Cocky: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Ashlee Price

  I need to calm down, so I decide to drive around aimlessly while listening to the radio. After several minutes, I make my way back to the house with a rehearsed apology in my head—only to find that the code doesn’t work anymore.

  Great. I’ve been locked out.

  I guess I’ll have to tell Melanie I lost one of her clients.

  Too bad. He seemed interesting.

  I go back to my car and sit back in the driver’s seat, letting out a deep breath. Well, at least I still have dinner to look forward to. Hopefully that will lift my mood.

  I drive off, this time thinking of heading home, but then my phone rings.

  I stop the car and hold it to my ear. “Hello.”

  “Is this Danielle Hoffman?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  Confused, I glance at the screen, trying to make sense of the unregistered number. I fail.

  “Hello?”

  I press the phone back against my ear. “I’m sorry, but who is this?”

  “My name is Tom Billings. Melanie Burke gave me your number.”

  “Oh.”

  I wonder if this man is my third client.

  “She said you’re a yoga instructor. I have another client for you.”

  A fourth client?

  “Do you think you can start today, like right now?”

  Right now? I glance at the clock on the dashboard.

  I guess I do have some time since my second client just canceled.

  “Can you or can you not?” Tom asks.

  “I’ll be there,” I tell him.

  “Good. I’ll send you the address.”

  He hangs up and I stare at the phone, my mind still reeling.

  Another client, huh? And a demanding one at that. But hey, I just lost one, so I’m not complaining.

  I sit up and take a deep breath as I look at my reflection in the mirror.

  Time to get back to work.

  Chapter Four

  Kaleb

  “This isn’t going to work,” I tell Tom for what seems like the hundredth time as I drop myself on the leather couch in the living room of my apartment.

  Tom has been my agent for the past eight years, and even though his skin is a great deal paler than mine he’s become like a father to me, more a father than my old man was. He’s pulled me out of a lot of messes and even cleaned some of them up for me. I know he always has my best interests at heart. At least, he has.

  This time, I’m not so sure.

  “It’s just yoga, Kale,” he answers without looking at me, busy texting on his phone. “It won’t kill you.”

  “Why don’t you just let me do ballet, huh?”

  “I could, but I don’t think I can find tutus in your size.”

  I snort.

  “Stop being such a baby.” He sits on the arm of the couch. “A lot of men do it.”

  “Name one.”

  “Adam Levine. Bon Jovi.”

  I throw him a puzzled look. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Colin Farrell,” he goes on. “Sting.”

  “Well, none of those guys are black,” I point out.

  “Then you’ll be the first one.” He stands up and puts his hands in his pockets. “You’ll make headlines.”

  I say nothing.

  “You know what I found out?” Tom walks over so that he’s standing right across from me on the other side of the coffee table. “That women love men who do yoga.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I have no problem finding women who want to sleep with me.” I place my hands on my chest. “I’m attractive just as I am. I’m the complete package—rich, sexy…”

  “And with a big mouth and a spoiled brat attitude?”

  I frown. “Why can’t I just do basketball, huh?”

  I take my pack of cigarettes out from my sweater to smoke one but Tom swipes it away.

  “Because shooting hoops isn’t going to make people think that you’ve decided to adopt a healthy lifestyle,” he says as he throws the pack into the trash can.

  “Are you saying basketball isn’t healthy?”

  “I’m saying basketball players get caught driving drunk, doing drugs, fucking around and starting fights all the time,” Tom answers. “Now, people who do yoga, they’re seen as people who are calm, who take care of their bodies, who…”

  “Are you saying Adam Levine and Bon Jovi don’t drink anymore?” I interrupt. “Because I don’t buy it.”

  “They do, but nobody thinks of them as reckless drunkards.” Tom sits beside me. “Besides, they’re more successful than you are, so they can get away with it. When you get to that level of success, do what you want. Until then, you listen to me.”

  He pats my shoulder.

