Layers

By TL Alexander

Layers
Book one of the smexy LOL Layers Series.
The Layers Series
Layers
More Layers
Beneath Layers
Beyond Layers
Life is a Bitchwad a free Layers novelette @tlalexanderauthor web page.
All four books of the Layers Series is available. No waiting for the HEA!
* * *
Alexia Keith, self-proclaimed nerd and potty-mouth, is a beautiful, scotch drinking, complicated mess. In other words, she has issues, and the last thing she needs is her boss, Jaxson Ryan, CEO of Ryan Acquisitions, messing with her issues. She finds him hard and even harder to resist, but she must, he’s off limits.
* * *
One of New York’s most eligible bachelors, Jaxson Ryan, is the poster boy for the tall, hot, conceited self-proclaimed manwhores. The only thing he wants is Ryan’s, Risk Manager, Alexia Keith.
* * *
What happens, when a man with a bedpost-notching waiting list, a man who thought he had it all, wants the only woman he can’t have? Find out by reading the LOL Layers Series.
* * *
Reviews
“These books were enthralling, maddening, steamy, addicting, and just... delicious. Sigh, so glad they got their HEA, yet I am already feeling withdrawals.” Empress DJ Rockin’ & Reviewing

“If you want something different, saucy, and romantic at the same time this series is for YOU. But be warned... this is a HOT HOT HOT series! Not safe for work!! ;)” For The Love Book Blog Series 4 stars!

“I was lucky enough to read these stories back to back and I suggest you pick them up all at once or you will be upset. Fabulous series. Crazy sex and wickedly funny” Layers Series by TL Alexander 4 stars Brenda’s Book Beat Blog

“If you like them complicated, suspenseful, and steamy, you should put these on your list or pick them up instead.” Crazy For Books Blog

“This story had it all, humor, hot hot sexy times, angst, and everything in between.” Kris and Vik Book Therapy Cafe Review of Layers Four Coffee Drinking Smut Beans

“Wow, loved this book. This is the first book I’ve read from this author and I am a fan for life.” Author Sandra Love Blog

• Language: English
• Publisher: TL Alexander
• Release date: Dec 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9780991294800

TL Alexander

A.K.A. 2018 indieBRAG WinnerTL Alexander is the author of eight novels. Best known for the smexy, LOL, contemporary romance Layers Series, she ventured into the realm of romantic suspense in 2017 with the release of A.K.A.In 2018 A.K.A. received the indieBRAG gold medallion.Books by TL AlexanderA.K.A. indieBRAG Medallion winnerLayers SeriesLayersMore LayersBeneath LayersBeyond LayersLife's a Bitchwad (a free download at www.tlalexanderauthor.com)Law Inc. Cassandra Marcella Mystery Series Life on TopGirlfriends Goddesses & Barflies SeriesBook OneOne More Shot e-book and paperbackPlease leave a review on this site and TL Alexander Goodreads

Book preview

My name is Alexia, and this is my complicated, crazy-assed story. I’m going to start my story in the middle. Why, do you ask? Because if I start at the beginning, we’ll be here for a freakin’ decade, and if I start at the end, what’s the fun in that? But most importantly, it’s where the head-over-feet in love part began. So here’s my story…beginning in the middle.

I can’t believe we’re still auditing this freakin’ Sims account, my assistant, Dale Adams, says. We sent the freakin’ ass thing to Frankie five freakin’ times while you were basking in the freakin’ Tuscan sun.

Dale says freakin’ a lot. Don’t you think? It’s a testament of having worked with me, the Slang-Slinging Master. Freakin’ just happens to be one of my favorites. It’s freakin’ awesome.

Tuscany’s in Italy, you idiot. I was in France.

He sets his laptop down on a small conference table; pulls up a chair and sits. Whatever.

Let’s just fix the damn audit and hand it over to legal on Friday. If the asswipe rejects it again, I’ll talk to Ryan when he gets back from Korea.

Boss-man returned last week.

I look up from my laptop. He did? Why?

Don’t know, but I’ve heard tons of ridiculous rumors.

What rumors?

He contracted bird flu and was rushed out of the country. He ate contaminated oysters and acquired mercury poisoning. And, my personal favorite, his client kicked him out of the country for getting soused on saké and then sleeping with his daughter. Or was it his wife…or both? Shit, who knows? You know what it’s like around here; rumors spread faster than flesh-eating bacteria.

You’re right about that, but I think they drink soju in Korea.

Whatever. Like I said, ridiculous rumors. However, I did run into his PA’s new assistant, Claire. She said he was called back for an emergency partners’ meeting. She also said Ryan hasn’t left his office suite in four days.

