Hog Wild Ch. 01

Aw, fuck.

That was the first thought that came to mind as Holly Sullivan turned off the alarm and glanced at the clock. It was 7:45 a.m., and she was running late for her first day of work at her new job.

Throwing back the covers and hurriedly wiping sleep from her eyes, Holly jumped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

The snooze button has got to be the most evil invention, she groused to herself as she splashed water on her face. Deciding there wasn't any time for a shower, she threw her russet hair into a ponytail and swiped on some mascara. Holly frowned at her reflection, wishing for the millionth time that she wasn't so pale and that her nose didn't have a smattering of freckles. But being of Irish descent, neither was avoidable.

In truth Holly was a fairly attractive girl. She was average height and had curves in the right places, with auburn hair that tumbled in soft waves to her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep green, and the freckles gave her face charm.

There were, however, dark circles under her eyes, making her look older than her twenty-two years. A rough life had taken its toll on Holly -- her parents were killed in a car accident when she was only sixteen, leaving her to fend largely for herself as she bounced around from relative to relative. And having had a hard time paying the bills as she struggled through school, she was desperate to make a change and finally get her life together.

Rushing back into the bedroom, Holly searched frantically for a clean pair of pants to wear. It was one of her faults that she hated to do laundry; now she was paying for it. Settling on a mostly clean pair of black dress pants, she then pulled a pale blue button-down tank top on over her cream colored bra, careful to button it up to the collar to appear as modest and work appropriate as possible.

Not that it matters, she thought as she slipped on a pair of black flats. My first impression is already ruined since I'm late.

Swiping a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, Holly grabbed her keys, purse and leather jacket and flew out the door. It was a miracle that she didn't take a fatal fall down the stairs of her apartment building as she made a mad dash for the parking garage.

Spying her beloved Harley in the far corner, Holly quickened her pace. The motorcycle had been her father's, and she treasured it more than any other possession she owned. It was a red, black and chrome Fat Boy Softail, and some of her earliest memories were of riding through the neighborhood streets, clutching onto her father for dear life.

Whipping her helmet out of the storage compartment at the rear of the bike, Holly straddled the seat and started the engine. Holy Mother Mary, she prayed silently. Please don't let me be fired.

*

"Where the hell is the new assistant?"

Alexander Grant was pacing. This was never a good sign.

His cat, Murray, merely stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes, uncaring that his owner was working himself into a fit. Alex stared back. "Yeah, yeah," he spat, waving his hand dismissively at the feline. "What do you care, you fat bastard?"

Alex was not used to waiting. As a prominent novelist, he had gained quite a reputation, as well as a following. He was someone who mattered; as a result, no one kept him waiting.

Until now.

He had gone through six assistants, one for each of his books. None of them seemed to want to stick around -- Alex had quite the temper, and as charming and charismatic as he was when he was happy, he was just as much of a tyrant to work for when he was in one of his moods.

"This is ridiculous," Alex muttered as he checked his datebook again. Seeing that the new assistant was in fact scheduled to start today, he picked up the phone and called his agent.

"Devon!" he barked into the phone as soon as he heard someone answer.

"Cool it, Alex," Devon said, trying to calm down his easily agitated client. "What's the problem? Writer's block?"

"Har har," Alex replied sarcastically. "No, the problem is that the assistant you hired is already putting me behind schedule!"

"Oh, is that all?" Devon asked. "You woke me up to tell me that?"

Alex scowled. "You know, I should fire you. If not for your lack of caring, then for your apparent incompetence at hiring a decent assistant."

Devon chuckled, grating on Alex's nerves even more. "Don't worry, Grant. She's worth the wait. I hired her because she actually knows a thing or two about writing." There was a pause, then he added, "Also, she's kinda hot."

Alex smirked. "Right," he said. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not a good idea to do all your thinking with your other head?"

At that moment there was a knock on the door.

"Finally," Alex growled as he slammed the phone back onto the receiver. Stomping over to the door, he yanked it open and was momentarily taken aback by what he saw.

A tall, shapely, helmeted figure was standing there.

"You're late," Alex finally managed to snap, moving aside to allow entrance. "And for God's sake, take off the helmet, would you?"

"I'm so sorry," the figure said, her words muffled by the helmet as she reached up to pull it off. "I overslept this morning, and..."

Her words faded into the background as Alex finally got a glimpse at what was underneath that helmet. The girl was stunning -- her dark red hair was askew around her face, with wisps coming out of her messy ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she had been running, and her lips were full and very pink. Her eyes, though... they were what stood out the most. They were piercingly green, and staring at him worriedly.