  “Yoga is going to be good for you. People will think you’re trying to change for the better.”

  I glance at him. “Can’t you just tell them I’m doing yoga? You lie all the time.”

  “I’ve lied for you plenty of times,” he agrees. “But not this time, because I do want you to change for the better. I want you to be a better person, Kale, so you can be a better actor.”

  I sit back. “Are you saying I’m a bad actor?”

  “I’m saying it’s time you move on to more serious roles, dramatic roles like the ones Denzel Washington and Morgan Freeman had.” He’s texting again. “Surely you’re tired of doing action movies by now.”

  “Why should I be? They pay well.”

  He looks at me. “And what have you done with all that money, huh? Money is fleeting. If all you wanted was to make money, you should have been a businessman. Being an actor is about making your mark, leaving a legacy. Tell me, Kaleb Wilson, how do you want to be remembered?”

  I sigh. “You sound like I’m already dying. I’m still young.”

  “You’re thirty-five. I can name ten actors who won Oscars before they reached that age.”

  I lift my hands. “It’s not my fault I’m not getting the serious scripts. Isn’t that your job?”

  “No one wants to offer you those because they think you’re not ready.” He stands up. “You’re immature, reckless, irresponsible. It shows in your acting.”

  “Fine.” I put my hands up higher. “I’ll do the yoga. Just stop lecturing me on my acting.”

  “Good. The yoga instructor should be here shortly. I want you to be good to her.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Her?”

  Tom looks at his phone. “I have to take this call in the office.”

  He leaves and I tap my fingers on the arm of the couch. A female yoga instructor, huh? This should be interesting.

  A few minutes later, Jerry, my head of security, ushers a woman in. She’s about 5’5” with auburn hair and light skin, which I don’t mind. I’ve slept with a few. Slim. I would have preferred bigger breasts, but she’s hot just the same.

  She’ll be fun to play with. Besides, if I get her into my bed, Tom might send her away. He usually does that.

  I stand up and her brown eyes grow wide, flickering with recognition. Her lips part to let out a gasp.

  I grin. Ah. This is going to be easy.

  “You can leave us, Jerry,” I say before offering my guest my hand. “You’re the yoga instructor, aren’t you? I’m Kaleb Wilson. Pleasure to meet you.”

  She says nothing as she looks at my hand. She’s probably still recovering from the shock of meeting a Hollywood celebrity. When she does recover, she puts her hand in mine.

  “I… Yes, you’re right. I’m… the yoga instructor.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Dani. Danielle Hoffman.”

  “Wow.” I tuck another strand behind her ear and then step back to look at her. “They told me yoga could do wonders for your body, but I didn’t believe it.”

  She purses her lips slightly, a blush coating her cheeks.

  She’s taken the bait. All I have to do is reel her in.

  “You sure you don’t want to be in Hollywood? You could kick ass.”

  “No.” Dani sha
kes her head and gives me a weak smile. “I’ll leave that to you.”

  “You’ve seen my movies?”

  “A few.”

  I bet she’s seen them all. “And?”

  She draws a deep breath. “They were… exciting.”

  “Ah, yes.” I touch my chin as my eyes travel to the front of her sweater and even lower. “I’ve been told I have a tendency to… excite.”

  Dani steps back and clears her throat. “W-where shall we have our session?”

  “Our session?” I tuck my chin and look up at her.

  “Yoga session. Where shall we have it? Do you have a room?”

  “Oh, I have a room.”

  The lump in her throat moves. “Okay.”

  “Tell me.” I step closer. “What exactly are you going to be teaching me?”

  “Yoga,” Dani answers. “Meditation. Breathing. Mantras. Poses.”

  “Poses? You know, I’ve done a bit of modeling. It comes with the job.” I walk a few steps backward and strike a pose, tucking a hand under my chin as I place the other on my hip. “This one was for Omega. You know, the watch.”

  “I’m familiar.”

