Beautiful Boxset: Beautiful Series, books 1-4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  While I move closer, his eyes scan my body, showing obvious interest. Jesus. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I didn’t come here to get hit on by some wannabe.

  I can appreciate his looks, but I’m not a fan of overly attractive men. They always know how good-looking they are, and they take advantage of women because of it. They seem to think they can do whatever and whomever they choose, just because they were blessed at birth with attractiveness. Well, that's not how it works in my book. Not anymore.

  My last boyfriend was one of those beautiful men. I was naïve enough to think he only had eyes for me. For two years I believed my bed was the only one he shared. How stupid can one girl be?

  Eventually one of his 'women on the side' educated me on his 'business meetings'. He'd been sleeping around on me the entire time. It makes me sick to think how foolish I looked. How gullible I was. I'll never allow that to happen to me again. I’d rather be single than insecure in a relationship.

  “Hey there, you look lost,” Model-boy says, his smile touching his eyes.

  Instead of smiling back, I just focus on the business of why I'm here. “I’m looking for…” I check my notes again to make sure I have his name right. “Um, Marcus Bailey. Can either of you point me in the right direction?”

  The man who had his back to me, turns and scrunches his brow so tight I think he might go cross-eyed. “Are you serious?”

  The other one starts laughing and places his hand on the annoyed man’s shoulder. “Don’t mind, Craig. He thinks the entire world revolves around his clients. What do you want with Marcus?”

  Butterflies threaten to take flight in my stomach as my gaze connects with his. But I squash them down, imagining a pair of heavy boots jumping up and down and keeping them firmly in place.

  “I have an interview with him. I’m Lisa Russell, from Voyeur Magazine.”

  “You’re here to interview Marcus and you don’t know who he is?” Craig asks, and suddenly I’m cursing Sandra for pressuring me to do this. I knew I wouldn’t be able to pull this off.

  “Um, yeah. I’m kind of covering for a friend though. Sandra Haegen? She was supposed to come today, but she had a last-minute appointment… We can reschedule if you want. I’m just trying to help her out.”

  “No, it’s fine,” the first one says, running his hand over the top of his hair. “Come this way.”

  “Thanks,” I say, grateful as I follow him over to an area where two chairs and a small table with a jug of iced water are set up.

  “Would you like some water?” he asks, gesturing to the jug.

  “That would be lovely. Thanks.”

  I take one of the seats and accept the glass he hands to me, taking a sip. “Can you tell me how long Mr Bailey will be?” I ask while he pours water in the second glass and drinks. Oh dear. Rock stars don’t like it when there aren’t any water glasses for them.

  “You in a hurry?” He watches me over the rim of his glass as he drinks.

  “Well, yes and no. I have a meeting today, and since I’m covering for a friend, it’s already being pushed back.”

  “I see.” He nods. “We’ll get started then.” He takes the seat across from me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, my eyebrows creasing as my confusion sets in.

  “I’m Marcus,” he states, leaning back in his chair with a cocksure grin on his face. OhmyfuckinggodI’mgoingtokillSandraforthis.

  My mouth drops open and my face flames. Why didn’t he just say something in the first place? Now I look like a fucking idiot. Great. He’ll never accept an interview with Voyeur again and it will be all my fault. I probably just got Sandra fired… shit. I knew I should have taken an extra five minutes before arriving to look him up.

  This kind of stunt proves me right yet again. Good-looking men can't be trusted.

  I swallow my discomfort. “OK. I um… guess we should get started then.” I open the folder across my lap to find the list of questions I’m to ask him.

  “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

  I snap my eyes up to meet his, my face burning from this awkwardness. I just need this done and over.

  “I don’t. I’m sorry, OK? As I said, I’m covering for a friend last minute. I have her questions though, so I hope that will work. I just don’t listen to much current music.”

  “What do you listen to?”

  I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to talk to this cocky man who thinks it’s funny to play jokes on complete strangers. “I’d rather do the interview, thanks.”

  “We will. After you answer the question.”

  I stifle an eye roll. “Sixties stuff, you know? The Beatles, The Doors, Cat Stevens, Janis Joplin—stuff like that. I don’t think today’s music holds a card to any of it. It’s just noise with recycled melodies being passed off as new ideas.” I’m not even looking at him as I waffle on, so it’s not until I make the comment about today’s crappy music that I catch the way his expression changes. Excellent. This is exactly the reason I stay away from most people. My opinions easily offend. And I don’t know when to shut up. “Oh god… I’m sorry. I don’t mean any offence to you. I mean, you could be the exception to the rule, right? I haven’t even heard your stuff.” I bite the inside of my lip and wince. “Can we start again?”

  “Let’s just get this interview done.” He presses his lips together in a tight smile.

  Great. I've pissed him off. Taking a deep breath, I pull out my phone and start the voice recorder before I run through the list of questions Sandra gave me. I barely make eye contact the whole time, and I swear I’m shaking noticeably. Most of the time, I just wish the ground would open up and swallow me.

