by Casey, Ember
“I said you didn’t have to do any except for this one for Celebrity Spark. You need to do this, Pax. The label’s already worried about the new sound—”
“And we need all the good PR we can get if we want this album to sell. I know, I know.” I run my fingers under the stream of water, testing the temperature. “I’ll be there, don’t worry.”
“Good. And Pax?”
“Hm?”
“Thanks for the trampoline for Emma. She loved it.”
“I knew she would,” I say. Growing up with three younger sisters has made me something of an expert when it comes to birthday gifts for friends’ daughters. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
In fact, it only takes me forty-five minutes to shower, dress, drink some coffee, get last night’s guest out of my bed, and be on my way to the studio for the shoot. I hate interviews—they’re tedious at best, invasive at worst—but Mick is right. Twisted Throne needs this. We decided to try something different this time around. Our label wanted something like our last two albums—both of which went platinum—but we couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. We need to evolve, to push boundaries, and we can’t do that by recycling the exact same sound we’ve already played to death. The songs we’ve cut over the past few months are the best we’ve ever done, in my opinion. But labels like things they know. Things they can guarantee will be successful. They don’t like when their musicians actually begin to give a damn about their music. It’s too fucking risky for them, apparently.
I’ll do whatever it takes to make this album successful. Even deal with some simpering celebrity reporter for an hour if I have to.
Mick is waiting for me at the door. He looks me up and down, taking in my clean black T-shirt and dark jeans and giving a nod of approval. I guess I look a lot less hungover than I feel.
“This way,” he says with a jerk of his chin. “They want to get an interview with you first, then a few behind-the-scenes shots of the photo shoot, then maybe they’ll talk to the others afterward.”
“The other guys aren’t here yet?”
“Charlie’s on his way. And Rider is trying to track down Jameson. What the hell did the four of you get up to last night?”
“You don’t want to know,” I mutter. I can’t even remember most of it. I know there was a bar. And then a strip club. And then…who the fuck knows? It’s probably better that I blacked out. It’s a miracle that none of us ended up in jail this time.
“Celebrity Spark is mostly interested in you, anyway,” Mick tells me, leading me down a corridor. “You’re the face, after all. And this whole new ‘direction’ for Twisted Throne is your vision.”
“As long as they don’t make me out to be some moody fucking artist or something.”
Mick smirks. “Then I suggest you don’t be moody. Easy as that.”
Leave it to Mick to be a smart-ass. I always like to joke that we hired him as our manager solely for his sense of humor.
“In here,” he says, gesturing to the dressing room.
I steel myself, preparing for an hour of tedious questions about my “vision” and, no doubt, about my personal life as well. I did so many of these damn things when I was first started out that I could probably dictate the entire conversion before it even occurs—they’ll start by asking all the important questions about the new album, then throw in a couple of softballs about my friendship with my bandmates, before shifting into the “juicy” but predictable questions about my love life. Yawn. There’s a reason I started refusing to do interviews after we hit it big.
I’m in for at least one surprise, though. When I enter the dressing room, I find not one but two rather attractive women waiting for me. Red carpet reporters are almost always at least relatively attractive, but the “behind-the-scenes” types are usually a mixed bag. Today, though, it looks like I got lucky. Both have dark hair, bright eyes, and curves in all the right places. If more of my interviews were with women like this, I’d be a lot more enthusiastic about them.
“I’ve got it from here, Mick,” I tell my manager. I turn my grin on the two women in front of me. I’ve learned it doesn’t take much more than that when you reach a certain level of fame.
Maybe today won’t be such a drag after all.
Sophia
My God. The man is more beautiful than in his photographs.
I’ve never been a huge fan of American music, but Pax Donovan has been competing for space in the tabloids with my brothers for the past few years. Now that I’ve seen him in person, the intrigue is obvious.
He’s tall and muscular—and the thought of seeing him holding a guitar is doing something to me that I wouldn’t have expected. I can’t really explain it—it must be the whole bad boy persona he’s created. That is how these bands sell records, I suppose. If you make enough women lust after you, they’ll buy anything you sell.
Still, I can’t help but think how horrified my father would be if I brought him home. The tattoos covering Pax’s arms would probably give my father another heart attack.
I suppose I’ve done plenty to annoy my father—refusing to attend graduate school being the main thing. He still squawks about it at the dinner table almost every night—how a proper princess should have an advanced degree.
My response has always been to ask him what it is I’m supposed to study—I’m interested in many things, but none so much that I want to go and waste more years of my life thinking about it to get some useless graduate school degree. My time is much better spent on other things. I just haven’t discovered what those other things are yet.
Pax walks over to us, eyeing us both up and down. His lips turn up into a wolfish grin as he sits in the chair across from me.
“If I’d known I could have two beautiful women, I would have granted an interview with your magazine a long time ago.” There’s no doubt about the innuendo in his comment.
Heat rushes to my face, but Victoria seems perfectly composed. She has a careful smile on her lips, and she merely looks across at the man. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Donovan.”
“Pax.” His gaze slides from her over to me. “You can call me Pax.”
