Rock Star Billionaire: A Standalone Novel (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  Just then, my office door swung open and Keith Wilkes stuck his head inside. He had the California-blond looks that were so prevalent here in the City of Angels. People liked him instantly, which made him the perfect guy to head up my marketing department.

  Advertising was my one weak point. I liked designing the bikes, figuring out to streamline them and give them more power, crunching the numbers, and finding ways to make things work. I did not like schmoozing people, asking advertisers and investors for more money, or pandering to customers. I left that up to Keith, and he did a terrific job, netting me millions of dollars over the years. There was no one I trusted more. Still, he didn't need to know the secret dirty deed that was happening under my desk.

  "We're about to get started with the selections of the models for next month's magazine. Do you want to sit in?" he asked casually.

  Angela was completely hidden under my desk, and he had no idea she was there. Still, hearing his voice startled her, and she jerked up her head. I forced her back down, letting her know I wanted her to keep going, and she continued the blow job while I talked to Keith. The excitement of being so close to getting caught doing something so taboo only heightened my pleasure.

  "Have you selected a model for the cover yet?" I asked. I was surprised by how normal my voice sounded, even as Angela sucked my shaft with greater fervor and I felt myself nearing climax at an alarming rate.

  "No, not yet. I've narrowed it down to the top dozen, and I was going to see how each of them looked on the bike before making a final choice."

  "Great, go ahead. I'll be right there." God, what Angela was doing to me felt incredible. I never wanted the moment to end, but I knew it was about to.

  Keith nodded in consent and closed the door behind him as he left. No sooner had it clicked shut than I blew my wad, shooting my hot seed down Angela's throat. She guzzled it eagerly and then licked me clean. Afterwards, she zipped my trousers closed, stood up with a smile, and said, "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Colson?"

  "That will be all for now." I flashed her a grin and watched her fine ass sway as she walked away.

  Yes, she was a mighty fine assistant. The relaxing blow job she'd given me was just what I needed to clear my mind and focus on the photoshoot. We were preparing to launch a new ad campaign for our newest bike, The All-American. The model chosen would be featured on the cover our publication, Speed Magazine, sitting on the bike. In a town like L.A. that was flooded with beautiful young women anxious to become stars, it was going to be one girl's lucky break.

  I'd told Keith I wanted a sexy blonde for the photoshoot, and he didn't disappoint. When I walked into the room, it was filled with a dozen gorgeous young blondes, all dressed in bikinis and high heels.

  "These are the finalists. What do you think?" Keith slapped me on the back as he saw me walk in.

  "Start putting them on the bike one a time so we can see how they look. When I see the right one, I'll know it."

  Keith and I sat side by side in chairs as the girls were brought up one at time by Keith's assistant to model with the bike. Some of them were clear professionals and knew how to pose on the motorcycle with perfect poise. Others were clearly a little a lost as they did their best to sit on the bike in a sexy position without falling off. One girl in particular seemed to be having a tough time.

  "What's your name?" Keith asked her with a frown as he scribbled swiftly on his tablet.

  "Kayla Brandt."

  She handed us each a copy of her résumé and a quick glance told me she was twenty-one-years-old. Perfect.

  I didn't want the baby-face looks of an eighteen-year-old, but our cover model still needed to look young and vibrant, with no wrinkles, a perfect body, and large breasts. I knew it was crazy in a town like L.A., but I really wanted a girl with natural breasts and not the kind purchased at a plastic surgeon’s office. There was just something about the way those fake breasts never moved that was a major turn off for me. I wanted a real girl, with real, God-given tits; what could be more All-American than that? And I wanted them to be big and perfectly round with that little bit of bounce that made every guy's dick instantly hard.

  This girl had that. Everything about her was fresh, and pure, and as American as apple pie.

