The Merciless Alpha(erotica)

I’d barely looked away when the door opened, and Lauren walked back in. She greeted a few people, but she wanted to talk to me.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk to her right now. “Keep me calm and get me out of here if it looks like I’m going to cut a bitch,” I said to my Pack members.

“Who?”

“Lauren, she’s almost here.” I felt her approaching and turned when she said my name. “Yes?”

“Can we talk in private for a moment,” she asked.

“Let’s get a drink,” I said. We walked over to the bar where I ordered a virgin screwdriver, and then we retired to the side of the room. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us, so I wanted to make sure what James told me was true,” she said.

“What did he say?”

“That you broke up with him a few weeks ago, telling him you didn’t love him, and there was no future for the two of you.” I did say that. “He said you could be friends with benefits at most. You brought him to the fight because you needed a date for the cameras, and I saw how you ignored him at the party.”

You put it that way, and I sound like the bitch. “He told you the truth,” I said with a sigh. “I like James, but it isn’t the kind of like that would lead to anything. We’ve fooled around a few times, but he wasn’t getting my virginity, and he’s not my boyfriend.”

She seemed relieved. “I like James a lot, and he wants to spend time tonight with me.”

“I figured that when you were in his lap,” I said with a bit of an edge. “Look, I don’t own him. I used him for the cameras, and I planned to use him to scratch my itch later. That’s all. I told him when we broke up that I hoped he found someone who could give him family.” I looked back towards the door. “Where did he take off to?”Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

“To grab his stuff out of your room. It’s not fair to you for him to stay there now. He’ll leave his key card on the dresser.”

And that was how it would end. “Can you give James a message for me?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Tell him that a real man would have talked to me before he started messing around with another woman behind my back.” Her eyes got wide. “I hope he treats you better, Lauren. See you next week in class?”

“Sure.” She turned and walked off, leaving the party to have fun with my date.

I turned around, disappointed to see that the cameras had caught the interaction. Luna only knows what else they got on tape. I told Susan and our security team of my worry over the link; I’d handled it with class, so they told me to do nothing. I socialized and posed for photos for another hour before we retired back to our rooms.

James had texted Hammer and I that he was going to drive back to San Diego with Lauren, and offered to reimburse me for the flight. Our concierge told us the breakfast buffet at the Bellagio should not be missed.

So we didn’t.

We rolled through that thing like Patton through Sicily, laying waste any hope for profits that day. Hammer and Susan decided to extend their vacation, so hotel security arranged a limo for us to head to the airport for our flight to Tampa Bay. I flipped through my phone as we drove, wondering why I had all the sympathetic text messages about how sorry or angry people were.

That’s when I checked the gossip websites. “Shark Babe Ditched In Vegas,” ran the headline. “MMA Fighter K. O.’s Vicki’s Love Life.”

I read the article, which made things far more salacious than they were, then called Mercedes for advice. “Did I screw this up,” I asked.

She laughed. “Vicki, this story is better than if you’d had a perfect date and gotten engaged,” she said. “You two are the top of pages all over the internet. You look fabulous in your dress, and the comments are sympathetic. Quit worrying,” she said.

In the end, she was right. The Tampa event was packed, and I spent hours signing and taking photos with my fans. In the downtime, I worked on my business plan. I’d received almost a hundred resumes from Packs, but almost none were in the film crew positions. On a whim, I sent the list to Captain Thomas and asked if he could help.

He called me back when we were heading to the airport in the back of a limo. “Captain Vickers,” I said. “Did you get my email?”

“I did,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want you getting in trouble with your leaders over hiring our kind.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I want your family to crew the Good Times starting in January through April when we are shooting along the coast,” I said. “We’ll be diving eight sites, spending about a week at each before returning to port and setting up for the next one.”

“It says here you want an all-female crew, so my wife and daughter are interested, but I’m not getting snipped for any job,” he said.

