Hot Shot (American Royalty Book 3)

by Robin Bielman

  Drew picks up my hand and we slip away. He takes me down the hall, opens the door to a room, and flicks on the light. It’s a study. But also a library. One entire wall is filled with book shelves. The ceiling is vaulted so there’s even a sliding ladder.

  “Wow,” I say. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know this room existed or I would have snuck away earlier to hang out in here.”

  “This will be our escape room when we need a break,” Drew says, playing with the spaghetti strap on my dress. “My mom likes to entertain and have family gatherings so plan on frequent trips to Casa Auprince.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Speaking of plans. Did yours go the way you wanted?”

  “It went better.” I kiss him. “Tonight has been really special, for so many reasons, and I’m so very grateful and lucky to have you.”

  He kisses me. “The feeling is mutual.”

  “Think it’s okay if we left now?” I ask. I want to be alone with him. I want to fall into bed and stay there until tomorrow afternoon.

  He walks me backward until my butt hits something hard. “What? You don’t want me to do you on top of this desk?”

  “Not with your entire family down the hall, no.”

  “You sure?” He grinds his hips against me so I can feel how much he wants me right now. “The fear of getting caught is a pretty powerful aphrodisiac.”

  Drew looking at me like he is right now is pretty powerful. “Does the door lock?”

  “It does.”

  “Do it,” I say, a little breathless and a lot turned on.

  He locks the door. Then he does me. I come embarrassingly quickly, but so does he. Later that night when we’re in bed, we make love. Whisper words of love.

  Pledge our love.

  For always.

  Epilogue Two

  One year later…

  Drew

  I almost burned down the house. Do not laugh. The no-fail, easy recipe Ethan gave me for tonight was not easy or fail proof. And then the jerk laughed in my ear when I called him to say smoke was coming out of the oven and what should I do? He was no help there either.

  So, I called our housekeeper, and she saved the day.

  She also told me it didn’t matter what food I surprised Alejandra with; tonight was not about the food.

  Which is absolutely true and why I’m pacing around the family room and kitchen like a nervous wreck. Tonight is about the two of us, our love, and our future, and I know the only thing that really matters to Alejandra is the honest and genuine simplicity of that.

  Still, I want it to be perfect for her. Make that wanted it to be perfect. She’s an hour late. Dinner’s probably been warming in the oven for way too long. And the house smells a little smoky.

  She moved in with me six months ago, when renovations on the house were finally finished. Since then it finally feels like home. In hindsight, it wasn’t remodeling that I needed, it was her.

  It’s impossible to count the ways Al has made my life better.

  She feels the same way about me. I know this because every day we tell each other one thing we love about the other person. Every. Single. Day. We can fight. We can be mad as hell with each other, but we must share one good thing before our heads hit the pillow.

  “Hello!” she finally calls out, stopping me in my tracks. Suddenly, I don’t know what to do with myself. I hear her getting closer. Fidget. Closer still. Fidget. She’ll round the corner from the hallway in three, two… “Hi! What are you doing?”

  Standing like a goofball doing robot moves.

  “Nothing.” I get my feet to move so I can greet her properly with a kiss. “How was your day?”

  “It was good. Did you burn something?” she asks, putting her tote down on the couch then turning to peer into the kitchen.

  “Yes, but don’t worry, Martha helped me out.”

  “You cooked for us?”

  “I got home early.” Lame excuse, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t buy it.

  She steps toward the dining table where I’ve set out two place settings, a vase with ranunculus, and a small side gift to go with the one burning a hole in my pocket. “Drew,” she says lovingly. God, I love the sound of her voice.

  I pick up the book on her plate and give it to her. “It’s next month’s book club pick. Reese sent it to me early.” She turns the book over to read the back copy. “You are officially one of the first to know.”

  “Thank you!” She wraps her arms around my waist and kisses me. “I’m so excited to read it.”

