Buying Curves

  Buying Curves (Protective Alpha Male Curvy Gal Book 1)

  by Roxie Wilde

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events reside solely in the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are eighteen years of age or older.

  © 2019, Roxie Wilde. No portion of this work can be reproduced in any way without prior written consent from the author with the exception for a fair use excerpt for review and editorial purposes.

  This title is for adults only. It contains explicit sex acts, adult themes, and material that some folks might find offensive. Please keep out of reach of children. All characters involved in sexual activities are consenting adults age 18 or older. Cover models appear for illustration purposes only and have no connection with the fictional events of this story.

  Table of Contents

  Buying Curves

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading!

  Buying Curves

  Chapter 1

  Luci

  When you grow up in the middle of Fuckville, Oklahoma, you spend a lot of time with your own imagination for company. At least you did if you were a girl like me. I wasn’t a cheerleader. I wasn’t a trouble maker. I wasn’t even one of those two or three superstars destined for a scholarship to whoosh you right out of Tornado Alley like Dorothy to Oz.

  Oliver Knight’s master bedroom alone was bigger than the trailer I’d called home for the first twenty one years of my life. The fact that the media mogul’s sprawling house in the Hollywood Hills was crawling with staff wasn't exactly surprising. The fact that I had somehow managed to land a place on the housekeeping staff my first week in town, however, was some kind of miracle.

  A sign.

  Finally, the universe had spared me a scrap of good luck. It was about damn time.

  “You think you’re ok on your own?”

  Jennifer, my supervisor, handed me a teetering stack of freshly pressed suits. She’d spent the better part of the last three days teaching me the inner workings of the house— the meticulous way Mr. Knight preferred his room and closet kept, the standards we were all expected to maintain. I could tell she was eager to get back to her regular duties, and that suited me just fine. I always did work best when left to myself and my favorite playlist. Between all the overnight shifts at the grocery store and the long solo drive, I was more than used to my own company.

  “Absolutely. I’ve got this.” I gave her a reassuring smile and relieved her of the pile of Armani and Tom Ford.

  Now all I had to do was survive long enough to cash in a couple of paychecks and the rest, as they say, would be history. I might even get to see the ocean before my clunker of a hand-me-down Civic finally gave its last breath.

  I looked around the expansive space as Jennifer closed the door behind her and took what felt like my first full breath in days.

  When I’d packed my meager belongings into the back of the Civic and headed out into the world, my actual escape plan had been fairly minimal:

  Get as far west as possible and start over. Be the person I’d never had the chance to get to know inside.

  Every not so gentle reminder by my mother—or worse, one of her temporary “boyfriends” taking up space in the double-wide— throughout my life that I wasn’t the LA type, or that California wasn’t the place for girls like me, only made me double down my efforts. I squirreled away every penny I made at Dell’s Shop ‘N Save, ready and eager to leave everything about “home” behind in a cloud of dust.

  Hell, maybe they were even right.

  Maybe curvy redheads with more hips than Insta clout weren’t the standard in Southern California. But it’s not like I was setting out with some kind of ridiculous expectations in tow. At least I hadn’t thought so, anyway.

  I wasn’t looking to be the next Natalie Dormer. I wasn’t even looking to be the next Anna Nicole. I just wanted to dip my toes in the ocean, get lost in the big city… maybe go to college, heaven and the Sooners forbid? My passion for theatre and playwriting was just that— a passion. I wasn’t naive enough to think it was ever going to be some kind of “big break”. Which is probably why I’d never shown anyone the script I’d spent the last year fussing over. It was my baby; my own personal pet project. And so it would continue to be, hidden away in the trunk of my car.

  Looking around Oliver Knight’s massive walk-in closet, I couldn’t help but let my imagination wander just a little, though.

  Chris Stapleton crooned about a love as smooth as Tennessee Whiskey in my ear while I set about organizing clean clothes. I’d been in the employment of one of America’s wealthiest bachelors for nearly a week now and still had yet to meet the person whose underwear I was in charge of keeping clean. Here I’d done everything humanly possible just to make it to the West Coast in the first place, and Oliver Knight had been born Hollywood Royalty without even trying.

  The world was an intriguing place.

  When I’d finally sputtered into LA on a nearly flat tire and a very dead battery, I’d been terrified. And exhilarated. To be honest, I hadn’t even been completely sure I’d be able to make it this far, and had taken a whole afternoon to just wander around Griffith Park and see the Hollywood sign from every conceivable direction. But my miniscule savings were deteriorating by the day, and oh boy was this an expensive place to live.

  While I was eternally grateful to have found a temporary position for a couple of months that would put some much-needed cash in my pocket and maybe even get me a decently used tire to boot, it didn’t hurt to dream a little.

  My fingertips brushed along the row of long sleeve shirts. All of them designer, most of them costing more than my battered little four-door was worth.

  What would it be like,I wondered, to live with the Knight fortune?

  I may not have met my new employer yet, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know him. Everyone knew about the Knights.