  The photographer positioned her on the bike while the assistant adjusted her bikini top. Then he started snapping some shots as I read the rest of her résumé. It was disappointedly sparse. She worked full-time as a waitress, had no formal training, and basically no references of note. It was the kind of poor résumé I usually tossed right in the trash, but with this girl, I couldn't. Perhaps it was her lack of experience that I found so attractive. She didn't have any of the pretenses most L.A. models had. Everything about her was natural. I closed her file to just sit back, watch, and enjoy.

  Kayla was fumbling awkwardly with her bikini top as she posed with the bike, and I heard the photographer tell her to stretch her arms out towards the handlebars. Suddenly, the strings of her bikini came untied and the top came falling down, giving me a full view of her naked breasts. They were magnificent: full, round, and slightly misshapen in that perfect way that natural tits fall when they're ripe and ready to be devoured. I wanted her like I'd never wanted any woman before.

  Blushing furiously, she struggled to cover herself and ended up knocking the bike over. It fell to the floor with a noisy crash, and she ran from the room, clutching her top and crying.

  "Good riddance to that mess. We can forget her all together," Keith said, but I'd never been more captivated by a girl in my life. I wanted her to be the new cover girl of Speed Magazine, but after that disaster, it was going to be tough. Still, as I thought of the sweetness of her smile and the perfect way her breasts jiggled as she walked, I knew I had to find a way to make it happen.

  Chapter Two: Kayla

  "How'd it go?" Mick asked lazily from the couch.

  "Don't even ask," I groaned as I set my purse down on the kitchen table of our cramped apartment with a heavy plop. "I thought you were going to pick me up after the audition. I had to take two busses to get home."

  "I thought you'd be longer. Besides, you never called to tell me you were done." Mick was watching some show about monster trucks on the television and drinking a beer; he didn't even bother to turn and look at me. His shaggy, brown hair was tucked back behind his ears, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in days. He was wearing a tee-shirt with a picture of his favorite brand of beer on it and jeans that were in desperate need of being washed. I used to wish he'd clean himself up more, but I'd gotten used to it, and even grown to like the way he looked. Sort of modern-age-grunge-meets-Hollywood-beatnik.

  "Check your cell phone; you'll see you have three missed calls on it." I tossed the phone at him unhappily, and it landed on the cushion beside him. He shoved it into his pocket without looking at it and patted the couch, indicating for me to sit.

  "Sorry, baby. I thought it was just bill collectors calling, so I didn't even look. I really thought you'd be longer. Sit down next to me and tell me what went wrong."

  He flashed me his most charming grin and even turned off the television set. As much as I wanted to be mad at him, I never could resist when he looked at me with his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. I guess that's why we were still together after five years.

  We'd met when I was just sixteen. He'd been the assistant manager at the Tasty-Freeze where I worked after school, selling fries and soft-serve ice-cream cones. He introduced himself to me as Mickey Palmetto and told me he was five years older than me to the day. I had never met anyone that shared my same birth date and was certain it was sign from the fates that we were meant to be together.

  At the age of twenty-one, Mick seemed so sophisticated and grown up. I couldn't believe a man with his own car and apartment would be interested in a dumb, high school kid like me, but he was. He showered all his attention on me, giving me the best shifts and feeding me dollops of ice-cream off the tip of his finger when no one w
as looking. I'd been devastated when he was fired a few months later, thinking I'd never see him again, but it didn't keep him from finding me.

  "What are you doing here?" I remember asking with a blush when he showed up out front of Polk High School in his black Camaro. It was an older model and the engine needed tuning, but it was still the hottest car I'd ever seen in real life and he looked amazing in it with the top down and his arm draped casually over the passenger seat, inviting me to join him.

  "What do mean? You're my girlfriend, aren't you? I came to pick you up." Mick flashed me a sexy grin, and I instantly turned to Jell-O. No guy had ever been interested in me, let alone asked me to be his girlfriend. I was always the shy girl with the pale, blonde hair that nobody ever noticed. I didn't play sports, I wasn't involved in any clubs, and I didn't have the best grades, or even the worst. I was completely average in every way and utterly forgettable. Nobody cared about me—not even my own parents, and now here was this man wanting me to get into his Camaro and calling me his girl. I'd never been so happy.

