Big Bad Alpha: A Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  Mona told me not to trust him so easily, but I didn’t listen to her.

  She told me I was thinking with my cunt and not my brain.

  She told me not to fall in love with him.

  She warned me, but her words fell on deaf ears.

  Speaking of Mona, when I told her about the demo I had cut without her and Des, I’d expected her to be pissed. Instead, she was thrilled for me.

  “Jesus, Liv, I’m not a goddamn drummer,” she said. “I was just doing that because you asked me to.”

  “Really? Oh, thank god!” I said, giving her a big hug, thrilled she wasn’t mad.

  “Just remember who your real friends are when you hit it big,” she said. “And you have to make me your high-paid personal assistant, like that gay dude Drew.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said, meaning it. When I told Des the news, she just shrugged and said whatever. Mona told me later that Des was living with the lead mohawk motherfucker, whose band had yet to even cut a demo at BEG because a certain new star was taking up all the studio time. Oh well, so sorry, fuck you very much.

  “I have to go,” I said, giving Mona another hug. “Cain invited me over for dinner. He’s going to cook for me. And then tomorrow I’m meeting with Cain and his marketing people to talk about scheduling, whatever that means. So don’t wait up!”

  She grinned as she walked me to the door. She put her hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “I’m honestly happy for you, Liv,” she said seriously. “Just be careful.”

  I frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know how these rich music people are. I mean, especially Cain Bohannon. He’s not the kind of guy who settles down with one woman.”

  I scoffed at her. “Mona, are you talking about that stupid fuck list?” I put my hands on her cheeks and smiled. “There is no fuck list. It was just a publicity stunt Cain’s assistant pulled. I’ve asked Cain about it and he swears to me it was just a hoax. There is no fuck list.”

  “Okay. I hope you’re right,” she said, pulling me in for one last hug. I could tell she didn’t believe me. That was fine. I knew Cain wouldn’t lie to me.

  The fuck list was just a myth.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Cain

  When I opened the door for Liv, I felt my mouth drop. She was gorgeous, wearing a little black dress with a high neck line. It was elegant, but I was fully aware that her beautiful boobs lay underneath.

  And Liv laughed at me. “You look like a sexy chef in your apron,” she said as she brushed by me into the hallway.

  I had set the table to impress. Candles, flowers, the works. But as I was serving her salad, I realized that all this preparation wasn’t just to keep her in my bed. I really did enjoy spending time with her. I had never spent so much time, or so many nights with the same name on my list.

  After dinner, I invited her to play the piano with me. I switched the lights off and let the moonlight shine in through the giant windows. We played around like kids, banging out a funny duet with our arms all tangled up.

  And as I laughed, I couldn’t help feeling, well, guilty. I had denied the existence of my fuck list. I had lied to Liv to get her into bed. And it had worked. But what I hadn’t bargained for was to actually develop feelings for her. What started out as lust was turning into admiration and something deeper.

  “Let me play something for you,” Liv said. I placed my hands in my lap and listened to her sing. She played the piano nearly almost as well as the guitar. I watched her as she closed her eyes and strained her face to hit the high notes. Her voice was lovelier than a chorus of doves, and I wanted to listen to it for a long time to come.

  But a lump in my gut was tormenting me. I would either have to tell her the truth about the list, or erase it completely. But I wasn’t prepared to do either.

  If I told her the truth, I would risk a slap in the face and losing her.

  And if I erased the list from my phone, then I would feel like I was erasing so much personal history, a part of me that signified who I was. I knew it was stupid, but my ego wasn’t prepared to let go of all those women.

  But I knew I would have to do something. Liv was quickly becoming more important to me than all the women on my list put together.

  Liv finished her song and glanced over at me with a look of satisfaction. She knew she was talented.

