7 Degrees of Alpha: a collection of seven new BWWM, Alpha Male Romances

by Allen, Sara

  "Reverse seniority," was his dry ass response. "You gotta work a traffic detail for the grand opening of that new mega church."

  He stared down at his clipboard. "Umm... Yeah. Worship House."

  Taylor shook her head, realizing that the police department was the only place of employment where one could be considered a rookie with eight years on the job. She was constantly getting stuck with bullshit details.

  "Don't be late!" he ordered as he left the room.

  "Yes, sir," Taylor mumbled as she followed him out.

  Creed

  "Governor Creed, your speech for the opening of Worship House," Kenyatta “Kena” Watkins, his executive assistant, offered softly as she placed a few sheets of paper on his desk.

  He stared at the paper, seriously wishing that there was a way to get out of making an appearance at yet another mega church, where the only person that would benefit from its existence was an already rich, politically plugged preacher.

  "Kena, is it too much to ask for a natural disaster to get me out of delivering this speech?" Governor Victor Creed half-joked.

  Kenyatta smiled and walked out of his office.

  Victor snatched the speech off of his desk and skimmed over it.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  It was yet another mechanical performance that he'd have to put on. He could care less about introducing another mega church. He was nearing the end of his first term as the governor of Illinois, and he had yet to meet a mega church with a pastor that actually gave two shits about the community. Maybe there were one or two of them out there, but Victor had yet to meet them. Money, he had learned during his campaign, was the driving force behind most of them. He knew this because during the election he had bought every last one of their endorsements and paid for every last vote that had ensured his victory. The truth was the church was most influential in the Black and Hispanic communities, and he needed their support to get elected. So Victor greased every palm necessary to guarantee his place in the Governor's Mansion.

  For Victor, winning the election was not an option. His future in politics had been mapped out long before he was born. Victor Creed Sr. was a retired Illinois State senator and had never allowed any options other than politics for his son's future. Victor was groomed to become president of the United States. He wasn't complaining though. Victor loved being the governor. He loved the power. It was the power that allowed him to do good things for the people of Illinois. Although most people were under the impression that the Republican Party was only interested in making the rich richer, for Victor, that couldn't be further from the truth. He vowed to help those that needed help, and to be fair to those that were well off. He wanted to make the quality of life better for every citizen of Illinois.

  Victor tossed the papers onto his cluttered desk and slouched down in his chair. He covered his eyes with his hand and massaged his tense eyebrows. It was only nine o'clock on a Saturday night, and he was already exhausted. But sleep would have to wait, because Kara Edwards wouldn't. Victor had promised his tall, voluptuous, toffee-colored press secretary that he'd have a late dinner with her at her place. It was a promise that he was beginning to regret.

  Victor recalled the very first time that she'd walked into his office wearing a skin-tight sweater that showed a suggestive amount of cleavage. He'd wanted a sample, and it was obvious that she had wanted to sample him as well. And although in the beginning she claimed that she wanted the same detached, physical liaison that Victor had wanted, she had become very emotionally attached. He often found himself reminding her that he wasn't interested in a love connection. Likewise, she would reassure him that she was on the same page, but her actions proved otherwise. Kara was becoming possessive and clingy, and Victor realized that they were nearing their end.

  Since his wife's untimely death in Louisiana during Hurricane Katrina, Victor just couldn't imagine investing in another relationship. But to all, it seemed that he was the most available bachelor in Illinois, and at thirty-seven, the youngest. Victor was well aware that he was on or near the top of every single woman's wish list.

  Memories of Rosemary, his late wife, invaded Victor’s thoughts. He could see a vivid picture of the beautiful young woman that he had never wanted to marry. It was as though she was standing before him. She had a lustrous mane; the color of wheat and bright blue eyes that were filled with hope and promise. Rosemary was smart and talented; a successful immigration attorney. Victor had loved her, but not enough to marry her. Like a monarchy, Rosemary was handpicked by Victor Sr. She was well-bred from a politically influential family. But like most people of privilege, she was self-centered and spoiled. Rosemary was a mirage; a political hallucination forged by a powerful family. Even her choice of practice, immigration law, was designed to portray a woman of compassion.