"Sir? Are you listening?"

Alex shook his head, remembering his previous ire. "Yes, right," he said. "Overslept, you say? I'm sorry, Miss..."

"Holly," she answered. "Holly Sullivan."

"Miss Sullivan," Alex said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his watch. "You are over thirty minutes late. Very unprofessional."

Holly at least had the decency to look ashamed. She looks cute when she's contrite, Alex thought. It's annoying.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Holly said. "I promise, it won't happen again."

Alex frowned. "Take care that it doesn't," he said. "And don't call me 'sir.' It makes me feel old."

"Sorry, sir," Holly said, then immediately blushed when she realized she'd done it again. "I mean, sorry, Mr. Grant."

Irritated that he found her blush to be enchanting, Alex's frown turned into a full on glower. "You can call me Alex," he muttered, turning on his heel and striding towards his work area at the back of the loft.

"Then please, call me Holly," she said as she followed him.

Alex took a seat behind his desk, which stood dominantly in the middle of the floor, where sunshine coming in through the large window poured over and illuminated it. Holly bit back a smirk at the thought that this halo of light made the desk look almost holy.

"Holly," Alex said, shuffling around papers before clasping his hands firmly in front of him. "Do you realize that your tardiness has put me behind schedule, which is disastrous when I have a publishing deadline to meet?"

Holly was absorbed in looking at her surroundings. The loft was modern and clean, with shiny wooden floors, simple furniture and expansive white walls. On those walls were articles, presumably reviews of Alex's works. From what Holly had read, they were amazing. She noticed the rather bulbous gray cat resting on the window ledge, and she smiled in its direction before she realized Alex was tapping his foot. Impatiently.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't listening," Holly apologized, turning to see the ominous look on Alex's face. "I was admiring your home, it's gorgeous."

And so are you, she thought, finally taking in her new employer. Alexander Grant was a tall man, and in his loose fitting black t-shirt and slightly baggy khakis you could still see that he was someone who paid attention to his fitness. His shoulders were broad and his chest was wide, and his tan made him look like some sort of god. His face was angular and masculine, and all the features fit together perfectly. Eyes the color of amber bored into her, and although he was clearly not happy with her she couldn't help but be drawn into them. Soot black hair hung to the nape of his neck and fell into his eyes, and Holly resisted the urge to run her hand through it. Though the biography she'd read stated his age to be thirty-six, he didn't look a day over thirty.

So that's what the brooding writer looks like, Holly thought amusedly.

"Are you always this airheaded, or have I happened to meet you on a particularly bad day?"

Holly jerked out of her reverie, her Irish temper quickly rising to the surface. "Are you always this rude, or are you having a bad day yourself?" she retorted, all feelings of attraction dissipating instantly.

Alex's eyebrows raised, surprised that she was willing to talk back to him in such a manner. "You have some nerve calling me rude," he said, crossing his arms and cocking his head at her. "You're the one who strolled in here a half hour late, and on your first day, no less."

Holly was standing in front of him in an instant, drawing herself up to her full five feet, six inches and also crossing her arms in front of her. "If you'll excuse me," she said slowly, her voice tinged with ire, "I believe I tried to explain to you from the very beginning why I was late, and I've apologized more than enough for it."

"Well, obviously you don't take this job very seriously," Alex replied, having mixed feelings about the current spat. He hadn't foreseen the girl standing up to him; he'd merely been trying to establish himself as the authority.

It had backfired. Horribly.

Holly was incensed. "Let me tell you something, hot shot," she hissed, coming closer and bending so she was practically in his face. "I happen to care a hell of a lot about this job," she said, poking her finger into Alex's chest and enjoying the uncomfortable look that came across his face. "I know for a Goddamn fact that I'm the best assistant you're going to find, because I know my shit, and I have a degree in English to prove it."

It was Alex's turn to tune out what was being said as he watched woman's fury display itself so attractively right in front of him. Holly's cheeks and the tip of her nose had flushed to a pale shade of pink. He had somehow missed the freckles sprinkled across her nose, and up close he found them appealing. Her emerald eyes were shooting sparks. She was breathing heavily and gesticulating wildly, and her hair, every bit as fiery as she was, framed her face so becomingly.

I guess the old cliché is true, he thought. A woman is beautiful when she's angry.

