Ever Lonely (Ever James Band Book 1)

by Kimberly Lauren

  EVER LONELY

  An Ever James Band Novel

  Ever James Band, #1

  KIMBERLY LAUREN

  Books by Kimberly Lauren

  The Broken Series

  Beautiful Broken Rules

  Beautiful Broken Mess

  Beautiful Broken Promises

  Copyright © Kimberly Lauren, 2018

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-10: 0-9904276-2-5

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9904276-2-9

  Editor: SGT Thomas

  Cover photo by neonshot

  Find Kimberly online: www.KimberlyLaurenWrites.com

  For all of you who stuck by me during this WAY TOO long break.

  For all of you who continually messaged me and encouraged me to get something out there again.

  This is for you.

  — ONE —

  “Hurry up! Come on, guys!” Rose screeched over the thundering noise of the subway cars that roared through the tunnel. I had never seen so many people moving in such an array of directions all at the same time. In their haste, they bumped into one another without care. There were businessmen carrying briefcases, college students with headphones covering their ears, and mothers pulling their swaying toddlers through the crowd. Where were they all going and why did they need to be there so quickly? And what was that smell?

  People continued to blow past us, so far unsuspecting of who we were.

  Or rather—who I was.

  I was betting on the fact that New Yorkers didn’t tend to make a habit of looking up at the people around them to work in my favor. Hopefully, no one noticed me tugging on the itchy black wig Rose had slapped on my head moments before we entered the dirty station.

  I took the stairs rapidly in my four-inch heels. They were like a second skin to me now. I could probably hike a mountain with them attached to my feet.

  When the music executives required me to parade around in outrageously high heels day after day for red carpets, performing on stage, or to even go to the corner store—because, God forbid, I looked normal and comfortable—I learned to walk naturally in them. I used to waddle, and my feet were blistered for months. Now I’m not sure what I would do if I had to stand at my normal five-four stature on flat feet.

  The wig, on the other hand, sucked. It itched and emitted a funky aroma that lingered in every black strand. The lengths I had to go to not be recognized were ridiculous. Take now, for example—I was merely trying to walk unnoticed while my assistant, Rose, tugged me annoyingly fast down the tiled passageways. I had to wear the wig to cover my long, curly blonde hair so we wouldn’t get mobbed. But if Rose didn’t cut it out, she was going to call attention to us anyway.

  Music infiltrated the dirty air around us, and I felt a sense of calm allay the rushing travelers. The further we descended the stairs, the louder it became. Someone was playing the guitar. And playing it well, I might add.

  “This better be fucking good, Rose,” Keith Spark, one of my label managers at Monumental Records, grumbled from behind.

  “Ick! This really couldn’t have been done somewhere else, Rose? Somewhere more… sanitary?” June squawked out.

  That was my mother, by the way. She was currently taking the stairs at a snail’s pace trying to avoid every single speck on the stairway. Good freaking luck. With tissues in her hands so the railing wouldn’t touch her delicate skin, she looked utterly ridiculous.

  A laugh flew out of my mouth, so I quickly turned my head and let the sound drown out in the hustle and bustle around us. “What are we doing here?” I called out, just for shits and giggles. No one would answer me. My voice was continually unheeded. I was just the talent… I didn’t have opinions. Eye roll. “Sounds like Jimmy Page… not bad.”

  We hurried past a few advertisements adhered to the walls, and I ducked my head when I noticed my own platinum blonde hair and bright green eyes gazing back at me. Maybe these people didn’t recognize me right away with the wig, but it wouldn’t take long for them to make the connection when I was standing beside a giant ad I had posed for about a year ago. Not to mention the giant, better known as Beau Campbell, that followed me wherever I went wasn’t exactly low profile.

  “Damn, this guy is killing this Jimmy Page solo,” Jay Kidd, one of my music producers, bellowed excitedly as if he hadn’t even heard me. I watched his eyes zone out, and he became fully engrossed in every note that filled the air. “Is this why we’re here, Rose?”

  “Yep!” she shouted. It didn’t go unnoticed that she had answered him and blatantly disregarded me. Instantly, I turned and glared at her way-too-happy face. What the hell was she up to?

  She shrank back at my look and said, “You’ll like it, I promise. Well... maybe not at first...”—she hesitated—“but eventually you will. Please keep an open mind, Ever.”

  My guard was immediately up. Whenever Rose told me to have an open mind, trouble always followed. Her words had reminded me that I needed to speak with her regarding the terms and requirements of her job. My assistant had been getting too comfortable in her position lately, it seemed.

  My curiosity was piqued, however, when I thought about how Rose would have gotten everyone out to do this. Had she bribed them? Had there been cookies? Because I never got anything. But seriously, what could have brought my label manager, my music producer, and my wanna-be manager—aka my mother—all the way down into the bowels of New York City?

  It was more than likely a first time for the majority of us. I had never seen the subway up close, and I knew my mom hadn’t either. Keith was too much of a germaphobe to ever come down here. Jay might have, though. I didn’t know much about his past, but he seemed like the type to use the subway.

