Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(2)
“Oh, I’m with you.”
“I realize you’re only human, but I need to know you understand and accept our policy. Any breach is grounds for automatic dismissal.”
“All right. One thing you need to know. I wouldn’t accept the job if I thought my dick would get in the way. I admire a beautiful woman, same as any other man. But I’m being paid to do a job and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Carlyle seemed relieved. “I hope you’re speaking for your friend Reynolds as well.”
“Dirk’s a professional. Beyond that, he’ll have to speak for himself.”
“Okay. Sounds like we understand each other. We’ll be doing dress rehearsals for the rest of the week. Then our first show is here in Seattle on Saturday night. You can report to the Paramount Theatre at eight tomorrow morning. At that time, I’ll introduce you and Reynolds to the rest of your team and our ten top models. Just keep in mind what I said.”
Ethan made no reply. If Carlyle knew how much he wasn’t looking forward to meeting a gaggle of vain, self-absorbed females, he would probably do handstands. But actions spoke louder than words. It shouldn’t take the man long to figure out Ethan was off women indefinitely.
His ex-girlfriend, Allison Winfield, had done everything in her power to make sure of that.
“Oh my God. Would you look at the eye candy that just walked backstage?”
There was awe in her friend Megan O’Brien’s voice. As Val bent over to fasten the buckle on her strappy high heel, she tried for a glimpse but couldn’t actually see who’d just arrived.
Megan kept staring and just kept talking. “You see the one on the left? The guy with the sexy mustache? He looks like he walked out of a biker fantasy. He can knock on my door any time, day or night.” She rolled her eyes. “Especially at night. And the big one on the right turns the words tall, dark, and handsome into an understatement. I think I’m in love.”
Val finally looked up. Two men stood next to Matt Carlyle. One was about six two, good-looking, with medium brown hair, and a horseshoe mustache that framed his mouth, curved down to his jawline, and made him look like a real badass. A real sexy badass.
It was the bigger man who snared her attention, at least six three, with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a face any red-blooded female would be hard-pressed not to admire. His hair was trimmed cop short and fit his hard-jawed, handsome face perfectly. The way he filled out his black T-shirt said he was two hundred pounds of solid male muscle.
When those dark eyes moved in her direction and skimmed lightly over her frame, an unexpected zing of electricity shot through her body.
“Who are they?” The little shot of awareness was new to her. Val was too busy for men. Being a La Belle model was difficult and demanding. At the same time, she was taking online college courses, getting ready to start a part-time job at the end of the tour and go back to school in the fall to finish her degree.
“They’re extra security,” Megan said. “After we got those threatening notes, Matt hired a few more men. The big guy’s heading up an additional team.” Megan sighed. “Those two look yummy enough to eat.”
“You know the rules. No fraternizing with the staff.”
“I know. I don’t usually care, but in this case . . .”
Val grinned. “Down, girl. Best not get your thong in a twist. Far as we’re concerned, they’re untouchable.”
“Yeah, more’s the pity.”
Val laughed. She glanced back at the men, saw the bigger man looking the other way, and enjoyed a long, unabashedly thorough appraisal. Sometimes pure masculine beauty deserved to be appreciated.
Hearing the voice of Daniel Clemens, the show’s choreographer, along with the light rustle of feminine laughter, reminded her where she was. Shoving the men into a far corner of her mind, Val went back to work on her shoe so she could take her place in the lineup with the rest of the models.
Chapter Two
Carlyle gave Ethan and Dirk a brief tour of the theater where the girls were rehearsing and would later be performing the first show of the summer tour. The Paramount in downtown Seattle was a landmark, a performing arts theater that could seat up to twenty-eight-hundred people. Built in the twenties, it was a wildly ornate structure with gold leaf on the walls and Baroque plaster moldings overhead.
Carlyle looked up at the huge crystal-beaded chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, scanned the ornate designs painted on the walls. “I hope the setting doesn’t overpower the costumes,” he grumbled.
Ethan figured mostly naked women in sequins and feathers wouldn’t have much trouble holding the audience’s attention.
Carlyle led them toward a big muscle jock with a shaved head and earrings in his ears. “You need to meet our chief of security. He’s got his own crew, so hopefully you won’t be bumping into each other too much, but you need to know who’s who.”
Carlyle stopped in front of the beefy man, about Ethan’s height but bulked up more in the chest, arms, and shoulders. An overzealous Arnold Schwarzenegger. Ethan wondered how many hours a day he spent at the gym.
“Beau Desmond, meet Ethan Brodie,” Carlyle said. “The guy with the ’stache is Dirk Reynolds.”
Desmond reached out a hand and Ethan and Dirk both shook.