Max Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 15)

by Faleena Hopkins

  She eyes me with respect. “Hmm.”

  Lifting an eyebrow I smile, “What?”

  “I might have a friend you should meet.”

  A grin flashes. “Oh I just passed muster, did I?”

  “Well, Max Cocker,” Eleanor begins with an amused glint in her chocolate-brown eyes. “I’m just a cocktail waitress who also works for everything she has, and up until two minutes ago I thought the rumors about the ‘Cocky Family’ were all true. So yes, you have passed muster to this working class single mother, and I just might have a friend you’d like!”

  “The Cocky Family? That’s hilarious.” Glancing to her kids I ask them, “What do you think? Should I give your mom’s friend a try?”

  Her daughter quizzically looks up. “Who?”

  “Natalie.”

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “With that enthusiastic endorsement how can I decline?” I thumb in the number Eleanor reads from her phone, even though I’m not interested in a set up. Wren’s friend, as straight forward and free-speaking as she is, knows nothing about me. A fact made very obvious by this weird conversation.

  “You’ll call?”

  “Sure, I’ll give her a ring.”

  “I’ll warn her.”

  Chuckling I glance to the kids, “Nice meeting you.”

  They say bye, and I give a wink to their opinionated mother as I stroll over to the bread section. With that over, my obsession over my movie returns. It’s all I think about these days. Mom’s right, time to place some ads for my crew.

  But I’m right, too.

  Eleanor just cemented the belief that my name comes with a stigma, good or bad. If I said who I was I might get a larger response, but I really want to find out who will submit their reels and resumes based on the desire to make a film. I want that to be enough. Stubbornness was handed down by my mother and I have to try this.

  I’ll tell the people I’m a Cocker after I hire them, but not until I’m confident they’re gung-ho for the right reasons. That’ll ensure I’m surrounded with passionate, indie-minded people who care about storytelling so much, they’re willing to come in on the ground floor if the project is interesting enough.

  And that’s what I’ll put in my ad.

  Whistling to myself, I do my shopping with an optimistic bounce in my step.

  CHAPTER 4

  M AX

  O n the end of the fourth day of interviews I’m rubbing my eyes, sighing, “Holy fuck.”

  The applicants who’ve paraded through this rented office space have been one big hell-no after another.

  “I did a home movie once. It didn’t turn out so great.”

  “I can only work Tuesdays. After ten. At night.”

  “I’ll produce it if you give me the lead role.”

  “What does a producer do exactly?”

  “No, I didn’t read the script, but I’m sure it’s great.”

  “I’m not drunk...why?”

  Replaying the memory to myself I answer, “Because you smell like you showered in Tequila, that’s why. Because you slurred the word, hello. Because you’ve got the attention span of a young child.”

  To the ‘maybes,’ I’ve verbally pitched my screenplay so many times to the point where even I’m not excited about it anymore. Leaning back on the modern couch I rest my eyes. “There’s always tomorrow, Max, don’t give up.”

  I hear the door open, but I’m not expecting anyone else. I slowly travel a discouraged gaze from the floor on up over black high heels, leather pants, and a light pink sleeveless blouse that flows when she moves. Waking up a little I ask, “Can I help you?

  “I heard you’re looking for a producer.”

  “Who’d you hear that from?”

  She holds my interest as her graceful body slides onto the seat opposite me. I like her hair, a long bob with the front longer than the back. It’s dark brown, the ends dyed hot pink, brighter than the pale polish on her nails, the hue of her blouse.

  “You’ve been interviewing people all day. I wondered what the job was. Saw someone leaving and asked what this was all about. We were fumigating so my boss rented one of the studios in this building, and I just finished up his books.” Leaning forward to set her purse down I get a good glimpse of her cleavage. Perky. I know that perked me up. Not sure if it was intentional but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. “What’s your project? TV show?”

  Sitting up in black slacks and a tucked in white button-up, top open, I reply a curious, “No. Do you work in TV?”

  Sliding a long fingernail under her bangs she answers, “No.” We stare at each other a moment before she repeats the question, “What’s your project?”

  “Do you have any experience?”

  “I’ll tell you that when you tell me what you’re working on.”

  “Okay, you’re interesting.” I glance away to gather the energy I’ll need to tell this story one more fucking time. “I’m making a movie. Doing it my way, my money. I don’t want investors because I don’t want anyone telling me how to do it. So if it fails then it’s on me.”

  “On you and your team, you mean,” she corrects me, light brown eyes sharp.

  “But they’ll be getting paid, I won’t. Not unless it makes money, and they’ll get a cut of that, too. I’m the only one who takes the hit. I don’t expect anyone to quit their jobs for this. It should be only three and half weeks if I get my way. But nobody’s working for free except me. In fact, I’m paying to work.”

  “Feature or short film?”

  “Feature length. It’s based on a story of something that happened to my dad when he was my age. He fell in love with a beautiful girl, a model.”

  “And how is that interesting?”

  Pausing I tip my chin. “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Go ahead then.”

