Roaring Hot! (Contemporary Romance): A Billionaire Biker Romance (3 page)

“I am an excellent actress,” Amy said. “I’ll do it. Although I still don’t see what the deal is, since you’re the one setting up the show.”

He winked. “Ratings and viewers. Everyone knows my reputation. Besides, the catfights alone will be worth a ton of eyeballs.”

“Catfights?”

“Yep. You don’t expect the other women to just stand by and let you walk on their turf, do you?”

“Uh, no. Just as long as they’re staged and I don’t get hurt. I have other auditions I have to go to, so I need to look my best.” Amy tried not to blink her teary, irritated eyes. She didn’t want to appear too desperate.

“Then you better take care of the red eyes or use Visine before the show.” Ronaldo patted her on the shoulder. “My assistant will give you the contract to sign and cut you the sign-on bonus.”

He sent a text message and stood, ushering them out of the starship bridge and into the transporter elevator.

When they returned to the game room, Ronaldo leaned over and kissed Amy on the cheek. “Glad to have you on board. You won’t regret this.”

“Sure, thanks.” She didn’t feel a thing. Good. She was a professional actress, and even without the chemistry, she’d make it look convincing.

Ronaldo swaggered back to his flock of girls who fawned on him, their fingers dragging over him, their lips puckered for messy kisses.

“Wonder how much of that is staged,” Amy said.

“Do you care?” Peter pulled a folder from his briefcase. “Here’s the contract. After you sign, I’ll write you a check for ten thousand dollars.”

Amy froze to a halt at the French door. “You? You’re his assistant?”

“Assistant to his grandmother’s personal assistant, yes. I’m lent to Ronaldo.”

“Wait a minute, so why are you getting an agent’s bonus?”

Peter’s smile slid greasily across his face. “Welcome to Hollywood, honey.”

“Where everyone has a price,” Amy finished. She stepped into the garden, her flip-flop squishing a pile of dog poop.

* * *

“She slapped you?” Ronaldo gawked at Teo who’d set up for the break shot in front of the pool table. “You texted me and told me she’s the one. You better not back out because we just gave her a contract.”

The colored balls scattered, and he pocketed two solid balls immediately. Teo palmed his heated face. “Yes, she’s perfect. Her last name’s Suzuki, and we race on Team Suzuki. That’s an omen, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a bad one.” Ronaldo flattened his lips. “She thinks I’m the one she’s romancing. I figure if word got out you were hiring an actress, your grandma’s sure to find out.”

“Thanks, buddy. Oba-chan’s a real internet sleuth.” Teo missed the shot and waited for Ronaldo to set up while the gaggle of groupies oohed and ahhed at his masterful break shot and ran their hands over his biceps and back.

“Sure you don’t want to line up a few more candidates?” Ronaldo asked. “There’s a Chinese actress who took Japanese flower arrangement classes. She even knows how to do the tea ceremony.”

“Uh, Oba-chan will never believe I went for a traditional woman. This Amy’s perfect. Feisty, Americanized, untamed. I bet Oba-chan was a lot like her when she was young.”

Rolando quirked his eyebrow and picked the cue ball out of the pocket. “And that’s a good thing? Teo, I’m worried about you.”

One of the silicone enhanced babes fluttered her eyelids and said, “Konnichiwa.”

Teo gave her an air kiss and waggled his eyebrows. “Domo arigato. You up for some skinny dipping later?”

Another woman lined up for her shot, her bikini bound behind pointed their direction. Right before she struck the cue ball, Ronaldo snapped her bikini bottom. Her stick scratched the table.

“Penalty!” Ronaldo said, reaching for her bikini tie. “I’m taking it off.”

The woman hanging onto Teo whispered, “I’m ready to take it all off. Shall we find a private pool to dip in?”

Teo wet his throat with a swallow of beer. Why not? He wasn’t chained to Amy yet, and he was still aroused from their encounter. He waved to Ronaldo, “I’m outta here. Thanks for setting up the reality show.”

Not that they were going to air it. It was only a ruse to get the self-respecting Amy, the type of girl his grandmother would approve of, to get acquainted with him and agree to pose as his girlfriend for the summer.

Ronaldo snickered. “You’re so screwed. Once the show starts, no more messing around.”

“Yeah right.” Teo fist bumped his buddy. “Then I’m heading to Amsterdam early and going incognito. Gotta get my fill of Dutch girls and their wooden clogs before Amy shows up for our first date.”

Amy ran her fingers over the ten thousand dollar check, her advance. Not bad. Not bad at all. Sure, Peter had double-dipped, being Ronaldo’s PA, but she’d still give him his fifteen percent agent’s cut. After all, without him, she’d soon be eating dog food.

