OMG! Lana let me out of my cage! We are gonna go get so drunk! I have this bar I know where they do Two For Two Tuesdays where there are 2 drinks for $2 on Tuesday evenings so I’m already planning what I’m gonna wear and Lana is gonna come with me. Because if she can sit there and make me work and get this book and take it home I’m gonna teach her how to let her hair down and celebrate. I’m also gonna text IT Guy and The Dude and Gym Bro and Gym Rat to see who wants to come out with me. Because, you know, wink wink, what better way to celebrate than by hooking two guys for the night??
Anyways, babes, I’m gonna give you a treat. I’m putting up the first two chapters of the series right now. Let me know what you think of it. The book is for sale too! If you get it, make sure you get the Featured Deal which is only alive for the next 2 days. Anyways, we have stories to tell hopefully tonight!!!
I’m sooooo fucking excited!
Ok…without further ado!
Chapter 1: Alexa
My relationship dies today.
Don’t get me wrong—I don’t get off on breaking hearts, and I’m definitely not a cold-hearted bitch. Well, at least most of the times.
Today, though, is a special occasion: I’ll get paid to break a heart and be a cold-hearted bitch.
“Here’s fine,” I tell my driver, leaning forward and gently laying my hand on his shoulder. With a quick nod, he pulls up to the curb and jumps out of the driver’s seat to get my door. Stepping outside, I use my hand to shield my eyes from the morning sun, a smile spreading across my lips.
What a beautiful day to kick ass.
“I won’t be long, Mark.” I let my gaze wander toward the apartment building right in front of me, my eyes drawn to one of the windows on the 17th floor. My floor. Or Peter’s, really. Both our names are on the contract, at least for a couple of hours more. After I’m through with this, the first thing I’m going to do is cross my name off the lease.
“Good luck, Ms. King.” Tipping his hat off at me, Mark lets a knowing expression take over his face.
“Don’t need it,” I reply, taking a deep breath as I ready myself. “But thank you.”
With that, I start my march toward the apartment building.
Cue the music and pay attention—this is my intro shot.
Louboutins on my feet, Hermes bag in my hands.
A smile on my face, and ice in my heart.
The name’s Alexa King, and I’m the best damn fixer there is.
Never heard of me? Don’t worry, I’m not in the fame game. I’m too busy cracking skulls and fixing problems to worry about having my face on the cover of some vapid magazine.
Those who matter, they all know my name.
Most times I work in the shadows, operating behind the scenes, and that’s how most my clients prefer it. When you spend most of your day sweeping issues under a proverbial rug, the shadows quickly become your best friend.
See, whenever someone important needs a problem to go away, it’s me they call. Curiously enough, I’m the last person they call. Not because I’m not good at my job, but because I’m the best at it. After all, you only call for the big guns after you’ve already hit the emergency button.
“Good morning, Ms. King,” the doorman greets me as he pushes the door open.
“Good morning,” I greet him in return. “Is Peter still in?”
“Yes, he is, ma’am.”
There’s nothing better than going home for a quick visit during the morning and have your long-term boyfriend already there, waiting for you. Especially when you’re planning to break-up with him—I’d hate to come home just to head out again and look for his sorry ass.
When I finally get to my floor, I hesitate before sliding the key into the lock. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I consider the best way to approach the situation. Peter’s ass has to go, there’s no doubt about it—I’m just not sure on what the best approach is. Do I put him down gently, or do I go in hard?
“Go hard,” I mutter under my breath, solving that riddle in half a second. The fact he’s my boyfriend should award him a few compassion points, but I really don’t care—he’s the one that screwed up. Besides, I’ve never really understood why I started to date him in the first place.
Maybe it was his easy smile, or his confident attitude.
Maybe I thought it was time for me to settle down.
Either way, Peter Rivera was a mistake from the start. I’m not in the habit of making mistakes, but I’m damn good at fixing them. It’s time I fix this one as well.
Not that any of this is personal…it’s just business, babe.
Peter Rivera, my soon-to-be-ex, is Maxxon Oil’s anointed heir. The only son of Anthony Rivera, the founder and owner of one of the biggest oil companies operating in the western hemisphere, Peter is bound to inherit the whole company and a cool two billion when his father finally passes. Thing is, Peter doesn’t like to wait. Even though he’s already on Maxxon Oil’s executive board, he’s an impatient one.
