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Handling His Talent ARC
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Handling His Talent
A Forbidden Hot Boss Romance
Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance & Nikki Rayne.
All rights reserved.
Jamie Knight –
Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Brock
Chapter 2 - Alex
Chapter 3 - Brock
Chapter 4 - Alex
Chapter 5 - Brock
Chapter 6 - Alex
Chapter 7 - Brock
Chapter 8 - Alex
Chapter 9 - Brock
Chapter 10 - Alex
Chapter 11 - Brock
Chapter 12 - Alex
Epilogue - Alex
Chapter 1 - Brock
“Bullshit. I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”
I pressed my knuckles against Noah’s desk and stared him down. The biggest movie producer in Tinseltown had summoned me to his home office in the Hollywood Hills. I was about to get ripped a new one and most likely fired. I couldn’t say I didn’t deserve both.
I should be in Dublin preparing for the first day of filming, but instead, I was back in L.A. after spending the last month in Bangkok getting shitfaced.
Noah turned his laptop in my direction. “This says you do. What the fuck were you thinking? You stole a fucking tuk-tuk and took it for a fucking joyride then crashed it outside the Grand Palace. You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested and thrown in Bang Kwang prison and not just thrown on a plane. Videos are all over social media. You’ve been trending on Twitter for twenty-four hours.” He sniffed, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “And you reek of cheap booze.”
I shrugged. “Your knuckleheads kidnapped me when I touched down at LAX. I haven’t had a chance to go home and clean up. And so what? I had a few drinks during the flight.”
“Care to explain the tuk-tuk?”
“The driver was a fan. He came along for the ride. Letting off steam doesn’t mean I need someone to hold my hand or wipe my ass.”
Noah pulled up another news site, then another and another and another. “The insurance broker can’t find anyone willing to underwrite you unless we hire a minder. There’s no other option. We need someone to keep you on track.”
I jabbed a finger in his direction. “My assistant can keep me on track just fine. I don’t need anyone else on my payroll. I’ll talk to my manager about this bullshit.”
Noah pushed his chair away and stood. We locked eyes, neither of us blinking or backing down. All we needed were a few tumbleweeds and some old spaghetti Western music playing in the background.
“Your latest assistant quit while you were off gallivanting,” Noah pointed out. “That’s what happens when you hire someone you picked up in a bar, and I’ve already spoken to your manager. William agrees you need someone to keep an eye on you. No one has seen you since the script read-through. We can’t trust you anymore. Ever since you and Isabella got married, you’ve been acting like a jackass.”
A fiery ball of anger churned in my stomach, or maybe that was the tequila I’d knocked back during the flight.
God knows I respected Noah. He’d given me a chance when no one else would, but bringing up Isabella was a low blow. My ex cheated on me with an extra on her last movie, got herself knocked up, and had then waddled down the aisle. She wasn’t the one, far from it, but her betrayal still stung like a motherfucker.
The paparazzi’s fangs watered at our fights, breakups, then makeups. When we were together, the entertainment headlines screamed our names every day of the week. The two of us together were a toxic combination. We were over. For good this time.
“She has nothing to do with anything.”
Noah made a spluttering sound. I wasn’t sure if it was a cough or a laugh. “Keep telling yourself that. There’s too much money on the line to risk this film. If you ever want to work in this town again—“
I slammed my hands against his desk. “Screw you and your threats. The only reason your movies make money is because of my name.”
Noah crossed his arms and leaned back. His expression incredulous. “The only reason you’re in movies is because of my money. You’ll do what I say and when I’m not around, you’ll do what Alex says.”
“Who?” Swift and seething anger curled my fists, but I somehow held back.
He smirked. “Alex Jenkins. The minder I hired.”
“Screw you, screw your movie, and screw Alex Jenkins.”
“You’re under contract. If you try to weasel your way out, you’ll be working the rest of your life to pay me back.”
We stared each other down again. He was right. The contract was watertight, and if I walked away, I would lose every penny I’d earned.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy, Brock. There are hundreds of others involved in this production. We have caterers, extras, stuntmen, camera operators. There are guild and union rules we have to follow. Everyone has to get paid if you’re there or not. A delay of even one day will cost two-hundred and fifty grand.”
I wasn’t the selfish, narcissistic jerk the media made me out to be. If I walked or didn’t toe the line, people would lose their jobs, and my already shitty reputation would tumble further into the sewer.
I gritted my teeth to show him I wasn’t happy. “When this is over, I will never work with you or work on any of your films again.”
“I don’t want to say this, Brock, but I created you, and I can break you.” He sounded frustrated, but not angry. “I can ruin your career with a click of my fingers.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Before I ruined his face with my fist, I pushed away from the desk and moved toward the window.
Noah’s office gave a perfect birds-eye view of the Hollywood sign. The mere sight of the forty-five-foot letters chased goosebumps up my arms. They symbolized everything I’d busted my ass for and everything I would lose if I didn’t get my shit together.
