The Hot Sergeant (Second Chance Military Romance) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #2)

by Alexa Davis

  One final glance in the mirror let me know I was looking my best. It was hard to believe my forty-first fucking birthday was right around the corner, but I felt good knowing that I still looked and felt like I was just thirty fucking years old. I remembered looking at my father when I was just a teenager and thinking that he looked so damn old. His face had been creased with deep worry lines, dark bags shadowed his eyes, and there was a dark cloud of misery that surrounded him all the Goddamn time. It was fucked up and I knew even then that I never wanted to wind up that way. For a while I was headed down that dark fucking road, especially in the shitty days when I was doing drugs with Janice and she and I were fighting all the Goddamn time. My life was hell and I was fucking miserable, but I thank God that I figured it out.

  I swore off all that shit, cleaned up my ass, and started taking better care of myself. I started taking regular fucking trips to the gym until I eventually set one up in the mansion, and I made sure that all my corporation headquarters had one, so even when I had to travel for work, I had easy access. I fucking swore off artificial preservatives and putting anything unnatural into my body, and I hired the best fucking chef money could buy and brought him into the mansion to cook healthy gourmet meals that were delicious, as well as nutritious. Regular trips to the spa kept my skin smooth and unwrinkled as a baby's ass, and regular massages and relaxation therapies kept me from developing those nasty stress lines that made most people look like fucking shit.

  The most important factor in contributing to my youthful appearance, however, was my sex life. Nothing is better for the human body than a healthy sex life – nothing. It creates endorphins, balances the body’s fucking hormone levels, maximizes flexibility, builds stamina, and provides the muscles with a terrific cardio-vascular workout. A healthy sex life is also good for eliminating stress, building confidence, and elevating mood, so its benefits are emotional and psychological, as well as physical. Not to mention the fact that it feels really fucking good.

  I had found my healthy sex life in the world of BDSM. It invigorated my libido and sense of desire, enhanced my imagination and creativity, and maximized my satisfaction levels and overall life happiness. All that was fucking nothing, however, compared to being in love.

  Ever since I fell in love with Olivia, I realized that I felt younger, more energetic, a hell of a lot stronger, faster, and basically more fucking alive than I had felt in decades. It was like fucking magic, and I couldn't get enough. I wanted to share my joy at being in love with Olivia with the fucking world, and I was going to do that today at our first joint press conference.

  "One more adjustment, Mr. Porter," my make-up artist said as she brushed just a little more powder on my face. She straightened my tie, tweaked the handkerchief in my pocket, and then stepped back with a satisfied smile. "You're ready."

  "Damn right, I am. Let's fucking do this." I grinned and clapped my hands together, ready for action.

  My publicist, Reagan Hefler came up to me with her iPad in her hand and her headset on her ears. With her fiery red hair and long legs, I used to think she was the hottest fucking thing around, but now that I had Olivia, she paled in comparison. Everything paled when compared to Olivia.

  Reagan flipped her red mane and said to me, "They're ready for you, Mr. Porter. I told the press that you'd be making a brief statement and there would be no time for questions because you have a full schedule of appointments."

  "I can take a few questions. I've got some spare time."

  "I don't recommend that." Reagan pressed her red lips together nervously. "There's been a lot of negative publicity about you lately, and my team has been working hard to contain it. Opening yourself up to questions could lead to disaster."

  "I don't give a fuck. It's my Goddamn reputation and my Goddamn life. Besides, this is my fucking chance to set the story straight on some of the bullshit these assholes have been reporting. If I don't tell my side and defend myself, who the fuck will?"

  "My team has been developing a new strategy to turn your public image around and I think-"

  I couldn't fucking stand it anymore and I cut Reagan off mid-sentence. "Just let me handle this myself. I don't need a fucking babysitter to hold my hand. I've done these kinds of press conferences a hundred fucking times."

  "I know you have, but she hasn't." Reagan tilted her head in the direction of Olivia and I felt my heart plummet to the pit of my stomach.