I hope he’s okay. Hell, nobody wants bird flu, or any other kind of flu. Remember when I got it last year? I was puking, sneezing, coughing, and… you get the picture.

Dale cringes. Yeah, I got it.

There’s a knock on my open office door. Dale and I look up from our work (okay, we weren’t really working) as Janie from Legal waddles into my office.

Alexia, Dale, sorry to interrupt.

I shut my laptop and lean back in my chair. Somehow I doubt that.

How was your vacation?

Good.

She frowns at me as her hands meet her hips. Good? You spend three weeks at a villa in southern France, and it was good?

Sorry. It is what it is.

Oh, pleeease. Three weeks vacationing at a French villa, lounging in the French sun, eating French food, and drinking French wine. And what about the French men? She raises her brows three times.

I fold my arms over my chest. One of my, I’m so not going there, moves.

With her hands still planted on her hips, she adds an annoying tapping of the foot.

I groan. You’re not going to let this go, are you?

No. So you might as well spill it.

"You should work for the National Inquirer."

She gives me a triumphant grin. Apparently she thinks that’s a compliment.

Okay, I say and raise my arms in defeat. The French villa—ancient. French sun—hotter than watching a naked Ryan Gosling bake cookies in August. I pause and savor that visual for a few seconds. Yeah, that’s hot.

Where was I?

Food, Janie says, gesturing, go on, go on.

French food—fucking fantastic. The chef Gram hired for our stay, incredibly talented. And it was obvious that he enjoys his own cooking. The man was…fat. The fattest man I’d ever met.

"It’s not politically correct to say fat."

Do I look like I’m politically correct in any way?

What do politically correct people look like? Dale asks.

I have no idea. You two drive me crazy. Do you want me to finish, or can we just skip this inquest and get back to work?

No, they answer simultaneously.

Okay. The French wine was like having simultaneous multiple orgasms igniting on the tip of your tongue, then exploding in the back of your throat.

Wow! Dale says. I’m for sure stopping by the wine store on my way home.

What about the men? Janie whines.

French men…let’s just say mature.

Mature?

Yeah, AARP mature. I roll my chair back and plant my heeled-feet on top of my desk.

You’re so lying.

Do I need to recap our pre-vacation conversations?

No. Maybe?

Recap, Dale mocks while his eyes remain glued to his laptop.

I flip him off.

I saw that.

So you don’t like my recaps, Mr. Adams. Well, too bad. "My eccentric and possibly psychotic grandmother owns a villa in southern France. She asked me, her belle petite-fille to join her and her mature friends. I begged off numerous times, but Gram was very persistent."

"What’s belle pe…whatever you said?" Dale asks.

"Oh, sorry, my linguistatardic friend, it means, beautiful granddaughter."

I knew that, Janie says.

I lift a brow. Really?

You so didn’t, Dale adds.

"Okay, I didn’t. FYI, girlfriend, tart isn’t politically correct."

Well, FYI, girlfriend—eat me.

"It’s true, though. I am a linguistatard. Lex has been trying to teach me Spanish for two years. And the only thing I can come up with is, sí jefe."

I thought you were feeding me bullshit. You really did go with your psycho grandmother and her AARP friends?

Yeah, I did.

That’s just fucking sad.

I chuckle. You haven’t meet Gram’s friends. When I said mature, I wasn’t referring to age. They’re batshit crazy. They party like the Rolling Stones, drink like the Irish before Lent, and—they—well, fuck like rabbits.

Dale closes his laptop and leans forward.

Typical male. Say fuck and rabbits and they tune in. Okay, just say fuck and they tune in.

I continue. Remember ancient, and hot? There’s no air-conditioning in a one hundred and fifty year old villa. Every night I would sit out on my balcony for a little heat relief. And every night it was like watching Gram and her mature friends in a Viagra infomercial on a continuous loop. Over and over and over. I gesture this by rolling my hands. I would have killed for a remote control so I could change the channel, turn it off, or at the very least, mute it.

Oh. My. God, Janie says, planting her seven-month pregnant ass on my desk.

Yeah. Oh. My. God. I articulate each word, so they totally get that I was freakin’ freaked out. Two almost seventy-year-olds bonking in a pool on an inflatable island is something you never want to see, or hear. Ever.

Janie wrinkles her nose. "Yuck. The thought of my grandmother doing it in a pool… Oh, God, or anywhere, makes me want to…" She sticks her finger down her throat and mock gags.

And that, folks, is why there shouldn’t be any geriatric porn, Dale adds. He groans and rubs his temples. Oh, my God, now I can’t get it out of my head. He closes his eyes and narrates the scene that’s plaguing his psyche.