She gives him a single nod. “It’s nice to meet you, Pax. I’m Victoria, and this is my assistant, Sophia.”
“Hello.” I squeak, barely recognizing the sound that comes from my throat.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Hello to you, too.” Pax grins, his gaze dropping to my chest for a few seconds. “I have to say, you two should probably be out doing the red carpet events.”
Victoria blinks a few times at him, the same smile on her lips. “Would you like to start with talking about your new album?”
How does she do that? I have trouble remaining composed around my family—and she’s somehow able to do it with him. I need to learn how to do this…
Her words seem to break him out of his trance, and he lifts his gaze from my cleavage, turning to Victoria. “Sure.”
She gives him a single nod. “This is a much different sound for you. I understand you wrote most of the music for the album?”
“Yeah.” His gaze darts to mine for a second before he looks back over at Victoria. “Well, I wrote the lyrics. Everyone helped write the music.”
She scribbles something onto the pad on her lap. “And what were your influences for the album?”
“Influences?” He leans back into his chair and rubs at his stubble-lined jaw. “I had a lot, I guess.”
She writes something again before looking back up at him. “This album isn’t the same sound you’ve put out with your last albums. It’s more—”
“Grungy. Yeah.” He frowns, glancing at me. “Have you heard it?”
I give a slight shake of my head. “No, I—”
Victoria interrupts, saving me from putting my foot in my mouth. “Your manager says…” She looks down at the paper on her lap. “He says it’s a mixture of nineties grunge, reggae, and bluegrass.” She looks up at him. “That’s quite t
he combination.”
He laughs. “He said that?” He shakes his head. “That almost sounds ridiculous hearing it out loud, but yeah… I guess that’s pretty accurate.”
“How do you think your fans will react?” She tilts her head, waiting for his response.
“Honestly, I don’t give a…” His voice trails off as though he’s suddenly thought better of what he was about to say. “That is to say, I hope they’ll like it. It’s all the real me.” He lets out a long breath, shaking his head as though he already regrets what he’s said. “We’ve done a lot of music that’s been really popular, but this album…” He shakes his head again. “There’s no good way to answer this without sounding like a prick.”
Victoria gives him a knowing smile. “Let’s go off the record for a second.”
His shoulders drop, and he leans forward. “Thank God.”
Her smile widens just a bit. “Just between you and me and Sophia, we’re not here to trap you into saying anything. Celebrity Spark wants to sell magazines. You want to sell records—”
“I want to do more than that.” His gaze slides over to mine, dropping again to my chest. “If you ladies would like to take this off-the-record conversation back to my apartment…”
I should be offended, but part of me wants to jump on his lap and let him have his way with me. The way he keeps looking at my chest makes me want to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on my skin…
I do not know what is happening to me.
My body feels like it’s on fire—my nerve endings all feel jangled. It’s almost like there’s a ball of energy inside me that’s decided to come alive all at once.
I can’t say that I’ve ever felt so attracted to anyone—ever. I’ve dated several men—I’ve even let a few have their way with me. But nothing—no one—has made my body feel like this. And this man has only looked at me.
Perhaps…perhaps I should do something about this. I’m not one to try to get myself publicity—not the way my brother Leopold has in the past, anyway—but if I wanted to get my father’s attention off the graduate school thing, having a photo of me with this Pax fellow in a magazine like Victoria’s might be just the thing to do it.
I haven’t ever been a troublemaker—not truly. I probably get far too involved in the love lives of my brothers—and of my friends—but I’ve never really been in any trouble to speak of.
Perhaps it’s time I tried.
Pax
“So?” I prompt them again. “What do you say? Party at my place?”
The one who’s been asking all of the questions—Victoria—gives me an exasperated smile. “I don’t think so, Mr. Donovan.”
I glance over at her assistant. She’s a little shorter than Victoria, her brown hair a touch lighter. I’d guess she’s more than a couple years younger than her boss, and not just because of her appearance—there’s an eagerness, an innocence in her expression that I find really fucking hot.
What the hell was her name again? Sarah? Sonia? Something with an “s”…
Victoria might want to keep things professional, but her assistant doesn’t. I can tell when a woman wants me, and this one definitely does.
I lean forward toward her. “What about you, sweetheart?” I say. “Want to have a little party when we’re done?”
I’ve come on to enough women to know how the next part goes—a batting of the eyelashes, a quick look away, a few protests to prove to herself that she’s not a whore for actually considering my offer…then later tonight, when her thighs are on either side of my head, she’ll tell me over and over again that she never does this, that she can’t believe how wild she’s being. Et cetera, et cetera. That’s how it always goes.
But she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even blush. Instead, she looks me right in the eyes, smiles, and says, “That sounds like fun.”
“Sophia!” the other woman says, grabbing her assistant’s arm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We have a job to do, remember?”
Sophia. Pretty name for a pretty girl.
The pretty Sophia shrugs off her boss’s protests. “Can’t we have a little fun, too? I don’t get to do that often.”
Now that she’s said more than a couple of things, I notice she has an odd accent. British? Canadian? Australian? I’m really bad at these things. Whatever it is, though, it’s hot as fuck.
