The Merciless Alpha(erotica)

“I don’t mind at all. It gives you something to do while waiting for official permission to film on the base. Last I heard, your request was approved through the Navy and is with the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs.”

“I only have a few weeks before we leave, but I’d love to get something arranged for after the New Year,” I said. “A day or two of filming should give us plenty of material for a show.”

“Well, Mykayla decided not to go, so I’ve got room for two photographers on this trip if you can make it happen.”

“Thank you, Thomas. I’ll talk to Mark and make sure he’s all right with it. I’ll see you at the dock in La Jolla at noon tomorrow, and I’m buying dinner.”

“I won’t turn down a free dinner,” he said. “Have a good auction.”

My next call was to Commander Prentice, the SEAL Team CO I’d met at the party right before James got run off the road. The phone was answered by Jessica, who squealed in happiness when she heard me say who was calling. “Jessica, can you get your Dad for me?”

“Sure, he’s in his Man Cave,” she said.

I heard her going down the hall before the phone got handed off. “Vicki?”

“Hi Mark, sorry to bother you, but I have a question for the two of you about tomorrow. You know I’m going to be filming a reality show about modeling and diving?”

“The Admiral talked about it, said you were going to be filming next year,” he said.

“Well, I’m getting ready for production, and Amy asked me why I wasn’t filming our dive tomorrow. I don’t need permission since the dive is on personal time, but I will need yours.” A few minutes later, we had it all figured out. He and the Admiral would sign film releases, but Jessica would get paid for her appearance, the money going towards her college fund.

By the time I was showered and dressed, Linda had arranged camera operators for the auction and the dive tomorrow. My ‘date’ for tonight was Bill Carson, who would meet me there.

I got in the Tank with Fiona when Carly drove to the Marina gate. I traveled in shorts and a T-shirt, working on my laptop during the two-hour drive north on Interstate Five to Los Angeles. The tinted glass allowed me to change along the way, and I put on my minimal makeup when we stopped at traffic lights. When we pulled up to the auction house off Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills, the media was waiting for us.

I’d texted Bill when we were a few blocks away, and I could see him on the stairs with his camera. “I’ll get out first, and you follow me in,” Fiona said. “Don’t worry about Bill; he is just here to film. Keep your eyes open, smile, and if anything happens?”

“Get back to the Tank,” I said.

“Exactly.” She and Carly got out first, on the street side, walking around the back where she met Sotheby’s security. A brief conversation later, and she was opening the door.

I put a leg out, showing a mile of tanned skin as I carefully moved so I wouldn’t flash my underwear to the dozens of cameras outside. My dress was tight, hugging my curves as Mr. Ferguson helped me exit. Carly stayed with the car, Fiona moved to the side, and I smiled and posed for the photographers before walking inside with the Director of the Los Angeles Office.

I toured the exhibition briefly, then went to his office to sign some paperwork before the viewing started at noon. The collection had been available on the web for weeks, and on display for the last three days. “Excitement is building about the collection,” he said. “The details we’ve found and verified since you consigned the pieces have pushed up the estimates.”

“Are there any expected to reach seven figures,” I asked.

He indicated five. I picked one, a classic tiger-maple clawfoot highboy and lowboy set. “This one is for charity, to the Shark Conservation Fund,” I said.

The viewing was like nothing I’d ever attended; the Hollywood elite and California wealthy were out in force. Everyone wanted a moment of my time, and some of the men wanted more than that. I was young, rich, and beautiful in a place that wanted all three. I received numerous invitations to parties, most of which I declined due to my work schedule. I couldn’t drink the champagne, and I wanted to chow down on the appetizers, but I didn’t. I had to focus on the sale and the cameras.

I sat off to the side as the sale began, Fiona standing against the wall behind me. There were fifty-two items in the sale catalog I had in my hand. The first painting sold at twice the auction estimate, and it just went from there. Bidders on phones kept raising their paddles, eager to purchase items that had never publicly sold until now. When the Goddard and Townsend highboy/lowboy auction came up, I spoke briefly about the proceeds going towards shark conservation. It didn’t matter; the previously unknown set was in perfect condition after over two centuries, and the price quickly climbed past a million. It finally sold for 1. 45 million dollars.

