Legendary Rock Star: Enemies to Lovers Romance (Steel Series Book 1)

by Victoria Pinder

  She put her phone away and headed into the studio.

  We continued recording, singing our souls and hearts into every syllable. She probably had those classic family Christmas memories, while I had memories of singing on TV specials and being adored by my fans. Either way, our voices blended. When we had finished and the light dimmed in the recording booth, I said, “This was a lot of fun.”

  She jumped off the piano seat and headed out, “We’ll have to work separately on songs if we want to finish before eight.”

  She was right. Six hours wasn’t a lot of time. She sat at one of the mixing stations and asked, “Trust me?”

  “I’m starting to,” I answered, and focused on mixing three more songs.

  At close to six, we both sat back and just listened to our ten songs. She put together an album cover while we listened and showed it to me.

  No one had made me this happy in years. As the last song played, I asked, “So what do you think?”

  “I think this was wonderful,” she said. She spotted a coffee maker in the corner and went over to make us each a cup.

  I hit done and let the album load onto my drive. “I want to send this all to my agent.”

  She handed me the coffee and said, “Well, if you get a new deal with these demos, remember me.”

  Seriously? This wasn’t about me. We’d done this together. And I only meant to use it as proof to my agent that I wasn’t completely hopeless. But I said, “You’re in every song. Hard to forget.”

  Her face fell like she was disappointed, and goosebumps grew on my body as she said, “I don’t mean like that.”

  I probably shouldn’t follow the tingles in my body, but I had to know.

  We’d never have another moment like this. I possessively wrapped my arms around her waist while I said, “I’m going to do something to rock our budding friendship now.”

  “What?” she asked, and batted those eyelashes at me.

  “This,” I said. My soul ached and my skin burned with desire.

  I claimed her lips as my own and she didn’t pull away. Her hands curled in my brown hair and she kissed me back.

  As the kiss ended and we came up for air, she said, “Wow.”

  Her response drove me crazy. I kissed her again and never wanted this moment to end. This was bad.

  Kissing Maggie was like kissing the essence of life itself, and I shouldn’t know that. I needed to win this competition. No one ever remembered anyone but the last one standing on stage.

  4

  Maggie

  Phoenix’s kisses burned through me. Never in my life had steam risen out of my skin from a boy’s kiss.

  Not that Phoenix was a boy. He was all man, virile, strong, and I wanted him more than I should.

  And he probably just wanted me to reform his image. It’s why he’d joined the show.

  His goals shouldn’t matter. I needed to win to land my own chance.

  Plus I wasn’t about to give up my values. I’d been saving myself. For true love.

  No more kisses, ever.

  Because there was no way Phoenix was that mythical guy I’d supposedly been waiting for.

  No, he was the opposite. He was the guy who burned through women, and I’d just be another memory to him.

  Yet I ached to save him in a way I couldn’t explain. I’d never wanted to fix any other guy that I knew was trouble.

  I’d have to bottle this angst for the stage and singing.

  I took a car back to my hotel as I needed to get my things. The drive gave me a few minutes to decompress.

  Hopefully my lips wouldn’t give away the fact that I’d been thoroughly kissed to the point of oblivion. But as I met my parents in our shared hotel room, my insides churned. I had the crazy thought that I’d be burned as a witch. So I threw out my hands and said, “Mom, Dad, I love you both.”

  Both of my parents hugged me and invited me to join them at the small breakfast nook table in the corner. Our room overlooked the street. It didn’t have a glass and cement roof bringing the light of the day inside the way Phoenix’s house did. As I pulled up a seat, my father’s blue eyes met mine as he said, “We were worried about you.”

  “I’m an adult now.”

  My mother chimed in. “What were you doing?”

  “Singing. I went to a studio and sang.”

  “That’s it?” my father asked.

  I nodded and met my mom’s brown eyes as I said, “There was no time for anything else. Seriously.”

