Alpha Bear Princes Box Set

by Lily Cahill

"I'm not saying you should make room. I'm saying you take a night off. Ask him for drinks. Then, you know, whatever happens ... happens. No pressure."

  "Even if I did have time for that--and I don't--and even if I was into him--and I'm not--the guy is not into me. Not after what I said to him."

  "Laila Cordelia Marks. Please tell me you didn't run your mouth and say something that's going to make our lives more difficult."

  "The guy ruined the first good take I'd had all day!"

  "Laila!"

  "Look, I'm not worried, okay? I handled him. He's not going to be a problem."

  "That's the thing. You're looking at him as a problem instead of an opportunity."

  "You've been listening to those self-help podcasts again, haven't you?"

  A knock pinged on the hollow trailer door before Kay could answer. Selena, Kay's production assistant, walked in holding a note in her hand. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just got a message from Mr. Regan?"

  "You handled it, huh?" Kay said, eyeing Laila with irritation. Then she turned to Selena. "Give it here."

  "Actually, his assistant said to give it to Laila, and only Laila."

  "Really? Then you have to give it to me," Kay said, snatching it out of Selena's hand. She opened the note and began to read it aloud, "Miss Marks, I feel we may have gotten off on the wrong foot."

  "Kay, don't," Laila protested, jumping to her feet and trying to grab the note from Kay. But Kay was faster than she was. Before she could get it, Kay sprinted across the room.

  Laila chased her, worried. What if he'd written something in there about being a shifter? Sure, she'd threatened to tell everyone about him, but that didn't mean she would actually do it. She'd just been trying to scare him, keep him from ruining her movie. If Kay read anything in there about him, she didn't know how she'd explain it.

  Like most of the rest of humanity, Kay didn't even know shifters existed. Elliott was right. Shifter code was sacred. She may not be a shifter herself, but she'd never risk endangering her father or anyone like him.

  Laila tried to catch up, but Kay just kept reading while she ran, giggling all the way.

  "Please do me the honor of sharing dinner with me tomorrow evening. I'd love the chance to address your ... concerns. Yours, Elliott Regan." Kay practically squealed in delight. "Yours? He signed the note yours?"

  "It's just a signature. Not a marriage proposal."

  "I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so." Kay finally handed Laila the note and gripped her shoulders. "One night, Lay. Just one night. That's all I'm asking."

  Chapter Five

  Elliott

  Elliott adjusted his tie as the limo pulled up in front of the hotel where Laila was staying with the rest of the crew. It had taken his assistant all day to find a limo willing to drive up here, but it was worth it. Tonight he was going to show Laila Marks how wrong she'd been about him.

  He'd set up everything perfectly, which up here was no small feat. He was determined: He was going to wow her. And if Elliott knew anything, he knew how to impress a woman. The secret was to spoil her, pamper her, give her the best of everything. It worked every time. Women loved gifts, and he couldn't wait to spoil Laila rotten.

  But even as he thought about the delightful prospect of making her smile, a little thought niggled at him. Maybe this woman wasn't like the other women he'd been with. Laila Marks had already proven herself to be immune to some of his other traits. What if she was similarly immune to his charms? He felt his throat close up at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't what she wanted.

  But he couldn't think of that now. She was what he wanted. He knew that in a place deep and solid inside himself, a place he hadn't even known existed. He had to trust it. What other choice did he have?

  He knocked on Laila's door holding a bouquet of flowers he'd had express delivered from Louisville. The hotel was a dumpy place, but the nicest in the area, so he'd opted to rent a cabin instead. From the looks of things, he'd made the right choice. It didn't even have a hallway--all the doors opened right onto the parking lot. He felt like he was on a set for the "drug deal" scene.

  When Laila opened the door, his mouth nearly fell open. She looked amazing.

  "Hi," he said, hearing the dumbstruck quality of his voice but unable to adjust it.

  "Hey," she said. Her expression was more reserved, but it didn't detract from the overall effect she had on him. She wore an electric-blue sundress that made her already gorgeous figure look even more alluring. It was floaty and long and skimmed her body with the light breeze, whispering the promise of what was underneath in soft waves and ripples.

  He had half a mind to try to convince her to stay in tonight, but he immediately curbed the thought. Tonight was about changing her mind, not getting her in bed. But, God, it was damn tempting. His bear roared inside his chest, and it was all he could do to keep his baser instincts in check.

  "What are those?" she asked.

  "They're for you," he said, holding out the bouquet to her. "I owe you an apology for my behavior on set yesterday. I truly am sorry about that."

  She eyed him warily. "Thank you," she said. "Let me just put these inside."

  He followed her in and watched her scurry to shove what appeared to be a pair of lacy underwear under a pillow. Again, he had to tell his bear to shut the hell up.

  "You'll excuse the mess," she said. "I haven't had much time for cleaning."

  Elliott chuckled. By "much time," she must have meant none at all. Her clothes were piled in a corner and the bed was covered in paperwork: notebooks and clipboards and binders, loose papers scattered everywhere. The place looked like a command center, not a hotel room. But he didn't mind. He liked seeing this glimpse into the otherwise composed image she projected on set. And it wasn't like his place was any better before the maids came through.