She had enough bus fare on her TAP card to get to the bank. Things were looking up, even though she’d been rejected at another casting call.

She tapped her fare card and got onto the Metro bus. Her phone rang as she squeezed herself into a seat near the back. It was her father.

“Your mother says you’re going to Europe. I’m not paying any roaming charges for your cell phone, you hear? Why are you travelling when you don’t have a job? You’re not supposed to be rewarding yourself. Which auditions are you giving up for this spree?”

As usual, her father launched into a tirade without first saying ‘hi.’

“Dad, this
is
a job. My employer is paying for the trip.” Not to mention food, lodging, and spending money.

“Temporary or permanent? Remember, no real job by the end of summer and you’re coming home. I let you do things your way, majoring in acting. Now you do things my way.”

“I know, Dad, but I’ve on the verge of a big break. This project’s sponsored by Silver Studios.”

“Don’t know who they are. What’s your role?”

“Acting, of course.”

“In Europe?” Her father’s voice wasn’t quite as harsh as before. “TV show, movie? What’s the deal?”

“Documentary or docudrama. I’ll be appearing with a professional motorcycle racer.”

“You mean motocross?”

“No, Grand Prix racing. High speed on professional tracks all around the world.”

“Why you? What part are you playing?” Nothing got past her father’s bullshit meter. If she told him what she was really doing, romancing a racer, he’d have a fit and order her to get on the next plane home.

Sweat bloomed under Amy’s collar. “I’m going to give interviews, do photo opportunities.”

“Journalism? How much are they paying?”

Sometimes it was great her father was such a poor listener and jumped to conclusions. Amy heaved a breath of relief.

“One hundred grand for six races and a party in September.” Amy lifted her chin before noticing the stares of her fellow bus passengers. Dad should be impressed.

“Does it come with benefits? Health insurance?”

At twenty-two, barely out of college and jobless, Amy was still dependent on her parents for necessities such as medical and dental insurance, something her father was quick to rub in.

“No, Dad, of course not. I’m an independent contractor. It’s going to be great. I’ll get to see the world, and best of all, I’ll have Silver Studios on my portfolio. They’ll open lots of doors.”

“Are you guaranteed the entire six races? Did you check the termination clause? This still sounds shaky. What will you do after the three months are over? If you had gone pre-med, you’d be in medical school by September. You’d be set for life.”

Her father had to be the most regimented, risk-averse person in the world. And he most certainly felt his way was the only way to manage life.

“Nothing’s guaranteed. Even if I’d been a pre-med I might not have made it into medical school.”

“It’s a more sure thing than acting.” Her father huffed. “Okay, your deadline is extended to the end of the year. If you don’t have a decent, fulltime, permanent position with enough income to pay off your student loans, you’re coming home to live with us and work in my office.”

Amy held the phone two feet from her ear. Her father always shouted on the telephone, as if the distance could be made up by his lung power.

“Yes, Dad. Give me a chance, okay? This could be my ticket.”

“Remember we’re not paying for your overseas cell phone charges. You never appreciate how much we pay for all your expenses. It’s about time you learned how hard life can be. Okay, bye.”

“Bye, Dad.”

She pushed the virtual button to end the call. Her father hadn’t even registered the hundred thousand dollars. Had he heard her through all his bluster?

Didn’t matter. Once she got the money, she’d do whatever she wanted. She was a real actress with a starring role in
Romancing the Racer
. If it became a hit, she could be as famous as that woman who played the
Bachelorette
, although that show was supposed to end in true love. This one ended with a proposal that she’d promptly reject. Sort of like fishing catch and release.

Ignoring the snickers of the bus’s occupants within earshot of her conversation, Amy browsed Ronaldo Silver’s Facebook page. His relationship status was “It’s complicated.” Amy updated her status to “In a relationship with Ronaldo Silver.”

There, that ought to make her former film school classmates green with envy.

* * *

The Learjet sat on the tarmac after nearly twenty-four hours of flight. Amy dabbed her face with a tissue and reapplied her makeup while the customs agent went through her carryon bags. She’d already spent most of her advance upgrading her wardrobe. The studio had sent a makeover consultant to show her how to line her eyelids with the latest gel pencils and add sparkle to her eye shadow.

Meanwhile, the members of the film crew she flew with were packing and rechecking their equipment. It had been one nonstop party aboard, but now that she’d landed in the Netherlands, she better get her game face on. Reporters swarmed in front of a limousine parked at the foot of the small set of steps leading off the jet.

“You’re clear, miss. Welcome to the Netherlands,” the customs official said. He zipped up Amy’s carryon and went to the next passenger.

