Romancing Austin
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Contents
Copyright Page
No Quitting Allowed
1
2
3
4
5
6
From Rebecca
Twisted
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
From Cara
Do Over
1
2
3
4
5
6
From Chandra
Consortium
1
2
3
4
From Riley
Tall Order
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
From Irene
Enchanted
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
From Evelyn
One Night with the Vampire
1
2
3
4
5
6
From Jax
Copyright © 2015 Riley Bancroft, Evelyn Berry, Cara Carnes, Rebecca Grimaldi, Jennifer Hinson, Sharon Stoker Laurant, and Chandra Ryan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
South by Southwest, South by, SXSW and other trademarks belong to their respective owners.
Cover Design By: The Killion Group Inc.
Editing by: Heather Long
Copyediting for “One Night with the Vampire” by Abby Webber
Electronic ISBN: 978-0-9911641-4-1
No Quitting Allowed
Rebecca Royce
1
Unless she made a trip to the gym or found herself rolling around between the sheets with a hot guy, Lana Del Monaco hated to fucking sweat. Any occasion that caused her to perspire other than those two sucked large monkey balls.
She wiped her brow with the sleeve of her shirt and stared up at her final destination. The condo on 3rd Street where her boss, DBR—Dexter Bryce Reed—hosted a badass party on the 43rd floor stood right in front of her.
Lana had found him the space. She’d helped him furnish it. She’d picked out his clothes and left them hanging in his closet. Still, she had yet to see the rock star with her own eyes in six weeks. If she had, she’d never be standing on the street getting run over by tourists on their way to South by Southwest.
DBR couldn’t be bothered to see her in person, and a multi-platinum selling rock god apparently had the right to ignore his personal assistant of five years when he knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. Tonight, he would have to hear her. One way or another, by the end of his party, DBR was going to take her resignation.
Someone else could drip with sweat from running all over Austin, Texas, in the middle of a music festival to buy him a pair of faux-leather pants he had to have immediately. Or so he had told her over text message.
Maybe she should quit the same way. It would be easy; she’d type, I quit, asshole. I hate you and I hate Austin.
Only then she would probably not receive the additional ten thousand dollars he still owed her from her Christmas bonus, and she was going to need the money to rent a new apartment in Manhattan. Oh New York, she could almost taste the joy of her salty tears when she stepped off the plane at JFK. Yes, she was going home.
A hard body slammed into her, and she would have fallen backwards, straight onto her ass in the middle of the sidewalk, if the same person hadn’t caught her in his arms. As it was, she dropped her bag—with the pants she’d had to brave South Congress to purchase—on the ground where if the pants fell out—which they did—they would get dirty, and knowing DBR, he would make her take the clothes back if they had a smudge on them. The world turned red in front of her eyes and a throbbing pounded on her forehead.
“Wow, there. Sorry.” A laugh. “You okay?”
“No.” She gave in to the need and screamed like a shrew, pulling herself out of the person’s arms. “Watch where you’re going, asshole.”
The male stranger stayed calm, and somewhere distantly in her mind she didn’t blame him. Lana had gone past annoyed and crossed into crazy. The best thing this dude could do was stay truly still.
“Oh. Wow. Sorry.”
She finally let herself look at the fool who had nearly plowed her over and was apologizing, probably because she’d verbally assaulted him rather than from any genuine regret. She had to look deranged, with the sweat pouring down her face and the way her hands shook.
He was tall and lean. His arms, visible because he wore a blue Yoda t-shirt to go with his jeans, showed some kind of blue box tattoo on his arm with the word TARDIS underneath. It was ten at night and grownups everywhere else in the universe except Austin dressed up to go out in the evening. She’d officially been run over by a grown male dressed as a teenager. Of course she had. This was probably some kind of poser thing men did in Austin.
What the fuck is a TARDIS?
Lana redirected her glare from his stupid outfit to his face, then wished she hadn’t. The stranger was handsome, ridiculously so, and all geekery aside, he was totally her type. Blond and blue-eyed with chiseled cheekbones, a cleft in his chin, and a kissable mouth. Oh, what a kissable mouth.
Whatever. He needed a haircut. Bad.
And if he wasn’t a local poser, he was probably some tourist hoping for a glimpse of DBR. Well, she could let him inside. It would serve her soon-to-be-former boss right if she admitted the entire city through his doors to paw at him.
Hell, DBR would probably fucking love the exposure.
Nameless Slammer raised his eyebrows as if waiting for something. Oh, right. He’d apologized. “It’s fine.”
She stared at him for a few more seconds, long enough to notice the rest of his getup. He had an eyebrow ring. And earrings in both lobes. An uncomfortable warmth pulsed between her thighs. God, she usually detested men who wore more jewelry than she did. So why was standing so close to him making her so uncomfortable in her nether regions?
