Their Famous Dominant

by Nicole Edwards

  I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d done to catch the eye of one of Hollywood’s biggest producers, but I had. And the rest, as they say, was history. Since that time, I’d starred in a number of blockbuster hits and the offers continued to roll in.

  “I’ve got things to do today, Ken,” I told him, using the bored monotone I’d developed years ago.

  When I first started in the acting business, I had been gung-ho, smiling and laughing with every Tom, Dick, and Whoever who looked my way. I’d learned to network like a pro, kissing babies, courting ladies, and shaking hands with every power suit I encountered. That, and my remarkable acting ability, had paid off.

  Of course, with money came all the people who wanted a piece of me, all of those who were waiting to take advantage of me. Ken was at the top of that list. If it weren’t for the fact that acting was secondary to the things I had going on in my life, I would have fired his ass a long time ago. Only then I would’ve had to start over with a new agent and that required time and effort I didn’t have. So, I was pretty much biding my time, waiting for the right opportunity.

  Didn’t mean I was above dangling the carrot. One never knew what offers might be sent their way.

  “We’re in the process of renegotiating our contract with you,” Ken said in that exasperated tone that generally had me silently laughing at him.

  “You’re taking too long.” What I should’ve said was he was wasting his time.

  “Well, it would help if you were here in California so we could sit down and discuss it.”

  I stopped in front of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. I needed to trim this shit on my face.

  “We’ve already tried that,” I reminded him.

  “Those were preliminary discussions. There’s more to talk about.”

  “What are you saying, Ken? You’ve come up with more empty promises encased in legal jargon?”

  Ken was quiet for a moment. However, that didn’t last long. He offered a frustrated sigh, followed by, “You haven’t been yourself lately, Trent. Something’s gotten into you. I’m worried.”

  Lately? He made it sound like it started a few months ago. Try years now. I’d been at a loss for so long I was beginning to think this was the way my life would be going forward.

  “Have you thought about seeking professional help?” Ken suggested. “Maybe a psychiatrist to confess all your sins to?”

  Wow. The fucker just didn’t know when to quit.

  Still, I didn’t respond.

  “Trent, seriously. You’ve got some good years left in you. If you think that severing ties with this agency won’t hurt you, you’re wrong. I want to ensure you’re putting yourself first.”

  No, he wanted to ensure I was putting him first.

  I sighed. “I don’t need a psychiatrist, Ken.” What I needed were a couple of submissives. Specific ones, in fact. “And I damn sure don’t need an agent who treats me like a spoiled rich kid who can’t make decisions for himself. I’ve managed to build an empire all on my own. I don’t need you holding my hand.”

  “Says the man who turned down the role of a lifetime,” Ken snapped.

  And there it was. The real reason for Ken’s animosity.

  I had built a name for myself with the role as Brad Dillon, a smart ex-military guy who’d taken some undercover assignments for the US government and always found his ass in hot water with only himself to save the day. At the ripe young age of twenty-two, I had taken on the role and made it my own. Of course, the movie series was still a worldwide phenomenon, thirteen years into it. I damn sure couldn’t complain. It had made me hundreds of millions.

  However, in the past thirteen years, I’d dealt with people stereotyping me as the typical action star, and the parts I was offered reflected that. In a word, I was bored. I wanted something more, something different, something to push my acting abilities. And I wasn’t looking for a sure thing, either. So, when Ken had informed me that I was being sought after for a leading role in one of those car action movies that had taken the world by storm in recent years, I had flat turned him down. Of course, he’d pushed for an offer and when it finally rolled in, I held true to my original decision and refused.

  There for a while, I’d thought my agent was going to stroke out.

  Considering that hadn’t happened, here I was, once again dealing with the obnoxious man who was never going to forgive me for turning down a blockbuster hit.

  Trust me, I wasn’t losing sleep over it.

  I turned on the sink—instant hot water was a modern miracle and a blessing for an impatient man like myself—as I pulled out my beard trimmer, my razor, and shaving cream. I punched the speaker button and set the phone on the counter.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Getting ready for the day.” I lathered my neck and grabbed the razor.

  “When are you coming home?” Ken questioned.

  Technically, I was home, but I knew that wasn’t what my agent was referring to. Since I owned residences in Texas, California, Illinois, Florida, and my most recent purchase in New York, I had my choice of beds to sleep in every night. The private jet that took me to and from helped to alleviate the stress of traveling. But I preferred Texas, which was where I spent most of my time. Or it had been, right up until I opened my second club in Chicago.

  In fact, now that both Dichotomy locations were well under way, I found myself bouncing back and forth between the two states, doing what I enjoyed. Living.

  “I have no plans to come to California in the near future,” I told Ken. “I’ve got some business to take care of here in Texas, and I’m heading to Chicago in a couple of days.”

  Or rather, I intended to be. If my lunch plans panned out, I wasn’t sure what twist Fate might have in store for me.

  “We’ve got things to discuss,” Ken insisted.

  “You know where to find me,” I offered.

  “Shit, Trent. You know we can’t do business like this,” Ken argued.

