Beckett “This is so nerve-racking.” Arianne squeezes my hand hard. I squeeze back. “Just a few jitters.” We’re in the back of the chauffeured car on our way to the gala to announce SCORE Yours to the press. The affair is taking place at Building 22—a luxury tower not too far from Waldorf Astoria Beverly Hills. “It’s more than that...” She places a hand against her stomach. “I think I’m going to throw up.” Shit. “Do you need me to ask the chauffeur to stop?” She lifts a hand up. I don’t rush her. With her eyes closed, she inhales a de ep breath. Then, exhales. She does that a few times before speaking. “It was a figure of speech, but God my stomach is tied up in a knot.” “Arianne, this isn’t the first time you’ve spearhead a massive project. You’ve done it several times in the past. You have more than enough experience under your belt.” “I’ve always been in the background. Chance insisted on presenting my ideas to the rest of the company and the press. According to him, having more than one spokesperson is confusing.” “You know that’s utter bullshit.” “I know now it was part of his ploy to hog all the credits for Glach Tech’s growth. Still, I’ve never been in this position before.” “Smile for the camera and share your kickass idea. That’s it.” “You make it sound so easy,” she says with a nervous laugh. “Because it is. Don’t forget, Rhys and I will be right by your side.” She nods and then averts her gaze. “What if the press hates the idea?” The question has come up a few times leading to tonight. “Look at me.” She offers a tentative side gaze. “Arianne.” She focuses her big brown eyes on me. “They won’t hate the idea because it’s innovative, edgy, and unique,” I say. “Who doesn’t want that? The press will gobble it up and disseminate the good gospel to the masses who will convert to hardcore worshipers.” She frowns. “Religion at a time like this? Really?” Okay, she didn’t like the joke. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s nothing like SCORE Yours on the market. It’s a sure antidote to plain headphones. Not even Sennheiser came up with the idea first. You did. What’s there not to like?” She lets out a long exhale. “Okay, you’re right.” Her words don’t match the petrified look on her face. “You got this, Arianne,” I say. Trust shimmers in her eyes. “If the press is too jaded to get on the program, they’ll change their tune once they see us laughing all the way to the bank.” That gets me an earnest laugh. She’s a beautiful mix of fearlessness and uncertainty—the dichotomy still catches me off guard. I don’t know why she’s this worried. Rhys and I aren’t the only ones who think this is a shoe in. She ran the idea by Easton. He was so impressed, he flew to Los Angeles to tell us in person. My former bandmates can’t wait to get their hands on a pair of SCORE Yours. Holt has already placed an order for custom ones for his top artists. Rod and Loki—who run a video production company—did the same for their roster of clients. Within our circle, the frenzy is at a fever pitch. If this is a precursor of things to come, this new venture will be a game changer for our company.
And let’s not forget about Arianne’s mind-boggling estimates. Even Easton agrees. Rhys and I went the distance. We made sure Arianne knew we were behind her one hundred percent. We had the legal team draft a contract. Easton hooked her up with a LA lawyer to review our offer. She acc epted the generous terms. My girl is set to get a big payday out of this. I reach out and wrap a strand of her loose hair around my finger. “The idea is solid, but if all else fails, the press will be so blinded by your beauty and how hot you look in this dress, they’ll forget why they’re there in the first place.” She laughs. “I really like this dress,” she says, smoothing down the fabric. “It’s arresting on you.” Although I’d love nothing more than to ravish her lips, I kiss her on the cheek instead. This night is too important. I don’t want to fuck up her perfectly applied makeup. “Thank you,” she says. “Andrea came through, once again.” She certainly did. Arianne is wearing a striking hot pink dress that fits her slender body like a charm. In her trademark style, the dress hits her below the knee. Even though the sleeves are long, the edgy design amps up the sex kitten factor by exposing her shoulders. Sexy strappy heels in the same bright shade and a pair of crystal-encrusted earrings complete the look. She looks good enough to eat. My cock nudges against my suit pants, aching for attention. From its eagerness, you’d never know I was balls de ep inside her an hour ago. Down, boy. I brush my fingertips over her exposed shoulder. “It’s the right dress for someone about to make history.” This is exactly what we’re doing tonight. For the rest of the ride, I hold her hand. It seems to be enough to help calm her nerves. “We’re here.” I point to the tall building in front of us. This venue is as Hollywood as it gets. The deluxe venue is located near Rodeo Drive and the Hollywood Walk of Fame—where my band have our own star. Six weeks ago, after her stellar presentation, Arianne said we needed a venue that was guaranteed to get attention for our big night. It had to be Building 22. This is lavish, with a capital L. “We’re here already?” There’s a distinct tremolo in her voice. “That was much faster than I expected.” I arch my eyebrows. “You’re the first person in the history of mankind to complain about not being stuck in LA traffic.” She giggles. I pull out my phone and text the publicity team. I have yet to hire a personal publicist, but since I’m a one-woman-man these days, I don’t have to worry. When it comes to all things SCORE, Jos ephine (Joey) Boswell is the agency’s point person. She responds to let me know her and three of her employees are awaiting our arrival. Then, I text Rhys. He’s on his way with his date. Satisfied, I tuck my phone inside my suit pocket. “Everything is in place?” I lift my eyes to Arianne. “This night will go without a hitch.” “From your lips to God’s ears.” As the car comes to a stop in front of Building 22, I bring her hands to my lips and drop a soft kiss. “It’s showtime, baby.”