  I knew I had my father’s features and my mom’s slightly plump body. She’d made me one too many cherry pies from scratch.

  Most of my friends’ moms reheated last night’s take-out dinner when they dined at home. My family was strange to them, as we ate most of our meals at home and my mom and I cooked while my dad prepared passages he’d read at church during his sermon. My mother picked up her fork as she stared at me. “You seem different, though.”

  We ate the last meal she’d brought to L.A. for us and it made my mouth water for the last time. How she kept the French toast fresh was a mystery she’d never reveal.

  As I stood, I said, “I’m going to win and hopefully move here permanently.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “L.A. and New York are the places I need to be.”

  My father kissed my forehead and said, “We’ll figure it out later. And we’ll be in the audience when we can.”

  They didn’t want to hear me. I’d argue later.

  “Well, this is it,” I said and trembled a little. This was the first time in my life I’d not see them every night to talk about my day.

  Yes, I’d gone to college, where all my friends had that experience. But I’d lived at home and commuted to continue my music classes.

  And now I had my chance. I wasn’t going to blow away my dream of winning the competition. I hugged my parents and didn’t want to let go.

  When I finally did, my dad said, “Last night you were beautiful and you sang like an angel.”

  “Thanks.” I hugged them one more time and picked up my bag.

  Once I slipped out and headed down the stairs toward a car with my name on it, I realized this was it. This was my dream.

  And yeah, I probably should be tired, but I wasn’t. Still, last night had to be a one-night-only thing.

  Phoenix and I were not destined to be. My destiny was to star on my own stage.

  And I as I headed into camp, my head up, and I found my sleeping area, I believed I was in total control.

  But then I saw Phoenix reading some papers. His dimples deepened when he glanced up at me, and he winked when he said, “Tonight we practice and tomorrow we film again.”

  Goosebumps grew. I knew this was a test, but I sat down beside him and saw he was writing notes for a song I didn’t recognize. Was it a new song? I didn’t ask. Instead I said, “I’m slightly terrified.”

  He turned toward me and his brown eyes melted me inside a little bit as he said, “This is for sweeps, so they only have eight weeks to film. This ends faster than you can imagine.”

  Fast wasn’t good. It meant I needed to be hyper-focused on more than his lips, or how his kiss lingered on my lips. I wasn’t his second chance with a good girl. I was here to win. I jumped out of my seat and said, “Good luck, Phoenix.”

  He put the papers down and stood, grabbing my hand. My pulse quickened when he said, “Wait. I got a text from my agent.”

  His agent was well known as one of the best. I raised my eyebrows and asked, “Yeah?”

  He glanced around, then took out his phone from his back pocket. “He asked for your information, for you to sign a release. Can you text it to him?”

  Maybe last night was a big mistake. My thoughts went back to singing with Phoenix, to kissing him … No. I needed to stop my imagination before I found myself wondering about his naked body.

  Steam must have been coming out of my ears. But I took his phone and texted as I said, “Sure. So he liked our son
gs?”

  I handed it back and for a second our hands brushed. A spark rushed through me when he said, “Once the show ends, he’d meet with you, if you’re interested.”

  I sucked in my bottom lip, but that only made me think of more kissing, so I stopped. Focus on the opportunity here.

  “Mark Powers?” I asked.

  “That’s the one,” he said, and put his phone back in his pocket.

  I was clearly going insane. I needed a fan to cool my skin, or maybe a bucket of ice. I went up and down on my tiptoes and said, “Maybe you’re not completely evil, Phoenix.”

  “Glad you think so,” he said, and clapped me on the back like we were friends.

  Maybe we were. But my name was being paged. I squeezed his hand and left.

  Alone now, my head cleared. There had to be a way to find balance and focus on work. One kiss wasn’t going to throw me off my goal.

  Phoenix and my active imagination just needed to be held off for a few weeks. He lived here in L.A., and so would I, once I won.

