Behind the Scenes: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Novel

by Jessica Blake

  “Then I’m there. It’s been a while since I’ve seen some good drag.”

  “Cool.” I lean back against the desk and rub at the sore spot above my temple.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie.

  “Don’t let him get to you.”

  I examine my nails. “He’s not.”

  “You just seem really stressed out.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, well my car broke down and all.”

  “He can’t blame that on you. He may be ridiculous sometimes, but no one is that crazy. It was out of your control.”

  I force a little smile. “Thank you. It’s more,” I continue to lie, “stuff at home.”

  She looks like she wants to say more, but she goes back to her computer. “Okay.”

  From work, I go straight to the apartment. Eryk is doing his first “dress rehearsal” and Crystal and I are the honorary guests. When I open the front door, Crystal is busy in the kitchen filling a big bowl with pretzels. She’s got another one of popcorn and the living room is much cleaner than it normally is.

  “Wow,” I say, kicking off my shoes. “Are we having a party?”

  She shrugs. “Just thought it would be fun to kick it up a notch. Especially since Brendan is coming over.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” She grabs a pretzel from the bowl and munches down on it hard. “I invited him,” she mumbles around her food.

  “When?”

  “Yesterday, when he dropped off your phone charger that you left in his car. You weren’t home yet. I thought you knew.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Sorry.” She chews her bottom lip. “Should I not have done it?”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s just… our relationship is complicated.”

  “He helped you out yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I know. He’s amazing… he’s too great, actually. That’s what makes things even more complicated.”

  “Ah. I see. What if I text him and tell him it’s not happening?”

  My hand becomes a stop sign. “No, don’t do that. He’s probably already on his way here. It will be fine.”

  I lay down on the couch with my feet hanging over the end. Crystal brings the bowls of snacks over and sets them on the coffee table.

  “You look tired.”

  It’s like the weight of her words fall onto my chest. “My life is exhaustively dramatic. Where’s Eryk?”

  “In his room getting dressed.”

  Someone knocks on the door. I groan as I sit up.

  “I’ll get it,” Crystal says.

  She comes back with — surprise, surprise — Brendan. He gives me a little smile and wave, then settles down on the cushion next to mine.

  “Any news on your car?”

  “I got it back. There was just a leak. The mechanic told me to make sure I keep an eye on it. Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.” He gives my knee a little squeeze, and I stare at the spot where he touched me for a second too long.

  “Crystal!” Eryk calls from his bedroom.

  “What?!” she yells over her shoulder.

  “Come here!”

  Crystal groans and goes to see what he wants.

  “Do you want a drink?” I ask Brendan as I stand up.

  “Sure.”

  I grab two beers from the fridge, open them, and settle back down on the couch. Brendan clinks his bottle against mine before taking the first swig.

  “Was your boss mad?” he asks.

  I wipe away the bit of froth that’s clinging to my lip. “No. Not really. Not any more than he usually is on any given day.”

  “He looked pretty pissed.”

  I halt, the beer bottle halfway to my mouth. “You saw him?”

  “Yeah, he was standing by the front door.”

  “That’s right,” I agree. “I didn’t realize you saw him there.”

  “He was staring at you like he wanted to eat you alive.”

  If you only knew.

  “He just acts tough,” I say, hoping my comment is enough to encourage Brendan to forget about it.

  “Hm.” He doesn’t look like he’s about to let the topic go. On the contrary, something is weighing heavily on his mind. After years of knowing him, it’s easy enough to tell.

  “It’s just… the way he looked at you…”

  I swallow hard, wanting to change the subject but also desperately wanting to know. “What way are you talking about?”

  Brendan twists his mouth, thinking. “It was so… possessive.”

  I take a drink of beer to make it seem like this conversation is totally normal. “He’s like that with all his assistants.”

  “Wow.” Brendan raises his eyebrows. “Remind me to never work there.”

  I force a laugh. “I know, right?” I shake my head and decide to admit a little bit, if only just to let some of the weight off my heart. “It takes nerves of steel to be there every day. I don’t know how his main assistant, this girl named Dana, does it. Half of what he does is made possible thanks to her, and he doesn’t show any sort of gratitude whatsoever.”

  “Quit.” He takes a drink of beer, assuming everything is just that easy.

  I take in a slow breath. “I need the job. I scored big with it. Half the people I graduated with are working in restaurants because they couldn’t find production jobs.”

  He nods like he understands, but I don’t think he really does. Maybe he’s even thinking, What’s so wrong with working in a restaurant?

  Brendan was always more relaxed when it came to careers than I was. For years, I’ve known what I want to do with my life. Pursuing it has become a top priority. For Brendan, work is work. A job is a job, and a career is something you may or may not fall into. Community and family is what’s number one for him.

  Someone clears their throat loudly. Crystal steps around the corner, Eryk’s laptop in her hands. “Lady and gentleman,” she begins in a solemn voice. “I would like to present the one and only, Miss Lilac Sky.”

  I giggle over Eryk’s stage name and press a hand to my mouth, barely able to contain my excitement. This will be the first time I’ve seen Eryk in a costume consisting of more than the heels he’s been teetering around on.