  “Come on, my singing angel,” I said, bringing her hand to my lips. “Let’s get to bed. We have an important day tomorrow, and before we sleep, I want to make love to you for a few hours.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Olivia

  Cain led me into a conference room that had a long table and a dozen chairs around it. Ten of the chairs were filled with people from BEG’s marketing department. We were coming together to talk about how my album would be marketed when it “dropped” in a few months. Turned out dropped was an industry term. It meant when the album was released. I didn’t know why they didn’t just say released. I guessed dropped sounded cooler. There was still so much about this business that confused the shit out of me.

  I mainly did what I had done in every meeting over the last few weeks. I sat and listened and pretended like I had a clue what they were talking about. Mostly I just played with my phone and wiggled like an impatient child in my seat, waiting for Cain to take me home so we could play some more.

  “Okay, that all sounds fine,” said Cain, who sitting at the head of the table. Everyone had their phone or a tablet in front of them with their calendar programs open, setting dates for various things that had to happen when the album was ready to drop.

  Cain had his phone between his hands and was looking at the calendar as he spoke. “So, we’re looking to drop on September 1. Anything else?” When no one spoke up, he set his phone on the table and held out his hands. “Okay, meeting adjourned. Go to work.”

  Everyone got up and streamed out the door. Cain and I started to get up, and then Drew stuck his head in. He pointed at Cain. “Hey, before you leave for the day, can you look at some cover art for Katie Berry’s next album? It’ll take two seconds.”

  “Sure,” Cain said. He leaned over and brushed his lips to my cheek. Then he picked up his phone and slid it into his pocket. “Back in a minute and we’ll get dinner.”

  “Sounds great,” I said, sighing like a lovesick schoolgirl as I watched him follow Drew out the door.

  I picked up my phone to check my email.

  “What the…”

  It took me a minute to realize Cain had taken my phone and I had his. I started to get up and say something, and then that damn little voice whispered in my ear. Strangely enough, the little voice sounded an awful lot like Mona.

  I could hear her saying, “Radar Online says he keeps the fuck list on his phone.”

  I glanced at the doorway. The coast was clear. I slid open Cain’s phone. I had no idea what software he’d use to keep a fuck list, so I opened the apps and clicked on Spreadsheets. When the program launched, I looked at recent documents.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  There it was at the very top.

  A filed called The Fuck List.

  I felt my heart cease in my chest.

  “Son of a bitch,” I whispered, tapping the file to open it.

  And there it was.

  Cain Bohannon’s infamous fuck list.

  I guessed I should have been flattered. My name was listed at number one. I guessed he hadn’t taken the time to update the list since he’d lied his way into my head, my pussy, and my life.

  Now it all made sense, his sudden interest in me, taking me under his wing, mentoring me, signing me to BEG. Fuck, why didn’t I see it before? There were a million singers more talented than me. I was just the one Cain Bohannon wanted to fuck at that moment. What happened when the new wore off and he moved on down the list? Shit, really? Taylor fucking Swift?

  I fought back the angry tears that were burning my eyes. I quickly erased my name from the list and typed in a special messag
e for Cain. I set the phone on the conference room table and then grabbed my bag and slipped out the door.

  Cain Bohannon got what he wanted.

  And I got fucked.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: Cain

  When I came back into the conference room, Liv wasn’t there. I turned to Drew, who had followed me in. “Did you see Liv in the hallway? Where did she go?”

  “Beats me,” he said with his usual apathy. “I was with you.” There was a cell phone on the table. Drew picked it up and slid open the screen. His mouth literally dropped open.

  He said, “Um, whose cell phone do you have in your pocket?”

  I blinked at the question. “I have my cell phone,” I said, reaching inside my jacket. I slid open the screen and then realized why he’d asked the question. “This is Liv’s phone.”

  “I think I might know why she left,” he said, handing over my phone. I stared at the screen.

  The fuck list was open.

  Liv’s name had been at the number one spot.

  Now it read: FUCK YOUR LIST AND FUCK YOU!!!!

  CHAPTER TWENTY: Olivia

  God bless Mona.

  When I showed up back at the apartment with tears in my eyes and a knife in my heart, she never once said “I told you so.” She just gave me a big hug and pulled me inside and locked the door to keep the world at bay.