  “Well, then I suggest you do something different.” I wiped the shaving cream from my now clean neck.

  “How long will it take you to get it back to me?” Ken questioned. “If I can get it to you in a few days.”

  “Don’t know. I have to have it reviewed by my lawyer.”

  I clicked on the beard trimmer just as he said, “You know my firm has a legal department who handles that for you.”

  I snorted. Like I would trust a firm who had their own ulterior motive. No fucking way. I’d learned that lesson early on. Rule number one: never trust anyone who was making money off of you.

  “I’ll have it to you sometime next week,” Ken stated when I didn’t respond.

  “Whatever floats your boat. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to shower and make it to a lunch meeting.”

  “Meeting?”

  “That’s what I said.” I rolled my eyes, turning away from the mirror and heading to the shower to flip it on. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks, and was about to strip off my shorts when Ken spoke.

  “Please, God, tell me this isn’t regarding any more of those damn sex clubs.”

  I didn’t respond. It wasn’t Ken’s business.

  “Trent, you know it’s not a good idea for you to be involved in those fetish clubs. It’s not good for your image. I’ve told you that a million times. One of these days, the roles aren’t going to be there. No one is going to want you in their movie when your name’s associated with the sex industry.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” I told Ken. “Gotta run.”

  “Goddammit, Trent! This is—”

  Rather than listen to Ken’s litany of bullshit, I disconnected the call, left my phone on the counter, stripped, and padded over to the enormous walk-in shower, stepping under the warm spray coming at me from all directions.

  Now, I simply needed to find a way to focus on something other than Ken. Something other than acting. Something other than pending business deals or the months
I would spend making my next movie the best I could possibly make because I never did anything half-ass.

  Right now, I didn’t want to think of any of that.

  Of course, that was probably a good thing considering the two people who plagued my mind at every opportunity. And just as I expected, they were practically there in the shower with me. Clarissa and Troy. My submissives.

  Never mind the fact that this was a mere fantasy.

  A damn good one, too.

  This imaginary version of Clarissa was naked, on her knees, her long auburn hair sliding over her shoulders, resting on her magnificent breasts, while a very naked Troy knelt beside her, his gaze lowered, his body open and eager for my attention.

  In this particular fantasy, their hands and ankles were bound, and they were eagerly awaiting my instruction, ready to please me in whatever way I deemed necessary.

  Good thing for them, I had plenty of ideas.

  The best part was the imaginary versions of Clarissa and Troy didn’t seem to mind that I got off on the mere thought of sharing them with each other or of them calling me Master.

  In fact, I demanded it.

  After all, their submission was what I was after.

  Troy

  FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

  If Trent didn’t fire me, it would be a wonder.

  In the three years I’d worked for him, never had shit hit the fan the way it seemed to be doing now. I was starting to think the universe was out to get me, and I couldn’t figure out what the fuck I’d done to deserve it.

  Every time I thought I was getting my shit under control, something happened, and I was right back to square one, looking like an incompetent idiot. The only thing I had working in my favor was that I’d proven myself for years. Otherwise, I would’ve told Trent I wasn’t worth the hassle.

  And now I was going to have to explain why I was late for the fourth time in two weeks.

  I alternated between sitting on the extravagant, ornate bench at the foot of Trent’s massive, king-sized bed and pacing the enormous master bedroom, waiting not-so-patiently for my boss to get out of the shower so I could explain. I should’ve been here two hours ago like he’d insisted, but my stupid car wouldn’t start and I’d ended up having to Uber a ride to work. Thanks to my attempt to fix the damn thing, I was far later than I should’ve been.

  It was just another excuse in a ridiculously long list of them. I sounded like a moron who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, but that honestly wasn’t the case. I was ridiculously good at what I did, and I was extremely grateful for the opportunity.

  Not that Trent was going to believe me.

  Not when, two weeks ago, I’d had to leave unexpectedly because someone had broken into my apartment (again) and my landlord had called to let me know I had an hour to get the door fixed or he was going to do it and charge me at least five times what it would’ve cost otherwise. Of course, my renter’s insurance had lapsed, so that had been on me.

  As though that wasn’t enough, I had ended up stepping on a nail in the parking lot of my apartment complex. The damage wasn’t significant, but it had resulted in a trip to the doctor for a long-overdue tetanus shot.

  Then, on the Monday before last, I’d had to leave in order to make it down to the courthouse to pay a speeding ticket. I’d run out every second of time I had on that one, and if I’d waited another day, they would’ve had a warrant out for my arrest.

  On Tuesday of that same week, my mother’s aging housekeeper had a panic attack—which they’d mistaken for a heart attack—and I ended up sitting in the ER with my mother while we waited for the doctor to tell us she was fine, but he recommended she find a way to relax. I could’ve told him that working for my father, that wasn’t going to happen.

  Then my car broke down last Thursday, and I’d had to take a taxi, which, of course, wasn’t nearly as easy to get in the suburbs of Dallas as one would think. When I finally arrived, Trent had mentioned Uber and I’d had one of those duh moments. Hence the reason I’d Ubered this morning, showing up two hours late, versus four.

