Page 4 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
If my hands weren’t full, I’d give them the finger; instead I smile sweetly. Sometimes that’s more effective anywhere. Kill them with kindness. That’s what Maria always used to say.
I make it to the other side of the street with a sigh of relief and scurry into the glamorous glass concoction of an office block. I still can’t believe I actually work here. For Kim Davis, assistant toThe Pack,the hottest band on the planet. I have to pinch myself frequently, my arm a rainbow of fading bruises.
I lean into the revolving door and curse as droplets of coffee ooze out of the slit in the top of the cup and onto my white shirt.
Damn. I’m running out of outfits. I’d planned to use my first paycheck to purchase some suitable work attire. Something that would make me look professional and, okay, perhaps a little glamorous. But then that first check landed in my bank account and it seemed wasteful to spend it on clothes, especially when my boss doesn’t seem to notice the frayed hem of my leggings or the scuffed toes of my borrowed heels. Besides, she lives in ripped jeans and various shades of gray t-shirts. They may cost a fortune – certainly more than my budget outfits from Target – but you wouldn’t know it.
The receptionist, Frankie, is absorbed in his phone, but I throw him a cheerful “Morning” anyway.
His eyes spring up. “They’re already in there waiting for you.”
“They?” I ask. Crap! I thought this was a me and Kim meeting – our usual morning rendezvous where she downloads my tasks for the day. I only bought one other coffee.
“Kim and Hunter,” Frankie explains.
I stare down at my coffee longingly. I’ll have to give it away. He’s my boss’s boss after all. Not to mention a rock god.
Using my elbow, I punch the button for the elevator, wondering what this meeting can be about. I’ve been in meetings with the band’s lead singer, Ash, but mostly at his palace of a house. I’ve also met the second guitarist, West, a handful of times. I’ve bumped into the bassist, Hunter, twice. Once when I accompanied Kim and the band to a photo shoot, and the second time when they performed on theVery Late Show.
The elevator shoots me up to the tenth floor and I step out into an office decorated with awards, mounted albums, and photos of the band. Kim and Hunter wait for me on a pair of cushioned chairs positioned around a coffee table. Kim’s laptop lies open on top and beyond them both a huge window frames downtown LA.
“Hi,” I beam, handing one deathly black shot of espresso to Kim and my frappuccino to Hunter. “Sorry, I’m late. The line at the shop this morning was …” I roll my eyes.
“No problem,” Kim says, knocking back her coffee shot.
Hunter removes the lid from his cup and inspects the thick foam that lies beneath with suspicion. He brings it to his nose and sniffs, then places it on the table. I stare at it, my mouth watering.
The man looks uncomfortable, his huge frame folded up in the tiny chair and his dirty blonde hair flopping into his piercingly blue eyes. Not that the chair is actually tiny, he’s just so gigantic he makes everything seem small in comparison. Including me. I feel like a miniature doll in his presence. He must be twice my size and I’m sure he could lift me up and throw me across the room like a discus if he wanted.
It’s the one thing I hadn’t counted on when I accepted this job with glee, completely awestruck that Kim would choose me to work for her. The alphas. With Ash and West, it’s not so bad. They’re both mated and their scents muted and not bothersome. Hunter’s on the other hand … It pounds right across the space and knocks me on the nose. He smells of pine and wide open spaces and things I’d like to lick.
I shuffle on my seat, scooping up my purse and claiming my notebook and pen from the jumble of mess inside.
I grew up in a household of omegas (my dad dying when I was a kid). Being around alphas is still strange and unfamiliar. I’ve not met that many in real life before and their looming, overbearing presence, the way they smell, the way they look, the way my body responds with warm tiny shivers of desire, surprises me.
Hopefully, the alpha staring resolutely at his feet has no idea of his effect on me. That would be utterly embarrassing. He’s my boss’s boss.
I click down the nub of my pen with my thumb.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask, thinking it best to ignore the giant elephant in the room that isThe Pack’sbassist, seeing as neither he nor Kim have explained his presence here this morning.
Kim drums her fingers on her thighs. “On today’s agenda: finding Hunter a girlfriend.”
I stare across at Hunter.
“Erm, doesn’t he already have one?” That’s what every news outlet and gossip site has been broadcasting for the last 24 hours. I’m also the new moderator on the official fansite forThe Packand there’s been a nonstop flood of posts about the possible identity of the mystery new girlfriend.
“Nope on a rope. He made that shit up,” Kim says, tapping at her phone screen aggressively.
I’m sensing some tension in the room. If Kim were an alpha, I’m pretty sure she’d be telegraphing how pissed off she is with her scent. Hunter’s doing a pretty good job of it with his.
I roll my neck. His contained aggression has my body wanting to do funny things – bend down and kiss his feet and climb his huge muscular body like a tree. Both at once.
I peer up at Hunter with a sympathetic smile and a shrug. “Press interviews can be a ballache.” Not that I’d know. I’ve only had job interviews – a lot of job interviews – and I don’t own a pair of balls.
The man scowls back at me with those eyes. Those eyes are legendary. There’re whole pages dedicated to how darn mesmerizing they are on the fan website. Like the color of an early morning sky. Or ice in the sunlight.
He doesn’t speak. He’s known for being the quiet, growly one of the band.