  The union between Victor and Rosemary had been more of a partnership than that of husband and wife. She was the perfect accessory. But now that she was gone, he had to admit that she was missed.

  The shrewd buzz of the intercom snapped Victor back to the present.

  "Governor Creed, Kara Edwards is waiting on the line," Kenyatta grumbled, with a noticeable tinge of irritation.

  Ever since Kara suggested Kenyatta's termination for not divulging Victor’s whereabouts, there was no love lost between them. Kara felt that as his press secretary, she had the right to know his every move. But since it was Kenyatta's job to protect his privacy, Victor felt that Kara Edwards had crossed a line and immediately had to force her back into her lane.

  "Put her through." Victor snatched the phone off of the cradle after the first ring. "I'm on my way," he said briskly before hanging up. He was not about to give Kara a chance at her usual whining.

  Victor stuffed the speech into his briefcase and snatched his suit coat off the back of his chair. As he left his office, he tried to come up with the gentlest way of informing Kara that they were about to share their last night together.

  CHAPTER 2

  Taylor

  "Gotdamn! It's hotter than Satan's nut sac out here!"

  Taylor chuckled at Will's vulgar over-exaggeration. Will was another sucker with no seniority that got assigned to the traffic detail at the mega church. He was right, however; it was hot as hell outside, but Satan's sac was a bit much. It had to be at least ninety degrees out, and most Chicagoans could easily survive ninety degree temperatures. But factoring in a poly-blend uniform, an unbearably hot baseball cap, and a twenty-pound utility belt digging into her hip, for Taylor, traffic control was the worst kind of torture.

  It was ten o'clock. Taylor was only two hours into her day and she was already ready to go. She hated directing traffic; stopping, waving on, and directing motorists and pedestrians that pretended to be deaf and blind. She'd been cussed out at least four times, and had almost gotten run over twice. Taylor was hot and irritated. She snatched the Velcro of her bulletproof vest and tossed it into the back seat of her squad car, knowing that if she got caught without it, she could get written up.

  Oh well.

  As hot as it was, Taylor was willing to deal with a supervisor. She just prayed that no one shot at her. Hell, as tired as she was, they might have been doing her a favor. If she lived, she could rest up in an air-conditioned hospital.

  "Heads up, Tay," Will warned with a nudge.

  Another caravan of black SUV'S was approaching the entrance. Taylor didn't even speculate as to the important person that was being escorted into the massive church. She walked over to the sidewalk and held her hand up, stopping vehicles and pedestrians in order to allow the caravan entry into the parking lot. A line of SUV's entered one behind the other, except for the third vehicle in line. When it reached the mouth of the lot, the driver slowed down to a creep. Taylor could see nothing but her reflection in the tinted window, but she couldn't help but to feel as if she was being watched. Nonetheless, she continued to hold off the pedestrians until the last vehicle in the caravan passed.

  Taylor continu
ed to serve as an armed crossing guard for pedestrians and motorists alike. She held up her white-gloved hand and waved a line of pedestrians, who were on their way to the church, across the street. As if she wasn't already annoyed with the traffic detail, some impatient asshole decided to rest on their horn.

  "Move!" shouted a woman in a green Honda. "Damn! Get the fuck outta the way," the driver yelled, despite the fact that they were at a church.

  Taylor did her best to ignore the rude woman and continued to wave the pedestrians along. But, of course, Taylor's actions only seemed to infuriate the driver even more. She released a series of expletives as she, once again, assaulted everyone with her horn. Taylor snatched her citation book out of her back pocket and walked over to the woman's car. The lady's hostility was evident as she huffed loudly upon Taylor's approach. To no surprise of Taylor, the first words out of the woman's mouth were, "Don’t come over here fuck'n with me! I know my rights!"