I just had no idea how impatient.
No more than a week ago, I was hired by one of Maxxon Oil’s rivals company to make a problem go away: someone was extorting their own executives, using all kinds of compromising material to have them give up on a bid for a drilling site. I did some digging, and it turned out my sweet corrupt boyfriend was the one behind it. He was planning to create a subsidiary for himself, one from which all profits would flow into his own pocket, and he was looking to secure the first drilling site by twisting arms and pressuring people.
That ends today.
In just a few minutes, I’m gonna lay him flat on his ass, and then I’m going to call my client and tell him that the problem’s solved. After that? Collect my check, and move on. In this line of business, feelings just get in the way.
“Peter,” I start as I open the door. “We need to—”
“YES, MISTRESS!” Peter groans, his voice almost a scream. “I’ve been very bad, and I deserve to be punished.”
With both hands on my hips, I narrow my eyes and take in the scene in front of me. Peter’s on all fours on the floor, wearing nothing but his boxers and socks, and there’s the heel of a leather boot sitting right between his shoulder blades. A boot belonging to a woman clad in tight leather, a punishing expression on her face and an even more punishing looking riding-whip on her right hand.
“Am I interrupting?” I ask as I slam the door shut. That’s enough to get Peter’s attention. He looks up at me, his eyes widening as he realizes I just caught him cheating on me with what looks like a BDSM biker from hell.
“Alexa?” The moment he says my name he falls back on his ass. “I thought you’d be working all day. You said that—”
“That I had an assignment, yes. Turns out, the assignment’s you.”
“What…is going on?” The woman standing in the middle of our living room asks, looking from Peter to me, the whip hanging limply from her hand. “You never told me anything about a third party, Mr. Rivera. That’ll cost you more.”
“Oh, you have no idea how much it’ll cost him,” I tell the woman, doing my best not to grin. I should be crushed right now—I just caught my boyfriend cheating on me with a BDSM escort, after all—but I feel elated instead. “You can leave now.”
The woman looks at me, trying to decode the whole situation, but then ends up shrugging. She grabs a long coat from the couch, throws it over her shoulders and ties it at the front, hiding all the leather from view. As she walks past me and toward the door, I reach for her shoulders and make her stop.
“I’ll take it from here,” I tell her, grabbing the whip from her hands.
“Well, I already got paid,” she shrugs, throwing me an apologetic look. With that, she finally turns around and leaves, the sound of the door closing making this whole situation feel even more surreal.
“So, what were you saying?” I ask Peter, walking toward him as I smack the tip of the whip against the palm of my left hand. “You’ve been bad and deserve to be punished…is that it?”
“Alexa,” he starts, using his feet to push himself back across the floor, only stopping when his back is against the couch. “I can explain. She’s just a friend, and—”
“Shut the fuck up, Peter,” I growl, taking one more step forward. Peter’s eyes fly straight to the whip in my hands, and fear starts pooling in his eyes. “I’ll be the one doing the explaining. To start with, the two of us…we’re done. It’s over.”
“What?” He stammers. “Please, Alexa, I know you’re mad about this, but—”
“I’m mad about this, don’t doubt it. But I’m not breaking up with you because of it.”
“No,” I grin. “I’m breaking up with you because I just found out you’re a criminal. You’ve been extorting and bribing your way into the oil business. Yeah, I know about your dealings. You’ve been trying to get the Angolan government to rig the bidding for one of their oil wells, and you’ve been blackmailing the best-positioned company, doing your damn best to have them drop out of the race.”
“How the hell do you know about that?”
“That’s my job,” I continue. “To know things.”
“That’s just business. And that’s how it has to be done! I’m just trying to—”
“Line your own pockets?” I finish his sentence for him. “Because that’s what it looks like. How much of an idiot can you be, Peter? You’re well positioned inside Maxxon Oil, and you’ll inherit the whole thing anyway. But you don’t like waiting, do you? You want all the money you can get, and you want it now.”
The moment he opens his mouth, I bring the tip of the whip down, using it to smack the floor between his legs, one single inch away from his balls.
“Did I give you permission to speak?”
He looks up at me, fear in his eyes, and says nothing.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Peter,” I continue, slowly moving the tip of the whip toward his balls. As I brush it over the fabric of his boxers, Peter starts growing pale, his whole body tensing up. “You’re going to stop extorting and blackmailing my client, and you’ll get your ass out of Angola right now. If you don’t, I won’t even bother with leaking this to the media…I’ll just tell your father.”