  Chuckling, “Gee thanks,” I continue, “The model was an addict. Cocaine, when he was with her. It got heavier later. He lost everything until his brothers stepped in and said enough. I want to tell the story. It’s not told often, and when it has been it felt empty to me. No real pain behind it. No heart. No reason why it all went down in the first place. How it got that bad.”

  “We hear stories about addiction all the time,” she corrects me, crossing her other leg, the leather making the sexiest swoosh. “What’s new about it?”

  But I’m so frustrated I’m at the end of my rope. “You know what…fuck it.”

  “Why?”

  Jumping up I head for the door to show her out. “It’s been a long week and your attitude isn’t what I need on my set. So why don’t you head back to your boss, your books, and do whatever it is you were doing.”

  Turning in the chair she watches me but doesn’t get up. “Aren’t you charming?”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “I’m trying to get a read on you.”

  “You picked the wrong day.”

  “What’s the movie about?”

  “I just said what it’s about!”

  “Why do you want to tell it? Why does it matter to you?”

  Losing my temper I take a couple steps toward her. “Why should I tell you!? I didn’t invite you here. You didn’t submit your resume to me. I don’t have to tell you shit.”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve got the passion of an artist.” Rising from the chair she walks to meet me in the middle of the room. “I want to know what it’s about because if I’m going to produce a movie at less than my normal pay-grade I need to care about it. And we’ve heard enough stories about addiction. I’m sick and tired of all the crazy shit an addict does when they’re high. I want something new. The people want something new. We’re smarter than the same old crap.”

  I blink at her, because she hit home. “I believe that, too. But you misunderstood me. This story is new. It’s not about the addict. It’s about the people who love them. We never hear their stories. Not the way it really is. We don’t get to see the pain they go through loving s
omeone who can’t stop and lies to their face every day. Who betrays them and their trust on a regular basis. The people who watch someone they love kill themselves day by fucked-up day. How much that hurts. How those people will do anything to save them, even if that means slowly killing themselves and their own futures in the process.”

  Something changes in her eyes as she calmly stares at me. “Wow.” Walking to her purse she sits on the chair and takes out her lipstick, reapplying it and glancing back to ask me, “You going to just stand there or do you want to talk to your new producer about how we’re going to get this done?”

  Frowning I stay where I am. “You haven’t read the script.”

  “So I’ll read the script,” she shrugs with her back to me, hair shining in the light. “If you wrote with as much passion as you displayed just now, I’m not worried. Have a seat. Let’s get to know each other.”

  CHAPTER 5

  M AX

  I ntrigued, I close the door but stay where I am. She looks back to see why no footsteps are approaching her, and smiles as I lean against the door with crossed arms. Over her shoulder amusement glitters in her eyes. We stare at each other. A sexy smile spreads on her face. “Sit.” She points a long fingernail at the couch.

  “No.”

  Her smile twitches. “Sit down.”

  “No fucking way.”

  Biting her bottom lip, the seductress eyes me. “Take a seat and let’s talk.”

  “You get up and we’ll chat right here by the door.”

  “So I can be ready to leave.”

  “Yep.”

  With a throaty laugh she stands but leaves her purse behind her long-legged stroll. “You’re interesting, too. What’s your name?”

  “Max.”

  “I’m Natalie.”

  My eyebrows twitch up. “You don’t say.”

  “You know another Natalie? Don’t tell me that’s your mother’s name. Because that could become weird.”

  Cocking an eyebrow at the sexual innuendo I pull out my phone, search for the number Eleanor typed in and hold it out. “This you, or just a sign I need to call this other Natalie?”

  She cocks her head, bob hanging longer on one side. “How’d you get that?”

  “I have my ways,” I smirk, sliding the phone back into hiding. “Tell me about yourself now.”

  “No, how’d you get my number?”

  “Not telling.”

  “Try.”

  “Don’t have to.”

  She stares at me, huffs through her nose with an amused smile and flips around, walking in a circle. “I guess you must frequent strip clubs.”

  I choke on my, “What? No. Oh wait, are you a stripper?”

  She pauses. “Hardly.”

  “Okay, enough with the cat and mouse, Natalie.”

  “But it’s so fun,” she whispers. “Why stop?”

  My gaze travels down her body in that stance she just posed in, arms crossed, legs spread, one heel at a forty-five degree angle, body bent a little with her chin jutted out. My cock’s shouting all kinds of ideas at me, and I’m thinking he might be right. “Okay, I’ll play. You’re not a stripper. You dress like a rockstar. Do you DJ at the strip clubs?”

  She laughs, “I wish, but no.”

  “So you’re not musically inclined.”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “Hmm.” I drop my gaze to the short carpet, thinking of potential guesses, then lock eyes with her to ask, “You own them?”

  “No, but you’re warm.”

  “And you’re hot.”

  Her eyelashes flicker and drop slowly to rise up my body until she finally smirks, “So are you.”

  My voice, and my cock, just got thicker. “Come closer.”

  “Why?”

  “I think you know why.”

  Those heels take their time but they do obey. A smile tugs at her lips. When she’s in my personal space her long eyelashes drop and with lust in her voice, she whispers, “You’re waiting to see what I’ll do.”

