SOLO (2 page)

I can't keep doing this.

I can't stop doing this.

Just when I think I've got my cock under control I step into an elevator and see an ass like that. It's round, so plump and so tight. Those snug yoga pants she's wearing are doing nothing to hide that ripe, beautiful body she's trying not to display.

She dashed into the ladies' room when the director cornered me about the cast cuts today. I almost barreled right in after her. I can picture it now. I'd have her pressed against the wall, her ass right there as I rammed my dick into her from behind. I need to taste that. I have to have that. I don't give a fuck about being professional. I own this musical. She's part of it. I want her.

"Mr. Hughes?"

I turn to face the director again. I barely know the woman. All I know is that she's eager, hungry and she's going to get this musical into a theatre so I can finally recoup on at least one of my Broadway investments. This is the third production I've invested in and I've yet to see even a dollar back. I can't keep throwing money into this but I made a promise years ago. Sooner or later I'm going to have to fuck the sentimental shit and call it a day.

"What is it?" I blurt out at her.

She's taken back. I can see by the frown lines that instantly overtake her forehead. I don't care. I'm paying her a small fortune to get this production to where it needs to be. Her incessant calls over the last few days imploring me to come down here have worn on my last nerve. I don't have time for this shit.

"We need to make some decisions," she whines. "I need your input about the cast."

My eyes jut to the restroom. The pretty blonde is still hiding behind the door. I came on too strong. She looked like a little doe that was stuck on the railroad tracks when a train was speeding out of control. She's not used to men like me. I can tell she's never had a man like me before. That just makes her that much sweeter.

"I don't give a fuck what you do with the cast." I glance at my phone. I've got a full day of meetings. Running Hughes Enterprises is taxing. It sucks all of my time. The last thing I need is to be standing in this hallway talking about singers and dancers. I write the checks, I don’t need to make every fucking decision. That's what the producer is for. Where the hell is he? Randall Myers should be here taking care of this himself.

"Excuse me?" Her tone is biting. I've offended her, obviously. Christ, the woman should be used to this by now. She's taken on an almost impossible job. We're trying to craft an entire Broadway production out of a book and musical score by two kids barely out of high school. The writers are literal unknowns. I've got nothing to back up their talent. It's like I'm climbing fucking Mount Everest with a bunch of children hanging from my back.

"You heard me." I stare at her. "I don't have the time to be called down here for meaningless shit like this."

"It's your play." She motions towards the doors that lead into the rehearsal space. "You should be interested in what's going on."

I open the door, allowing her to walk through first. "You should be handling all of this on your own." I survey the room, taking in the sight of all the dancers and singers who are betting their future on this production. Randall is nowhere to be found. This is the last production I invest in that has his name attached to it.

"You hired me and this is the way I do things." She takes a seat at a long, wooden table near the front of the space. "Take it or leave it, Mr. Hughes."

I scan the young women in the room as I lower myself into the chair next to her. Each of them catches my eye as I stop to take them in. There's no denying that every single one of them is worth a fuck. They've all heard about me. I can see it in their expressions. I don't want any of them though. I want Libby.

She's the one.

I'll have her in my bed by the end of the week.

Libby

"I want Libby."

They're just three words. They're small in relative comparison to other words but right now, they feel monumental. Every single person in the rehearsal hall has turned to look at me. I'm leaning against a windowsill, one hand fisted against my thigh. The other hand pressing against my stomach, trying with determined pressure to discourage my breakfast from making a return appearance. I feel ill. I'm so nauseous that I'm scared that I may actually fall forward, face first, onto the polished hardwood floors.

"You want Libby?" Sharma repeats back Alec's words, in a slightly louder tone than he used.

My eyes dart to Sharma. You'd think I'd crave the spotlight given my incessant need to perform every chance I can get, but right now, I just want everyone's gaze to fall to someone else. Why is this happening? I look like shit today. Why the hell is he doing this? I don't want to be that girl.

"Libby stays." He doesn't add anything to the two words. The twisted look of confusion on Sharma's face mirrors my own.

She shakes her head slightly as if to try to gauge some perspective. "You're saying you want Libby to stay in the chorus?"

Can they just shut the hell up about me already? I stand in the back with eleven other faceless dancers. Once this musical actually hits the big stage, I highly doubt that anyone without binoculars will be able to pick me out. This is the first step to what I hope will be a celebrated Broadway career. Right now I feel as though I'm teetering precariously on the edge of everything crashing down around me.

He nods slightly as his eyes skim the now smoothed piece of paper she handed to him in the hallway less than ten minutes ago. "Libby Duncan," he says my name slowly. "Libby Duncan stays."

"Fine." Her response is curt and exaggerated. I'm thankful she's tiring of his singular focus as much as I am. "What about the others?"

He takes one last lingering glance at the paper before handing it back to her. "Your choices are adequate. Fire everyone else."

There's a collective gasp in the room at his words. It's surprising to me, given the fact that we all are aware that some of us won’t be here tomorrow. It's business. It's cutthroat and unless you have what it takes, you're going to be shown the door without any pomp and circumstance.

"I'll handle it." Sharma nods nervously as if she's convincing herself that she can take on the tortured task of crushing the dreams of almost half of the people in this room.

"Libby, a moment?" Alec pulls himself to his feet, his long, elegant fingers buttoning his suit jacket. "In the hallway."

