Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  I'm about to chew a hole in my lip.

  I know, right? Is there any way this could be real?

  She hesitates before answering.

  hang on, I'll have skylar check the headers and all that garbage

  Her teenage son, once again, comes in handy. That kid's either going to end up running the FBI, or running from them.

  After what feels like a thousand years, she comes back.

  says it looks legit. so what are you gonna do, come out?

  Hell no. Hell no. I can't. But what other options do I have? This isn't exactly the kind of opportunity that comes along every day. I'm not an idiot, I know that my fifteen minutes will be up before I can blink. I need to jump on this now.

  But I can't.

  My mind starts racing. If I can at least figure out how to respond to him, that will be buy me some time to figure it out.

  Of course. I'm Mr. Steele's personal assistant. That way, I can even talk on the phone with this Steve character, and he'll never suspect a thing.

  Amy sends me another message.

  or I guess you could always hire somebody to play him.

  Of course. It seems so simple, now that the idea's in front of me.

  amy, you're a genius.

  She replies quickly.

  I know :)

  I start drafting my email.

  Hi Steve,

  Thanks so much for writing. I'm Kimberly, Mr. Steele's PA. I handle all of his scheduling so that he can stay on the important task of writing. Mr. Steele has indicated his interest to me, so I'd love to hash out the details with you. Please feel free to give me a call, at your earliest convenience.

  I sign off with my phone number and let out a heavy sigh. So, that's one problem solved. I can at least talk to them, get a feel for whether this is going to be worth all the hassle I anticipate.

  where do you even hire an actor to play a part in real life? I'm too scared to post an ad, what if somebody finds it and blows the whole thing wide open?

  I'm not really expecting an answer, but Amy starts typing right away.

  you're in nyc, just hang out outside one of the big casting calls, and snipe somebody coming out. that way you get a good feel for their look and how they carry themselves.

  I'm frowning.

  that sounds incredibly creepy.

  On the other end, Amy's probably shrugging.

  well, you're a sweet girl next door type, I doubt they're gonna worry about ending up as a lampshade. just be honest with them.

  She might have a point. I would never accept that kind of offer, because I'm a woman and I've had the idea of personal safety drilled into my head since birth. Guys usually aren't so cautious.

  I can't believe I'm actually considering this. But what choice do I have? I'm doing well, but I'm nowhere near a household name. Scratch that - Landon Steele is nowhere near a household name. This is a huge opportunity. If I don't take it, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.

  Suddenly, my phone's ringing. I don't even recognize the area code, but I pick it up with a frown.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, is this Kimberly?"

  "Speaking."

  "This is Steve Kirkland from Morning Brew, how are you?"

  For a moment, my heart stops beating.

  "Hi, Steve!" I hear myself say, cheerily. "I'm doing great, how are you?"

  "Just fine, thanks." He shuffles some papers. "I was hoping to try and hash out some of the details of Landon Steele's appearance on the show, if you have a minute."

  "Sure, sure." My brain is no longer aware of what my mouth is saying, but thankfully, it seems to be working out okay. "Sorry, just let me switch gears for a second."

  "Absolutely."

  I take a long, deep breath.

  "So," I say, after deciding that running away and screaming into my pillow will take too long. "What kind of timeline are we looking at here?"

  "As soon as possible," he says. "We really want to capture Mr. Steele's popularity at its peak. I'm guessing he has a lot of interesting stories to tell about his experiences as a male author in a female-dominated field." Steve clears his throat. "Sorry, I have to ask - he is a male author, right? I know sometimes these pen names aren't exactly accurate."

  No shit?

  "Yes, yes, of course." That's it - I'm going to hell. I'm definitely going to hell. "Sure, I understand. You have to double-check."

  "Have you seen the show?"

  Every time I'm in a waiting room. "Absolutely. Mr. Steele's very excited about the opportunity."

  "So, you know what kind of operation we're running. There's no gotcha questions, nothing controversial. And we'll be keeping it family-friendly, of course. Don't want to get into all the bondage stuff. Honestly, he's right in our demographic and we have a feeling he'll bring in a lot of viewers, even if they haven't necessarily heard of him. We can promo it as very exciting, very sexy - something unique. They'll tune in. Will this be Mr. Steele's first live television appearance?"

  I clear my throat, delicately. "As of right now, yes." I don't want to make him sound like some kind of high-maintenance idiot who's going to drop f-bombs all over the place, but I also really don't want to fake my way through this - at least, any more than I already am.

  Steve starts rattling off all the vital information. "So basically, you'll send us a list of potential topics, think about the kind of stuff that would interesting to our demo - cute, funny stories, stuff about pets is good, stuff about Mr. Steele being clumsy, anything that humanizes him. It might seem undignified, but trust me, it'll only add to his sex appeal. We'll come back with our list of questions, and Mr. Steele can get some answers ready for the segment. Remember to keep it short, each answer should ideally be around thirty to forty-five seconds. Rehearsing is good.

  "As far as scheduling goes, we like to keep things moving at a pretty quick pace here at Morning Brew. But I recognize your boss is a busy man, so we can be flexible. How about filming in six weeks?"