  One of the wealthiest families in the country, it was hard not to get a little wistful thinking about how different my life might have turned out if I had been bundled up and left on the Knight doorstep as a kid. Especially now that I’d seen what the inside of that doorstep looked like. What must it feel like to just know, your entire life, that you’ve got the world at your feet?

  If his Instagram fan-page was any indication, not half bad, honestly.

  “How’s it coming in here?”

  Jennifer poked her head back in the door some time later.

  “Just about done.” I emerged from the cavernous space of the closet, tugging my earbuds out. Even the grey housekeepers uniform that skimmed my full thighs felt more luxurious than anything you could find back home. Then again, I doubted Oliver Knight decked out the help in K-Mart…

  Jennifer looked around the room. Seemingly content with its immaculate condition, she gave me a satisfied nod.

  “I know you’re just about done for the day,” she led me back into the hallway, indicating her watch.

  Was it nearly six already? No wonder I was beat.

  “But if you feel like making a little overtime, we could always use a hand putting dinner together. Unless you have someplace to be, of course.”

  I returned the older woman’s warm smile. I was grateful for Jennifer’s concern about my time, unnecessary though it was. Once I was done here, the only pressing thing on my agenda was a trip to the 24 hour gym for a quick use of the shower and then finding an innocuous spot to park my sore thumb in this ne
ighborhood.

  “Nothing that can’t wait,” I assured her as we headed downstairs towards the expansive kitchen. “I actually really like to cook. Don’t get to do as much as I’d like.”

  On account of living out of my car and all

  “I make a pretty mean pesto, if I do say so myself.”

  She laughed as we joined the bustle of the ground floor.

  “At this rate, nobody’s going to want to give you up at the end of your contract. Keep it up and you just may end up a part of the Knight clan for keeps.”

  Chapter 2

  Oiliver

  “Oliver, please. Your father and I humored you all throughout your scholastic ‘career’, but it’s time to settle down son.”

  I had never met a woman who could hang air quotes around a word like my mother. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she mocked my college years— with good reason. I had stretched four years into six. I had spent longer at USC than some professors, only I’d been much more popular. I had succeeded in wasting half a million of my parents’ money in the process, not that they even noticed. The Knights were the one percent of the one percent.

  They had made it clear that the degree was just for show— everyone knew where I was headed after graduation. Taking my place in the media empire my parents built.

  The terrible thing was that I actually enjoyed the job. I’d seen enough of it to realize that not only was I a natural at managing a global media company, but it was fun. Something I’d have been drawn to even if I had a choice.

  Not that I did.

  “Mom, trust me. I am past ready to settle. The next time you see me, in fact, I will be the perfect picture of a model Knight son.”

  “That’s good to hear, Oliver.”

  I rolled my eyes, thankful it wasn’t a video call.

  “Okay, Mom. I better get to work if I want to blend in with the rest of the family. Got to polish that silver spoon, get a stick to shove up my— “

  “ — I mean it, Oliver. Not one more peep from you. I don’t want our competitors getting yet another front-page story out of, do you hear me?”

  I grinned, and I knew she could hear the smugness leaching into my voice.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  Her response was the sound of the call disconnecting. Fuck, she really was serious if she didn’t bother vying for the last word. It probably wasn’t smart to antagonize her.

  “Everything good, Olly?”

  I glanced over at my best friend, Trent Black. He was my right-hand man in all things, including pissing off our parents.

  I gave him a thumbs-up as I stowed my phone and gripped the bar of my hang glider.

  “Alright boys, you know the drill! Last one down buys the rounds!” I shouted at my assembled friends.

  Hang glider racing down the side of Mauna Loa wasn’t the safest thing in the world, but it was a hell of an adrenaline rush.

  ***

  Hours later we were deep in our cups, sitting at the only bar still open. The rest of the guys had long since trickled away to seek greener pastures for the evening, mostly of the feminine persuasion. Trent had ended up funding our evening’s debauchery, and I had every intention of drinking until his vast sums of his money were dried up.

  “Look Olly, it’s a perfect idea. Trust me, it’ll be hilarious.”

  I shook my head and took another long pull of my beer.

  “You said that about the tuba and the stripper. Also about the honey, the dog. And the nun.”

  Trent grinned a near manic grin full of boyish charm. “Those were memorable pranks!”

  I sighed. “Yes. Legally speaking, people remember those.”

  Trent shook his head at me. He was overall darker than I was. Black hair to my blonde, deep olive tan to my lighter golden glow. His five o’clock shadow was well past midnight. I pushed some of my blonde locks out of my face— got to get a trim — and elbowed him.

  “Okay, but hear me out. You bring home a girl, your parents get off your back. It isn’t just funny, it’s mutually bene— beneficent— bene— it’s good for you both.”

  I snickered at his inability to speak. Unlike me, Trent was a lightweight.

  “Yeah, that gets my parents off my back, but why, exactly, would a girl want to do this?”

  Trent’s laughter cut off abruptly as he straightened up, looking me in the eye, one hand coming up to grasp my shoulder.