  She turns to put the book on the table and when she twists back around, I’m down on one knee. I can’t wait another fucking second. Her hand flies to her mouth as she gazes at me.

  “Alejandra, you are the magic in everyday things. You are the sunshine that makes every day bright. You’re precious. Beautiful. Kind. I love you with all my heart and want to keep yours safe and happy for the rest of our lives. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. Will you marry me?” I take the velvet box out of my pocket and open it to reveal the oval-cut diamond ring I had specially made.

  “Oh my God! Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you.” She drops down to her knees before I can stand up. “I love you. I love you so much.”

  I put the ring on her finger. We admire it for a moment, her arm braced out, and then she’s kissing me. I’m kissing her. We’re kissing like we’re about to win the world record for most passionate kiss.

  “I love you,” she murmurs into my mouth.

  “I love you.” I stand and lift her into my arms. I need to be inside her more than I need my next breath. I start toward the bedroom but only make it two steps when the doorbell chimes. Damn it. With Alejandra getting home late, I completely forgot to push back the celebration.

  I place her on her feet. “I’ve got one more surprise. Come on.”

  We open the front door together. There, smiling from ear to ear with cake, champagne, and balloons (I’m sure it was Rylee who wanted those) is our family and close friends.

  “Congratulations!!” they shout.

  Alejandra beams at me. “You did this?”

  I nod.

  She takes my face in her hands and kisses me.

  Cheers erupt and everyone files inside. Grandmother, Mom, Dad, Gabriela and Diego, Finn and Chloe and their baby girl Willow, Ethan and a pregnant Pascale (they tied the knot in Hawaii a few months ago) and Rylee, cute as a button with a missing front tooth.

  West follows behind them with Al’s friends Sutton and Jane. If I’m not mistaken, Sutton is definitely giving my best friend an interesting look.

  Next up is Mrs. K., Gloria, Ethel, Claire, and Rhoda. I had a car pick them up and as they hug my fiancée in congratulations, they thank me and tell me to take good care of their girl. I promise them I will. Alejandra’s co-workers, Lu and Karen, join us, too.

  Lastly is Matthew and his girlfriend Pippa. He shakes my hand. It took me a little while to welcome him into our lives, but he means a lot to Alejandra and after spending time with him, I discovered he’s a good man. “Congratulations,” he says.

  “Thank you.”

  He and Alejandra share a look. Of friendship. Respect. “Congratulations, Allie.” He glances at me. “You picked a great guy.”

  She wraps her arms around my biceps and gazes up at me with unmistakable love and admiration. “I did. I picked the best guy for me, and I’m so lucky he chose me back.”

  Four years after that…

  “Grandmother,” I say, “you may be turning eighty-five next week but there is no way my wife is getting on that thing with you. Not when she’s five months pregnant.”

  Alejandra giggles. “Drew, it’s a Ferris wheel.”

  “I don’t care. It’s not safe.” I scrutinize the carnival ride. It’s way too rickety. How Rylee’s school approved all of this is beyond me. I happily gave a donation and don’t need anything in return.

  “Momma,” Isabella murmurs, waking
up in my arms. She fell asleep while sitting on my shoulders as we wandered around the fair so I slid her into my arms to carry her against my chest. She reaches for Alejandra and this is one of the rare times I happily pass my two-year-old over because now Al definitely cannot ride the Ferris wheel.

  “Hi, Bella Bug.” Al cradles our daughter atop her beautiful round belly and kisses her forehead before moving Bella over her shoulder and rubbing her little back.

  “Okay, then,” Grandmother says to me. “You’re coming with me. Let’s go.”

  “Me?” I protest. I’m not afraid of heights, but I don’t exactly like the way this ride looks. Did I not make that clear?

  “Yes, you. Are you losing your hearing already?”

  “No, and I’d rather not lose my lunch.” We haven’t eaten lunch yet.

  “Nice try,” Grandmother says. “I thought you were some hotshot hotelier, not some wimp.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” I kiss my girls goodbye.