  “I’m not going to pull a casting couch scandal and have my name dragged through the paper. But if you wanted to kiss me right now I wouldn’t stop you.”

  A grin flashes on her mysterious face. “Max, is it? You’re not in the power position. I am. So you’re not dangling the carrot of your dreams. I am. If I came onto your project you’d be lucky to have me.”

  I lick my lips, salivating. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I deliver more than five people can on their best days. I hardly sleep. I don’t take no for an answer. When I set my mind on something it gets done. I manage several strip clubs for a very demanding boss and his silent investors, and I’ve given their profits a one hundred and eighty percent increase in revenue in under two years. I know how to cut the right corners, come up with new marketing strategies. When to pull the plug and when to keep going. I put the money where it matters most. But the thing is, Max.” She stretches out the single syllable like she’s licking my shaft. “I want to get behind a project that doesn’t have as much of a negative social stigma as the one I’m currently embroiled in. The stripping industry doesn’t look great on a resume. So when I heard there was an aspiring director interviewing potentials I walked over and here I am.”

  I’m rock hard, painfully contained, practically hissing with desire to pin her arms above her head and fuck the ever-living shit out of her right here and now.

  “Sounds like you need the carrot, too, Natalie.”

  “Maybe we both need the carrot.” She takes my hand and tucks it between her legs. “So don’t worry about me suing you for doing this.” Heat emanates onto my fingers through the leather, and I groan and grab her head with my free hand. We stare at each other, lips parted, before I crash a kiss into her that’s rough. Flipping her around so it’s me in the dominant position I shove our bodies against the wall. She gasps on a moan as I slide my hand into the strict confines of her pants. My fingers slide over smooth skin and my eyes roll back. “Oh fuck, you shave.”

  “Uh huh,” she moans as my middle finger finds her wet and ready. She was thinking of fucking me this whole time, just like I kept picturing what it’d be like to shut her up with my tongue shoved in her mouth. We tug at each other’s pants, kicking off our shoes like they can’t get out of the way fast enough.

  Natalie’s mouth reaches for mine and I kiss her hard as we moan into each other and grind against the wall. She grabs my cock and starts pumping.

  I snarl, “Holy fuck,” before crashing into her again, my finger as far up her wet pussy as I can get it. She hooks a naked leg around me, guides my mushroom-shaped tip up and I slide my finger out. She takes my hand and licks the damn thing while I watch, wincing with desire as my cock starts to slide up in her tight little cave.

  Natalie shudders, moans, “So big!”

  I nibble her jaw and force her mouth to kiss me as I reach the deepest part of her core. Her fingers dig into my ass, commanding a silent faster. We fuck like people who’ve never met before, and who might never again. Strangers who don’t give a shit what the other thinks about our slutty behavior. She grunts, I grunt. She rasps, “Harder!” And I give it to her with as much strength as these well-built thighs are capable of. It’s not pretty in the slightest. When she moans into my mouth and rips free to tell me, “I’m on the pill,” I suck on her tongue and pound her harder.

  The woman cries out like these walls aren’t made of paper. Everyone in the building’s gotta know that we’re getting nasty. That turns me on more and I grind with her, match her need with my own. I’m hungry for the sounds she makes, the way she frowns, grimaces with pleasure, cries out again. I’ve got both her legs around me as I step away from the wall and ram her, grabbing her hips and bending back a little as I lift them up and down on my cock until the room disappears. She throws her head back with a hitching scream of ecstasy. I groan, her walls clenching my length with each burst of orgasm. “Give it to me!” She hisses, slapping my face. M
y roar is louder than her damn scream was. Pounding her with everything I’ve got I groan and move until I can’t anymore. Panting, I embrace her and walk us to the chair, growling, “Like that? That what you wanted, Natalie?”

  The look in her eyes is lightning captured.

  She nods, closes them.

  Panting for lost breath I tell her, “You’re hired. If you can write contracts as well as you can fuck, it’s on.”

  On an amused laugh she says, “Oh really, just like that?”

  “There was no ‘just’ about what we just did. That was all in and phew, yeah, like that.”

  Kissing my neck she murmurs, “Okay, but I have a warning for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Don’t fall in love with me.”

  On a chuckle I assure her, “Don’t worry.”

  “No?”

  “This heart isn’t easy to crack. Believe me, women have tried.”

  “Same, Max. Then you’ve got yourself a producer.” She extends her tongue and I suck on it.

  Search, over.

  CHAPTER 6

  N ATALIE

  M y roommate A.J. trudges to the coffee pot. “You working this early? Not that I’m complaining you already brewed some java because boy do I need it.”

  I sip from my own cup and keep reading. “I’m researching.”

  “What are you researching?”

  “Film producing.”

  “Why?”

  “Much as I adore you, A.J., I’m busy.”

  He goes about his Saturday morning routine of eggs and sausage. The scent fills the air and inspires my hungry stomach to steal a glance. He’s in sweats and nothing else, shaggy hair mussed up, lean muscles flexing as he flips sausages. There are some benefits to rooming with a male stripper. “Don’t worry,” he chuckles, “I’m making you some.”