cowlick that sometimes pops out right over said eyebrow.

  All of it is burned into my memory; burned into my body. The image of his face rests deep in me, searing a hole.

  I blink as he turns, opens the door and leaves, walking through the outer office and into the hall. He doesn’t close either door behind him, nor does he say goodbye to the three other assistants.

  My vision blurs. I take a deep breath.

  Am I going to faint?

  I stumble into the outer office and sit down in Dana’s chair. She’s pacing by the far wall, talking on the phone.

  “Yeah, that’s what I did,” she says. “I had it delivered on Friday. Can you get them to send the invoices this afternoon? Thanks.”

  She hangs up and comes to sit on the corner of her desk. “Can you believe those guys in San Francisco? I swear, you’d think the studio and the sets were on different planets, the way some people act. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Did you want me to do something?”

  Her eyebrows bunch together. She added more color to her hair over the weekend, bringing the blonde to pink ratio to about fifty-fifty.

  “No,” she says. “You just look… odd. Like unhappy, I guess.”

  I shift uncomfortably in the seat, wishing I was more into acting than I am writing. If I were, maybe I’d be able to successfully play off the comment.

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  Her eyes narrow. “Did Mr. Mulroney do something to you in there?”

  Oh boy, did he ever. He turned my world inside out, that’s what he did.

  “What do you mean?” I hedge.

  “Did he yell at you, or say something out of line?” She thinks about that. “I mean, more out of line than usual?”

  “No. I took the notes and then he said goodbye and left. Here.” I hand her the notepad with the to-do list. She takes it but keeps her eyes glued to my face. I want to tell her something, but it’s not about the crazy chemistry moment our mutual boss and I just experienced.

  I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I can’t be feeling this way. But in order to make it through, I need to constantly remind myself of all the reasons it’s a bad idea to give in to these feelings.

  “Can I tell you something?” I lower my voice. “About Mr. Mulroney?”

  Her eyes go wide and she glances over at Chuck and Daniel. “Hey, let’s take lunch early,” she says, raising her voice.

  Chuck dramatically drops his pen on his desk. Daniel whoops and knocks his chair over. You would think it was eighth grade and the teacher just announced we were having recess for the rest of the day.

  They both head for the exit, blowing out in a matter of seconds. Dana closes the door behind them, then resumes her seat on the edge of the desk. Her eyes lock onto mine. “I’m listening.”

  I take a deep breath. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  She hesitates — which is a good sign because that means she’s actually weighing the promise she’s being asked to make.

  “All right,” she finally says. “As long as it’s not about murder. If it is, I don’t want to know.”

  “It’s not about murder. It’s about something I saw my first day here, when I came back from lunch to bring that order of plants into the office.”

  I nibble the inside of my lip. Letting this spill is a bit harder than I expected it to be. It’s too late, though. I can’t go back.

  “There was a woman in there with him.” I lower my voice. “And he was spanking her.”

  Dana’s eyes go as wide as saucers. “What? What do you mean he was spanking her?”

  I gesture wildly with my hands. “I mean he was spanking her. Like, in a kinky way.”

  Dana’s hands cover her mouth, but they don’t hide the giant grin there. “Oh… My… God.”

  “Yeah.” I lean back in the seat. “I know.”

  Dana giggles. “That is crazy.”

  “You’ve never seen him do anything like that before?”

  “No.” She laughs. “God, no. Wow… hanky-panky in the office.”

  “You know, I figured it was a kind of a regular thing.”

  She cocks her head, thinking. “I doubt it.”

  “Really?”

  She looks right at me. “You thought it was?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I mean it was my first day, so what else was I supposed to think? Also, he’s a certain way…” I let my words trail off.

  “He’s a douche,” she finishes. “Yeah, he is. But he never brings women here. Not that I know of. And why would he? He’s not even here that much. He’s got a second office and two houses, one in the city and one in some vineyard north of here. Plus, the family jet, which means he can basically fly off to anywhere anytime he feels like it.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to think about this new information. “Do you think he sees a lot of women?”

  “Hmm… I don’t know.”

  “He’s so harsh.”

  “But he’s handsome and rich, so most women probably don’t even notice his personality.” She stops talking and looks around. “If he’s stashed a secret recording device in here, I am so screwed.”

  She stops talking and looks around. “I saw him Friday night with a woman, and it wasn’t the same one who was in the office.”

  Dana giggles. “What, are you stalking him or something?”

  That one hit too close to home. My face flushes with heat, but Dana doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m just putting the clues together,” I say, hearing the defensiveness in my tone.

  “And forming what exactly?”

  I look past her shoulder and out the window where nothing ever happens. “I’m just trying to figure him out. He’s a jerk.”

  “You’re wondering if he’s a womanizer?”

  I look back at her. “Yeah.”

  She shrugs. All signs point to her not caring.

  I lean closer to her. “There’s another thing too. After I saw that happen in the office, he asked me in and wanted to know if I liked what I saw.”

  Dana’s eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”

  “He wanted to know if I liked what I saw, and then told me I could take part in it if I wanted.”

  “What was he talking about?”

  I stare at her in confusion. Did she not hear everything I just said? “The kinky sex play.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I slowly say. “What else would he be talking about?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. Other things happened that day.”

  I don’t know what to say. The conversation just took a crazy twist.

  Dana drops her feet to the floor. “I won’t tell anyone. Yo
u have my promise. You wanna go to lunch? I heard that new Mexican place around the corner is really good.”

  “Sure.”

  Deflated, I grab my bag from the hook. I still don’t get why Dana even doubts Mr. Mulroney propositioned me. Is it because I’m nothing like the two other women I saw him with? They were both voluptuous, with full faces of makeup and a maturity to them I don’t possess. In contrast, I feel like a shy kid with my sneakers and backpack.

  Thinking about it for the first time, it really doesn’t make sense that Mr. Mulroney would be interested in me for even the most casual sex.

  But I know what he said.

  It doesn’t matter.

  I only told Dana about any of this because I wanted her to validate my negative feelings. I’m at least that aware of my behavior. I was hoping she would confirm my suspicion of Mr. Mulroney being a womanizer.

  Because, honestly, right now I really need him to be. After the intense moment in his office, the only thing that can save my sanity is the reminder that the man is a class-A jerk.

  I follow Dana out the door, mentally running down a list of all the shitty things he’s done. The way he snapped at me after our first exchange in the parking lot. The offer to engage in sex with him. The sneer he seems to wear half of the time.

  Once I’ve run out of negative things to list, I’m shit out of luck, because all that’s left are the good things. The way his eyes light up when he smiles. The assertive way he carried the conversation with Mr. Murakami. The surge of pleasure that hit me when our hands touched.

  And here I am, back on the same old merry-go-round.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “How many times are you going to check your hair?” Crystal asks from where she leans in the bathroom doorway.

  I take another bobby pin from the right side and re-pin the hair there, then smooth my bangs down. “I’m not going to answer that.”

  “You look fine. You look amazing, actually. You’re the best piece of art I’ve ever produced,” she says, referring to her makeup job on me.

  “I don’t feel fine.”

  My stomach does another cartwheel, threatening to send the pizza we ordered in for dinner back up.

  “I don’t know why,” Eryk says from over Crystal’s shoulder as he walks across the living room. “He’s not that cute.”

  “That’s not true,” I snap.