  When we reached the final steps and turned the corner, I knew we were close to whoever was entertaining the commuter crowd this busy afternoon. Rose rushed toward the music, which was fast and loud and dared anyone within earshot not to listen. The notes were the kind that slammed into your face, and when the song ended, I knew I would continue to feel it vibrating through my bones long after the guitar had been put away. I loved that sensation more than anything.

  A feeling of excitement rushed through me. It had been too long since I’d physically felt my love for music, and right now I was itching to pick up my guitar and improve my technique. I had taken a multitude of classes from a private instructor—my dad once had high hopes for me—but I still wasn’t at the point I could play during a performance. I was a little bit better at the piano, but I’ve never really done anything with that either.

  Sadly, it hadn’t taken long for me to realize when someone stepped into this industry how easy it was to get swept away with all of the commotion and money and demands and… money. I could go on forever about the distractions. Music was never the real reason behind it all. Not anymore, at least.

  “Hey!” Rose called out. She had already shoved her little body way ahead of the rest of us. I made it past the final travelers and staggered back when I located the busker responsible for playing so well.

  A mess of sandy brown hair.

  I couldn’t see the exact color of his eyes, but dark eyelashes that drew me in surrounded them.

  A lean build and a long frame.


  An unlit cigarette perched between two overly plump lips.

  He wasn’t just any guy; he was a complete assault on the senses.

  My eyes widened as I took in every single inch from his old faded jeans to his black leather jacket. A gray hoodie extended from underneath the leather and perched atop his unruly locks. His fingers had already attacked my hearing with his stunning music, which only made me want to touch him... smell him... even taste him. I imagined what it would feel like to run my fingers along the coarse, short hair growing across his strong jawline.

  Whoa.

  His head was down as if he didn’t even realize where he was. He didn’t seem to care about the girls flocking to him like cats in heat. God, they must ride the subway just to see him. Every once in a while, he would bob his head as if he were physically feeling each and every note like I was.

  I let the rest of our group walk in front of me and chose to stay back as far as I could. I didn’t like what this total stranger did to my body. My skin felt flush and heated enough as it was. I should have closed my eyes and just felt the intense notes sailing past his way-too-skilled fingers, but I didn’t because watching him feel the music lit a fire inside of me.

  A woman walked by and threw a piece of paper into his guitar case while giving him what I assumed was her sultriest look. A man strolled past and threw in some coins. A girl in an NYU sweatshirt tossed in a few dollars. Rose’s unidentified friend nodded his head and gave a small appreciative smile to each person, but he never stopped and offered any further interaction.

  All too soon it was over, and I heard Rose ask, “Rhett, did we miss it? You aren’t done, are you? Play some more!”

  I rolled my eyes. Rhett, the mystery guitar player, was clearly packing away his things. As if it were made of glass, he gently set the guitar into a tattered leather case. He did this right after draping a worn piece of cloth over the mass amount of dollar bills and coins that had been tossed inside, along with torn pieces of brightly colored paper—no doubt enough phone numbers to keep his bed warm for the next month.

  Did we really come all the way down here to have a casual conversation with a panhandler?

  “Rose? What are you doing back here? Weren’t you just here an hour ago?” Rhett chuckled casually, the cigarette bounced between his lips when he spoke. He snatched it between his calloused fingers and tucked it behind his ear underneath the gray hoodie.

  “I brought some people to hear you play...” She gestured to the rest of us behind her. He glanced up as if just realizing he had a broader audience. Either this guy wasn’t very observant, or he just didn’t care. I was beginning to think it was the latter.

  “Damn, the last time I heard a Jimmy Page solo played that well was the man himself.” Jay forced his hand forward and shook the stranger’s firmly.

  “Thanks...” Rhett replied almost nervously while shifting from foot to foot, which was actually kind of cute. He was still humble. If he spent much more time down here with all of the gawkers, it would soon go to his head. Attention did that to a person.

  “Don’t pack up,” Rose begged. Her hand shot out over his guitar case as if she could really stop him from leaving. “Play a few more. It took me longer than I expected to round them all up.”

  “My time’s up here. This spot is booked for the next guy.” Rhett lifted his chin in acknowledgment to a man who stood impatiently behind us, holding the neck of a violin. “Almost done, Jed,” he added a bit louder. He crouched down to flip the latches on his case and Rose’s body mirrored his.

  “Crap... I really wanted them to hear you play,” she informed him.

  “Well, I’ll be at Fifty-Five tonight.” He gave her a smirk and slung the case up behind his back. “See you guys around,” he said, looking just as confused as the rest of us as to why we were there.

  As Rhett maneuvered his body past mine, he gave me a look that lasted a few beats longer than everyone else. I watched his fingers as he moved the cigarette back down to rest on his lips again. When he caught me staring at his mouth, he winked, and I stood there, shocked, as he stepped onto the subway car that had pulled in only moments earlier. He didn’t look back, and I wondered why I had wanted him to.

  “That was it?” June scoffed. “Please tell me you did not drag me down here to hear the tail-end of some beggar’s song?”