  Crystal hits a button on the computer and Ariana Grande’s Focus begins playing. Brendan and I glance at each other. He’s got a smile on his face and is bobbing his head to the beat.

  Crystal scurries out of the way and sets the computer on the coffee table. From around the corner, a cherry red stiletto pops out, followed by a long, stocking clad leg. Eryk comes into view, but he’s nothing more than a faint semblance of my roommate. A blue and purple wig adorns his head, the curls brushing against long dangling earrings. He wears a tight, black miniskirt and the corset we picked up last month at the costume shop a few streets away.

  His face is done up in full makeup, with smoky eyes and a Marilyn Monroe beauty mark. I recognize Crystal’s handiwork in the sparkling eye shadow and lined lips. He bats his eyes suggestively at us, then brings his hand up to his mouth. Clutched in it is a hairbrush. The first verse of the song begins, and Eryk opens his mouth, lip synching along to the words.

  He does a little shuffle step forward, then another one. His free hand trails suggestively down his thigh and he locks eyes with me as he sings his way into the bridge.

  I laugh and clap my hands. He looks amazing; even better than I had expected.

  Crystal dances along next to the couch, twisting her head and shaking her hips like she should be wearing a poodle skirt and Mary Janes. I sneak a peek at Brendan. The smile from earlier has been dampened. It’s still there, but it’s a flicker of what it was.

  Eryk sets a stiletto on the coffee table and leans forward, singing to the three of us. Crystal pretends to swoon, falling down onto the couch next to me.

  I glance at Brendan again. He licks his lips and bobs his head along, but the motion is jerky and his face is no
w grim.

  The song enters the bridge, and Eryk dances his way to the middle of the room. He does a full out choreographed routine as the beat drops, which is damn impressive considering the shoes he has on.

  “Yeah, Eryk!” Crystal shouts.

  We both clap, whooping and hollering. Brendan joins in, though his enthusiasm is still no match for mine and Crystal’s.

  The song ends and Eryk breathlessly takes a bow. His wig slides forward and he catches it just in time.

  “Whoops!” he laughs. “Gotta remember to fix that.”

  “That was awesome!” Crystal shouts. “We’ll just have to make sure to put more pins in the wig the night of the show.”

  I nod. “Yeah, that was great. How the heck can you even walk in those shoes, much less dance?”

  Eryk lifts a shoulder, putting on an act and pretending to be shy. “I’ll never tell. What did you think, Brendan?” The smile drops off his face as he stares at my ex-boyfriend.

  The room is quiet, everyone waiting for his response.

  “Uh, gr-great,” Brendan stammers and scratches his chin.

  “Hm. You seemed like you didn’t enjoy it.”

  Brendan blinks and stares back at Eryk. “No, I did.”

  “It didn’t offend you?”

  Brendan pales. “What?”

  “Eryk,” I interrupt, hissing his name through my teeth. “He just said he liked it, so cool it.”

  Eryk swings the hairbrush around. “All right, all right. I was just curious.”

  “It’s just different,” Brendan says. He looks at me as if I have the answer he’s seeking.

  “It’s okay to be different,” Crystal says. There’s a hint of defensiveness in her voice, which is out of character for her.

  “I know, I know,” Brendan says, holding up his hands. “We just don’t have stuff like that back in Manteo.”

  “Sydney is from Manteo,” Eryk points out. “And she liked it.”

  This conversation is going into dangerous territory, and there’s so much tension growing in the room that in about twenty seconds, it will be impossible to move around. I stand up and loudly clap my hands. “Let’s drink some alcohol.”

  Eryk shimmies off to the kitchen. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  As soon as Brendan leaves thirty minutes later, I unleash myself on Eryk.

  “Why are you still being a jerk to him?” I demand.

  Eryk kicks his heels off and sits down at the other end of the couch. “He was judging me.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He was just being honest. He’s never seen drag before. It’s different.”

  “Now you sound like him.”

  Crystal speaks up from in the kitchen. “It kind of seems like he was judging the whole thing.”

  “What does it matter anyway?” Eryk asks. “You’re not hooking up with him.”

  “God,” I seethe. “Why is everything about hooking up? Why is everything about sex? Why can’t we just have normal, deep relationships with people and forget about the sex?!”

  Crystal’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “Calm down, little lady,” Eryk says. “Before we have to go and get some smelling salts.”

  “I don’t want to calm down,” I mutter. “I’m mad. Everything sucks.”

  “Your ex-boyfriend sucks.”

  I bare my teeth at him. “Just shut up for once, please.”

  “Why are you being such a bitch?”

  My hands curl into fists. “Wow, Eryk. You’re really one to talk. You should be disgusted with the way you talk to Brendan.”

  “Guys, just stop,” Crystal groans. “You’ve been fighting non-stop lately.”

  We both quiet down, falling into a surly silence. I haven’t told anyone about what happened yesterday in the office. I don’t know what to make of it myself, and I’m still waiting to see what Mr. Mulroney meant by saying he would try to treat me like a person.

  I’m afraid my worst fears have been confirmed and he’s going to steer clear of me for good. That possibility is putting me in an awful mood.