A set of dentures soaks in a glass that sits on a bedside table. A mature man lounges in a wheelchair, sporting a Viagra-induced stiffy. Then, with the aid of her walker, a mature woman kneels in front of the man. The man leans his head back and closes his eyes. ‘Hell, yeah woman—gum it! Yeah, baby, just like that! Gum it!’

He opens his eyes. My new career, geriatric porn writer.

I think for a minute. Hey, you might be on to something. Isn’t like 70 percent of the US population mature?

Dale shrugs. I have no idea?

You could make it into a reality show.

Yeah, right. Who would watch crap like that?

"Oh, come on, dude. Isn’t that what reality shows are all about—crap? What’s that one, Honey’s Got A Boo Boo? Oh, and the one my friend, Jules, watches all the time, Talk To Your Dress, or The Dress Talks? Who the hell knows? Who the hell cares?"

I bite my lip. I do this when I’m thinking, or when I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. So yeah, my lip has permanent teeth marks. "Let’s see, the Amish one, Amish CSI, or is it Amish SVU? I haven’t a clue. There’s another one Jules talks about all the time—The Kardoucheians."

Janie rolls her eyes at me.

What?

That’s not what it’s called.

Who gives a shit?

I do! I love that show, she shout-pouts.

Well, I say a Kardoucheian free world is a better world.

Janie stomps her foot. You are so not with it, girlfriend. I mean you’re gorgeous and all that, and you dress great, but you’re a…well, you’re a nerd.

"Well, thanks, Janie. I happen to think nerds are like way sick. The good sick, not bad, in case you were wondering. I don’t know about the gorgeous thing, but the dress great thing. Yeah, I know I’m stylin’, chica, because my friends dress me. Okay, they don’t literally come over and dress me. They shop for me. My clothes and stuff. My point is, you can’t make a reality show people won’t watch. So why not, Dale Adams, Geriatric Porn Writer Dynasty."

Yeah. I can see it, Dale says. After about a year there’ll be all-day marathons; not to mention all the additional marketing crap: T-shirts, mugs, key chains, beer… The list is endless. I think you might be on to something, Lex.

Well, that’s one show I’ll be missing, Janie says.

Yeah, right, Dale replies.

Janie slides her ass off my desk, and farts. Crap. Sorry about that. Pregnant and all.

Dale and I wrinkle our noses. Don’t worry about it, I say, holding my breath. Yeah, come fart on my desk anytime you want, girlfriend. FYI—pregnant farts are nasty. Avoid at all costs.

I’d better get my big, baby-assed self back to work before someone comes looking for me.

She waddles toward the door and stops. Then she turns and hits her forehead with the palm of her hand. I’m such a raging-hormonal idiot. I almost forgot the reason I came down here. She reaches into her jacket pocket, removes a Post-it Note, and hands it to me. From the biggest pain in your ass.

I recite the note.

Your vacation is over!

Sims audit on my desk by Thursday.

Stop screwing around, and do your job.

Get it done, or I’ll report you to Ryan.

What a pissant, Dale says. He makes it sound as if we’ve been sitting on our asses and twiddling our thumbs.

Don’t worry about Frankie, I tell him.

I’m not worried about him. I just can’t stand the man. He’s a dork.

Yeah, I agree he’s no legal prodigy. He thinks a legal pad is a place where attorneys hang out, and legal briefs are the tighty-whities that crawl up his crack.

Dale laughs.

Janie gives him a playful slug in the arm. You wouldn’t be laughing if you had to work with the assbag. It amazes me that a guy who can barely tie his shoes could pass the bar. And you. She points at me. When my ass is bigger than a house, I won’t be delivering Post-it Notes, so start answering his stupid e-mails.

All right, all right. I slide my feet off my desk and onto the floor. I then grasp its edge, pull my chair closer, and rummage through the drawers until I find my Post-Its. I write and recite my response.

Frankie,

Feed your dick through the shredder.

Then shove your balls up your ass.

Oh, wait—you don’t have any.

Sims audit by Friday.

Or whenever it gets done!

Comprende?

Janie grins as I hand her the note.

Tell the dork I’ll answer his e-mails, but no more than three a day. I can’t handle more than that.

"I’ll tell him, but I can’t guarantee he will comprende."

I nod.

Well, you two, it’s been real. She salutes us and waddles out of my office.

I flip open my laptop. Okay, let’s fix this freakin’ ass Sims audit.

Dale opens his laptop and we get back to work.

Two hours later my jet lag sets in and I yawn.

Tired? Dale asks.

Yeah, jet lagging’.

He shuts down his laptop. I’ll run and get us a Red Bull and a triple espresso.

There are four things in life that I rarely pass up. A hard run, good scotch , coffee, and…well, you know. If you don’t know…well, what can I say?