  Six weeks?

  Six fucking weeks?

  I clear my throat again. "Uh, he might be able to fit it in, between book releases. Is there any chance of extending that date?"

  Steve makes an uncomfortable noise. "I could talk to them about it, but that's pretty much the furthest they're generally willing to go."

  Message received. I'm Landon Steele, not Angelina Jolie. I work around their schedule.

  "Okay," I tell him. "Six weeks. I'm sure we can make it work."

  "Great," he enthuses. "I'll let the producers know. And the booking people will be in touch with you about travel arrangements. Will it just be you and Mr. Steele?"

  I'm still having a hard time swallowing any of this.

  "Yes," I say, when my brain kicks back into gear. "Thank you."

  Does that mean they're going to pay for our hotel and airline tickets, just like that? Is this how the other half lives?

  It's not until we've hung up that I realize my brain has already adjusted to the idea of me and Mr. Steele as a duo. Our hotel. Us.

  I'm losing my mind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I'm messaging Amy on my phone while I lurk outside of a big studio casting call. I've officially reached a new low.

  People are coming out in droves, most of them looking disappointed or pissed-off. A few look hopeful. Most are clearly coming down from a wicked adrenaline high. There are some attractive men, but none of them look how I pictured Landon Steele. I'm starting to think this was a gigantic waste of time.

  And that's when I see him.

  He's perfect.

  That's my initial impression, informed only by my first glance. He's certainly not dressed for the part, in ratty jeans and a shirt that probably came in a six-pack from Walmart. But that's easy to fix.

  Everything else is spot-on. Dark hair, piercing eyes, just a hint of stubble on his strong jaw. It would hurt, rasping against sensitive skin, but I suppose that's part of the appeal. And he's got a rich tapestry of tattoos r
unning up his arms, hinting at more.

  He doesn't carry himself like a Dom. But hopefully, that's where the acting comes in.

  After putting a lot of thought into it, I've decided Amy was right. The best approach is to just be honest. He's standing there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, like he's trying to figure out if he can afford cab fare home. If I can't talk this guy into working for me, I'm completely hopeless.

  Taking a deep breath, I walk up to him.

  "Hey."

  He looks up, and god damn his eyes are way too blue. "Hey," he says, a little uncertainly. I can't imagine it's unusual for women to approach him on the street - maybe just not women who look like me.

  "Just get out of the audition?" I nod my head towards the building he just walked out of.

  "Yeah," he says. "You?"

  "Nope. Just poaching for talent. That is, if you're looking for work." I say this all very calmly, very casually, like this is a completely normal thing to do.

  He grins a little. "I think they taught me something about this in kindergarten. 'Stranger danger,' maybe?"

  "I know it sounds weird, but I don't want to post an ad," I tell him. "I can't have a paper trail."

  His eyebrows go up, just a bit. "You're not really helping your case, y'know."

  He's making fun of me, but I can tell he's intrigued, too. And a little bit desperate. And Amy's right about one more thing - I definitely have the advantage of looking sane and harmless. If I was giving off crazy vibes, he would've disappeared already.

  "Let me buy you a coffee, and I'll explain everything," I promise him. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up."

  Shrugging, he looks me up and down for a moment. "Okay," he says. "What the hell, right?"

  "That's the spirit!" I stick out my hand. "I'm Kimberly."

  "Nice to meet you, Kimberly. I'm Josh." His handshake is warm and firm, and it makes me wish we'd met under some other circumstances. And maybe, just maybe, that I was some twiggy blonde he'd actually be attracted to. I've been on a long journey of self-acceptance lately, and the end result is that I've decided I love my curves. But getting other people to love them - and in a non-creepy way - has been a little more of a challenge. I finally deactivated my online dating profile when I was tempted to murder the next guy who messaged me saying he liked that I had "a little meat on my bones."

  I'm not a damn pot roast.

  We sit down in a diner up the street, and a bored-looking server saunters over to us with a couple of sticky menus. "Just coffee, thanks," Josh says, even as he glances longingly at someone else's steak.

  "Get whatever you want," I tell him. "Seriously."

  He hesitates, while the server looks like she wants to stab us both for holding her attention this long.

  "Okay," he says. "Steak and eggs, then. Medium rare and over-easy."

  I have to smile. He knows how to order his food, at any rate. My stomach suddenly growls, and I realize I haven't had anything since my yogurt at breakfast. But there's nothing here that's exactly calorie-friendly.

  The server shuffles away, muttering to herself.

  Josh is looking at me curiously. "You're not going to have anything?"

  "No," I tell him. "I'm fine."

  His brow furrows. "I mean, thanks, but - you're obviously hungry. You just bought me lunch and dinner, I'm not going to be offended if you eat."

  "Seriously, I'm fine."

  The server is pouring our coffee now, as slowly as humanly possible. I wait for her to leave before I start getting into the good stuff.

  "So," I say, resting my elbows on the table. "I'm an author."

  The gears are turning, but he's not quite there yet.