  “You’re adorable,” Alejandra whispers in my ear. “Take care of her.”

  Grandma Rosemary is not quite as spry as she used to be so I place her arm inside mine and walk steadily beside her. I still admire the hell out of her. Her adventurous spirit hasn’t waned one bit. Her mind is still sharp as ever.

  We climb shaky stairs to get on the ride. “Is this thing safe?” I ask the attendant. “Because I’ve got some precious cargo here.”

  He nods and tucks us into a passenger carrier. “Enjoy the ride.”

  “I haven’t enjoyed a ride in a long time,” Grandmother says. It’s clear in her tone she does not mean this kind of ‘ride.’ I groan.

  The wheel jerks then starts to move. “You know, it’s good to lose control sometimes,” she says as we go higher. “It puts hair on your chest.”

  I smile. She used to tell me and my brothers that all the time when we were young, only it had to do with eating our vegetables.

  That’s not the part she wants me to zone in on, though, and the reminder hits home.

  So, when our carrier hits the top of the wheel, I raise my arms in the air and shout, “I love you, Alejandra and Isabella!”

  The End

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  Thanks for reading Hot Shot by Robin Bielman!

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  If you enjoyed Hot Shot, you’ll love the other books in….

  The American Royalty series

  Book 1: Heartthrob

  Finn’s story

  Buy now!

  Book 2: Sweet Talker

  Ethan’s story

  Buy now!

  Book 3: Hotshot

  Drew’s story

  View the series here!

  Enjoy an excerpt from

  Sweet Talker

  Robin Bielman

  Book 2 in The American Royalty series

  Keep reading below or buy now!

  Ethan

  “Who is the brunette?” I say to my brother, voicing my curiosity instead of waiting for an official introduction.

  “Where?” Drew asks. It’s a legit question considering there are over a dozen brunettes in the restaurant, tonight’s private goodbye party for my manager filled with friends, family, and staff.

  “At the bar.” I lift my chin in her direction. Hair piled on top of her head in classy disarray. Long, slim neck. Off-the-shoulder black top revealing smooth tanned skin. For some inexplicable reason, my eyes keep landing on her.

  “The one talking to Charlotte?”

  “Yes.”

  “How should I know? Her back is to us.” He places his palm between my shoulder blades. “There is this thing called introducing yourself, you know.”

  I snicker. I own this restaurant and everyone in this room knows who I am. People come to me when I’m inside these four walls. I’ve worked hard to earn the reputation as the hottest restaurateur on the West Coast. A slew of publications rank me at the top of their Most Influential lists. All the exposure makes it easy to connect with any woman I want, usually at the snap of my fingers. Not that I’d make a rude gesture like that. I flash my killer dimples instead. The point is, we’re an hour into this party and I’ve yet to make eye contact with the brunette at the bar.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Drew says. “Everyone who walks in the door of Royal already knows you.”

  “Hey, Ethan,” a pretty twenty-something woman says, proving my unsaid point.

  “Hey, Ethan,” her attractive friend mimics as they walk by, only this woman tilts her head and adds a sway to her hips that says, I’m all yours later, if you want. The only reason she doesn’t give the same hello to my younger brother is because he’s already been with her. A few months back. Humane Society charity event at my family’s downtown hotel.

  I give a small smile to be polite, nothing more. She doesn’t seriously think she has a chance with me after being with my brother, does she? Drew and I share a lot, but women are not on that list.

  Besides—my gaze falls back on the sexy curve of the brunette’s neck—I’m tired as hell, having just flown back to LA from a week-long trip to Vegas where I’m opening another restaurant. When I wasn’t working, I was playing. In the casinos, in the clubs, in private dining rooms. After-hours fun took the place of sleep. When I get home later, I may fall into bed in my clothes. That’s not true. I pull at the collar of my light blue classic-fit shirt. I don’t wrinkle my Armani, and I like to be naked when I slip between my Italian bed sheets. Alone or otherwise, and lately it’s been the former.