I was keeping a rough count in my head two hours later, and the numbers far exceeded my dreams. I accepted congratulations and thanked many of the guests as they left, finally ending up back in the office. “What is my total takehome,” I asked Mr. Ferguson.

“First off, Sotheby’s is pleased to waive our premium for the charitable sale. The foundation will receive the full amount in your name by next week.”

“That’s very generous, thank you.”

“I should be thanking you, that was one of the most exciting sales in memory,” he said. Looking at his computer, he showed me the screen total. “Total sales excluding the donated items were $19. 28 million, less the 13. 8% sale premium, is $16. 62 million to you.” Even with the State and Federal taxes, I’d clear nine million dollars for myself, bumping my net worth up over twenty-four million.

I was going to need a bigger accountant.

Linda had left a message requesting a teleconference about boat preparation with her, my accountant Stan Greenberg, Captain Thomas Vickers, and his daughter Loretta. I had time while we were driving to Spago’s for our dinner, so I got them on the line along with Uncle Leo and Amy. “What’s going on everyone,” I asked.

“I heard you did well at the auction,” Stan said.

“I did. I cleared over sixteen million before taxes,” I said.

“That’s what we wanted to talk about, Vicki,” Linda said. “I’ve been working with Thomas on the proposal for remodeling the yacht, and we think it’s a mistake,”

I looked at the screen; Thomas, Loretta, Stan, and Amy were all nodding their heads. I felt like they’d punched me in the gut. “What’s wrong with my boat?”

“I’ll start,” Amy said. “We’re already having trouble fitting everyone in if the twins have their boyfriends along. If we go out for more than a day trip, someone has to sleep up in the salon, or we have to bring in a cot or air mattress. For you, or me and you, it was fine, but the girls are part of the team now. You might need something bigger, or a design with more cabins than this.”

She was right; just the idea of taking Hammer and Susan along with the boys and two crew members would mean people sleeping in the salon. “What else? Stan?”

My accountant cleared his throat. “Right now, you have a one-year lease deal that is the extent of your financial commitment to this yacht. If, as Amy said, you decide you need something else, you can walk away and do that with the knowledge of what living aboard a boat is. All that goes away if you exercise your purchase option like you’d have to do to make the changes Thomas has proposed. You’d be making a multi-million dollar commitment based on less than two months living here and a couple of short cruises.”

“What other advantages would I be giving up,” I asked.

“Insurance is one. When you lease it, the owner maintains the insurance. If you buy it and use it for commercial purposes, you’ll pay all insurance, and the rates will be higher because of the passengers. There’s also a legal liability; as the boat owner, you have ultimate liability. That doesn’t go away when you lease the boat back to your production company. The financials are another. Leasing the boat to the production company you own creates audit opportunities for the IRS.”

“What else am I missing,” I asked.

It was Thomas’ turn. “Honestly, you’re talking about putting twenty people on a pleasure yacht designed to hold less than half that in comfort. There aren’t enough bathrooms, showers, water tanks, or staterooms for what you want to do. Equipment is going to bang into fiberglass, holes drilled, drawers and cabinets will break, and that fancy woodwork will get scratched. When you go to convert it back to what it is now, you could have thousands of dollars in repairs to make. You can count on it; compare your boat to the research vessel you were on this summer, and you know what I’m talking about.”

The Ocean Explorer was functional; aluminum or stainless surfaces, linoleum floors, and two-person staterooms. Lots of staterooms. “You may as well pile it on. What else?”

Linda picked it up. “Think about what the Ocean Explorer had that you don’t have on your yacht.”

“The big D-davit on the back that could haul the shark net or equipment in and out. A big, open work area on the stern to operate off. A bigger kitchen and dining area. About thirty feet in length, with a structure that could handle bigger waves.”

“All true,” Linda replied. “The other things it had were a dedicated computer room with backup power, rooms for editing and directing, davits to allow more than one shark cage or device, and plenty of wire chases to run cables through for the cameras.”Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

It made my head hurt. “You wouldn’t crush my plans like this without an alternative,” I said. “What do you recommend?”

“Linda and I asked dozens of Captains, Expedition Leaders and Producers to tell us what we should be looking for in a shark research boat capable of hosting twenty or so people for up to two weeks at a time. We got a lot of feedback, and it was surprisingly similar,” Thomas said.