I take a step forward hoping that my knees don't buckle. "Of course," I mutter under my breath knowing that every other woman in the room is now viewing me as the one that Alec Hughes has chosen to be his fuck buddy for the season. It may be what he wants but in my mind it's a role that I have no intention of playing.

***

I rehearse over and over again in my head what I'm going to say the moment he's done talking on the phone. I've been standing next to him now for five minutes. I'm fidgeting back and forth from foot-to-foot while I watch other dancers and singers exit the rehearsal hall as they make a mad dash towards the elevator. Some are holding in sobs, others are seething with anger and some just don’t seem to give a damn.

"Libby?" Alec's hand is on my waist. "We need to discuss something."

"I'm not interested," I say evenly. "I'm flattered but I'm not interested."

A flash of a smile passes over his full lips. "What is it that you're not interested in?"

I run my index finger over the length of my nose. It's a nervous gesture that I've done since I can remember. "I'm not interested in being that girl."

"That girl?" He leans back against the wall, tucking his hands in the pockets of his pants. "What girl is that?"

I bite on the edge of my fingernail as I hunt for the right words. "The girl you choose."

"I choose a girl?" The suggestion of amusement in his luxurious deep tone isn't lost on me. "Tell me what I choose her for."

I'm blushing. I know that I am. It's not because I'm a virgin or my sexual experiences have been lacking. I'm blushing because he's asking me to repeat back all the sordid rumors I've heard about him. "You know what you choose her for." My intention isn't for my eyebrows to bounce around the way they are. I'm beginning to think I'm going to quash any interest he may have had in me just by the way I'm acting during this awkward conversation.

"You've heard things about me." The words leave his lips with a trail of assumption behind them. "I'd like to hear about that."

"There's nothing to tell," I lie. There's a hell of a lot to tell. I'm not one to spread gossip but when I'm sitting in a diner after rehearsals listening to other dancers talk about how he uses women, I'm not going to turn my head and ignore that.

"I'll fill in the blanks." He leans forward a touch. "You've heard that I select a young lady to be my companion for the season."

I nod. That's an elegant way to say he picks a fuck partner from the roster. "I've heard that."

"You think you're my pick for this season?" He cocks a brow.

My stomach instantly flip-flops within me. My heart starts pounding. "Yes," I whisper back.

"You're definitely intriguing." His finger jumps to my chin. "Before I make a final decision I need to know if you've slept with any of the men in the production."

I take a step back. The urgency to distance myself from him is overwhelming me. He's so comfortable asking me something incredibly intimate. "The answer is no even though it's none of your business. As I already said, I don't want to be that girl."

"You don't think you want to be that girl," he arrogantly corrects me.

"I don't want to be that girl." I find the words again and somehow they fall from my parched lips.

He adjusts the knot of his gray patterned tie as his eyes scan my face. "Don't be too quick to make a decision, Libby."

I stare past him to the weathered green and white wallpaper that covers the wall behind him. "I've already made up my mind." I can keep up the calm and collected demeanor for at least a few more minutes.

"Don't you think you should at least hear what I'm proposing?" he asks in an even, strong tone. "I think before you make a final decision you should know exactly what I'm offering."

There's no mistaking he's arrogant. It's not surprising to me. Manhattan is bursting at the seams with men who believe that they can offer women like me a ticket to something grand and life changing. I'm guessing in this case it's a thick, wide cock and some expensive dinners, likely in that order.

"No," I counter. "I'm not interested."

His lips purse as he takes in my answer. "Why not?"

I have to close my eyes to steel off the grin I feel coursing through me. It's obvious Alec Hughes isn't accustomed to being turned down. "You're not my type."

Libby, you are a liar.

"I'm not your type?" The surprise in his voice mirrors the expression on his face. "What's your type?"

I tap my index finger on my chin. "My type lives in the same building as me." It's not a complete lie. I've been flirting with Brandon, the man who lives down the hall from me, for weeks now. If I'm going to jump into bed with anyone in the near future, Brandon would be my first choice.

"You have a boyfriend?"

I smile at the inference. "He's not my boyfriend." He's not my anything actually. I don't even know his last name. All I do know is that he's likely never cornered a complete stranger to proposition her for sex in exchange for whatever Alec Hughes gives the women he sleeps with.

"I'm not following." His brow furrows. "If you don't have a boyfriend, why don't you take me up on my offer?"

"Mr. Hughes," I begin. I'm not typically someone who is stuck on formalities but I don't want there to be even an ounce of doubt about the nature of our relationship. I'm an employee of his. I don't want to become anything more than that.

"Alec," he corrects me. "Libby, call me Alec."

I nod. "Alec," I hesitate searching for the right words. Offending him isn't going to help my career in any positive way. He has way too much influence in this city for me to tell him to flippantly fuck the hell off. "I'm very flattered by your interest but I came to Manhattan with one goal in mind and I can't lose focus."

He adjusts his dark grey suit jacket, smoothing it against him. "I appreciate your dedication to your craft, Libby."

"Thank you," I interject. I know that he was going to add more. I know that he was going to say something alluring about the prospect of me being beneath his rock hard, gorgeous tall body. Maybe it's just my wishful thinking telling me that.

"Libby," he growls my name into the space between us as he steps forward. "I'd like to discuss this more but I have a meeting."

I open my mouth to tell him that the discussion is over but he's already stepping towards the elevator.

"I'll send a car for you after rehearsal." He juts into the open door of the lift and pulls his smart phone to his ear before I have a chance to say even one single word.