  Which must explain my fascination with the brunette.

  “The place isn’t going to be the same without Charlotte,” Drew says, reining in my wayward thoughts.

  “No.” Charlotte’s been my manager since we opened three years ago and I’m sorry to see her go. “Damn boyfriend and his taking her to Vancouver with him.”

  “Yeah, sucks to be him. New job. Hot girlfriend.”

  “Whatever,” I say because I’m exhausted and okay, slightly pissed she’s leaving. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for her—them—but I’m pretty sure my new manager won’t come even close to matching Charlotte’s level of competency and affability. I say “pretty sure” because I haven’t met her yet. Charlotte hired her while I was gone this past week.

  “Your new manager starts tomorrow.” Statement, not a question. Leave it to Drew to know my schedule.

  “Yeah.”

  “Word of advice?” He pats my back again. My baby brother likes to think he knows it all. “Sound at least somewhat happy she’s here.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?”

  A split-second expression of panic crosses his face before it disappears and I wonder if my tired eyes are playing a trick on me. “Charlotte mentioned it earlier.”

  “Charlotte mentioned what earlier?” the woman herself asks, coming to a stop in front of us.

  “Your replacement is female,” Drew says.

  “And amazing,” Charlotte adds. “Are you free to meet her now, Ethan?”

  “Sure.”

  A sudden crash sounds from the kitchen. “Actually, give me a minute,” I tell Charlotte as I step around her.

  “Want me to—”

  I raise my hand to cut her off. “I’ve got this. Enjoy your party.” Thankfully, no one else seems to have heard the noise, or if they did, they’ve chosen to ignore it. I pass the brunette—a light scent of vanilla and raspberries hitting my nose—walk around the bar, and step through the swinging door into the kitchen. What I see sends dread through me. It seems my stalker has struck again.

  Not a stalker. Someone who wants to mess with me, is all. But my family thinks differently and their concern is reaching irritating proportions. I get that I come from a prominent family, which makes me a bigger target than someone less “famous,” but these childish antics are nothing more than that. Juvenile
attempts to get my attention.

  And I refuse to give them merit.

  This time, a box of wine has hit the floor, red liquid splattered across the clear-stained concrete. More pressing is the broken glass. I don’t want anyone to step on it.

  And then there’s the snake.

  Yes, I said snake. Slithering slowly away from the kitchen staff huddled in the corner. I know I’m tired, but I swear the reptile is purposely darting his tongue out to lap up the Napa Valley wine on his way to an escape.

  “Is everyone okay?” I ask.

  A round of “yes” rings out, followed by: “I’m sorry. When I opened the box, the snake was right there and I freaked out.”

  “Understandable.” Thankfully, the snake isn’t rattling, and if I remember my days of exploring nature with my brothers when we were young correctly, this is simply a harmless garter snake.

  To be on the safe side, I grab a pair of tongs off the stainless-steel worktable and give our unwelcome friend a lift toward the exit. He casually wriggles in the air while one or two of my staff squeaks. I open the door to the alley, unsure what to do, when I see an empty crate near the dumpster. Perfect. I secure the snake inside the container—tongs included—then return to the kitchen where cleanup has already begun. “Will someone please give animal control a call to let them know the snake is inside a crate outside?”

  “On it,” my sous chef says, wiping his hands down his apron and pulling his phone from his back pocket.

  “Thanks.” I check over the platters of food about to be carried out, grateful they weren’t contaminated. The dropped wine doesn’t bother me. Some person who’s targeted me for a reason I can’t figure out doesn’t bother me either. What troubles me is keeping the people in my employ—people I care about—out of harm’s way. I want a safe environment in which my employees can work and my guests can dine.

  I don’t want anyone at Royal worried about their safety.

  “You guys good?” I ask. My chef, Louis, is already head down, back to business. The rest of my staff nods and waves me off.