“This is it?” I lean into her. “I know of an effective way of mellowing you out.” “I’m all ears.” I lean in closer so she’s the only one to hear what I’m about to say. “We find a quiet place inside Building 22, I drop to my knees, lift the hem of your pretty dress, and ravish your pussy until you come all over my face. That should do the trick.” I pull away from her and wait. I took care of my girl’s pussy before we left, but if she needs another round, I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the greater good. I’m that kind of boyfriend. I expect her to scold me for my bad behavior, but the veil of lust glistening from her eyes lets me know she might take me up on my offer. Dirty girl. “I’m tempted,” she says. “But if we get caught, we’d end up making history for a whole other reason. A sex video on the internet isn’t on my bucket list.” I don’t miss the little squirm she makes in her seat as if trying to relieve an ache between her thighs. Damn. I want to relieve that tension gripping her. “Can I take a rain check on the offer for later when we’re back at your place?” I laugh. “You can count on it.” I kiss her forehead. “Let’s get out of this car.” On cue, a doorman helps Arianne out. I receive the same treatment. I round the vehicle and meet her on the sidewalk. I circle a possessive arm around her waist. “Come to think about it, we’re making history in three ways tonight,” I say. She frowns up at me. “I can only think of one. What are the other two?” “One, the unveiling of SCORE Yours’ lineup of prototypes.” I lift one finger as I enumerate my points. “Two, this is our first public appearance since dating. Three, this is our first time together walking the red carpet.” “You’re right.” She smiles wide. “I can see the headlines now—” “‘BREAKING NEWS: MISS HOLY CHIC ST EPS OUT IN STYLE WITH SEXY-AS-FUCK CEO BOYFRIEND’,” I say with a grand hand gesture. She laughs, and laughs, and laughs. “All right, Miss Holy Chic, get it together.” “I’m ready.” I search the crowd until I see Joey. She waves. “The team is in position,” I say. “At least we have backup in case the piranhas decide to eat us alive.” The press can be heartless. Lucky for us, Joey is in our corner. We take a st ep, and the press assaults us. A tall blonde photographer waving a hand is the first to catch our attention. “Beckett. Arianne. Over here.” I angle my body so we’re both facing her. She points a lens at us, and a group of photographers huddle around her and follow her cue. For a few seconds, they’re taking a million photos while shouting our names. “Who’s on the invite list?” A well-known celebrity blogger shouts that question. “Family. Friends. Influencers. Celebrities.” I rattle off the list. “In other words, the usual suspects.” I’m downplaying it. He’ll find out soon enough since all of our guests will walk the red carpet. Given my contacts—and Rhys’s—it’s an impressive list. Amongst the heavy hitters expected tonight, Cello2 Cello will show up to support us. So will Gage, the executive producer of the show the three of
us co-judge. My buddies Collin and his big brother Shane Dennison are among the lineup of illustrious guests. Cesar and Diana are among the stars coming out tonight along with a lot of people on Rhys’s side. “Are you two dating?” An older man wearing a pair of enormous glasses with a blue frame and yellow-tinted lenses shouts the question. The crazy colors of his glasses match his outfit—yellow pants and a blue shirt. Talk about making a statement. “It’s official, we are,” I say. “Do you go by #Beck Ari or #Ari Beck?” My face contorts into a grimace. “What?” “I tried other options—like #Ar Be—but the first two are solid.” This guy has too much time on his hands. “It’s Arianne and Beckett. Please don’t mash-up our names.” “Why not?” “It’s unnecessary.” “I think #Ari Beck has a nice ring to it. Very catchy.” I don’t give a fuck what you think. I glare at him before moving my attention to my girlfriend. “Come on, let’s ke ep walking.” I pull her forward. A striking black woman lifts a hand up. “Arianne. Beckett. Over here.” We stop right in front of her. With her statuesque height, it’s impossible to miss her. Her copper-red afro, fitted white mini dress, and thigh-high leather hot pink-heeled boots make her stand out even more. “Those are Cedrics.” She points to my girl’s feet. “Guilty as charged,” Arianne says. “Cedric de Seignard shoes are my weakness.” “They’re from the new collection,” the black woman says. “I love them on you.” “Thanks. I love them as well,” Arianne says. “The question burning everyone’s tongue is... who are you wearing?” The r eporter gives my girl an appreciative onceover. Arianne blurts out the name of the design-duo. “You have great taste,” the woman says. Arianne beams. “I’m also a big fan,” the woman says. “I hunt down their designs at secondhand shops. I get my dresses chopped off short to showcase my best assets.” She extends a leg to drive her point. “You look amazing and confidence drips all over you,” Arianne says. “There’s no way I’d be able to get away with that. I’m not used to calling that much attention to myself.” “Oh, honey, you think hanging from Beckett Christensen’s arm isn’t calling attention to you? If so, think again,” the woman says. Her eyes move to mine and she cocks an eyebrow. I’m caught off guard by her boldness. R eporters and bloggers laugh. My girl’s face turns a bright shade of red. “I don’t know how to respond to that,” Arianne says. “I’m sure you already know, but it bears stating the obvious, you’re the envy of a lot of women in this country...” the striking beauty says, before shifting her eyes to me again, “present company included.” She just goes for it. “How did you lasso him in, Arianne? After all, many have tried, but so far, Mr. Christensen has always remained a free agent.” She’s right on the money. “What’s your secret, Arianne?” My girlfriend doesn’t know what to do with herself. She looks up at me for reinforcement. “The t-shirt,” I say, coming to her rescue. “Definitely the t-shirt.” I nod. “Followed closely by her sultry salsa dance moves. I’m only a man. I couldn’t resist.”