  As I headed to where I was supposed to be, I was calm again. Until I met with the judges. They were all seated and I stood in the middle of the room. The critical British judge said, “Right, now Maggie, you wowed us with your ballad but we’re going to need you to pull off a pop song.”

  Bubblegum and fun. I met the gazes of every judge and said, “I’m on it.”

  The pop star of twenty years ago then said, “Good, because you’re charged with arranging and vocalizing ‘That’s All Right’ for tomorrow’s live show.”

  What in the world was that song? I gave a thumbs up and a stagehand handed me the sheet music as I left.

  This was super old fashioned. I pulled up my phone and searched for the original to know what viewers might remember and Elvis popped up.

  I’d never have his lip, and the rhythm and blues style of the song wasn’t going to appeal to anyone my age.

  And while I was great with vocalizing, songwriting usually took me weeks.

  As I wandered back to my room to work, Phoenix and his wall of muscles blocked me. His black t-shirt clung to his chest and left little to the imagination. He had more muscles than a musician should.

  “So what song did you get?” he asked.

  My heart raced even more now as I admitted the truth. “One I don’t know. It’s by Elvis, I think.”

  He glanced at my page. “Arthur ‘Big Boy’ Crudup was the original singer and songwriter.”

  Great. So I was at a complete disadvantage. I asked, “What about you?”

  He showed me his paper again and this time I read the lyrics while he said, “I’m on ‘Rockin’ Robbin’. I know it, so it’s just about making my own arrangement.”

  “Lucky,” I said, and read his notes.

  This was completely different. He was clearly good at this, which was why his bandmates had him helping with songwriting and crediting him, even after they kicked him out.

  Somehow I needed to take him down on stage.

  But then he said, “Look, I’ll help you.”

  Phoenix had way more songwriting credits to his name than most people knew. Yeah, I’d stalked him online, not that I’d admit that.

  I half shook when I handed him my pages and asked, “Are we allowed to help each other?”

  He pointed to a table and said, “I don’t see a rule that says we can’t.”

  He sat down and started writing notes on my song.

  “Well then, thanks,” I said and joined him.

  The other six contestants floated by our table while we worked but I hardly paid attention.

  I corrected the notes on his song to make it flow, and he worked magic on my composition.

  The verse about the wrong guy almost had a country pop to it now and I could hear it in my head. Less guitar strumming than the original.

  I now read the song as asking my mom and dad’s permission to date Phoenix. Not that I’d ever do that. And not that he’d ask.

  He handed the song back and I ached to throw my arms around him and kiss him as thanks. And he just made the feeling amplify when he said, “You’re way more talented than half the competition.”

  I needed to get a grip fast. There was no time for losing my virginity to my favorite star. As we stood up, I said, “Look, I just want to say, no more kissing while we’re here.”

  His head pressed closer to mine, like we were the only two people in the world right now, as he said, “I remember you kissing me back.”

  My lips parted.

  Yeah, I wanted to kiss him. My hand ran through his hair and my entire body pressed to his like I wanted to be only his.

  “So that’s what’s going on in here.”

  I let go of Phoenix instantly and spun on my heels. Two of the other contestants stared at us. Steam rose out of my cheeks as I stepped away.

  Once again I was losing focus of my goals.

  Phoenix nodded and spoke first. “Finnigan. Jane.”

  Jane wore her purple leather jacket and had streaks in her hair like I’d never dare try, living with my parents. She stared back at me as she said, “You two aren’t letting the competition get in the way of romance.”

  I shook my head in complete denial and my hand cupped the side of my face so I didn’t see Phoenix when I said, “No, it’s not like that.”

  Jane just pointed to the side door and said, “Maggie, I’m to tell you hair and makeup need to see you.”

  Great. Now I’d hear about my looks not being cool and my figure not being perfect.

  I’d avoided that room, but now I had no choice. I nodded and said to Phoenix, “Okay, but I’m still next in line to arrange my music with the orchestra.”