He crossed his arms and when he spoke this time, she heard a thick southern accent. “Obviously, it’s not. You cursed at me. Do you swear at every guy who accidently runs into you?”
“You might be surprised.” She backed away, picking her shopping bag off the sidewalk and retrieving the spilled pants when she did. “Move.”
Lana headed straight into the building. The guard nodded to her. He was an older man who worked nights, and had seen her coming and going for weeks. Well, tonight would be the last time. DBR said he required security anywhere he stayed because of his so-called stalkers. That meant she had to find protection—short or long-term—and finding a suitable accommodation with the right balance of luxury and precautions in Austin had proven difficult. Everyone was so…easygoi
ng here. As if celebrities would have nothing to fear from the general public once they’d arrived in central Texas.
At the elevator, she pressed the button. Thankfully, the doors chimed open immediately. Soon, she’d be back in New York City, where she couldn’t walk through a front door without being buzzed in. Then in some places there would be an additional guard. Sure, sometimes it could be annoying to have to pause, to sign in and out of everywhere she went, wait while they phoned upstairs to check on whether it was okay for her to enter, but that was normal. Why have safety if you weren’t going to actually make anything more protected? She’d be relieved to simply have things the way she was used to them again.
Oh the sweetness of it all…
“Hold the elevator.”
The man from the street chased her all the way inside? She had the urge to shut it without letting him in, if for no other reason than to simply pretend to be obtuse. Someone else should get screwed as much as possible today. Leaving you waiting in the lobby would be a big fuck-you for banging into me. Her bad mood should be catching. Maybe she’d figure out how to ruin his day, leave a trail of unhappy people in her wake as she fled Austin.
She pressed the button to the top floor and the hottie with the long hair and the poser outfit grinned. “We’re going to the same place.”
“Of course we are. I had you pegged on the street.”
“What?” He scratched his head. “Had me pegged for what?”
“One of Dexter’s fans.” She shook her head. Her boss was an incredible artist and most of his fans were fine. Every once in a while he got a real jerkoff who turned his love of the music into an obsession with DBR. Those people made her want to throw something, particularly when, on occasion, they started hanging out wherever DBR was and getting in her way.
Her companion cocked his head to the side and once again, when he spoke, it was the deep, almost musical-sounding accent of the south. Strangely enough, she’d not heard much of it since she’d come to Austin. Very few people came across as the kind of Texas she saw in the movies.
“DBR? Oh, yes. I like his music. Frankly, I was surprised to receive the invitation. When we met at the music club last week he insisted the whole group had to come. I’m a little late. The others are already here. Been looking forward to it all week.”
“DBR invited you here?” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. Every person Dexter wanted at the party should be in here. The stranger’s ploy was the biggest trick in the universe. Every crazy fan tried it. I was invited. Yeah, she called bullshit.
Looking down at her screen, she read a message from Dexter. Where are my pants?
Fuck. She’d give him his pants, give them to him and shove them right up his stupid, entitled ass. He had a hundred pairs of these pants—all different colors—in his closet. Some of them leather, some faux leather and hell, even some that were nothing more than cloth knockoffs.
“I’m Jake Perry.” The man she’d forgotten was in the elevator with her called her attention back to him. “Did whatever you found on your phone make you so mad you don’t care who I am anymore or if I belong at this party?”
“Oh.” She looked at her current companion and considered her options. DBR really needed to get screwed tonight, and not by one of the women dying to give it to him. If he wanted his pants so badly, how would he feel about seeing someone else in them? He didn’t even like dirt on his clothes. How pissed would he be to have someone else’s germs all over them? What a perfectly wonderful idea. Being the rabid fan he was going to prove himself to be any second, the guy with the gorgeous eyes and the eyebrow ring would simply love it.
“You have a funny look on your face.”
“Tell me something, do you wear faux-leather pants?” She held up the bag. “Would you want a half a dozen pairs? On me. Or better yet, on DBR. Here, Dexter would like to give you all the faux-leather pants in this bag.”
“No.” He held up his hands as if she were about to assault him with the stuff. Hell, maybe she was. She wasn’t certain. Lana had ventured onto a not so yellow-brick road she’d never been on before.
“You sure? I’m offering you Dexter’s pants.”
“Lady, you are a trip and a half.” He laughed. “You’ve made my entire night. Whatever journey you are on, it must be fun.”
“Ah…”
She really had no idea what she would have said in response. The elevator door dinged open, sparing her from having to deal with her cheeks heating. Lana stormed out and into the party. Bypassing DBR’s bodyguard, she made her way into the throng of madness filling the suite. The number of bodies in the room far exceeded the invitations issued.