  When the questions are finally over, I stand and hug the folder to my chest. “Thank you so much for your time. And once again, I apologise for not doing my homework. I meant no insult to you, or your music.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was kind of nice to talk to someone who wasn’t trying to kiss my arse the entire time.”

  I nod in response. “Thank you.” Will my cheeks ever stop burning? “I’m sure if there are any issues with the interview, you or your people will get a call, but I think I got everything I was supposed to.” I turn to walk away, but stop when he reaches out and touches my arm.

  “Lisa?” My breath catches at the skin-to-skin connection. Shit. Those butterflies are trying to take flight again. I turn to face him and force my breathing to stay steady as he moves closer and leans in to speak quietly to me.

  “Y-yes?”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner tonight?”

  I step back, increasing the distance between us like a shock sent me reeling. “With you?”

  “No. That guy over there with the plumber’s crack.” I turn around to see who he means and he laughs. “Of course I mean me.”

  “Oh. Um…” I grip the folder tighter, avoiding eye contact. “No. I don’t think so.”

  He frowns, taken aback by my refusal. “Can I ask why?”

  “Because I don’t date attractive men.”

  “You’d prefer the plumber’s crack guy?”

  I look around the room nervously, hoping no one is listening in to this. “Listen, it’s nothing against you. I’ve been around long enough to know how this works.”

  “How does this work?”

  “Guys like you get used to clicking your fingers and having girls drop their panties. It’s too easy and you get bored. Then a girl comes along who doesn’t seem impressed by you; she piques your interest, so you chase her down until she gives in.” He’s looking at me like I have rocks in my head, but I know I’m right. I’ve lived through this before. I saw that same look in my ex’s eyes when we first met.

  “Wow.” Marcus laughs without humour and folds his arms across his chest. “Guess you’ve got me all figured out.”

  “Who knows what truly goes on in a man’s head? I just know I’m not interested, and I’d like you to respect that. It was nice to mee
t you though.” I give him a curt nod as I spin on my heel and head towards the exit with quick steps.

  “I’ll see you around, Lisa,” he calls out, and I falter slightly in my step. He’ll see me around? I literally just told him no.

  “Just so we’re clear,” I call back, not caring this time who hears. “I’m not saying ‘no’ so you decide to chase me. I’m not playing some sort of game. It’s just a plain ‘no’. OK?”

  “Don’t two negatives make a positive?”

  “Technically, I said it three times. So we’re still in the negatives. It’s still a no.”

  He laughs, and I wince because I just said no for the fourth time.

  “No,” I say, making it five. His eyes are actually sparkling, loving that I’m getting flustered. Goddamn famous arseholes.

  Knowing I’m wasting my time, I roll my eyes then turn to leave again, feeling his eyes on me the entire time I’m heading out of the studio.

  I tell myself not to look back. I force myself to keep my eyes focused on the exit sign. But as I round the corner, I can’t help myself. I glance back to where he’s still standing, still watching me. My breath catches as our eyes lock. He throws his head back and laughs. A deep loud belly laugh.

  Shit. Not again.

  Three

  Lisa

  “So? How did it go?” Sandra asks, rushing me at my desk when lunch time rolls around. The moment I got into work, I was called into a meeting with a new client and haven’t had the chance to get the interview recording to her.

  “It was fine. Everything was fine,” I say. “I’ll email you the voice recording from my phone before the day is through.” I hand her the folder she gave me that contained a brief biography and the interview questions. “Although, you could have included a photo in that. I made bit of a fool of myself when I walked up to him and asked if he knew where I could find Marcus Bailey.”

  Her hand covers her mouth as she laughs. “You didn’t? Oh, my god! That’s hilarious. What did he say? Was he pissed?”

  “No. He just laughed and said to follow him. I thought he was just some guy taking me to meet Marcus, but then he sat down and announced he was Marcus, and I spent the rest of the interview with my face burning with embarrassment.”

  “Well… I’m sorry he embarrassed you. But thank you for doing that for me. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s OK. I just don’t want to do that again. So no more banging rock stars unless you’re willing to interview them again.”

  She laughs. “Deal. My knees shall stay firmly pressed together from this moment on.”

  I pick up my bag, ready to go out for some fresh air and something to eat.

  “What did you think?”

  I pause and look at her. “Of what?”

  “Of him. He’s pretty easy on the eyes right?”

  “He’s OK.”

  “Did he um… try anything with you?”

  I shake my head and avert my eyes. “He didn’t try anything. He was all business.”

