SOLO
Authors: Deborah Bladon
SOLO
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
Deborah Bladon
First Original Edition, October 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Bladon
ISBN: 9781926440071
Cover Design by Wolf & Eagle Media
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations either are the product of the author's imagination or are used factiously.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
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Libby
"Have you fucked anyone in the chorus?"
This is when I wish like hell I'd brought my ear buds with me. Listening to this guy try to pick up Claudia isn't my idea of the way to spend an elevator ride early on a Monday morning. You'd think that landing a part in a Broadway play would mean work, work, and more work. It wouldn't mean the incessant sexual undertones that drive through every rehearsal and meeting day-after-day.
"No," she replies calmly.
"I wasn't talking to you," he snaps. "You. I'm talking to you."
Considering there are only three of us riding this slow ass elevator to the fourteenth floor I guess I need to address this. "Me?" I turn to face him and I feel an instant need to find my balance. I rest my hand against the chrome bar that stretches along the walls of the lift. He's hot. Like smoking hot as hell hot. Why didn't I notice him when I got on?
"What's your name?"
"Libby." This is one of those moments when I wish my parents would have given more thought to what I'd feel like being a twenty-two-year-old woman carrying around the name of a four-year-old. Libby? I've hated the name since I was in grade school. It screams sweetness and light.
"Libby?" he repeats it back. "I like it."
"What's your name?" I try to sound somewhat invested in this. I know his type. I've met dozens of guys just like this since I've moved to Manhattan. He's looking for a quick fuck. He's wearing an incredibly expensive three-piece suit and cuff links that cost more than my first, and only, car. I wouldn't be surprised if most women fall to their knees in his presence and give him and his dick exactly what they want. It can't hurt that he's got the most intense green eyes I've ever seen and jet black hair that is tousled enough to make him look that much more irresistible.
"You didn't answer my question." He takes a heavy step towards me as more people enter the elevator on the third floor.
I push back into the chrome bar, the coolness of it seeping through my thin t-shirt. I almost wish I would have worn something nicer to the rehearsal hall. Who knew I'd end up face-to-face with this? "What question?"
"Have you fucked anyone in the chorus, Libby?" His voice is deep and intimate. It's too intimate for such a small, crowded place.
"That's none of your business." I inhale the scent of his cologne. It's luxurious, subtle and intoxicating.
His hand darts to my waist as more people join the most interesting elevator ride I've ever encountered. "It's more my business than you know."
I roll my hips away from him. I can't want this man. I can't let any man tear my attention away from my work. "I doubt that," I whisper. "I really doubt that."
"Don't doubt me, Libby." He pushes his body closer to mine, the unmistakable firm outline of his cock pressing against my stomach.
I breathe a heavy sigh of relief as the elevator finally chimes its arrival on the fourteenth floor. "This is my stop." I try to push past him, but his hand holds firm to my waist.
"It's mine too." His right hand jumps to the wall behind me, trapping me in place. "Allow me to formally introduce myself before you run off."
My eyes dart over his shoulder to where Claudia is throwing me a confused look as she exits the lift. "I need to go," I say. "I can't be late."
"Don't worry about being late. I'm Alec Hughes."
"You're Alec Hughes?" I feel my breath catch. "You're the investor. You own my play."
"Correction, Libby." He leans in closer until his lips are almost touching mine. "I own the play. You work for me."
I feel all the blood drain from my face. I may actually faint. I've listened to one actress after another talk about Alec Hughes since I landed a spot in the chorus of Selfish Fate. This is supposed to be the next big musical to hit the Great White Way. It's also the proof that I've needed to show my parents that my decision to move to Manhattan to pursue a career in theatre has some merit. I can’t blame them for doubting me. I'd invested years in getting a business degree in Denver and leaving right after graduation to come here did little to impress them. I'm now standing almost lip-to-lip with the one man who holds all the control for my future in his big, strong hands. They are the very same hands that are still trapping me in place.
"It's nice to meet you." My voice is rigid and alert. I know who he is now. We both know that I'm completely mindful of the fact that he's here for one reason, and one reason, only. This morning cuts will happen. People will be dropped before we move into previews. He's here to lower the gauntlet and from the energy pouring out of his body, he won't even bat a gorgeous, long eyelash when he whips people's dreams from under them.