  I abandoned Reagan and ran over to Olivia, where she was heaving, bent over a trash can, and looking white as bird shit.

  "Are you alright?" I asked her, wrapping my arms tenderly around her slender shoulders.

  "Yeah I'm okay." She wiped the back of her hand across the corner of her perfect pink mouth. I sat her in a chair and handed her a bottle of water, watching her carefully as she sipped it slowly. "I'm just a little nervous, I guess. I always hated having to speak in front groups, and this is the largest one I've ever done. This press conference is like speaking to the whole world. I don't know how you do it."

  Her big hazel eyes looked at me with new admiration, and I drew her protectively into my arms. Hugging her to my chest, I caressed her hair and said softly, "Don't worry about a thing. I'll do all the talking. All you need to do is stand by my side, but only if you want to. Remember, we're partners in this and I don't want to make you do anything you don't fucking want to do."

  She sighed with relief and her spine noticeably straightened as if a huge weight had been lifted from her delicate shoulders.

  "No, I want to," she said with newfound strength in her sweet voice. Standing up, she looked me in the eyes so I could see how much she meant it. She smiled at me bravely and said, "I can do this. I just had a little stage fright. I used to get that way when I had a big audition coming up, but I always fought my way through it and when the time came, I was always ready. Besides, I can't let you take all the credit for my idea."

  Her little joke made me chuckle and effectively lightened the mood. It was good to see her smiling, and I couldn't help but kiss her lips. Olivia had a smile that could light up any room, even one filled with cameras and flashing bulbs. She out shined them all, and I was so proud of what a brave young woman she was. It was a rare woman who could handle the pressures of the fame that followed me around, and rarer still for someone so young to manage it with such grace. Yes, Olivia was one amazing woman, and I was so thankful she was mine.

  Taking her by the hand, I strode onstage towards the podium. Instantly, a million fucking flash bulbs started fucking going off. I was used to them, but I could tell Olivia wasn't and I felt her falter in her steps. Moving quickly, I put my arms around her and guided her safely across the fucking stage in such a manner that no one would notice as the cameras moved from me to focusing on her.

  Olivia looked ravishingly beautiful, with her makeup tastefully done and her blonde hair fucking flowing softly to her shoulders in gentle waves. The dress she wore hugged her body to fucking perfection, showing off her smoking hot curves without looking too provocative. She had turned down Reagan's offer to hire her a fashion consultant and makeup artist, and done it all her fucking self with great results. I couldn't help but be impressed by her natural flare, as she had created the perfect blend of elegant sophistication with soft sensuality. After today's press conference, there wouldn't be a fucking man alive who didn't lust after her, and I was the lucky bastard who had her. I still couldn't believe I could fucking call her mine, and yet here she was, holding my hand and standing by my side for the whole Goddamn world to see.

  "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen of the press," I stated calmly and clearly into the bank of microphones. "I would like to begin by thanking you all for being here and for the tons of free press you've given me these last several weeks."

  A rustle of uncomfortable laughter flittered through the room at my joking jab at the very people who had been crucifying me in the newspapers. It set all those Goddamn cocky reporters on edge, and I fucking liked it. Olivia smiled at t
he joke and gave my hand a squeeze, gently reminding me to behave myself.

  I read the memorized speech that Reagan had carefully drafted for me, explaining to the public about my retirement from Pick Me and how it wasn't based in controversy, but born from my desire to move forward with new business ambitions.

  "The allegations made against me were unfounded and untrue, and I have not had any charges issued against me by the police, nor will I. I pride myself on being an honest citizen of the fine city of Los Angeles, as my history of open and forthright speech has proven. No one fucking tells it like it is, like I do."

  The crowd ruffled with amused laughter at my blatant use of the forbidden curse word, but this time, the mood was light and easy. Feeling like I had elevated the crowd to a good place, I felt the confidence to take some questions from the crowd. The eager reporters jumped at the fucking chance, rushing to raise their hands like they were fucking sharks in a feeding frenzy.