  "Ma'am, did you also know that according to the Municipal Code of Chicago, honking your horn in a non-emergency situation is a citable offense? I need your driver's license and proof of insurance," Taylor said, responding in an unruffled tone.

  The driver's mouth dropped open and her eyes became the size of saucers. Apparently, she thought that it was perfectly okay to be disrespectful to Taylor and to impede her from doing her job. But it wasn't okay. Taylor had to summon the patience of Job to keep herself from snatching the ignorant cuss out of her car through the window.

  Reluctantly, the driver handed over her driver's license, but she tossed her proof of insurance out of the window. Taylor looked down at the insurance card, then back to the woman that was glaring at her with narrowed eyes. As Taylor walked away, leaving the card on the ground, she looked over at Will. He shook his head in disgust and continued to direct traffic. Taylor hopped into her squad car and entered the lady's driver's license number into the portable data terminal. When the results came through, Taylor got a little excited.

  She got out and returned to the Honda.

  "Ma'am, please put your car in park, step out of the vehicle, and place your hands behind your back."

  "This is so fucking stupid! You ain’t got shit better to do?!" she shouted in outrage.

  "No, ma'am, do you know what's fucking stupid? Fucking stupid is honking your fucking horn like a fucking idiot, and cussin’ out the police like a fucking idiot, while driving on a suspended license. You have a traffic warrant; that's fucking stupid. Now get the fuck out of the car!" Taylor snapped.

  Having no other choice, the woman exited her car and put her hands behind her back. Ignoring the crocodile tears and apologies, Taylor led her to the back seat of her squad car.

  "Watch your head," she warned as she all but shoved the woman into the back seat.

  "You got this?" she shouted to Will.

  "Yep. See you later," he responded with a wave of his hand.

  Knowing full well that she was about to write the hateful woman a plethora of tickets and impound her shit-colored Honda, Taylor couldn't muster up enough guilt for the feeling of delight she felt as she drove the hateful woman into the station.

  ******************************

  Hours later, after a grueling day at work, Taylor was relaxing in the new Jacuzzi tub that she had installed in her master bath. She had recently purchased her first home on the South Side. At thirty, she figured it was time. Her new three-bedroom home in Hyde Park was a work in progress. Thankfully, it was a solid brick structure, surrounded by a lovely landscape. Taylor had decided to remodel one room at a time. In the nine months that she'd been there, she'd had the kitchen, the living room, and the master bed and bath remodeled. The guest bedroom and the guest bathroom, along with the basement, would have to wait. She hadn't planned on having any overnight guests anytime soon anyway.

  "Tay!" she heard her best friend and partner, Maria Mendez, shout from the hallway.

  "I'm in the tub!" Taylor shouted back.

  The bathroom door swung open, and Maria flew in. She fiddled with the button and zipper of her jeans, before plopping down on the toilet.

  "Ahh," she moaned as she relieved herself, with total disregard for Taylor's presence.

  "Really, Maria?"

  "Whew! Adios mios, mami! I had to pee."

  "I'm sorry I gave yo’ ass a key."

  "The fuck you want me to do? Pee myself?" Maria asked, unrolling a handful of toilet paper.

  "Ugh... Wipe ya ass and get out of my bathroom."

  Taylor rolled her eyes and turned off the jets, calming the roaring bubbles. Maria had just destroyed the serenity of her bath.

  "What did we discuss about boundaries?"

  "Heffa, shut up and get out the tub," Maria quipped as she flushed the toilet.

  She fastened her pants and washed her hands, drying them on Taylor's drying towel.

  "Bitch," Taylor muttered at Maria's back as she left the bathroom.

  Taylor climbed out of the tub, dried off, and wrapped herself in the towel. When she entered her bedroom, Maria was spread out across her bed, aiming the remote control at the television.

  "How was your detail?"

  "How do you think it was?" Taylor scoffed. "I'm a disgruntled employee."