  I cringed because I had just been thinking the exact same thing. I wasn’t becoming like her, was I? I hoped someone would just put me down before that ever happened.

  “I didn’t ask for you to come, Mrs. James,” Rose responded coldly and then swiveled on her toe to face me, Keith and Jay. “You seriously need to hear more of him. Please just come tonight.”

  “I’m in,” Jay easily returned. Jay Kidd was one of the best music producers in the business, and he was also a rock ‘n’ roll enthusiast. He genuinely loved music. Don’t get me wrong, I was sure he enjoyed the numbers in his bank account, but in my eyes, he deserved every bit of it. He was damn good at his job.

  Keith tried to remain stoic and unsure, but he too relented. Rose’s puppy-dog eyes were hard to say ‘no’ to. When she turned them on me, I immediately shook my head. “I have things to do tonight, Rose. I’m done with this little impromptu traveling concert.”

  “You have nothing to do.”

  “Yes, I have to get fitted for the shoot tomorrow and do pre-shoots.” I’m glad I had those ready in my arsenal of excuses.

  “The fitting is not until four tomorrow afternoon. I have the seamstress scheduled at noon. Makeup and hair are coming at two. Tonight, you’re open.” Before I could offer any other excuses, she rolled her eyes while saying, “Parties don’t count. I just need an hour of your time. You’ll be there.”

  Damn. She was good. And bossy.

  — TWO —

  Beau pulled up to the curb and idled patiently, allowing me to decide when I wanted to step out. He used to immediately rush out of the car to open my door for me, but quickly learned I needed time to prepare myself for new social situations.

  I also couldn’t stand for him to open my door. It only drew unwanted attention. Everyone wanted to know about the girl that had a six foot three muscle-bound man opening her door for her.

  That was a hard habit for him to break until I threatened to fire him. Although we both knew I could never sack Beau Campbell. He was the head of my security and personal bodyguard.

  My fame skyrocketed quickly after we came to New York and Beau was the first person assigned to my detail. He has, for the most part, been my only constant in this crazy life. I think he's about ten, maybe fifteen years older than me, but he won't tell me for sure. My attempt at trying to discover his real age is an ongoing joke we have. For all I knew, Beau Campbell wasn’t even his real name.

  “Beau…” I fiddled with the strap on my shoe in the backseat.

  “Yeah, sweets?” I watched him look in the rearview mirror, allowing us to see each other eye to eye.

  “Do you have any idea what Rose is up to?”

  “Not a clue. It’s something though. That little ball of energy has been happier than a pig in mud.” Beau was from the south—Alabama, to be exact—and I had always loved his silly Southern expressions.

  Pulling out a compact, I tried to check over my newest head adornment. I’d ditched the smelly black wig somewhere between Park and Eighth Avenue. The layered brown one from my wardrobe collection still itched, but at least it didn’t smell as if it had been shoved in my cousin Nixon’s disgusting gym bag for the last five years.

  I wrapped a thick beige scarf a few times around my neck, allowing extra material to billow out in front, just in case I felt the need to pull it over my face. I tugged up the collar of my Burberry London Nightingale leather jacket. While the price tag on this thing was anything but simple, the coat itself was one of my most modest. I’d also dug out a pair of jeans from the back of my closet because I wanted to at least try and blend in. I coul
dn't make myself ditch the heels, but they weren’t anything too eye-catching, I hoped.

  "Is it on straight?" I asked Beau while trying to feel the middle part of my wig.

  He shifted, maneuvering his broad shoulders to look back at me. He chuckled and nodded. "So damn weird to see you wearin' stuff over your pretty hair. I'll never get used to it."

  “If it were up to me, I would never go anywhere that forced me to wear shit like this.”

  “It’s good for you to get out to new places, sweets. Can’t keep hanging around the same troublemakers forever.” His eyebrow arched in clear reprimand for my many past indiscretions.

  “I don’t like new people,” I grumbled.

  "Well, a lot of the ones you got around you lately aren't so great either." He turned back around, and I knew that was all he’d say about that.

  I couldn't argue with him, but there didn't seem to be much I could do about the people on Ever James' crew.

  Even if I was Ever James.

  I was entirely out of control—of my own life.

  “Okay… I should go…” I said, wanting my thoughts anywhere else.

  With a nod, Beau cut the engine and quickly slid out of the car. I pushed open my door, and he walked next to me toward the entrance of the bar. A bar that did not have bouncers to decide who entered and who didn't. A bar that did not have a line around the block. A bar that appeared to not even have a cover charge, and I'm sure it was safe to assume there wouldn't be a VIP section. This was all new territory for me.

  “I already know what you’re thinking.” Rose’s voice reached my ears before I spotted her standing near the door with iron bars. Yes, iron bars. My face must have said it all for me. Where the hell was I? What happened here that required them to have iron bars on the door? “It’s a lot better on the inside, I swear. The people in here are fun and down to earth. I promise!”

  “When do you come here?” I asked, amazed at the idea she had time for life outside of work. I thought being my assistant was a twenty-four-seven type of gig. I assumed her free time was hanging out with me. Apparently not.