  “Oh, wait. That wasn’t quite right.” I pull off my shirt and do the pose again. “Now, this was that pose.”

  Dani nods slowly as her gaze falls on my chest, though she quickly redirects it. “I see. I believe I’m talking about a different kind of pose, though. Asana.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can teach me a lot of different poses and moves.” I walk back to her. “Why don’t you we go to my room so you can teach me and I can teach you some of my own?”

  “Mr. Wilson…”

  “Kaleb,” I correct. “I am yours, after all.”

  “Well, Kaleb, I don’t know what you’ve been told about yoga, but this is serious stuff.”

  I take another step forward. “I’m as serious as I’ll ever be.”

  She steps back. “Since you’re a beginner, we should take it slow and easy.”

  I take another step. “I’m sure I can handle something… harder.”

  Again, she steps back. “Well, I…”

  She stops as she stumbles back, having hit the step on the floor.

  Ah, right on cue.

  I catch her readily in my arms, gazing into her eyes. Dani stares up at me, breathless.

  “Now, this reminds me of a scene from one of my movies,” I tell her as I hold her gaze. “Do you remember Red Phantom?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  “Then you know how that scene ends.”

  I lift her just a little as I lower my mouth to hers swiftly, crushing her quivering lips beneath mine.

  She whimpers.

  I part my lips to lick hers, but she doesn’t part them. Instead, to my surprise, she pushes me back. The next thing I know, an outstretched palm falls on my cheek and sends my head turning to the side.

  After that, she marches off. Rubbing my cheek, I follow her, almost stumbling over that step that I had praised just a moment earlier. I recover and run after her down the hall.

  “Wait!” I call after her.

  Dani doesn’t stop.

  “Jerry, don’t let her out,” I instruct my head of security.

  “Yes,” Tom seconds as he catches up to me. “Stay, Ms. Hoffman. Please.”

  Dani turns around. “Why should I stay? Clearly, Mr. Wilson here is only interested in playing around. No wonder you keep getting into trouble.”

  “That’s exactly why he needs your help,” Tom says. “He needs someone to help straighten him out.”

  “I’m a yoga instructor,” she says. “Not a miracle worker.”

  “Ms. Hoffman…”

  I raise a hand to silence Tom. “Dani, I’m sorry, okay? What I did was uncalled for and stupid. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just scared, okay? I don’t really want to do yoga, and I’m not sure I can do it, but I’m willing to try.”

  Dani’s features soften. “You’re scared of yoga?”

  I shrug.

  She chuckles. “You’re not scared of car chases and explosions and men with guns and knives but you’re scared of yoga?”

  “Well, technically, I wasn’t in those car chases. I have a stunt double. The explosions aren’t real, and neither are the guns or the knives. But yoga is real, isn’t it?”

  Dani nods.

  “Will you stay and teach me? For real?”

  She doesn’t answer at once, her gaze on the floor. Then she looks up to meet mine, a slight, playful smile on her thin lips.

  “Alright. But you’ll have to behave and do as I say.”

  “Oh, he’ll behave,” Tom answers for me as he glares in my direction. “Put your shirt back on.”

  I ignore him, giving Dani a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Five

  Dani

  “Now, just breathe in… and out,” I tell Kaleb as I stare at the ivory ceiling, my back flat on my mat, my arms relaxed at my sides and my heels spread wide apart.

  I hear him breathe.

  “Again, breathe in. Feel your energy being restored. Soak up everything we’ve done. And then breathe out. Let it all go and come back to reality.”

  He exhales.

  “Now, slowly get up.” I sit up on the mat and get on my feet while Kaleb does the same. “Face me.”

  He turns to face me as he stands right across from me.

  “And bow.” I bow my head as I try not look at the shredded muscles of his chest and abdomen, now more apparent with his damp cotton shirt clinging to them. “Namaste.”

  “Namaste,” he repeats.

  I lift my head and beam at him. “And we’re done.”