“My father?” If he was pale before, now he’s as white as the snow-capped Everest. He knows that if his father finds out he’s is doing business illegally, the first thing that’s going to happen is Peter is going to lose his position inside the company…as well as his whole inheritance.
“That’s right,” I nod, pressing down on his balls with the whip until the white in his face starts being taken over by a faint blue. Is he going to pass out? “And this is my final warning. Stop what you’re doing, or you’ll be living inside a cardboard box in just a few days. If not jail.”
“Y-yes,” he stammers once more, furiously nodding at me.
“Say ‘yes, mistress’,” I whisper, leaning forward and transferring some of my weight down the length of the whip. Did I say he was getting blue in the face? Let’s go with purple now.
“YES, MISTRESS!” He screams, closing his eyes in pain.
“Good boy,” I grin, finally easing the pressure. “This is the last time you’re going to see me, Peter. Don’t come looking for me, don’t call me, and don’t text me. And, oh, don’t send me any creepy Snapchats either. I know you think they’re funny but, newsflash, they’re not.”
“But I love you,” he whispers meekly, and that just irks me. I bring down the whip hard, using its small but vicious tip to slap his balls. He howls in pain, the expression on his face almost enough to make me feel sorry for him. Keyword being almost.
“And that’s the last time you’ll ever say that to me,” I snap back at him. “Try it one more time and you’ll lose your balls for good.”
With that, I throw the whip on top of the couch and leave the apartment, Peter’s cries of pain following me all the way to the elevator. I don’t care. From this moment on, Peter’s part of the past.
With a sigh, I grab my phone from inside my purse and press it against my ear. “It’s done,” I tell the voice on the other side of the line. “I’ll invoice you.”
Kicking ass and taking names—there’s no better way to spend the day. Especially when you’re the best at what you do and get paid handsomely for it.
There’s something bothering me, though.
Peter was cheating on me, and I didn’t see it coming. No, I’m not sad about the breakup or the cheating…it’s just that my intuition has never failed me before like this. Any other time and I would’ve seen it coming from miles away.
Am I losing my edge? Am I growing soft?
Did I miss the signs?
No, that’s impossible. I just need to prove myself that I haven’t lost it, that I’m at the top of my game.
It’s time I get myself a real challenge.
Chapter 2: Jake
“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Archer,” the usher nods, not even bothering to read my name off the guest list. Why would he? Everyone knows who I am, just as everyone knows I don’t need an invitation to go anywhere I fucking want.
“Oh, I will,” I whistle in reply, strolling inside the ballroom arm-in-arm with Susan. With an easy smile and a sweet voice, Susan is exactly my kind of girl. Her toned legs seem to go on forever, and her breasts…they fit just right in the palm of my hands. And the way she moans when she’s pinned against the wall, her legs laced tight around my waist…
Always eager to please and ready to get down to business, I couldn’t think of anyone else I rather have as my date tonight. Well, I could—In fact, I could think of at least twenty other women I wouldn’t mind having with me right now—but that’s beside the point. Tonight, I chose Susan, and that’s what fucking matters.
“Here you go,” I smile as I scoop two champagne flutes out of the tray of a passing waiter, handing Susan one of the glasses. We make an impromptu toast to a night that’ll start with champagne and end with messy sheets, and I drink my share in one single gulp. I’m not too big on champagne, truth be told. Too damn sweet for my taste, you know? I prefer something that puts up a fight.
Scanning the room, I can’t help but smirk as I watch all the smug assholes that decided to come here. If you want to see the New York elite in their natural habit, all you have to do is head toward the nearest charity gala. If there’s something rich people love to do more than buy houses in the Hamptons, is score points on the virtue scale. I mean, why else would they spend millions of their money on some cause they know absolutely nothing about?
Sure, most causes are noble ones, but can you really tell me with a straight face that these people care about saving the fucking Amazonian rainforest? I wouldn’t be surprised if some people donated money thinking that ‘RainForest’ is the name for a club where you can snort lines of coke as long as my dick is from a stripper’s tits. Which, going for how big my cock is, should be a truckload of coke.
“Are you going to make a donation?” Susan asks me, batting her eyelashes at me. “I think it’s great that people are finally doing something about the lack of access to clean water in Africa.”