  Even when I got angry and wailed about how Cain Bohannon fucked me just so he could mark me off his list, she just handed me another tissue and let me vent. That meant the world to me. There would soon be enough people laughing their asses off at the naïve young singer who had been marked off Cain’s fuck list. I didn’t need my best friend making me feel any more moronic than I already felt.

  Thankfully, Rusty gave me my old job back waitressing at the Rusty Nail. He never asked what happened or why I was back, though I was pretty sure Mona filled him in.

  Even the mohawk motherfucker was nice to me when he came in to play with his band, now called the Mohawk Motherfuckers (Des told him it was her idea, whatever). His first-prize BEG contract had yet to be signed, so we formed a kind of kinship of losers who had been screwed by Cain Bohannon and his company of evil douchebags.

  It had been a week and I hadn’t heard a word from Cain or anyone at BEG regarding the contract I had signed. Mona reminded me that Cain had my cell phone, so he couldn’t call me. Nor did he know where I lived, so he couldn’t just drop by. Though I knew he could find me if he really wanted to. And that was the point. He didn’t want to find me. He’d marked Olivia Poole off his list and moved on. Now he could focus his efforts on nailing Taylor Swift. Taylor fucking Swift. Seriously? Wasn’t she, like, twelve?

  Mona warned me that he would show up at the club, but I knew better. Cain had gotten what he wanted. I was just another starlet to be fucked and stricken from the list.

  I might have been a horny, starry-eyed little girl when I met Cain Bohannon, but not anymore. Now I was Olivia Poole, hard-nosed, punk-rocking bitch, and if he showed his face at the club, he’d leave with his balls kicked into his throat.

  * * *

  “Hey, Liv. The opening act just canceled on me,” Rusty said, rushing to the bar in panic mode. He nodded at the packed house behind him. They were already rowdy and ready for the show to start. “This fucking crowd will tear the place down if I don’t get someone onstage soon.”

  I picked up the full tray of drinks from the bar and gave him a confused look. “So why are you telling me this?”

  “I need you to go on,” he said, his hands flailing in the air. “I need you onstage now!”

  I set down the tray of drinks and shook my head at him. “Rusty, I don’t do that anymore. I’m not a singer. There is no band. I’m just a waitress.”

  “Bullshit,” he said, spitting the word. “Look, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and that Bohannon cocksucker, but you are a singer. You’re a great fucking singer. Don’t let what happened with that son of a bitch kill your dreams, Liv. You’re too good to let that happen.”

  “Rusty, look, Mona and Des aren’t even here and—”

  “Fuck Mona and Des!” he snapped. He took my hands and gave me a pleading look. “I need you on that stage. Now. Please. Go up and sing whatever you like. Just get up there. Please. For me.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I hadn’t sung a note since the last session in the studio two weeks before. I’d never even been onstage alone. The prospect of it made my stomach churn. Everybody already thought I was an idiot. The last thing I needed was to get onstage and puke on the audience.

  “Liv,” he said, tugging my hands. “Please. For me.”

  “Fuck, okay,” I said, shaking my head. “Let me deliver these drinks and I’ll go up.”

  “Fuck that,” he said. He waved at Sherry, who was across the bar. “Sherry can deliver the drinks. You get your guitar and get ready to play.”

  I could taste vomit in my throat as I watched him cut through the crowd toward the stage. I asked Sherry to cover my tables for a few minutes, and then I went backstage to find a guitar.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Olivia

  I found an acoustic guitar backstage and quickly tuned it up. Rusty looked over his shoulder at me and I gave him a nod. He stepped up to the microphone and held up his arms to the rowdy crowd.

  “Okay, okay, you bastards, quiet down. The band that was supposed to be here to open for the Mohawk Motherfuckers ain’t coming.” The crowd booed and hissed. Someone threw a beer bottle at the stage, barely missing Rusty’s head. He ignored it and continued. “Shut the fuck up, you assholes. They weren’t that good anyway. I have someone better for you to listen to.”