  "I have an opportunity to be on TV," I tell him. "The problem is, I write under a male pen-name. Nobody knows who I really am. And for now, I want to keep it that way."

  "Ah ha." His eyes light up. "You should've just said that. Not creepy at all. I get it. What do you write? Spy stuff? Horror?"

  I sigh, taking a sip of my coffee. "Good guesses, but no. You ever hear of a little book called Fifty Shades of Grey?"

  This time, he frowns very deeply. "Wait. I don't get it."

  "Neither did I, at first." I sigh. "I got the idea when I started reading people's reactions to the book, and other stuff like it. A bunch of women talking about how much they'd love to read the book from Christian's point of view. But the whole thing didn't click until I saw somebody on a fetish message board, saying he was a real-life Dom and he wishes he could write mass-market romance fiction, 'cause he'd clean up under the guise of 'a real-life dominant alpha male tells all.'"

  Josh is staring at me like I've sprouted another head.

  His steak arrives, and he digs into it with enthusiasm, but he keeps one eye on me. "So you decided to lie," he says, around a mouthful of meat dipped in yolk. I swallow a mouthful of saliva that's suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

  "It's a white lie," I tell him. "Besides, it's no different from using a male pen name for spy stuff or horror. You seemed fine with that."

  He shakes his head. "It's very different. Lots of people wouldn't pick up a book like that, if they knew a woman wrote it." He eyes me briefly before turning back to his steak. "In romance, you already got the home field advantage, don't you?"

  "Typically." Since when did this become his interview? "Look, are you interested in the job, or not?"

  He shrugs. "Am I supposed to do sophisticated? That's not my usual M.O."

  "We'll work on that," I tell him. "But yes, you need to come across as someone with money, and good breeding. But it's a thin veneer. You could snap, and become an animal at any moment. That's part of the appeal."

  He's grinning while he chews. It should be gross, but somehow, he gets away with it. "Animal, huh? That I can do."

  I press my fingers into my closed eyes for a moment. "So, this is what I'm thinking in terms of compensation." I pull a sticky note out of my pocket and slide it across the table. He shoots me an amused look and picks it up, then all the color drains from his face.

  For a second, he makes a noise that sparks a worry he's choking on a piece of steak, until I remember my first aid training. Choking people can't make any noise at all. As long as he's coughing, I won't have a good reason to wrap my arms around his tightly-muscled stomach.

  I remind myself this is not a bad thing.

  "This isn't exactly SAG standard," he says, when he's recovered. "Is some TV appearance really worth this much to you?"

  Nodding, I interlace my fingers together. Now I've got his attention for sure. "I'm anticipating a significant visibility boost. Visibility is everything."

  He makes a little whistling noise. "I guess I always thought authors were in the 'starving artist' category."

  "Not all of them." I feel like he's definitely judging me, and I don't like it. "You can't accuse me of not spreading the wealth."

  "So, how do I audition?" He sets down his fork, and clears his throat.

  Right. Audition would be a good idea. I was actually about to offer him the job completely untested, but thankfully he didn't pick up on that.

  I pull a few of my paperback proofs out of my bag. "I'd like you to read through these a bit first, just to get an idea for the character. Obviously, you'll need to study them thoroughly if you're actually going to play him, but you can just skim as much as you feel like you need to, for now."

  He's making a little face, not a negative face, necessarily, but I'm really curious what it means. "Gotcha," he says, flipping through one of the books too fast to even notice any of the words. "Sounds good to me. Want to meet up next week, and see if I've got the right stuff?"

  We make the arrangements, and I realize belatedly I've just invited him to come over to my place. My place. The one that still has a pile of boxes in the corner from when I moved in, two years ago. I need to do some serious housecleaning.

  ***

  For the next seven days, I spend every spare moment cleaning and strai
ghtening up. I spend an obscene amount of money at some yuppie organizer store, and I sweep and mop and dust everything. It's not that I think Josh will care, but I want to be a good host. And right now, it feels like "being a good host" is a synonym for "scrubbing the bathroom grout with an old toothbrush."

  An hour before our meeting time, I get a phone call. It's not even a local number, and certainly not one I recognize. Frowning, I pick up.

  "Hey, Kimberly." I recognize his voice right away, but I let him introduce himself anyway. "It's Josh."

  He sounds apologetic. My heart sinks into my stomach. "Hey, how are you?"

  "Pretty good. I think I need to postpone our meeting, though. I'm sorry about this. I'll understand if you just need to move on."

  "We can reschedule," I say, perhaps a little too quickly. Is my sparkling bathroom sink really going to go to waste? "Why, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

  "No," he says. "I just, I think I need a little more time to prepare. Maybe. I'm not sure." He exhales heavily. "I don't mind saying, this is harder than I thought it would be."

  "Do you want to talk it through?" I offer, switching the phone to my other ear and settling down. "I can give you some insight, if you're confused about anything."

  "Hmm." He ruminates on this for a second. "I mean, if you've got nothing better to do, I could still come over. Just don't expect much in terms of an audition."

  "Sure," I say, feeling relieved and excited all at once. "No problem. I've blocked out my schedule anyway."