Laughter explodes around us. “Arianne and Beckett you look like a real power couple,” a redhead says from behind a camera before popping her head up. “Thank you,” my girl says. “Great suit, Beckett.” Her amber eyes eat me up. “Impeccable as always. Bespoke, I’m sure.” “Thanks,” I say. “And yes, tailored is the only way to go in my world.” The redhead shifts her attention to my girl. “Arianne, how is bad boy Beckett Christensen as a boyfriend?” Arianne bites her lower lip before answering. “I know this sounds cliché, but I’m the luckiest woman in the world.” Pride puffs up my chest. “He’s wonderful. I couldn’t ask for more.” She had to take it one st ep further. Well, hell. “By the way, you two would make super cute babies,” the redhead says. “I’m talking baby-model cute.” “Err...” Arianne hesitates and looks up at me, her eyes shimmering with something I can’t read. Her cheeks are as rosy as her dress. She tears her gaze away from mine and sets it on the r eporter. “Thank you.” Her response comes out sounding like a question. I suspect, she’s as thrown off as I am. Holt is right, words like baby scare the shit out of me. Why I’m now picturing my girl’s belly swollen and tight with our child is beyond me. A booming voice puts an end to my musing. “I knew I saw a baby bump.” My head whips, and I glower at Enormous Glasses. Where? Behind her ears? “Are you looking forward to fatherhood, Beckett?” What an asshole for fanning a lie that has the potential of going viral even before we enter Building 22. A r eporter waves a hand over her head. “Do you want a boy or girl?” “Any names for the baby yet?” That question comes from the celebrity blogger. “What if you’re having twins?” Another female r eporter wants to know. “Or triplets?” The male r eporter standing next to her cocks a brow. I’m floored. The redhead’s comment starts a wildfire and Enormous Glasses poured gasoline all over it. The press starts shooting a barrage of questions at us, fishing for a scoop. Since they’re speaking over each other, it’s impossible to make sense of anything. Not that it matters. We’re done here. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I say over the chaos, lifting a hand to silence them. “This is as much as we’re willing to discuss about our personal life. If you have questions about why we’re gathered here tonight, Arianne Buchanan—the mastermind behind SCORE Yours—has all the answers. If she’s busy, our PR agency will be more than happy to schedule interviews.” I point to the four women standing near the door, flanked by bodyguards. Another frantic round of flashes ensues, blinding us in the process, as the press throws more questions at us. “What about a kiss?” The provocative question comes from the r eporter wearing the giant glasses. “After all, Arianne Buchanan makes history tonight by being the first woman to capture the elusive
bad boy rock star turned CEO.” He was irritating the hell out of me a few minutes ago, but now, I’m warming to him. I turn to face a blushing Arianne. “The guy’s right,” I say. “If we’re going to make history, we might as well seal it with a kiss.” She smiles, her eyes gleaming with mirth. I reach out and dip her, Hollywood style. It’s dramatic and picture-worthy. Arianne looks petrified. Her eyes take over her face. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” She struggles with the lower part of her dress. “Beckett, stop. Please.” It takes me a second to catch on. Fuck. I demanded she goes commando and now I’m about to expose her pussy to the world. Way to go, Christensen. I straighten her so she’s standing. Her eyes are still wide. Her flesh is so flush, I can’t discern between her skin and her dress. I bite off a smile. “Sorry,” I say. “We were going to reveal a little too much about our relationship.” “Way too much.” “That’s for my eyes only. No one else sees it.” A little complicit smile plays across her mouth. “I should hope not.” “Can we get a kiss for the camera.” The request comes from a female r eporter we haven’t talked to. Arianne and I exchange a wicked glance. “The first rule of show business is to give people what they want,” I say. “It’s only good business practice,” she says. My girlfriend and I lock lips to a roaring and clamoring crowd. Fuck, yeah. History in the making.