  He showed off those dimples of his when he said, “I won’t let anyone cut in front of you, Maggie.”

  Friends. Right. If only I didn’t become all weak-kneed and mushy near him. I waved and said, “Thanks.”

  I refused to let his friendliness undermine me.

  Jane walked with me, leaving the men alone. As we neared the hair and makeup room, Jane said, “So you’re living out the fantasy.”

  My entire body stilled. I glanced up at the girl and said, “What?”

  Jane gave me the knowing side-eye and said, “Kissing Phoenix Steel. I think every girl in the world had that dream at one point.”

  I reached for the doorknob but stopped and said, “Most of my friends were more fans of the other members of Indigo 5.”

  Jane shrugged and opened the door for me. “Okay, so maybe it was just the musically minded ones.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Phoenix. I’m here to compete.”

  “Absolutely. I understand,” Jane said quickly, and as I walked in she added, “Good luck with the transformation they’re planning for you.”

  Right. Transformation. First they’d insist I just starve for the next eight weeks. No more chicken sandwiches in my life.

  I went to meet the woman with unnaturally red, almost orange, hair whose name tag said Wanda, and her sidekick, the bald man named Chris. He immediately said, “So let’s get you out of that black frock.”

  Yeah, right. My hair stood on its ends and I said, “I’m good.”

  He held out his hand like he wasn’t taking no for an answer and I complied.

  Wanda’s face fell and she pressed her hand to her cheek like she’d just witnessed a car accident as she said, “No, you’re about twenty pounds heavier in the belly area than we hoped.” She reached behind her and said, “We’ll have to work with this, though.”

  “Corset?” I asked as I took the thick black thing with strings from her.

  Wanda walked around me and said, “Absolutely. It will create the figure we need for you and enhance your breasts at the same time.”

  I didn’t move. I said, “I don’t know how to sing in a corset.”

  Chris started combing my hair and directed me toward a chair while he said, “You’ll have twenty-four hours to figure it out.”

 
Wanda had a pink tape measure she must have pulled out of her back pocket and she wrapped it around my arms and thighs, stopping me from sitting. My insides churned at the idea of learning how to sing a new song, and how to sing at all with a corset, in such a short time. “Can’t I just pick out my own outfit?”

  Wanda finished with her measurements and said, “You’ll never win if you don’t accept backstage help. The judges will assume you’re not listening.”

  I took the seat for Chris to work on my hair and hoped my glance was like steel as I said, “Then I’ll need a practice corset to wear while I’m meeting with the band.”

  An hour later, my hair was bigger than I’d ever worn it and my dress was soft around my wrists but tighter than ever around my waist.

  Walking was more of a challenge than I’d expected. I wasn’t cute as I made my way off the set and toward the orchestra.

  Phoenix was on the side, seated on the floor with the other contestants, and it seemed like everyone was sharing music together.

  I must have missed the community bonding, not that it mattered.

  I was here to win. So I passed out the composition I’d rewritten with Phoenix, ignored how my cells bloomed alive with awareness of his nearness, and tried to sing it through the first time.

  I messed up a few of the lines. I needed to practice. But then Phoenix came on stage with a hot water for me and said, “You sound breathy.”

  I sipped it and realized he’d added lemon. Sweet gestures shouldn’t matter, though. But I pressed my head into his shoulder for a moment as I said, “I’m trying here.”

  He hugged me. I knew everyone was staring at us, and the longer I lingered the more people stopped to look. So I stood back and he massaged my shoulder like we were friends as he said, “Well, once you’re done, meet me for dinner. I’ll save you a seat.”

  “Thanks, Phoenix.” I said and saw him return to sit with the other contestants.

  This time, as I practiced, I ignored all the pains in my body. I’d master this corset by sleeping in it if I had to. I was in this to get a recording contract and a tour. Nothing, not even the lips of the most handsome man in the world, was going to stop me.