  Laila searched for a container to hold the blooms, but couldn't seem to find one, so she filled the bathroom sink and left the flowers there. He hadn't even considered this possibility.

  "I'll have a vase sent over tomorrow," he said.

  She seemed about to protest, but said nothing, instead grabbing her purse. "Ready?" she asked.

  "Ready."

  Elliott led her out the door, but she stopped in her tracks.

  "A limo? Was that really necessary?"

  He opened the door for her with a smile. "You're the director. You deserve a few perks."

  "Please tell me this isn't coming out of the film's budget?"

  "Only my personal per diem," he said. Hopefully that would set her more at ease.

  "Right," she said, getting inside.

  She didn't seem pleased at all. Why? Maybe she wasn't impressed by the limo. He himself thought they were a bit flashy. But they'd always seemed to work with women before. And there was the whole leg room thing. They were both tall people. He thought she'd like to stretch out as much as he did.

  "Speaking of director perks," he said as the chauffeur drove out of the lot. "The cabin I'm renting is a lot nicer than this place. If you'd like, I can ask around to see if there's anything else available?"

  Instead of lighting up and accepting his offer, her face only got colder. "I'm fine where I am, thank you."

  God, it was like pulling teeth to get her to talk to him. He decided to try something else, but this time, he'd play it off like it was nothing--like he hadn't called everyone he knew to get a recommendation for somewhere decent to eat around here.

  "The only place with even one Michelin star is still a bit of a drive," he said. "I hope you don't mind. This is Kentucky, after all."

  Laila just shrugged.

  Elliott frowned. This conversation was going nowhere. He tried to think of anything to say to break the now icy silence between them.

  "My good friend, Riley Tate, was actually the one to recommend this place. He shot Beasts of Burden in this area a few years back with Universal. Did you see it?" Mentioning Riley always got a girl's attention.

 
"Nope," she said, staring out the window.

  Elliott wanted to punch something. She was acting like she wanted to be anywhere but here with him. Elliott started to feel his ire rise. She wasn't even giving him a chance.

  "Really?" he said, trying to tamp down his irritation. "I always try to see all the major box office hits. Keeps me up to date on the industry."

  "I'm not a big fan of movies where explosions take up more screen time than people," she said.

  "But you must want to know what kinds of films are successful?"

  Finally, she turned to him, and her eyes were like ice. "Success can be measured many ways, Mr. Regan."

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? He felt all his control disappear.

  "Look, have I done something to offend you?" he spat out at her.

  "Yes," she said calmly. "You have."

  "By all means, tell me. I wouldn't want to keep you in this car against your will."

  "Do you have any idea what everyone on set is sacrificing to make this movie happen? Every crew member is doubling up rooms instead of having their own. People are coming early and working late despite union regs, and every single above-the-line person--including the talent--has donated the bulk of their per diem to put back into the cost of making this movie."

  "So this is about me spending my per diem?"

  "It's about you enjoying certain luxuries without regard to the sacrifices of others. Do you think I like that crappy hotel? Or that any of the crew likes it either? We don't. But if it's going to help me make my film, then I'll stay in whatever roach-infested hell-hole I need to."

  "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize that was the situation here."

  "Of course you didn't. You're three days late showing up to the production. And today, instead of getting up to speed, you spent your time chatting on the phone with celebrities and planning some useless fancy dinner. Without, by the way, even asking me what kind of food I like."

  "I was only trying to give you the best."

  "The best for who? You don't know a thing about me or what I like."

  Well, she had him there.

  "Let me ask you a question," she said. "Have you even read the script for my movie?"

  "I--um--the previous exec brought me up to speed."

  "So that's a 'no' then?"

  "I scanned the coverage on the flight over here."

  "The coverage? Those notes your assistant puts together to see if a script is worth reading in the first place?"

  "Yes. But Taylor is very thorough."

  "You've got to be kidding me. Do you even want to be here? Because it doesn't seem like it."

  "Of course I do. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He was starting to feel like "I'm sorry" was the only thing he ever said to this woman. "I was just trying to give you a night you'd enjoy. And maybe I went a bit overboard. But it's only because--" he stopped himself.

  "Because what?" she urged. And for the first time all night she seemed to actually be listening to him.

  The truth flooded out before he had a chance to hold it back. "I bonded with you, okay? I think ... I think we're destined to be together."

  Laila laughed. "No. Oh, no. You did not just say that to me."

  "You know what that means, right?"

  "Of course I know what it means. How the hell do you think my parents got together?"

  "Well, it happened," he said.

  Laila stared at him for a moment, seeming to study him.

  "I feel something for you, Laila. Something bigger than I've ever felt for anyone in my life."

  Laila scowled and scooted toward the front of the space. She knocked on the divider raised between them and the chauffeur. It lowered slowly.

  "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Can you please turn this car around and take me back to the hotel?"

  "Yes, ma'am," the chauffeur said.

  "Laila, come on. I'm serious," Elliott said.

  Laila raised one finger to shush him and nodded toward the still-open divider. Elliott fumbled next to him before finding a button to put the damn thing back up.