I had to laugh at that. “You’re mated, and we’ll use Loretta for shooting scenes after she’s licensed.” We talked for a bit about compensation, filming, and endorsements. “This will work out well for you with all the exposure,” I said. “Four months of constant work.”

“It’s the middle of my season,” he said. “Let me get back to you.”

“Hey, before you go, I have a few other questions,” I said. “I need to move from Fiddler’s Cove to Driscoll Bay Marina up by Mission Beach in the next week. Can you find time for that?”

“Tuesday afternoon,” he said. “I’ll have Lynette drive us down, and Loretta and I can move your boat for you.”

“Perfect. While you’re on board, I wanted to ask you about modifications I can make to carry more people. Four staterooms won’t do it.” I sent him the link for the plans and photos from the sale, but he had one more piece of advice. “Vicki, you’re leasing this boat, right?”

“Yes, for a year with an option to buy.”

“Have your lawyer look at the lease agreement. It’s pretty common for renters not being authorized to make physical changes to the boat without owner permission, and what I’m thinking, he’ll never agree to.” I told him I’d ask as soon as I was off the phone; if nothing else, I could just buy the thing and do whatever I wanted to it. “I’ll make some calls and see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you, Thomas.”

I spent time relaxing with the guys on Sunday, then Monday was all about looking through resumes. Security was the easiest to fill, with over fifty applicants for two spots. Fiona was head of the detail. Her assistant was Carly, a twenty-two-year-old warrior from the Clearwater Pack in Washington State. She had been a collegiate swimmer and had been diving in the cold and dangerous Pacific waters for ten years. She’d never done underwater photography outside a Go-Pro, but I offered her the same deal as Fiona. Find someone to learn from before October, and I’d pay for the lessons.

The real issue stemmed from our traditional separation from human endeavors. There was no one qualified to be an underwater camera operator, much less a sound technician or director.

Werewolves didn’t do Hollywood.

I was about to give up when I got an email from Captain Vickers, followed by a phone call. “I found some people for you to look at,” he told me when I picked up.

I opened the attachments as we talked.

The first one was for another USCG Vessel Master, Patricia McNeil, who operated out of San Francisco. “Why another Captain?”

“I have long-term customers and commitments, and the winter is my busiest time, Vicki. I cannot destroy my customer base by forcing them elsewhere. However, with Patricia and Loretta, you’ll be covered. It’s far simpler for me to hire a replace a mate and cook than for you to find another licensed Master.” It made sense, and it would keep to my all-female crew ideal. “Open up the next resume.”

I was shocked; I recognized the director’s name from the Shark Week programs she had done over the past decade. “Linda Cartwright is one of yours?”

“She is,” he said. “Would it surprise you that many of my kind find their livelihood on the water?”

“I guess not,” I replied. “The other resumes?”

“Also ours, and people she trusts. I figured you’d hire your kind for security, so I didn’t ask anyone for that. Give Linda a call soon; she is close to signing for another project next spring.”

I did, and she came down with the Vickers family on Tuesday for the short trip north. The girls and I laid out everything as we left the docks; Linda was enthusiastic about the idea. “People have been running celebrity specials during Shark Week for decades. I think Shaquille O’Neal’s next show will have him in a shark cage sponsored by the Scooter Store,” Linda joked. “Your idea combines the attraction of reality shows with science and the drama of underwater shooting. I’m far more comfortable with the latter, but we’ll figure it out.”

“I want people to see our lives as they revolve around modeling and sharks, but we aren’t trashy and vapid girls. There won’t be bed-hopping and llama-drama.”

“Good, I hate that,” she said. “Have you ever dealt with the unions for productions?”

“I’m eighteen,” I said.

“That would be a no. Your list of personnel wasn’t extensive enough for a project like this, and we have to do things according to contracts. Did you know that if you film a sixty-minute show, you have one set of rules, but if it goes to ninety minutes, the rules change? Or the difference between a miniseries and a television series?” Nope, not even. “You’ll drive yourself nuts trying to learn it all, and you don’t have time for that. Your main focus should be in front of the cameras since you’re the center of the show.”