After a bad decision lands me a role on a reality show, I expect it to
be my big break as a TV star. Despite getting kicked off the first night, I
land on my feet again when a talent agent who saw the show offers me an
audition as back-up dancer for a popular rock band.
Knowing this could be my stepping stone is exciting, but the real thrill is
watching Brody bang on his drums every night. It’s a bad idea for a dancer to
hook up with a band member, but after he kisses me, I can’t stay away.
Facing the consequences was inevitable, and it only takes one scandalous
mistake from my past to cause our complete destruction.
Bad decision or not, I always manage to come out on top… until I don’t.
Excerpt
© 2019 Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 1
ZOEY
I wring my
hands nervously in front of me, and then I force myself to stop. I wipe them
down the front of my dress that’s purposely a little too short as I try in vain
to eliminate the clamminess.
You can
do this. You got this. Just go do it.
Be
daring.
Be
expressive.
Be bold.
I take a
deep breath as I stare at the nameplate on the heavy wooden door. Derek
Jensen.
He’s a
Hollywood heavyweight, the casting director for an entire network, and I’m here
for my interview spot for the reality dating show Single Life.
Twenty women vie for the attention of one hot single guy, and I want to be one
of the twenty.
If nothing
else, it’ll get me a step closer to my real goal: a career on the silver
screen. Plenty of successful actors got their start on a reality show. Jennifer
Hudson, Emma Stone, Katharine McPhee...shit, even Jon Hamm failed on a dating
show.
If they
could do it, so can I.
I lift a
shaking hand and knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The voice on the other side is deep and muffled by the weight of the door.
I turn the
handle and let myself in. I spot an open chair in front of the executive desk,
and I force one foot in front of the other to get to it. I pause in my pursuit
and glance at the man behind the desk, and I find myself frozen for one hot
beat.
He’s a
goddamn Greek god sitting there in a suit.
My first
thought is that maybe it won’t be so bad to do whatever it takes to get what I
want.
I wonder
what he’s packing beneath his professional clothes. A six-pack of abs for sure.
More than likely something long and thick beneath his belt. A broad chest that
could hold me in the afterglow.
The door
swings shut behind me as I study him. His lustrous and shiny dark hair is
styled in a textured, slicked to the side way, and his dark eyes hold an edge
of mystery as they pin me to my spot. I wonder for just a beat how old he is.
Definitely older than forty...maybe older than fifty? It’s hard to tell, but
age is just an unimportant number. It wouldn’t be so bad to do something
illicit bent over his desk to get my spot on the show.
That’s how
Hollywood works, isn’t it?
I tip my
chin up with confidence. I refuse to be intimidated by a man even if he’s a
stunningly handsome one like this guy. “I’m Zoey Fuller.”
He pushes
to his feet and reaches his hand across his desk to shake mine. I place my
clammy one in his and find his to be cool. Collected. Much like him.
“Derek
Jensen. Have a seat.”
I follow
his orders, and one side of his mouth tips up in a smile.
He leans
back comfortably in his chair while I sit forward with unease.
“Why do you
want to appear on Single Life?” he asks.
I draw in a
deep breath. “I’ve been looking for love my entire life, Mr. Jensen, and I
haven’t found it yet. Maybe I’m just looking in the wrong places.”
“And this
has nothing to do with the doors appearing on a television show might open for
you? You’re a gorgeous young woman, after all.” He glances at the paper in
front of him. “A background in dance,” he says, and then he pauses as his eyes
fall to my chest, my legs, and back up again, searing each part of my body as
they trail along. “Lovely blonde hair, a pretty face that would work well on the
screen. Big, blue eyes that scream innocence but a dancer’s body that says
otherwise. How many Instagram followers do you have? I can’t tell you how many
ladies who think they’re Instagram famous come through my door.”
A
dancer’s body that says otherwise. His words echo in my head as I basically ignore
the other things he said.
Is he
coming onto me, or is this just how these interviews work?
I’m not
sure, but he did ask me a question. “This has nothing to do with doors opening,
sir. I have connections of my own that I could use if that was my end goal.”
It’s a lie, but I’ve practiced it so many times it feels like the truth. The
lie is that this has nothing to do with doors opening. I want to go on
television because I want to be discovered. And while my brother certainly has
connections, I want to do this for myself.
He raises a
brow and glances down at some papers on his desk. “I see that here.” He nods.
“Ethan Fuller, the drummer of Vail, is your brother?”
I was
hoping to get through this interview without that coming up. I nod and lean
forward a bit. I know exactly what I’m doing, and I watch as his eyes flick
down to the cleavage spilling out the top of my dress before they trail back to
mine.
“Hmm...” he
muses. “How long have you been dancing?”
“My whole
life. I started ballet before pre-school.” I don’t mention that it was also
before my father was hauled off to prison. I leave out the fact that I missed a
lot of lessons growing up because my mother was too busy with her man of the
week to drive me to them. My aunt often helped out, and even today she’s the
mother I never had to my half-sisters. I was always quick to pick up what I
missed, though. But dance isn’t what I want out of life, either. “I danced all
through high school, too. I taught a few private lessons during college to earn
extra cash.”