Growing up, I’d spent way too many hours daydreaming about being a star, and here I was living the dream. Most days, I loved my life, but some days I wondered if I’d sold my soul to the devil. Some days I wondered what it would be like to live a normal life away from the cameras.
“I make a lot of money for you, and you know it.”
Noah harrumphed. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, angry, agitated, or all three. “Ford Linder would kill for the headlining role. We could find him a new co-star and give him the chance to take your box office crown.
“Think about all the talented actors who’ve fallen by the wayside because they couldn’t stay out of trouble. Because they couldn’t stay away from booze, drugs, and women. There’s only so much I can do to keep your messes out of the press. Only so many people I can pay off. It’s time to grow up, go to Dublin, and do what we’re paying you for.”
The truth was Ford Linder would kill for the headlining role. I would be lying if I said his popularity and ambition didn’t worry me. For the past few years, he’d been nipping at my heels. If I wasn’t careful, he’d soon get close enough to take a chunk.
My ego was big, but not big enough to think I was irreplaceable. If ever I loathed someone, it was Ford fucking Linder. Hell would freeze over before I let him take the starring role in my movie.
But what if I quit the whole soul-sucking industry and moved to a small island away from the limelight? Then Ford could have it all.
A knock on the door halted my pity party.
“That must be Alex,” Noah announced, striding toward the door.
Noah yanked open the office door.
I spun around. I would let my babysitter know he wasn’t welcome.
I opened my mouth to speak, but then my jaw dropped. Something wasn’t right because a few feet away from me stood a seductively, sexy woman.
She was tall and toned, and from the way she held herself, I guessed ex-military. Tight jeans hugged her legs, and a loose black t-shirt did nothing to hide the curve of her mouth-watering tits. Blonde hair hung in a high pony—perfect for yanking—and ice-blue eyes flickered over my face with disinterest. Desire, stronger than anything I’d ever experienced, shot to my dick.
Whoever she was, I wanted to get to know her intimately.
When she smiled at Noah, my heart lurched.
Surely, she couldn’t be my babysitter. Alex’s wife, perhaps? If I didn’t hate him before, I did now.
Self-consciously, I ran a hand through my hair. I should have cleaned up before coming to Noah’s house. I wore a pair of dirty jeans and a crumpled Star Wars t-shirt. Why hadn’t I showered and shaved? I hadn’t even used the complimentary toiletries on the flight to brush my teeth.
Noah hugged the woman long and hard, and my stomach seized with jealousy.
“It’s good to see you again, Alex.”
Wait! What?
She was Alex? The person tasked with keeping me on the straight and narrow.
“It’s been way too long.” The sound of her clipped British accent sent shivers racing up and down my spine.
Things just got very interesting.
If she was going to be my babysitter, then she could tuck me into bed anytime she wanted. I rolled back my shoulders and gave her my best movie star smile.
I held out my hand and took a few long-legged strides toward her. “You’re my babysitter, huh? I’m Brock Adams. A pleasure to meet you. Alex is short for—”
“Alexandria.” She gave me a tight-lipped smile and took my hand in hers. I waited for the wide-eyed attraction to kick in and for her cheeks to flush, but nothing happened. So that’s how it was going to be? If the ice princess wanted to play hard to get, then fine.
She dropped my hand, and her nose twitched as if she smelled dog shit. “Let’s get one thing clear, Mr. Adams. I’m a close protection operator, not a babysitter. I’ve served overseas with the British Army. I’ve protected generals and ambassadors in hostile environments, worked with the Royal Family, and right now, I’m the CEO of one of the world’s largest personal protection agencies. I’m doing this job as a favor for Noah. Until the movie wraps, I’ll be your shadow. You can’t go anywhere or do anything without my say-so. We both have jobs to do. The more you cooperate, the better and the easier it’ll be for both of us. Understood?”
Feisty. Nice. Breaking her would be a challenge, but it was a challenge I gladly accepted. No woman was immune to my charm. Eventually, they all crumbled.
The steel in her eyes showed she was neither impressed nor intimidated. Her disregard made a nice change. These days, I could never tell if people liked me for me or because I was Brock Adams.
I hooked my thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans and took her in from head to toe. “And how do you think you’ll be able to stop me from doing exactly what I want? I could pick you up and throw you over my shoulder with one arm.”
“Mr. Adams—”
“Brock.”
“Mr. Adams,” she continued. “If you want to behave like an irresponsible child and put other people’s jobs on the line so you can get your rocks off, think again. You can smile, you can flirt, you can think you’re going to find a way to get me into bed, but nothing about you impresses me in the slightest. Not your laugh. Not your brown bedroom eyes. Not your floppy just tumbled out of bed hair.” She stepped closer and sniffed. “And you smell.”
“You sure notice a lot for someone who’s not impressed.”
“It’s my job to notice every detail, no matter how small.”
I didn’t believe a single word that flew out of her beautiful mouth.