  I want to regret every action that’s led me up to this point, but I can’t. I told him what I wanted, and I need to stick to my guns.

  No matter what sort of shoot outs that brings.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He’s gone all week. Sometimes I catch myself staring at his closed office door like he’s suddenly going to open it up and walk out. Dana tells us he went to New York to check on the new production there, but I almost don’t believe it.

  Simon Mulroney has a way of ducking out when things don’t go his way. That much about him isn’t a mystery.

  The week stretches on. Friday night is Eryk’s show. That morning, I’m sitting in the office browsing Tumblr on my phone — because I’ve decided if you can’t beat ‘em you should join ‘em — when I get a text from a strange number.

  It’s a Los Angeles area code, but other than that nothing about the digits is familiar.

  I’m coming back at four. Please tell Dana to arrange for the car to pick me up.

  “Oh,” I say to myself, suddenly realizing who it is.

  “What?” Dana asks from across the desk.

  I show her the phone. “I guess this is Mr. Mulroney.”

  She pushes her glasses further up her nose and reads the text. “Yeah, it is… hm. Weird.”

  She goes back to her computer.

  “What?” I ask.

  “He could have just called me.”

  My eyes drop down. Yeah, he could have. I didn’t know he even had my cell phone number. I send him a text back.

  I told her.

  Less than a minute later, the phone buzzes.

  Thanks. See you soon.

  My chest swells as I read the text. My thumbs hover over the keypad, wanting to send another text — any text. I don’t, of course. I slip the phone into my bag on the floor, then kick the entire thing a few feet away in case my thumbs decide to cause trouble.

  I should know better than to read into a simple text message… but he seems to be making a point to reach out to me and be friendly. And this, after an entire work week of me thinking he might not ever want to see my face again.

  Five minutes pass and I cave, checking my cell just to see if he texted to let me know if he needs anything else.

  There are no messages. I hate how disappointed the blank screen makes me feel.

  Since Mr. Mulroney is coming back at the end of the day, Chuck and Daniel wait around. When five o’clock arrives, he still isn’t there.

  Daniel sighs. “He could bother to tell us he’s not coming back.”

  “Yeah,” Chuck adds. “It’s Friday.”

  Dana rolls her eyes at me as the guys leave.

  “Are you still coming tonight?” I ask her.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Do you have the address?”

  She rifles through some papers on the desk. “The flyer is around here somewhere. I’ll text you if I can’t find it.”

  “Okay.” I stand and grab my bag. “Bye.”

  *

  A heavy cloud of hairspray hits my face the second I open the apartment’s front door.

  “Wow,” I mutter, waving a hand around to try and dispel the heavy fumes. “Is anyone still alive in here?”

  “Barely!” Crystal’s voice comes from the living room. “Send Twinkies and DVDs! This is going to take a while!”

  She stands in the middle of the living room with Eryk perched on one of the kitchen stools in front of her. Even sitting on the stool, he still comes up past her shoulder. Crystal busily winds locks of the mermaid colored wig around a curling iron, spraying each strand with the aerosol hairspray. It looks like someone devoured a Beauty Supply and then threw up all over the floor and coffee table. Makeup brushes, lipsticks, bobby pins, styling gels, and a plethora of other supplies litter the area.

  I step over Crystal’s big black makeup case and sit on the couch. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” Eryk
winks at me.

  “Are you nervous?”

  He takes a deep breath. “A lady never admits to nerves.”

  “Really? Damn, I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life.”

  Crystal nibbles her lip and looks over at me while wrapping a new piece of hair around the curling iron. “Did Brendan say anything to you about tonight?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Let me guess. You invited him tonight as well?”

  “Way before what happened on Tuesday.”

  “So you mean you invited him on Monday?”

  She grimaces.

  “It’s okay. I can handle it… as long as it’s okay with you guys.”

  I look at Eryk, who shrugs. “It will be good for him.”

  Crystal pats our friend on the shoulder and wraps another curl. “A little culture shock never hurt anybody.”

  *

  Eryk leaves early to get himself checked in, and Crystal and I stay behind to get changed. When I come into her room wearing ballet flats, skinny jeans, and a black t-shirt, she stares at me, her mouth slightly hanging open.

  “You’re not dressing up tonight?”

  “Crystal,” I whine. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Besides, what do you call these?” I point at my shoes. “They’re not sneakers. I’m trying here.”

  She cracks a grin and turns back to the floor length mirror to finish her eyeliner. “Just leave the backpack at home, okay?”

  “I can’t make any promises. It’s sewn to my shoulder.”

  The surprising thing about Crystal is that she has two distinct styles, and they’re literally on opposite ends of the fashion spectrum. She’s either wearing yoga pants and a tank top or she’s wearing heels and a mini skirt that would make most women blush.

  Tonight she’s got on a tight skirt covered in pink feathers. She finishes her makeup and continues to look in the mirror while she teases out her hair.

  “Are you seeing that girl again?” I ask, already having forgotten the name of the one who came for dinner.

  She makes a face. “I don’t know. She’s kind of religious.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, and I normally wouldn’t mind, but she also told me a story about her childhood cat that lasted fifteen minutes.”