  The regulars knew better than to fuck with Rusty too much. He’d shut the place down and kick them all out if they got too out of hand.

  He said, “Most of you know Olivia Poole. Liv, as we call her. She was the lead singer of the Flakes and now she’s out on her own. She no longer performs in shitholes like this, but tonight she’s here as a personal favor to me.” He paused to point at the crowd. “Make her feel welcome, motherfuckers, or you’re out of here. Give it up for Olivia Poole!”

  I stepped out onto the stage to face sheer silence. Rusty was clapping, but the audience wasn’t making a sound. Rusty held out a hand to usher me over to the microphone.

  “Don’t you think that was a bit much?” I asked.

  “Just knock them dead,” he said, giving me a wink. “You can do this. I believe in you.”

  I stepped up to the microphone and cleared my throat. “Um, hi, everyone. Thanks, Rusty, for that amazing introduction…which was all bullshit, by the way.”

  A few people chuckled. Most of them were just looking at me like dogs watching a ceiling fan. I glanced to the side of the stage. Mona and Sherry were watching with smiles of encouragement. Even Des and the mohawk motherfucker gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Um, so, I normally play with a band,” I said, squinting at the bright spotlight in my eyes. “So if this sucks, I’m sorry in advance.”

  The room held its collective breath, waiting to see what I was going to do. It was just me and an acoustic guitar in front of a crowd waiting to hear a heavy metal band. I thought about what I could sing that wouldn’t get me booed off the stage. Then, as if on their own, my fingers started playing “Eternal Flame” by the Bangles.

  I closed my eyes and started to sing. “Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling. Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand? Do you feel the same? Am I only dreaming? Is this burning an eternal flame?”

  I made it through the first verse and opened my eyes, expecting to see beer bottles flying at me. But there were no beer bottles. No one was booing. No one was rushing the stage. The crowd was listening, smiling, slowly swaying.

  I glanced toward Mona. She had her hands over her cheeks. There were tears in her eyes. She gave me an encouraging smile.

  Cain Bohannon had been right about one thing.

  I was a singer. />
  I could sing and touch an audience with my voice.

  And I didn’t need him to make it happen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Cain

  I hid in the shadows backstage with my eyes closed, listening to Olivia sing. I heard someone coming toward me. I opened my eyes to see Rusty holding out his hand.

  “Pay up, motherfucker,” he said with a grin. I reached into my pocket and counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills and set them in his hand. He folded the cash and tucked it into his jeans. I thought our deal was done, but then he stuck a thick finger in my chest and growled at me.

  “If you hurt her again, I’ll personally come to your office and rip off your head and shit down your neck. Do you understand?”

  I held up my hands in submission. I guessed the rumors were true. Rusty Nail had been a Marine drill instructor in another life. I gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Don’t worry. I will never hurt her again.”

  “All right then,” he said, giving me a nod. “See that you don’t.”

  He walked away and I moved to a spot that let me watch Olivia from behind the curtain. I glanced at the crowd. I couldn’t believe what was happening. She was singing a fucking Bangles tune to a crowd there to see a death metal act, and the crowd was mesmerized by her voice. When I’d bribed Rusty to get her onstage, I knew it was going to be a gamble. Apparently, the gamble was paying off.

  I knew I had been right about her.

  Her voice was magical.

  It crossed all genres and made people stop and listen.

  It touched them, as it had touched me.

  I could only hope that soon, her voice would be whispering sweet nothings once again in my ear.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Olivia

  I sang two more songs and the crowd seemed to like them both. Or they might have just been scared shitless of Rusty, who stood next to the stage with his thick arms crossed over his chest and a baseball bat tucked under his arms.

  I sang “Piece of My Heart” by Janis Joplin and “Summertime,” which was going to be the first release off my album, which was now just a dream. BEG couldn’t force me to sing. I was done taking orders from Cain Bohannon.