“Wait,” I start, scratching my chin as I consider what she’s saying. “Lack of access to clean water? Isn’t this about the rainforest?”
“Fuck, I really thought I had it right this time,” I sigh. “Well, it’s close enough. Save the rainforest, and rain will come.”
“It doesn’t really work like that, Jake,” she laughs, holding my arm tight, her delicate fingers curled around my bicep. If there’s something Susan’s good at, it’s using her hands. I don’t know exactly how she does it, but I gotta say this…I never had someone grab my dick as delicately as she does it. There’s nothing better than looking down and seeing a woman on her knees, an expression of pure bliss on her face as she holds my dick as if it were the only true masterpiece of the 21st century.
“Hey,” I suddenly cry out, raising one finger in a calculated gesture to point toward the other side of the room. “Isn’t that Matt?”
Susan’s eyes follow my finger right until they meet the man busy shaking hands with the Mayor. There’s a courteous smile on his face, and his back is so straight you’d say he has a wooden plank hiding underneath his jacket…or a stick up his ass.
“Matt?” She repeats after me, all color draining from her face.
“Let’s go say hello.”
“No, I don’t think so,” she whispers, digging her heels into the floor. “That’s a bad idea. A really bad idea.”
“Oh, come on,” I laugh. “He’s a grown man. He can take it.” I don’t give her the time for a reply—I just start marching across the room, holding her hand and pulling her after me. She tries to resist at first but when Matt finally realizes who’s coming his way, she relents.
“What the hell’s this?” he hisses, moving away from the Mayor so that the man is out of earshot. “What are you doing here, Jake? You hate this kind of event. And, Susan…?” He trails off, his eyes on Susan as he waits for an explanation. Instead of an explanation, she gives him an embarrassed smile and a shrug before inevitably looking down at her feet.
“You’re not mad, are you?” I smirk, enjoying the annoyed expression on his face. “I heard you didn’t pay your assistant that well, so I decided she should have some fun with someone that isn’t as stingy as you are.”
Yeah, that’s the reason Susan’s my date today.
She’s Matt Carling’s administrative assistant, and since I heard he was going to be at the gala tonight…well, let’s just say I had some downtime, and what better way to relax than to piss off the biggest fucking asshole the world has ever known?
Yeah, we’re not exactly friends, Matt and I.
“That’s funny,” Matt snorts, using his thumb to point somewhere behind him. “Because I heard exactly the same thing about your assistant. You should give Rachel a raise, you know? Your assistant deserves it. She’s a hard worker, through and through. She likes to get down to it, and doesn’t mind to sweat.”
Gritting my teeth, I look at where Matt’s pointing, already knowing who I’m going to see there. I keep my poker face on as I see Rachel sitting at one of the tables, but I gotta be honest…I don’t like that one fucking bit. My assistant is a smart girl, so why the fuck did she have to go on a date with Matt fucking Carling? I can’t believe the fucking asshole brought her with him. Who the fuck does he think he is to be dating her? You don’t do that a man.
I’m aware of the irony, thank you.
But, as bad as it might sound, I can do it. I’m an asshole, and people know I’m an asshole. In fact, they love it. This kind of shit is expected of me. Just open a magazine, and you’ll see all kinds of articles with headlines like “what kind of fucked up shit is Jake Archer going to pull next?” And I like that, you know? It keeps the world on its fucking toes.
But Matt? He prides himself on being the nice-guy billionaire, the one throwing his money around to prop up eco-friendly startups and charitable causes.
What a fucking load of bullshit.
“Cat got your tongue, Jake?” He asks me, the smirk on his lips enough to make me want to headbutt him. Jesus fucking Christ, I really hate his fucking guts.
“Please, Matt,” I scoff. “My assistant’s net worth is probably bigger than yours. You haven’t brought her on a date…she brought you on a date.”
“Date?” He laughs derisively. “What are you talking about? Our date started hours ago, and it has already ended. I thought I told you she liked to get down to it. We’re just having some drinks after the fact. We needed to hydrate.”
Now, there are a couple things you need to know.
Rachel? She’s really just my assistant. I’ve never fucked her, and I don’t have feelings for her. Sure, she as hot as they come, but I’m already busy as it is. And, really, I don’t care who she decides to sleep with. It’s just that…
Did it really have to be Matt?
Matt fucking Carling?
Yeah, when it comes to him…I really fucking hate to share.