  “Oliver, mate, are you that fucking drunk already? She gets time with you.”

  I shook my head, smiling at his enthusiasm.

  “You’re way too drunk to be planning capers.”

  He frowned. “I’m not as think as you drunk I am.”

  I chuckled. “Alright, where would I find a girl willing to do me this favor?”

  Trent started giggling again like a little schoolgirl. “Anywhere. Wash. Watch. Hey, bartender lady!”

  The much put-upon bartender didn’t stop cleaning her glassware. She’d been polishing it religiously for the last half an hour, studiously ignoring us.

  “Yes, boys?”

  “My friend Oliver here needs a wife. You interested?”

  I groaned, pushing Trent off me.

  “He’s drunk, I’m sorry. We’ll settle up and get out of here.”

  The deeply tanned girl wandered over to us. She had a surfer look and a swimmer’s body. Dark hair bleached by the sun and the salt of the ocean, slender and athletic build. Definitely more Trent’s type than mine.

  He seemed dead set on sinking any chance he had with her, though.

  “You’re pretty. You’ll do great! We just need you to be his fiancée to get his parents off his case during a trip home. All expenses paid vacation to LA!”

  “This isn’t a Showcase Showdown, Trent. It’s a business deal.”

  She shook her head, sliding our tab over to me.

  “I live in Hawaii, boys. I don’t need a vacation anywhere, except form the two of you. Have fun on your trip, good luck finding a fake fiancée.”

  With that, she left us.

  “Damn. I really thought it was going to be that easy.” Trent mumbled. He was quickly losing steam as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet.

  I stood, catching myself on the bar from the sudden onrush of dizziness. Maybe I’d had a few more than I thought. I slapped a huge wad of cash down, including a fat tip for the bartender.

  “Come on. Let’s head home. We’ve got the early flight back to LAX to catch.”

  I tossed his arm over my shoulder and half-carried my friend out of the bar.

  “Try not to propose to anyone else on my behalf on the way home.”

  Chapter 3

  Luci

  Nobody ever told me independence was so damn uncomfortable.

  Snuggling down under the weight of my thick blanket, I wiggled my toes inside their fuzzy socks. I debated the merits of crawling to the trunk-come-closet and unearthing a thicker pair of flannel pajama pants from the basket of clean laundry, but that would mean leaving the safety of the comforters altogether. This close to morning, it just didn’t feel worth losing precious sleep.

  Condensation from my breath fogged up the windows as I burrowed down into the foam of the car’s seats and tried to remember exactly what I’d been dreaming about before a seatbelt buckle digging into my hip had so rudely awoken me. There’d been at least one Hemsworth involved, damn it.

  Between scooping up extra hours at dinner and then getting to know my new coworkers over dishes, I’d been too exhausted to drive very far down the street when I’d finally crawled into my itty bitty traveling home for the night. Since all but the live-in help had already left for the night and Mr. Knight wasn’t even anywhere on the continental United States as far as I knew, I hadn’t thought much about simply collapsing in a frigid bundle right outside of the winding driveway.

  A hesitant tap at the driver’s-side window a moment later made me rethink not just that plan, but my entire life to this point.

  Why me

>   “Just a sec!”

  The car rocked as I struggled to unearth myself from the blankets and sat up. Combined with the foggy windows, I could only imagine what the middle of the night scene must look like. Heat crept into a face that was almost the same shade as my mess of hair by the time I finally managed to stab the key into the slot and roll down the window.

  But to my surprise, it wasn’t a disapproving LAPD officer peering down at me through the darkness when I lowered the glass. It wasn’t even a Hemsworth, though I could be forgiven for thinking so at first glance, especially in my half-sleep. There was something familiar about the movie star handsome face. Shaggy blond hair and sea green eyes, a golden tan that was obvious even through the night and frigid air. He looked like he’d been plucked right off a sandy beach on the silver screen and deposited in front of my beat-up Honda.

  Surfboard and all.

  Maybe I was still asleep.

  But no, even after scrubbing my knuckles across my bleary eyes, he was very much still there. Surfboard and all. My mind scrambled to make sense of things, even as my traitorous nipples strained against the thin cotton of my pajama shirt. The combination of night air and gorgeous axe murdering strangers apparently did it for me.

  “What the fuck, dude?”

  Not my most eloquent moment, I’ll admit. But then again, how are you supposed to react when a movie star lookalike taps on your car home window at 3 am?

  Two nearly-simultaneous thoughts hit m as the words flew out of my mouth.

  One: instead of looking offended, alarmed, or even surprised, the rugged blonde looked… pleased. He beamed a perfect smile, though I wasn’t quite sure if it was a reaction to my foul-mouthed greeting or the rumpled state of my appearance.

  Definitely a serial killer.

  But it was the second thing I realized about my own personal Ted Bundy that actually made my heart stutter.

  I knew exactly who he was.

  Of course he looked familiar. Oliver Knight’s name was neatly listed at the top of my employment contract. Impossibly, he was even more handsome in person in the middle of the night than he was splashed across TMZ.