  "First question," I pointed at a sexy brunette in a sharp gray suit.

  She smiled sexily and used her fingers to tuck her rich dark locks behind one ear before asking me her carefully planned question. I should have known better than to chose a reporter based just on looks. "Mr. Porter, inside sources from within the network have indicated that the rumors circulating about you in the media had become a liability and that your ratings had plummeted as a result. Also there have been many rumors that key advertisers were planning to pull their support from the program if you remained the show's host. So my question is, did you resign from the television show Pick Me voluntarily or did the network let you go?"

  What a fucking bitch. I grit my teeth and turned my anger into what looked like my most charming smile. Speaking with a casual voice, I looked out at the audience and said, "Hosting Pick Me has been a gratifying career for me for many years, but for some time now I have been wanting to move on to something new. My decision to retire the show has nothing to do with recent events and has been a long time coming. So in answer to your question, yes, I left the show voluntarily. No one fucking fires Tristan Porter. Next question."

  I pointed at a gentleman with sandy blond hair and an eager face. "Thank you, Mr. Porter, sir. Many people have speculated that the only reason murder charges weren't brought up against you was because you used your wealth to buy off the police. Would you like to respond?"

  I'd like to rip the snotty little bastard’s head off is what I'd like to do, but once again, I smiled charmingly and when I spoke my voice was calm and even. "The Los Angeles City Police Department is the finest in the nation. I would never presume to try and pay them off, not only because I couldn't, but also because I don't need to. The fine men and women in blue did a superior job of investigating the case back when it happened and determined that my wife Janice and I were victims. Drug dealers had broken into our house intent on assaulting us, and in the process, several of them murdered each other."

  "Do you really expect the American public to believe that a gang of drug dealers just broke into your house and started beating each other to death without you having any involvement in the situation?" the little prick with the sandy blond mop persisted. What a little shithead. "Isn't it true that the reason the drug dealers were at your home was because you were participating in drug trafficking with them and most likely using the narcotics personally, too?"

  I gripped the sides of the podium in an attempt to control my anger. "No, I don't fucking traffic drugs and I never have. It is true that my ex-wife Janice Porter and I did both use some drugs back in the early days of my career before I realized what a stupid and foolish fucking thing that was, and I have been clean ever since. If there was justification for the ridiculous allegations you are suggesting, I'm sure the police would have fucking arrested me for it long ago. I earned my billions through intelligent business deals and smart investing, not through stupid-ass drug trafficking, which is an express road to fucking prison or the Goddamn cemetery. No one gets to be in my position doing such stupid ass things. Next question."

  I was clearly angry and it showed, but I didn't give a shit. Even though I should have been prepared for questions like that, the asshole had taken me off guard, but I think I put him in his place and shut him the fuck up. I could see Regan standing just offstage looking anxious as hell, and I knew more than anything that she wanted me to end the question and answer period of the press conference, but there was no fucking way I was going to call it quits when the bastards had me on the defensive like some Goddamn pussy. I had to end this fucking thing on a question where I was looking strong and on top of things. I wasn't going to let the world see me running off stage with my tail between my fucking legs just because the questions started getting a little tough. That looked chicken-shit and weak.

  I pointed to a really young-looking girl near the back, hoping she might be less experienced and throw me a softer question. My fucking mistake. She stood up, gripped the microphone in both hands and said, "Mr. Porter, with all due respect, we've seen the pictures from when you beat your wife, we've seen the police reports that drug dealers were found dead in your home, and we know that network executives we're planning to cancel your show even before you voluntarily quit. You stand there on that podium trying to paint the best image of yourself in the best light, but why should we believe that you are innocent of the crimes of drug trafficking, domestic battery, police corruption, and murder? Why should we listen to a word you say? Why should we continue to make you richer with whatever this next business venture of yours is going to be? Maybe it's time the American public said no to Tristan Porter and boycotted you for good."