Shocking. Not.
Dexter’s parties always got out of hand. The police would arrive later. It’d be a scene. The good news was she wouldn’t have to deal with it at all. He’d have no assistant to run around cleaning up his mess.
Just to see if her guess about Elevator Boy was correct, she stopped and turned around to watch him. Would he be sent away without an invitation or tip the guard to get in despite not having one? Blondie showed his ID to the bodyguard and, to her surprise, he was let through without any money changing hands. Huh. Either he must have been on the list, or the guard was all for show or didn’t know how much cash he could accumulate by the end of the night. Maybe anyone could make it through the elevator door and party with DBR tonight. Perhaps he’d changed the rules. He often changed the rules at the last minute.
Still, she had yelled at Jake and acted akin to a loon. He hadn’t done anything besides run into her.
“Hey,” she called out to him. “Sorry for all my attitude. I’m not really crazy.”
“Sure you are,” he yelled back over the crowd. “Own it, baby. Live it. Love it.”
His words stopped her short. “Baby?”
“Well, you haven’t told me your name.” He walked toward her. “I like baby. It implies I know you, as if we have some kind of relationship.”
“Baby is really disgusting, actually. No one uses baby anymore.”
He bent and whispered in her ear, “I do. Baby.”
Lana couldn’t really explain why she harped on the nickname. Dexter was actually in the building. She could quit, and in front of witnesses, while getting him to agree, publicly, to pay her the bonus. And yet she argued about a nickname with a man she’d met on the street. What the hell was the matter with her?
“I hate it.” She put her hands on her hips, which meant the bag she held nearly toppled over before she remembered herself and hoisted it up onto her chest. “Stop saying it. Right now, damn it.”
“Lana.” DBR’s irritated bellow across the crowd cut through the fracas. She whirled around and found his elusive rock highness bearing down on her. “You’re finally here. The pants. I wanted to wear them tonight. What’s the matter with you? What do I pay you to do? If I want my pants, I want them right away. Getting me what I want is part of your job. J-O-B. Job.”
“Right.” Confronting DBR was what she’d come here to do. “You’re right. Of course. I didn’t get you the new pants earlier because it’s South by Southwest, a music festival, as I believe you know since we’re having this party, and the only place in town where I can buy you these 1970s chic faux-leather monstrosities is on South Congress Avenue. The whole street is a zoo. It took hours. You have five pairs already, one of which you are wearing. I apologize. My mistake. I’ll tell you what, I Q-U-I-T. Quit. You can stay here in this awful city and buy your own trashy faux-leather nightmares.”
She shoved the bag at Dexter. Screw the money. She’d go into credit card debt. Whirling around, she slammed into Jake, much as he had done to her on the street. He stepped back, his mouth open.
Her temper raged and despite her resolve, tears pricked her eyes. No way would her former boss see her cry. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Sorry.” She hoped Jake heard her.
—
Jake Perry hadn’t gotten to this p
oint in his life by not recognizing opportunities. He’d always been able to see things differently than everyone else.
All he could focus on was Lana—he finally had a first, if not last name—getting away. He stared at the stunned DBR, who was holding the bag Lana had shoved at him, his mouth hanging open, as if he’d seen a train derailed.
It took him a second to get his bearings, but then finally he nodded at DBR. “Great party, dude.”
With his remarks to the host said, he abandoned the man to chase Lana. She was much more interesting than whatever the rock star had going on. Truth was, he’d agreed to come so his employees could. Owning a club where celebrities wanted to be seen was a perk to an enterprise which was otherwise not a moneymaker.
Fortunately, JPT, his main company, made him enough money that he could afford to lose some on labors of love whenever he desired. Listening to music had always been a passion he wanted to indulge.
All of his ventures, profitable or otherwise, had taught him an important lesson. If a man’s assistant hated him then he was seriously doing something wrong. Jake had three assistants and he’d swim to China to keep them happy. They made it possible for him to work the way he wanted to.
He scurried after Lana, expecting to find her waiting by the elevator. Instead she stood at the bar. Back to the room, she lifted a glass to her mouth and downed half the contents in one swift move.
She glowed. Did she know about the golden energy she gave off? He doubted it. Most people ignored the light around themselves. He’d always been able to see it—sometimes on people and more often on technology. The possibilities of the universe shown through the light…the beauty of it all…
“Hey.” He eased into a spot at the bar next to her. “You made quite an exit.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. The woman could certainly do disdain. It was so fucking hot. In fact, there was nothing about her which didn’t turn him on. Brunettes had always been his thing. Lana’s hair fell all the way down her back in a long straight wave. It looked silky. Her eyes, equally as dark as her hair, focused on him, deadly as a pistol and glaring.