"Furthermore," Holly continued, oblivious to the fact that Alex was no longer paying attention to what she was saying, "I may need this job, but I don't need your elitist attitude, and I sure as hell don't need you looking down your nose at me and assuming things about me when you haven't even bothered to get to know me!" She jabbed her finger into his chest one last time for emphasis, then abruptly turned away and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Alex managed to say when he found the ability to form a coherent thought again. It had been a damn long time since he'd last been this entertained by someone; he wasn't about to let that someone walk out on him.

"I'm leaving," Holly spat over her shoulder, grabbing her things off the table near the doorway. "Find yourself another assistant."

Alex bolted from his chair, reaching over her to slam the door shut just as she opened it.

"What are you doing?" Holly asked angrily, turning her head to stare up at him. She didn't like being this close to him. Her body reacted to his nearness in a way that very much contradicted what her mind thought of him.

"Don't go."

He said it softly, almost so softly that she didn't hear him.

"I beg your pardon?" Holly asked, feeling confused. "Why shouldn't I go? You're being an ass."

Alex smirked at that. She's a regular little spitfire, he thought. "I'm aware of that, my dear," he replied. He made no move to back away from her; he found he rather liked being in this position.

She continued to stare up at him. He had her trapped between his much larger body and the door. She could feel his warm breath rustling her bangs, and she licked her lips unconsciously.

Alex suppressed a moan, watching her tongue slip between those plump lips. Why the hell am I so attracted to her? he wondered vaguely. She's a pain.

Ignoring those thoughts, he said, "Maybe I can persuade you to stay."

Then he dipped his head to kiss her.

Their lips met before Holly could counter. He was surprisingly gentle, considering his earlier behavior. His mouth moved over hers tenderly, his tongue gliding lightly over her lips as if asking for permission to enter. She granted it, and he immediately deepened the kiss and brought his arms around her waist.

Alex was lost. Her mouth was so hot and inviting, and she was sweeter than any other woman he'd had the pleasure of tasting. And hell, the minx can kiss, he thought foggily as Holly wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth wider to allow for greater access. She was so pliant beneath him, and Jack found himself wondering how else she would behave beneath him.

Suddenly Holly sprang away, as if burned. She brought her hand to her lips and momentarily looked disoriented. Then her eyes cleared and she glared at Alex.

"How dare you!" she raged, yanking on her jacket and slinging her purse over her shoulder.

"How dare I what?" Alex asked incredulously, puzzled by the backlash. "How dare I kiss you? You know full well you enjoyed that just as much as I did, if not more."

"You arrogant prick," she snapped. "You must really think lowly of me to believe I'd stick around for you to use as some sort of... sex toy!"

Alex, for once in his life, had nothing to say in response. And so he stood there, dumbfounded, and watched Holly Sullivan slam the door behind her.

*

The nerve of that fucker! Holly thought furiously as she waited for the elevator. And he didn't even have the manners to apologize.

In truth, she'd been deeply affected by that kiss. And not in entirely negative ways.

Thinking of it now, she was ashamed by her wanton reaction to his advances. The man was potent, and if she had continued to let him kiss her she wasn't entirely sure she could have been held responsible for her actions. "Stop it," she berated herself, relieved when the elevator finally dinged its arrival. "He's an asshole, anyway."

But as she stepped into the elevator and pushed the ground floor button, she couldn't help but be disappointed, just a little, that Alex hadn't come after her.

*

Alex raked his hand through his hair, silently cursing the minute he'd laid eyes on Holly. Walking back over to his desk, he looked over at Murray and said, "What do I want with her anyway? She's a load more trouble than she's worth."

Yet as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they weren't true. He hadn't responded so strongly to anyone since... well, he didn't want to think about her right now.

His thoughts refocused on Holly. She was demure one moment, breathing fire the next.

It was intriguing. And Alex was never a man to discount intrigue.

"Damnit all to hell," he muttered as he snatched his car keys off his bedroom dresser and marched out the door.

*

This is great, Alex thought irately. She had a good five minutes head start. He stepped out of the elevator in the basement parking garage, and spotting his dark blue BMW he made a run for it.

"She had a motorcycle helmet," he murmured to himself absently. Figures, he thought, chuckling. Well, at least a vixen on a crotch rocket wouldn't (or shouldn't, he hoped) be too hard to find.

Gunning the engine, Alex peeled out of his parking space and floored it as he headed for the uphill driveway that would bring him to street level. She can't have gone far, he thought distractedly as he made an attempt to turn into traffic without looking.

The motorcycle came out of nowhere, and he heard the unmistakable sounds of metal crunching and glass breaking as a somewhat familiar figure bounced off of the hood of his car.

Aw, fuck.