  Of course, the icing on the cake was yesterday when my apartment was broken into again. I had purposely not told Trent about it since I didn’t want him to freak out. I doubted it was normal for an employee to have a repeat intruder breaking in to steal nothing of value. Hell, I doubted it was normal for anyone to have so many break-ins period. Yet, thanks to my stubbornness, and quite frankly, my lack of time to find another place to live, that was my new normal.

  I heard the shower water turn off and my back straightened. I perched on the edge of the bench and glanced at the door, wondering if I should just go to the kitchen and wait. I hated invading Trent’s personal space like this, but I wanted him to know I was here.

  While I was debating, the bathroom door opened, and Trent stepped out, wearing only a plush, snow-white towel wrapped around his lean, perfectly sculpted waist. Intense blue eyes settled on my face. As I remained seated, my left foot began that nervous tapping thing I couldn’t seem to control.

  He didn’t appear surprised to see me in his bedroom.

  Then again, I was usually at Trent’s side night and day. Well, except when he was sleeping. I wasn’t beside him then. Pretty much every other minute of the day, though. The man was extremely busy with everything going on in his life and he entrusted me with a big portion of it.

  All except one part, anyway.

  And because he didn’t keep regular office hours, I’d been practically glued to his side for the past three years.

  In an effort not to stare at Trent’s absurdly nice physique, I forced my eyes up to his face.

  “Good morning, boss.”

  “Troy,” he said absently. “How nice of you to show up.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at my face. “Is that … grease on your cheek?”

  Shit. I reached up and tried to wipe it away.

  “Other cheek,” he stated, then turned toward the master bedroom closet, which, quite frankly, was more of a room than a closet. It was only slightly smaller than my entire apartment.

  I peered in the mirror over the dresser as I got to my feet. “I’m sorry, Trent. My car broke down and I tried to fix it myself.”

  “I thought you were going to take it to the shop,” he said, his voice pitched louder as he spoke from inside the closet. “Or better yet, maybe you should let it rest in peace with the rest of the automobile dinosaurs.”

  “I … uh…” The truth was, I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the damn thing. While I wasn’t a certified mechanic, I did have a good understanding of engines.

  The first time I encountered a problem, the problem had been the fuel pump relay had come loose. And the most recent issue I’d identified had to do with the spark plugs—which I ended up replacing. Needless to say, I was driving on dreams and wishes mostly because the eleven-year-old Honda Civic had outlived everyone’s expectations, yet I still needed it to eke out a few more miles. Preferably a few thousand. It was a far cry from the brand-new cars I’d spent most of my life driving, thanks to the generosity of my father. But, when a man was trying to make a statement, sometimes he had to settle for less.

  Trent walked back into the bedroom, buttoning his black slacks with a white button-down shirt tossed over his boulder of a shoulder and a sapphire-blue tie dangling around his neck. I tried not to stare but it wasn’t easy. There was a very good reason Trent Ramsey was the highest paid actor in Hollywood. He had a presence about him that demanded attention. Not to mention, the man’s face should’ve been classified as one of the world’s many wonders because he was that perfect.

  And no, I wasn’t some sort of gushy guy who had a thing for his boss. Not entirely. I liked Trent, yes. He was a great guy to work for, not entirely the diva the media portrayed him as. My ogling was a simple case of … lust.

  God, I prayed he never found that out. The man was my employer and he would likely shit bricks if he knew his personal assistant had a hard-on for him.
/>
  Not literally. Well, not literally right now. Though it wouldn’t take much.

  “Did you take care of your issue yesterday afternoon?” he asked as he moved toward the dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a pair of black socks.

  “I did.”

  As he took a seat on the bench at the end of the bed, he peered up at me. “Care to enlighten me?”

  Shit. “I … uh…” I repositioned a small statue on his dresser, keeping my eyes from wandering over to him. “It was just some personal issues.”

  “Did you go to the hospital?”

  “No.”

  “Did a family member go to the hospital?”

  “No.”

  “Is someone going to go to the hospital?”

  I sighed. “No.”

  Trent turned away. “These personal issues are getting in the way of your job, Troy.”

  I knew he was going to say that, and he was right. All this shit was causing me nothing but headache after headache and I honestly looked like a total loser. Whatever the reason, the universe had tipped the first domino and the rest seemed to be falling quickly.

  “I’m sorry, boss. It’s just—”

  “Why don’t you take a few days off?” Trent suggested before I could make another excuse.

  My eyes flew to him. “Wait. What? No. Trent. Please. I swear, I won’t let anything get in the way again. I know I—”

  Those steely-blue eyes leveled on me, effectively cutting me off.

  “I’m heading to Chicago for a couple of days. I’ve got some club business I need to tend to. I’ll be back on Sunday. Take some time, get your shit in order. I’ll expect you bright and early on Monday morning.”

  Son of a bitch.

  I knew I couldn’t argue because it wouldn’t do any good. Once Trent made up his mind, he didn’t budge.

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Maybe get the car in the shop. See if they can figure it out.”

  I nodded.

  Because what else was I going to do?