  I was gripping the podium so fucking hard, I could feel the cheap wood starting to crack under my hands. I had never committed domestic battery against a woman in my life, but for this fucking cunt, I just might be willing to make an exception. Exhaling deeply and shaking my head, I cleared my mind of my violent anger and expelled my temper out into the cloudless sky. As offensive and outrageous as I found her questions, I realized she was just doing her job, and if this young and eager reporter hadn't asked that question, another more experienced one would have. This was what Reagan had feared and what I had said I was ready for. And the truth was that I really did welcome this chance to clear the air and sway the public opinion about me. This young reporter was just giving a voice to the same negative thoughts millions of people across America were already thinking. That's why I was holding this press conference, so I could speak directly to them and a sway their fears and doubts.

  "You want to know why you should believe me?" I said simply and calmly, looking right at her. Then, I turned my gaze out towards the audience of reporters and then look directly into the camera. I hoped the emotions of my heart would be visible in my gray eyes as I peered into the lens and tried to open up my soul to them so they could see the truth of my words. I stretched out my hand towards Olivia and beckoned her to stand beside me. Blushing shyly, it only took her a moment of hesitation to clasp my hand in her slender one and join me at my side before the barrage of flashing cameras and hushed whispers.

  Smiling at my beloved, I said, "This young woman right here is the reason why you should believe me. I don't think it's any secret that I haven't always been the world's nicest guy. In fact, I can be a real asshole when I want to be. It's how I made my millions, how I alienated my wife and ended up getting divorced, how I pissed off a bunch of drug dealers and wound up with a couple of them dead in my living room, how I caused advertisers to pull their support from my show, and how I frustrated a group of network executives into wanting to fire me right before I conveniently quit.

  “This lovely lady, however, is nothing like me. In fact, she's the exact opposite. She is always kind. She is also caring, intelligent, funny, compassionate, loving, and sweet. They are the reasons I fell in love with her and the reasons I wanted to become a better man. I never beat my ex-wife Janice, but I wasn't a very good husband to her. I was a selfish asshole and she was right to divorce me
. I never murdered anyone in cold blood, but I did take drugs when I shouldn't have, and even though I wasn't involved in trafficking them, I shouldn't have been involved in using them and if I been a better man back then, it's quite possible no one would have died on that day.

  “I don't know if the executives at the network would have fired me or not, but the truth is, I was ready to retire from Pick Me. As much as I've felt gratified by the show, it no longer fulfilling to me. It's only about greed and making more lonely money for myself. I used to lie to myself and everyone around me by claiming the show was about helping others, and giving struggling young entrepreneurs an opportunity to build a business for themselves, but that was all bullshit. Most of the profits went straight to me, leaving the smaller percentage for the contestants, despite the fact they were the ones with the ideas and the ones doing all the work.

  “Meeting Olivia has taught me that greater joy comes from serving others and selflessly making them happy. That's where true love and true joy comes from. I love this woman, Olivia Harte, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, making the world a happier place."

  I finished my speech and turned to see Olivia smiling up at me with tears sparkling in her gorgeous hazel eyes. We leaned towards each other to kiss, but the reaction from the crowd broke the magic spell as the members of press core erupted with questions.

  "Is this Olivia the prostitute from the BDSM club? Do you still pay her to have sex with you? Does she still sleep with other men for money?" Shouts were coming from the crowd so fast, I couldn't even separate them, but I knew they were all about Olivia – where she came from, how we had met, and what she used to do for a living. I could see the way her beautiful skin had gone pale that she was feeling overwhelmed by it all. I wrapped her protectively in my arms and pulled her close to me, shielding her from the barrage of inappropriate questions.

  "Olivia no longer works at Whip," I stated loudly over the crowd, and they became silent to hear my words. "She now lives with me as my girlfriend, and we are in a loving monogamous relationship. We are starting a new business together called Kink On, and the idea for it is all hers. My only contribution will be putting up the initial funds to get her business idea off the ground, and that is why I will have the smallest percentage in the business; the lion's share will all be hers."