  Maria chuckled and continued to surf through the channels. Maria was lucky. She had thirteen years on the job and hardly ever got assigned to the same shitty details that Taylor usually got stuck with. Dealing with the ever-changing scheduling needs of the police department was hard enough. But on top of that, Maria had two little girls and a husband at home. Taylor was in awe of the way that Maria managed the day-to-day of her life. Since she was raised in a traditional Mexican household, having a home cooked meal for her family everyday was second nature. It didn't matter what time she got home from work, even if it was three in the morning; she would cook an entire meal and store it in the freezer for her family to eat the next day while she was at work.

  "Well, it's all over now, and it's our weekend off. Whatcha got planned?"

  "Sunday, I'm going fishing at Fox Lake," Taylor responded, with the most enthusiasm than she'd had all day.

  "Eww. Why do you love playing with slimy things every time you get a day off?"

  Taylor ignored the look of disgust that Maria gave her and walked over to her dresser. She fished out a pair of pajamas and headed back into the bathroom. She grabbed a bottle of eucalyptus tea scented body lotion from the cabinet and moisturized her skin, before slipping into her pj's.

  "You goin’ with your pappa?" Maria asked, as Taylor reentered the bedroom.

  "Yep."

  "Your dad's a hillbilly," Maria chortled. "And you know he secretly wishes that you were a boy, don't you?"

  "It's not a secret at all," Taylor chuckled.

  James and Martha Montgomery, Taylor's mom and dad, were born in Arkansas. They were southerners to the bone. Her dad was raised on a farm. Had it not been for her mom, Taylor believed that her dad would have never left the south. He loved the country life. Hunting, farming, and fishing were her dad's version of a five-star vacation. And, although her mom convinced him to move to Chicago, he managed to continue his hobbies. He joined the police department, but every weekend that he had off, he was on a lake or toting his rifle through a nearby hunting ground, dragging Taylor along every chance he got. But she certainly wasn't complaining. She loved to escape the harsh big city for a small glimpse into a southern existence.

  As far as siblings, there was just Taylor and her sister, Nicole. Contrary to Taylor, Nicole wouldn't be caught dead baiting a hook. She was a carbon copy of her uber feminine mother; a lady to the core. She was a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue and two years older than Taylor. Nicole was also engaged to be married to Jeffrey, an almost too perfect, yuppie, politician. He seemed nice, but almost too nice.

  "Damn, girl. Where did you go? I lost you."

  Taylor blinked, snapping her thoughts back to Maria, trying to remember the conversation. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about
my sister. Her fiancé had an extra ticket to the State Dinner on Saturday and my overbearing sister is forcing me to go."

  "Extra ticket my ass," Maria argued. "That dinner is like a thousand bucks a plate. Ain't no such thing as extra tickets."

  "That's what the yuppy told her."

  "Mmm hmm. So what are you going to wear?"

  "Don't know. Nic said that she was picking out a dress for me."

  "Wow. I'm surprised that you're being so cooperative."

  "She wore me down," Taylor responded with a shrug. "Anyway, what are you doing this weekend?"

  "Making dinner and wiping asses. What else?" she said dryly.

  "Girl, don't front. That's your version of fun. You love that shit."

  "Whatever," Maria mumbled, climbing out of bed. "Speaking of wiping asses, I gotta go."

  "Damn, okay. Text me when you get home."

  Taylor was a bit confused by Maria's lack of excitement. On a normal day, Maria loved gushing over her family life. She was a bit concerned about her friend, but she didn't want to pry. Nobody's life was perfect every day. She figured that Maria must have been going through a thing and she'd be over it soon.

  She followed Maria down the hall, gave her a hug, and locked the front door behind her. She made her way down the hall, back to her bedroom, and then she realized that she still didn't know the reason for Maria's impromptu visit. Maybe she was just in the neighborhood and had to use the washroom. It was a theory that was highly unlikely, but Taylor lacked the amount of rest needed to solve the dilemma. So, she climbed into her bed, deciding to call her friend the next day.

  CHAPTER 3

  Creed

  The governor's mansion was buzzing with activity, but Victor couldn't be more bored. He knew going in that he was going to see much of the same faces of the same people that normally frequented politically fueled social events.