  Mick treated me like a princess. He took me out on dates and told me I was beautiful. He made me feel interesting, sexy, and alive. When we made love for the first time on my seventeenth birthday, I knew I'd found my soulmate. One day we'd be married, buy a cute, little house somewhere in the country, and raise a family together. Of course, first I had to graduate high school, but that would happen soon enough, and Mick was working hard to secure a future for us with a variety of enterprises he was working on. He didn't like working for other people and all the bullshit that came with being an employee; he was going to run his own business one day and buy me everything I ever wanted.

  I truly blossomed under Mick's love and attention, and by the time I was eighteen, nobody would consider me forgettable. I'd learned how to style my hair and wear make-up, and he had encouraged me to wear more fashionable clothes—and he was always buying me cute little outfits.

  "This skirt is too short." I used to blush when I'd unwrap one of his gifts, but he'd just stroke my cheek and smile.

  "You've got great legs, baby. I want to show my girl off. Put it on for me and let me see how sexy you look."

  I'd felt uncomfortable in the low cut dresses, crop tops that showed off my belly, and short skirts that barely covered my ass, but Mick always lavished me in attention whenever I wore them for him—and so did everybody else. It was something I could never quite get used to, but I would do anything for the man I loved and it clearly made him happy.

  "You're so hot, you could be a model, baby," Mick complimented me one evening. It was a warm, spring night, and we were laying on the hood of his car in the park, looking up at the stars.

  "Thanks, but I don't think so," I giggled under his praise.

  He pulled me into his arms and kissed my lips tenderly. "Sure you could. You don't believe me? I'll prove it to you. I got you modeling gig down in L.A."

  "As in Los Angeles, California? Yeah, right." I didn't believe him. Mick was always teasing me with wild stories that weren't true.

  "No, I'm serious. A buddy of mine is starting a new business selling some shit, and he needs help with the distribution and marketing. He wanted a really hot, blonde girl to pose for the packaging, and I told him I knew a great model who would work for cheap: you."

  "Me? I've never modeled."

  "I know, it's perfect. You can launch your modeling career without even trying, my buddy can start his business, and I get a piece of the action on both ends. This will give us the money we need to start our life together. You want to get married, right?"

  "Of course, I want to get married."

  "You still love me, right?" Mick was kissing me now and stroking my face in the way he knew I liked.

  "Of course, I still love you."

  "Let's do this then. Let's go to L.A. tonight, right now." Mick stopped kissing me and jumped off the hood of the car. He was suddenly really amped up. He opened the car door for me, hurrying me into the vehicle, and then started the engine before I even knew what was happening.

  "Wait. We can't go to L.A. right now."

  "Why not?"

  "What about high school? I graduate in just one month. We can go then."

  "It might be too late by then. This job can't wait. I don't want him to give it to someone else and see you lose your big break. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for you, and I'm not going to be the one to get in your way and see you lose it.

  “High school is just for losers who need some kind of degree for their miserable jobs that they work forty hours a week. You don't need that. Models make their own schedules. Models travel the world, working when they want, and doing whatever they want. That's going to be you, baby, and I'm not letting you throw away this chance.

  “As your manager, I'm taking you to L.A. tonight. If we drive all night, we can be there in no time, and before you know it, you'll be a star and I'll be able to tell everybody 'See that supermodel? That’s my wife'. Let's do this. Are you with me?"

  "I don't know," I hesitated. This was a big step, but he was so excited and so sure. His mania was contagious and my fears were already being drowned out by his enthusiasm. "Do you really think we can do this?"

  "Of course, we can. We can do anything we want. We're a team, you and me. You'll be a famous model, and I'll be an entrepreneur and your manager. This opportunity will give us the money we need to build a life together. I can't wait to marry you, baby. You still love me like I love you, right?"