  “We are?”

  I nod as I grab my towel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “No.” He grabs his own towel and wipes his face. “And it wasn’t so bad, either. I actually liked it.”

  He’s not so bad, either, I think as I wipe my forehead.

  At first, I thought Kaleb Wilson was just a jerk, a celebrity with his head so far up his ass that he didn’t care about anyone but himself.

  I’ve read the things written about him, too. His movies are good, maybe a little formulaic, but still good. And him? They say he’s sexy but not all that talented, bad-ass but not even trying to go beyond that. Off screen, they call him an adrenaline junkie, a mischievous playboy, a rebel without a cause.

  The media feels the same way about him as the women do. One moment they love him. The next they hate him.

  And me? I still think he’s a bit arrogant. I sense a load of ego. But I don’t know, maybe that’s just a self-defense mechanism. Maybe there’s something else there.

  Besides, I think as I steal another glance at his chiseled abs, I can’t deny he’s sexy.

  He, on the other hand, is staring at my breasts outright. I grab my sweater. Maybe next time I’ll wear something less revealing.

  “You know, you’re not the first woman who’s slapped me,” he says.

  “I’m not surprised,” I tell him.

  “Though they usually slap me for not wanting to kiss them anymore.”

  And there goes the arrogance again.

  “I see. And you don’t get tired of it?”

  Kaleb chuckles. “Now you’re starting to sound like Tom.”

  I say nothing, grabbing my mat.

  “You’re leaving already?” he asks.

  I fold my mat. “Session’s over.”

  He approaches me. “That doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

  I look away.

  “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t try to kiss you again,” Kaleb says. “Unless you ask me to.”

  I chuckle. “You really think you’re so irresistible, don’t you?”

  “Well, I was voted People’s Sexiest Man Alive two years ago.”

  “I know.”

  I still have a copy of that, I think.

  “Ah.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “She reads.”

  “Yes,
I can read. And write. Apart from yoga.”

  “And she’s funny. I thought yoga instructors were all so serious.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “How many have you met?”

  “Just you.”

  “I thought so.” I put my mat inside my backpack.

  “What do you like to read?” Kaleb asks.

  I straighten up. “Why do you ask?”

  He grins. “Let me show you something.”

  He leaves the room and I remain standing, hesitating. I still don’t trust him. Yes, he’s Kaleb Wilson and I’ve read a lot about him, watched most of his movies, but I barely know him.

  Then again, he’s been behaving relatively well since I slapped him, and he did promise not to try anything funny, so I suppose I could give him another chance.

  I go out of the room and walk down the hall towards him.

  “Just so you know,” he says as he puts his hand on the knob of the door in front of him. “This isn’t the room I usually take women I’ve just met to.”

  He turns the knob and the door opens. I step inside after him, my eyebrows arching as I see the shelves stacked with books lining the walls.

  A library?

  “This is where I come when I want to be alone.” He stands in the middle of the room. “When I want to think.”

  I approach one of the shelves. “You read?”

  Kaleb chuckles. “Yes, black people can read.”

  I pout. “I already knew that. Actors, I wasn’t so sure.”

  “Yes, I can read,” he amends his answer. “And write. Apart from acting and seducing women.”

  I snort. Now he’s just mocking me.

  I run my fingers across a row of books.

  Moby Dick. Great Expectations. The Great Gatsby. 1984.

  I glance at Kaleb. “You’ve read all these?”

  He nods. “Surprised?”

  “I don’t believe you.” I pull out the copy of 1984 and turn to a random page. “What is written on the note Julia slipped Winston?”

  “That’s easy,” Kaleb answers as he sits down. “I love you.”

  The way he says the words makes my heart skip a beat. Alright. Maybe I should have asked a different question.

  I close the book and return it. “Why these books?”

  “My mother was a librarian. I used to spend a lot of time with her while she was working, since she couldn’t afford a babysitter.”