His eyes
fall to my body again, and I feel their blazing heat everywhere they land.
“Interesting indeed.”
I take that
as my cue. I’ve never been to one of these casting interviews before, but I’m
sharp enough to understand why his door has no window on it. I stand and press
my palms on his desk as I lean forward, allowing more cleavage to spill out. “I
don’t want to talk about my brother, Mr. Jensen.”
He raises a
brow at me. “What, exactly, do you want to talk about, Ms. Fuller?”
I look him
square in the eye and use my most sensual voice to answer. “I’ll do anything to
get on the show, sir.”
“Are you
offering what I think you’re offering?” His hands rest comfortably on the desk
in front of him, and I spot an empty third finger on his left hand. My eyes
fall to his lips. They’re not too full, not too thin. They’re firm, and they
make me think he must be a really good kisser. I want to find out.
“I’m
offering whatever it takes to get on the show.”
His eyes dip
to my cleavage again, and I can’t help but think how easy men
are to read. “I know what I want,” he says. He flicks his head to indicate I
should come behind his desk.
I step over
to him, and he swivels in his chair to face me. He stands and kicks the chair
out behind him with practiced ease. Clearly this isn’t the first time he’s
allowed someone auditioning into the space behind his desk.
I gaze up
from lowered lashes into those dark, mysterious eyes. I think for the briefest
second that I’d like something more than a quick romp over a desk with this
man. He’s powerful. He’s handsome. He’s smart. He must be loaded.
That’s all
I’m looking for.
What I’m
not looking for, however, is someone who would allow a girl like me to seduce
him just for a spot on a television show.
So I’ll do
what needs to be done, and then I’ll forget all about this Derek Jensen guy.
He sweeps
my hair to the side before he runs a long fingertip along the curve of my neck.
I whimper and allow myself to get lost in what’s about to go down in this
office. People on the other side are doing their jobs, earning a paycheck as
they hustle and bustle around, with no idea of what’s about to happen in here.
Or maybe
they do know. Maybe this is something Derek does all the time.
But I’m in
here now, and he’s never done this with me before.
Not that
I’ll be the one to change him, to get him to stop his wild ways and commit to
me. Not that I even want that. But for a split second, I get
lost in the fantasy anyway.
He turns me
quickly around so his front is to my back, and his lips replace his finger on
my neck. I groan with lust at the feel of those lips on my body, and then he
bends me over his desk so fast I don’t even see it coming. I grunt as the edge
of the desk knocks the wind out of me a little, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t
slow down. He runs those same fingertips along my spine, and then he reaches
beneath my dress, not wasting a single moment. He probably doesn’t have time to
waste. Our interview was scheduled for fifteen minutes, and we already wasted
the first five talking.
He pulls my
panties to the side, not bothering with things like removing our clothes, and
sinks a long finger into me. My eyes roll back and my abdomen presses harder
into the desk as I fight the urge to come all over his hand. There’s something
so illicit, so hot, so wrong about what we’re doing right now.
I love it. I want it. I crave it.
“Shit,
that’s wet,” he murmurs with appreciation.
I hear the
zip of his pants followed by the tear of a wrapper, and seconds later he
plunges into me. He’s thick, so he slides in slowly to allow my body to adapt
to his size. He pulls nearly all the way out before he thrusts back in, and
once he’s coated with my wetness, he drives in harder and harder. Each thrust
forces a grunt out of me, and each time he rears back and pushes forward again,
I find myself closer and closer to ecstasy.
It’s only a
few more thrusts before I lose control. I spiral down into the blackness of
bliss, the pleasure spotting my vision as my hands clamp down on the edge of
the desk to brace myself against the onslaught of an orgasm. My body pulses and
I cry out with it, the soundtrack in this office our voices mingling in an
orchestra of satisfaction. He grunts out his release after my body relaxes into
his desk, and he pulls out nearly immediately after he finishes. He disappears
into a private restroom connected to his office, and I smooth my dress back
into place. I’m sitting back in the chair facing his desk when he returns.
He clears
his throat. “My secretary will be in touch with whether you’ve earned your spot
on the show early next week.” His face gives nothing away, yet I can’t believe
what we just did didn’t earn me a spot.
I grin.
“Thank you, Mr. Jensen.”
He doesn’t
smile back like I expect him to—like most men would after what we just did.
“You can see yourself out, Ms. Fuller.”
I nod and
stand. I’m sort of at a loss for words. It’s not like I expect that we’ll do
this again, but I did kind of expect to know by the time I left today whether
I’d be one of the twenty women appearing on Single Life.
I don’t say
anything, though. I allow his words to be the last ones spoken in the office as
I walk out the door with my head held high.
I did what
I had to do, and it’s not like I didn’t enjoy doing it.
I completely
ignore the dirty feeling that washes over me as I walk out of the building and
toward my rental car.
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