  "I do." We both recognized that was the exact phrase two people uttered when reciting their wedding vows, and it made us both smile. Gazing into each other's eyes, we kissed one last time, and then Mick put the car into gear and we sped off onto the highway and into our future.

  Of course, things didn't work out quite like Mick had planned. His friend's modeling job turned out to be asking me to pose in my underwear for "massage oils" he had invented and was trying to market to L.A. sex shops. I was mortified and refused the job. Mick insisted that I do it, and since it was the difference between staying in a ratty motel or sleeping in the Camaro again, I went ahead and did it, but I never put the job on my résumé.

  Now, three years later, I was twenty-one and still struggling to make it as a model. I'd gotten a job on a flyer and done some work at a seedy convention, but that was basically it. So far, my big break hadn't come, and after all this time, I wasn't sure it ever would.

  "So, what happened at the audition today, baby? Tell me everything." Mick had his arm around my shoulder and was giving me his full attention, stroking my hair and gazing into my eyes. It was impossible not to open up to him when he was like this; this was the Mick I had fallen in love with five years ago.

  "There's nothing to tell, really. I have the look they want; naturally blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a friendly smile. I just don't have the experience, and all the other girls looked so much more professional than I did."

  "Forget classes. That bullshit is for suckers. Why do we want to pay our hard-earned money for some asshole to tell you how to look pretty and smile?”

  "There's a lot more to modeling than that. There are certain ways to enhance your figure while showing off the product that photograph better than others. I didn't even know how to pose on the bike properly. It was really embarrassing. Besides, it's my hard-earned money. You haven't had a job in months."

  "I work damn hard as your manager." He was angry now, and I knew I'd crossed a line as he pulled his arm away and started shouting. "You think it's easy finding these auditions for you and getting the appointments? You'd be nothing without me. Who the hell was it that got you that catalog spread? Me. And, which one of us turned it down and lost a perfectly good thousand bucks for us?"

  "I'm sorry. I know you work hard, but that photographer wanted me to do a lot more than just pose for him in a bathing suit, and I just couldn't do that."

  "Well, maybe you should. Has it ever occurred to you that I'm not the one holding you back on your modeli
ng career, that maybe it's your over-the-top moral standards? You think none of these other models are willing to take off their clothes for a photographer or give a director a little blow job on the side? Fuck, Kayla, you're such a damn prude. No wonder you can't get any jobs."

  "I'm not a prude. I've been sleeping with you since I was seventeen, and we're still not married yet. It broke my parents’ hearts when I ran away with you to L.A. to be a model, and now I wonder if it was even worth it. Nothing's ever come of it. It's been three years I still haven't gotten my break."

  "And, you won't until you loosen up and start showing some skin. The next time a director, producer, or photographer wants you to take off your top, you'd better do it, if you know what's good for you. That's when you'll start getting the jobs, when you start showing some tits and ass."

  "Well, you'll be happy to know that I did that today," I said glumly. It was my biggest fear that Mick was right, that it was my own refusal to sacrifice my moral integrity that was blocking my career, and not my lack of classes or experience.

  "Really?" Mick's face lit up. Somehow I had been hoping he would be jealous and want me to save myself only for him, but he wasn't like that. He'd prostitute me out if he thought he could get money for it, only I wouldn't let him.

  "Yeah, my bikini top fell off right in front of everybody. It was so embarrassing; I wanted to die."

  "No, baby. This is a good thing. Just wait and see. I bet you get called back, and when you do, make sure to give them all the nudity they want."

  "I don't think they'll call. After my top fell off, I accidentally knocked over the motorcycle I was supposed to be posing with. I probably broke it. The only call I'll be getting will be from the legal department billing me for the damage."

  "No, you'll get the job, and then you'll know I was right. Just wait and see." Mick jutted out his chin confidently.

  Just then my cell phone started to ring, and we both stared at it. The caller ID said Speed Motorcycles, Inc.