His eyes charge over me before his hand snakes its way to my arm. "This way, Libby."
I follow his lead because there's no other choice. "Okay," I mutter under my breath. I can't walk into the rehearsal hall with him. I don't want that stigma attached to my face. I can't be that one woman he picks from the chorus line to fuck this season. I've heard the rumors. The innuendo isn't muted at all. Alec Hughes loves his women innocent, naïve and willing. He always leaves them in a pile of emotional dust after he's used them. My career is way too important to me. I'm not going to become the next name in his personal playbill.
"Mr. Hughes." The high pitched voice of the director, Sharma Newsome, pulls at my left.
"Sharma," he says sharply. "I'm busy."
"I need to use the …" my voice disappears into the air in the small hallway. I'm inches away from the ladies' restroom. It's the retreat I need. I'm going to bolt in there and with any luck at all, by the time I walk into the rehearsal hall, he'll have his sights set on someone else.
"I compiled a list of the candidates I like." Sharma pushes a piece of paper at Alec.
"Fine." He extends a hand to scoop it from her, pulling it into his fist without even the slightest glance.
I use the opportunity to make a dash to the restroom. I push on the wooden door, the creaky hinges alerting anyone else who may be in the dimly lit space. Being in the heart of mid-town, the building is showing its age, but it's a big, welcoming and enveloping space. It's the perfect retreat for everyone involved in the production of Selfish Fate. It's the space where my dreams are slowly coming true.
"You okay, Lib?" Claudia flips the words over her shoulder as she stares at me from one of the rectangular, chipped mirrors lining the wall just above a row of white, industrial looking sinks. "He looked like he was ready to fuck you right there between the ninth and tenth floors."
I blush at the image behind the words. If it was anyone else, I'd tell them to quiet down, but Claudia has been one of my best friends since I set foot in New York. She's brash, direct and has no filter. "That's Alec Hughes."
"You're obviously his pet project for the season." The words don't contain any emotion. There's no jealousy woven into them. Distaste isn't there either.
I pull a tube of clear lip gloss over my bottom lip. "I don't want to be."
She cocks a perfectly sculpted brunette brow in the mirror. "Why not? He's amazing. Did you see the way he looked at you? What was that?"
I had been pulled into him the moment he looked at me. He's the definition of everything any woman could ever want in a man visually. "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie. I have to lie. I don't want her to know that feeling Alec Hughes press himself against me has cleared my mind of just about everything, including my own name.
"You're a good actress, Lib. You're just not that good." The emphasis on
that
rips through me. "He was practically inside of you."
I laugh, not so much at the notion, but to bring some sense of lightness to the conversation. "I'm a great actress," I push back. I am. I'm not being egotistical. I don't throw the words out callously. I'm confident in my craft. That's why I'm here in the first place. I gave up everything to come here to pursue this dream. I know I have what it takes.
"You actually are." She reaches to push a wayward strand of my blonde hair towards the high ponytail I hurriedly crafted as I was racing towards the subway just a short thirty minutes ago. "Fix your hair."
I nod as I stare at myself in the mirror. I opted for no make-up again today. My brown eyes pop under my thick lashes enough that mascara is just a wasted expense. On a good day, or a date night, I'll opt for eyeliner and a tinted lip liner. Today I'm bare, exposed and hopeful that this won't be my last day preparing for my Broadway debut. "This is it." I turn to look directly at Claudia. "Good luck."
"I'm Irish, luck is part of me." She taps herself on the chest. "You don't need luck, either. You've got Alec Hughes waiting outside that door for you."
"I doubt it," I chuckle. I do doubt it. By now, Alec Hughes will be in the rehearsal hall with another chorus girl pinned to the wall.
Alec
What the fuck was that? I promised myself I wasn't going to fuck an actress in Selfish Fate. I'm here to cut the fat out of this production, not to seduce anyone. I'd blown my load down the throat of a waitress I met in Chelsea last night. She was eyeing me up over dinner so I gave her my number and picked her up when her shift ended. She had my dick out and in her mouth within minutes. That should have been enough to tide me over until I could find someone to fuck later this week. That pretty little blonde in the elevator changed everything. How the hell am I supposed to go into the rehearsal hall and sit down with my cock aching to be inside of that?