I’ll skip the Bull.

He smirks. No Bull?

I shake my head. No Bull.

Are you sure? No Bull?

Enough with the bull-shit.

Okay, no Bull, he says and walks to the door. As he takes his first step past the threshold, he smacks headfirst into The Wall.

The Wall, aka Mountain Man, aka Security Pete, is a bear of a man. Standing at six-five and weighing two-ninety, or thereabout. Pete’s a one-man security team. A sweet guy, but someone you don’t want to mess with.

Holy crap! Dale cries and rubs his head.

"Sorry, Dale, didn’t see you down there."

"Well, maybe you should look down here."

Pete grins. Yeah, sure thing, Dale.

Dale continues to rub his noggin as he steps back into my office.

Pete follows, still sporting his grin.

I close my laptop. Hey, Pete.

He nods. Alexia.

What’s up?

I’m here…well…I’m here on official security business. I’ve been asked to escort you to the CEO floor.

I chuckle. Escort me?

He frowns. Sorry, Alexia. I need you to gather your personal items and come with me.

My personal items? You’re serious?

He nods.

What the hell? Dale asks.

What’s going on Pete?

He shakes his head. I don’t know, Alexia.

What the hell are you up to, Ryan? I shrug it off, and begin to gather my belongings.

Dale plants himself in front of Pete. Hey, wait a minute. You can’t just barge in and…escort.

Pete takes a step back. He towers over Dale by several inches, but Dale is a practiced Black Belt with a badass attitude.

I grab my satchel and duffle then walk toward the door.

Dale grips my forearm. Hey, hold on a sec. I don’t like this. He turns and glares at Pete. Come on, Mountain Man, explain.

Pete raises his hands in surrender. Hey, man, I don’t know any more than you do. I’m just doing my job.

I pat Dale’s shoulder. Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. Ryan probably just needs an Alexia fix. Alexia fix—a rare occasion when someone actually misses my sorry ass.

Well, maybe, he says and reluctantly steps aside.

Pete follows me as we walk through the Risk Management department toward the elevators. When we reach the elevators, Pete punches the up button. We wait in silence for a minute. Sensing breathing bodies behind us, we turn.

My entire department stands before us.

Pete looks at me. What the hell, Alexia?

I shrug in response as I scan over everyone’s face. I see confusion, concern and a whole lot of anger. Riot anger, lynching anger, raid and pillage anger. Okay, a little extreme.

They shuffle forward in complete synchronization.

Wow! Like…way cool.

Pete hobbles back a step and raises his arms. Hey, guys, I’m just doing my job. I need you all to take a step back.

They look to me for direction. I give them nothing. They look at each other. Decision seemingly made, the Mob Squad, steps back. Mob Squad? Very clever, Alexia.

Pete punches the elevator up button several more times.

Like that’s going to help. Everyone knows that the continuous pressing of an elevator button doesn’t make it move any faster, but we all do it.

I stand and stare at the Mob Squad because I don’t know what to say. This is a very rare occasion.

Once again, getting nothing from me, they look to each other. Another nonverbal decision seemingly made, they begin shouting questions and comments.

What the hell?

What’s going on?

Mountain, who authorized this?

Alexia, what did you do?

Are they going to can you?

This is crazy!

Security Pete, what the hell, man?

Where are you taking her, Mountain?

This sucks.

Did Frankie report us again? We’ll kick his ass.

Wall, who sent you?

Did Ryan send you?

Yeah, what’s going on with the boss-man?

Yeah, man, does he really have bird flu?

Pete looks at me. Bird flu?

I shrug my shoulders.

The Mob Squad continues to shout. It’s soon apparent that I need to buck up and be a manager. I clear my throat and address the squad. Okay team, I sincerely appreciate your support or whatever this is, but you need to chill out. I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on, but I’m sure it’s nothing.

Everyone gives me that deer in the headlights stare. Okay, Alexia, you need to buck it up more.

Jill, one of my team leaders, steps forward. Sorry, Alexia, we’re all a little on edge. Something is definitely going down. Ryan’s Korea trip was cut short, the partners have been meeting daily, and upper management canceled all their meetings. There have been tons of rumors and now this… She waves her hand between Pete and me.

I frown because it seems appropriate. I wish I could enlighten everyone, but as I said, I’m just as clueless.

The elevator dings and opens. Pete gives me a look of relief as we step inside. He hits the CEO floor button, and the doors begin to close.

Just before they do, Dale stops them with his foot. I punch the open button.

"Alexia, this is crazy. I’ve been here for nine years. When security escorts you to the CEO floor, you’re

Reviews for Layers

[Jennan Hannah · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Funny but bad storyline, it has the making of a good story but as I said lame storyline