The chauffeur crawled into the small jet, crouching as he made his way to her and took her bags. He had to be well over six feet tall. Amy had heard the Dutch were among the tallest populations in the world. Not that she was short at five foot three, but she wouldn’t want some large boned woman with wooden clogs kicking her butt. She was sure the catfights would be staged. All reality shows degenerated into drama and angst, and she wouldn’t be surprised if something were to go wrong in the first episode.

As soon as Amy appeared at the door of the plane, video cameras and microphones were shoved in her face.

“How do you propose to win over the most elusive man on the circuit?”

“What talents will you use to get his attention?”

“Any secrets on being an unforgettable lover?”

“Are you ready to find true love?”

Amy hadn’t been instructed to answer any of these impromptu questions. They were designed to appear as paparazzi harassment. She flipped on her oversized sunglasses and smiled demurely. Head held high, she strutted to the awaiting limo.

The last reporter chased after her. “Amy Suzuki, were you chosen because of your ethnicity? Will there a surprise proposal at the race in Japan?”

Amy slammed her heels to a stop and lowered her glasses. “Were you chosen because of your stupidity? Japan makes the best bikes in the world. Why ride anything else?”

She entered the limo among the howls and hoots of the reporters and film crew.

“That was a great comeback,” Mia Fairbanks, her handler and advisor, said.

Amy gasped, almost choking. Mia was nothing like she’d pictured when she was only a voice or text message on the phone. For one thing, she looked a lot younger than she sounded. She was also black, well pierced and tatted, and her hair was woven into hundreds of Medusa like strands. But what really stood out was the bright and clashing clothes, jumbles of jewelry, and makeup: every saturated color on the color wheel.

Amy hugged her. “How cool to finally meet you.”

“Same here.” Mia bounced up and down on the limousine seat, her bracelets tinkling. “This is going to be so much fun. Girl, we’re going to snag you one of those racer guys.”

Mia seemed to be on stage already, acting as if Amy were really interested in grooming Ronaldo Silver for the marriage altar.

“Yep, it’s all about entertainment.” Amy stretched her suit skirt over her knees and fastened her seatbelt.

Mia laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone wear a seatbelt in a limo.”

“When your father’s a doctor, you don’t get away without wearing a seatbelt.” Amy unsnapped it. “I’m surprised he didn’t make us wear crash helmets in our car seats.”

“Woohoo! Live dangerously.” Mia opened the tiny refrigerator as the car rolled out of the airport. “Wine, champagne?”

“Nothing right now.” Amy extracted her electronic tablet from her purse. “Let’s go over the first date logistics.”

“Oh, we have plenty of time. The guys don’t party much before the race. They spend their time relaxing and resting. The races are stressful and very dangerous, so any bit of inattention could cause a crash. Tonight’s affair is a simple dinner at one of the sponsor’s mansion. But the after race date is all yours. He’ll go gaga on the romantic trip you planned for Amsterdam, a boat ride on the canals.”

“Uh, sure, Mia. You did most of the setup. But thanks. Knowing these reality shows, he’s going to be itching to get away from me. Probably want to hit the casinos instead of puttering around in a canal boat.”

“Not after he sees what you’re wearing tonight,” Mia said. “Tomorrow’s the qualifying rounds, so you’ll get to meet some of the diehard motoheads, or GP racing addicts, to bone up on your vocabulary. Are you nervous?”

Amy scrunched her nose at the colorful woman assigned to be her best friend, confidant, consultant, and most importantly, logistics handler. Any more excitement and she’d explode like psychedelic pop rocks in root beer.

“Not more than usual before I go on stage,” Amy said.

Mia clasped her hands in front of her chest. “This could be real. You could fall in love.”

“Uhm, Mia, are there hidden cameras in here? Are we acting or not?”

“Honey, the minute you stepped off the plane, you’re in character. So let’s sit back, sip some champagne and talk about love.” She handed Amy a flute and poured the sparkly bubbly drink.

Taking a remote, she flipped on the flat panel screen. “What should we watch?
The Notebook
,
Twilight
, or to really get you in the mood,
Fifty Shades of Grey
?”

“That last one isn’t even out.” Amy took a sip of the champagne, set it down, and flipped through Ronaldo’s Instagram photos.

Mia removed her tablet. “No more nerding out. You did read
Fifty Shades of Grey
, didn’t you?”

“I’m not about to answer that. Give that back to me.”

“Uh, uh, not until I go through your e-reader.” Mia held the tablet over her head.

“What for? I told you I’m prepared. Over prepared. I know his taste in wine, what size suit he wears, his cologne, Spicebomb, his taste in music, even the types of women he likes, tall, blonde, leggy with pussycat eye makeup.”

“No, no, no, no, no, girlfriend, you’re blowing it.” Mia selected a movie. “No more prep. Now, drink up, sit back, and let’s watch a love story.”