“We can have all the fun you want, sweetheart,” I tell her. I glance back at Victoria. “You too, if you change your mind.”
“I guess that’s the perfect segue into my next question,” Victoria says. “What’s your love life looking like these days?”
I laugh, and the reporter gives a half smile and a shake of her head. This is clearly a woman who’s been doing this for quite some time—she’s not intimidated by me, and she sees right through my bullshit. I have to respect that on some level.
But I’m not really interested in Victoria right now. I turn my gaze back to her assistant as I answer, “I’m single at the moment.”
Sophia smiles in response, her eyes gleaming. “That’s good to know.”
I have her right where I want her. “And I’m always open to new experiences.”
In response to that, she lets out a laugh. “Wow. I knew American men were supposed to be forward, but I suppose I wasn’t prepared.”
I straighten, suddenly feeling like the butt of a joke. But this woman has already shocked me once—I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s trying to throw me off my game.
“In my experience, it’s better to put it all out there,” I say. “No games, just honesty. Where are you from that the men don’t have the balls to come on to you outright?”
Sophia opens her mouth to respond, but her boss touches her arm again.
“Maybe we should focus on the interview,” Victoria says. “We’re supposed to be staying out of trouble, remember?”
“No—you are supposed to be staying out of trouble,” Sophia says with a grin. “I’m free to do whatever I please.” Instead of pushing it further, though, she sits back in her chair. “But you’re right—we should finish the interview.”
“Why don’t I make this easy for you?” I say. “Yes, I’m single. Yes, I’m still getting along with all of my bandmates. No, there isn’t any sort of drama or rivalry among us. No, I did not hook up with Emilia Torres. Or Amanda Kingsley. Or any member of Glitter Union . Yes, I still enjoy vacationing in the mountains when I have time off. I like having the chance to unplug.” I thrum my fingers against my knee. “Does that cover your questions? Or were there more?”
“I can see you’ve come prepared, Mr. Donovan,” Victoria says. “Though frankly, I’m a little surprised you’re so eager to be done with this chat. Most artists love the chance to talk about themselves, especially when they have a huge experimental project coming out.” She cocks her head slightly. “How do you think this new album is going to do, compared to your others? Are you afraid it’s going to flop?”
“Not at all,” I say lightly. “I think it’s going to kick ass. Best work we’ve ever done.”
She looks at me closely, and for a moment I feel as if she’s staring right into me. It’s hard not to shift uncomfortably in my seat.
Yeah, she’s a pro all right. She knows how to sense a bigger story. But I’m not telling her any more than I already have. She might be good at her job, but I’ve been doing this for a long time, too, and I know when to keep my trap shut. If I didn’t, the media would have eaten me alive ages ago, especially with some of the things in my past.
Those things will stay buried. Forever. Just thinking about them brings a knot to my stomach. This is another reason I normally ignore these damn interviews.
Fortunately, our staring contest is cut short by a rap on the door. Mick is back.
“Hair and makeup time,” he says, ushering in my crew. “You can keep talking, but make sure you’re at the set on time.”
“Actually, we’ve just finished up,” I say, standing. I extend
my hand toward Victoria. “Thank you for the interview. I’m sure you’ll want to have a few questions with my bandmates before the shoot starts.”
Victoria shakes my hand, but she’s still looking at me shrewdly. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Donovan. And don’t worry—I’ll probably have a few follow-up questions for you before the day is over.”
You’re not getting anything else out of me. You don’t survive in this business without learning to keep some things to yourself. It’ll take more than a few probing looks to get me to spill the full truth.
But I’m done with Victoria. I turn to Sophia, taking her hand in mine and bringing it to my lips. Women love that shit. Makes me into some sort of rock-god-slash-prince-charming hybrid. Nothing gets a chick to drop her panties faster.
But Sophia only giggles and pulls her hand away, giving me a look that says, Oh, how cute! Look at how hard he’s trying! I’m not sure whether to be pissed or offended or inspired by the challenge.
“Let me know about that party later,” she says, grinning.
And before I can try to interpret that smile, she and her boss are gone.
Sophia
If looks could kill, Victoria’s glare would have already set my head afire.
She grabs me by the arm after we leave the room, pulling me into a corner. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I think…” I twist my arm from her grasp. “I think I’m merely having a bit of fun. Wasn’t that the point of you bringing me to this interview?”
Her brows knit together and she stares at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “No, that definitely was not the point.” Her mouth hangs open for a moment. “Your family is going to murder me.”
“Unlikely.” I can’t help but grin. I’m not sure which part of this is more fun—seeing how annoyed Victoria is with me or seeing how much attention I can get from some faux American royalty.
As much as I’d love to be like Victoria—a proper businesswoman who’s already rejecting the role of princess she fought so hard to achieve—I’m nothing like her at all. I don’t crave some sort of validation in my profession. If I needed that, it wouldn’t be too difficult to achieve. I could go to graduate school the way my father wants. After that, I could find some minor role in governing Montovia—probably some boring post monitoring the status of imports or something.