Before the movie wrapped, Alex Jenkins would belong to me.
Chapter 2 - Alex
Bollocks.
What kind of mess had I gotten into this time? When I’d agreed to help Noah out, I’d convinced myself I could remain immune to Brock Adams’s soulful brown eyes and sexy smile.
Wrong.
So very wrong.
I’d also convinced myself I wouldn’t swoon over his bad boy movie star looks. And yet, my nipples were rock hard, and my knickers soaked. I was officially swooning. Pretty soon, drool would dribble from the corner of my lips and drip from my chin. And to think I called myself a professional.
I rarely worked in the field these days, but when Noah had called pleading for my help, I couldn’t say no.
We went way back. When he moved to London years ago to work at Pinewood Studios, he’d rented a flat beside the one I lived in with my mother. Locals called our area of London Piss Alley because all the drunks urinated in front of our building on the way home after a night out. It was as gross as it sounded.
Whenever my mother was entertaining one of her gentlemen friends—I didn’t realize until I was older they were her clients—Noah and his flatmates would allow me to hang out at their place and watch T.V.. They never once made me feel like I was a snotty-nosed kid or that I was in their way.
Over the years, Noah and I had stayed in touch, and if we were ever in the same part of the world at the same time, we always met up.
My company provided security and staff for a lot of Noah’s movies. While we did offer a service for getting people who’d gone off the rails back on track, it wasn’t my specialty. I didn’t have the patience to handhold, or as Brock had said, babysit.
Brock had gone off the rails spectacularly. He was lucky he hadn’t died this time or the time before that. If ever a man was hellbent on self-destruction, it was Brock Adams.
Despite my body’s reaction to him, I kept my face neutral, and my body language closed off.
From the way he examined me from beneath hooded eyelids, he figured he would get away with whatever he wanted, or that I would turn a blind eye because he flirted and showered me with compliments. Well, he was in for a rude awakening because that wouldn’t happen. I had a job to do and a reputation to protect.
I wouldn’t deny he was as sexy as hell, but I wasn’t a stranger to keeping my feelings inside. I prided myself on staying in control and suppressing my desires. Showing people my emotions meant handing them the power to manipulate and hurt me. I had twenty-eight years of training when it came to keeping everything inside.
My mother preferred I was seen and not heard. She considered me a mistake. The only thing I was useful for was getting money from my father’s family in order to keep my existence a secret. An affair with a member of the British aristocracy—Viscount Beauchamp—resulted in my conception when my mother was 19, and he was 65.
She was stunningly beautiful and slept her way around London society. For a frightfully high price, she was anyone’s for the night. To her, men were only good for one thing—money. I swore I’d never, ever be anything like her.
So far, I’d succeeded. Over the years, I’d had a few relationships, but none that lasted past the butterflies in my belly stage. Once talk of getting serious reared its ugly head, I scarpered. Commitment and sharing feelings were akin to a root canal without anesthetic.
I rummaged around my laptop bag and grabbed my planner. “I’ve glanced over your call sheet for the first day of principal photography, Mr. Adams, and I’ve printed out a timetable of everything from now until the movie wraps in three months.” I presented him with a copy of his schedule, but he ig
nored my hand. “Of course, everything is subject to change. Expect a new schedule from me every morning.”
“Are you fucking serious?” He glared at Noah, then at me. In a flash, Brock snatched the piece of paper from my hand and ripped it into pieces. “You can shove your schedule up your ass along with the stick you keep there.”
“Unacceptable.” Noah went toe-to-toe with him. Both stood well over six-foot, and both had biceps bigger than my boobs.
“No, it’s not,” Brock spat. “What’s unacceptable is shouldering me with her.”
I heaved out an exasperated sigh. A pissing match between two alpha males was the last thing I wanted to deal with right now. “Gentlemen, is this necessary?”
“Very,” Noah said. “Mr. Adams needs reminding that if he walks out that door, and if he refuses some guidance, no one will hire him ever again. He will do whatever you say, Alex. Are we clear, Mr. Adams? If you arrive on set unprepared, it’s going to cost the production a lot of money, and it could also cost you your career.”
Brock threw a withering glance my way. He didn’t seem as angry now—more like resigned.
“Don’t think you can order me around or that you can say what time I go to bed. Unless…” He stepped away from Noah. Brock’s posture and demeanor changed from that of being ready to fight to being relaxed and friendly. He winked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “…you want to tuck me in with a bedtime story.”
In a split second, he’d shown precisely why he was an Oscar-winning actor.
My ovaries jumped up and down, screaming yes, please. My brain ordered my ovaries to fall in line.
I clasped my hands in front of my body and feigned annoyance. “Mr. Adams, for want of a better phrase, sod-off. Save your shtick for your fans who have no clue who you really are.”
His eyebrows shot up. “And who am I, Alex?”
Willing myself to stay strong and not crumble under his intense gaze, I said, “You’re a poser who constantly needs his ego massaged.”