  When it had slid back into place, she spoke again. "Now you listen to me, Mr. Regan, and listen carefully. Where I come from, lying to a woman about bonding just to get her in the sack will get you beaten up and thrown out of town.

  "I'm not. It's the truth."

  "And tricking a woman into making her sacred oath is punishable by death. Trust me, you do not want to meet my father. And you certainly don't want me to tell him what you just said to me. So I don't want to hear one more word about any bonding business, understand?"

  "It's the truth," Elliott protested.

  She just shook her head. "I'd appreciate spending the rest of the ride in silence, if you don't mind. I don't need my head filled with any more foolishness."

  Elliott wouldn't have known what to say even if he tried. She clearly didn't believe him, and there was no point in trying to convince her. He was starting to get the impression that bonding was worth very little on its own. Maybe it was more of a curse than a gift. Maybe it only made you want something desperately, but didn't guarantee that you'd get it.

  #

  Elliott charged into the foyer of his rental cabin and slammed his keys on the counter. God, could he have screwed that up more? It seemed unlikely. He was entirely at a loss about what to do. Impressing Laila clearly hadn't worked, but he wasn't sure he had many more tricks up his sleeve. He'd never needed them before. Where women were concerned, they'd always worked.

  His phone buzzed and he picked it up. It was a text from Zara.

  Turns out I'm in NC on biz. Meet me halfway this weekend? I can bring my sisters if you want ....

  He'd known Zara for a couple years now. She was also a shifter--a polar bear in her animal form. The two of them were what people called "friends with benefits." Between relationships, and sometimes during them if he was honest, they often hooked up. It was just sex, though, just casual. It was something he'd always loved about his life--the freedom, the ability to pursue both other women and his career without worrying about getting tied down. She felt the same way, so it worked out well for both of them.

  But tonight, he didn't feel the slightest bit tempted to take her up on her offer. He knew there was something more now. He knew there was Laila. And even with her hating him, even knowing there was a damn good chance she always would, the promise of her was still ten times more enticing than Zara could ever be.

  Laila was a mystery, an enigma, a puzzle he felt he must find the answer to. He'd never wanted anything or anyone more. So why was this so hard?

  For one, she seemed to dislike everything about him. She thought he was shallow and lazy and selfish. And maybe it was true. Maybe not as bad as she thought, but there was truth in her words. When was the last time he'd challenged himself or put anyone's needs before his own? He hadn't done a damn thing to help this movie before coming down here. He'd been pissed he'd had to come at all. But now that he knew she was here, there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

  If help with her movie was what Laila wanted, he'd give it to her.

  He cracked the lid on his laptop for the first time in ages and opened her screenplay.

  #

  It was nearly dawn, but Elliott hadn't been able to sleep. Laila's screenplay had hooked him from the very first scene. Hell, from the very first sentence. He finished the final scene and tilted his head back in awe.

  Elliott was flooded with the sudden, certain feeling that it didn't matter what he wanted at all. He was nowhere near good enough for a woman like Laila Marks.

  This film wasn't just something special. It was fucking phenomenal. He didn't think he'd read anything like it in his entire life. The story was about two black teens suspected of murder in an isolated Appalachian town. But that was only where the story started. As they hunted for the real killer, they faced some of the most gut-wrenching racism he'd ever heard of, and uncovered secrets from not only their own past, but ones that lead all t
he way to the White House. There wasn't a word wasted. There wasn't a single unnecessary detail or superfluous character. And when this story finally played for an audience, he was certain there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house.

  Frankly, he would have killed to work on it even if Laila wasn't involved. The fact she was only made it more appealing.

  He dug into the production files on his computer to get up to speed on where they stood. The shooting schedule looked good, if ambitious. He would have liked to see them have a week at the fairgrounds and at least four days for the house-burning scene. But it was probably manageable with the right vision. And he was certain Laila had vision in spades.

  He looked up the cast. The talent had started to get some good press, but weren't household names by any means. It would be harder to sell, so they better be damn good. He accessed the studio server and watched their auditions. The casting choices were perfect. He could see exactly what Laila saw--the vulnerability of the older girl, Honey, was spot-on to the tone she'd written. And the younger girl, Bess, was exactly the sort of no-nonsense tough-girl the part demanded.

  Then, Elliott looked at the budget. All he'd really known before was that projections for earning were small. And since he made a bonus based on how much the film made, he'd been uninterested in much else. But immediately, the number looked like an insult. He could see why the crew--why Laila herself--was stretched so thin. It just wasn't enough.

  From the looks of it, Greenlight wanted all the positive press of hiring a minority director, but didn't want to give her the real backing it would take to succeed. It wasn't even five percent of some of the movies he'd worked on. They were trying to play with as little skin in the game as possible. It made his blood boil.

  There was no way--no damned way--that he was going to allow his production to suffer like that. He had some phone calls to make.

  Chapter Six

  Laila

  "From the sounds of it, you didn't even give him a chance," Kay said. She and Laila were back in the production office going over the schedule for the day, and Laila had told her everything--well, mostly everything--about last night.