  * * *

  Marcus

  Lisa. Lisa. Lisa. I like the way her name rolls off my tongue. I like the way the memory of her face feels inside my head. Lovely Lisa. Lustrous Lisa. Lithe Lisa. I’ve spent the entire day distractedly thinking up adjectives to suit her that start with L, and that’s all I’ve come up with. I could probably do with a thesaurus on this one…

  Needless to say, I like her. And I want to see her again. She’s easy on the eyes, but there’s something more—I liked talking to her. I don’t know if it’s because she didn’t know who I was, or if it’s because she told me no in front of everyone. She just seemed so… genuine. No one has spoken to me the way she did in years. It was refreshing, and even though I’m slipping into the exact cliché she warned me away from, I’m fucking keen. She’s piqued my interest. I’m going to chase her until she gives in.

  In my dressing room, I pull out a pad of paper and a pen and scrawl a note before calling out to my assistant, Karen.

  She appears in the doorway, her greying eyebrows raised in question as she looks at me over the rim of her glasses. I purposely hired a woman who was old enough to be my mother. She’s the one who keeps my life organised. I didn’t want her to be a distraction to me at all.

  “Send this to Voyeur Magazine, care of Lisa Russell. Include two tickets for the show this Saturday and VIP passes,” I say as I fold the piece of paper and hand it to her.

  “Of course, Mr Bailey,” she says with a smile, taking the folded note from between my fingers. “Are there any particular seats you’d like me to give her?”

  “Front, centre.”

  “Of course.” She nods politely, keeping her opinion private. But she knows what this is about. It’s not the first time she’s sent one of these notes off for me. VIP passes and front row tickets are a sure winner when I’m interested in a woman. Lisa won’t be able to resist.

  * * *

  Lisa

  Marcus Bailey has been connected with more women than there are stars in the sky. A quick search on Google shows image after image and rarely do I see him pictured with the same woman twice.

  That’s why, when I scroll further and spot the same woman several times, I pay attention. She’s a tiny blonde who looks similar to Sandra, actually. There are photos of them together and photos of them with three other people. As I continue to look, I find images of her and Marcus singing on stage together. Ah, that explains it. They were in a band together called Matiari.

  I don’t know why I’m spending my lunch break looking him up on my phone. I’m telling myself it’s only because I should have looked him up earlier. But I know it’s more than that. He’s been on my mind all day. I feel stupid doing this. But I console myself with the thought that no one needs to know. I’ll do a little cyber stalking and move on. No big deal.

  I enlarge a few of the photos of him when he was in the band. He seems a hell of a lot happier in the old band photos than he does in his new shots. I wonder what made him leave…

  There’s a shot that shows him singing at the blonde. When I zoom in on their faces, she looks mortified. Whoa. What’s going on here? I zoom out to read the caption: ‘Radio Silence Support Act Loses Lead in Onstage Scandal’. Scandal? I click and I’m taken to YouTube, to a video with 614,355,346 views. Well, 614,355,347 now.

  A video filmed from within the audience loads on my screen, showing the band on stage. At first there’s just a huge amount of excited screaming then Marcus leans into the microphone.

  “I’ll bet you guys are loving Naomi, right?” he calls out. The crowd all screams in agreement as he walks over to the blonde from the photos. She’s holding a violin at her side, but she looks confused. She smiles and waves for the audience then looks over her shoulder towards the drummer. I have a terrible feeling about this. I’m not sure I want to keep watching.

  Marcus stands right in front of her and speaks into her microphone. “Yeah. I love Naomi too,” he says, his voice calm but aggressive.

  She’s looking around in a panic while he returns to his microphone.

  “What are you doing to her?” I mutter at the phone screen, my anxiety peaking just watching this.

  “Now, Naomi is a fan of Aiden Price.” The crowd screams at the mention of his name—even I know who Aiden Price is—then Marcus shakes his head. “No, he won’t be here tonight, but I get that a lot of you are probably fans as well. Actually, I am too. A while back, as a bit of a treat we did his song I Recall. But tonight, I’d like to do something a little different. I have a special song, just for Naomi. This one is called ‘Weighted’.”

  I place my hand on my chest. “Oh, you didn’t?” I say to no one in particular. I know this song. Aiden Price is one of the few modern artists I actually listen to. His music is raw and emotive. It isn’t that same four-chord bullshit that dominates the charts.

  ‘Weighted’ is about a relationship gone wrong. One where the singer can’t stand to even look at his lover any longer. It’s about a
love that’s turning into hate. I can’t imagine what this woman could have done to him to make him feel warranted by singing this. But I can’t watch anymore. He’s publicly humiliating that girl, and I want to cry for her. No one deserves this. She’s trying to act professional and play the song for the audience, but it’s so obvious when he sings ‘Cause you’re a bitch to be around’, that he’s directing it at her. How cruel.

  A sick feeling rises in my throat. I tap the screen to pause the video and shut down my phone. I wish I hadn’t looked him up now.

  * * *

  "This came for you while you were at lunch," the receptionist, Erin, informs me, handing me a white envelope as I re-enter the building.

  “Thanks.” There's nothing on the envelope except for my name, so I have no idea what's inside. I open it straight away, expecting it to be something work related. But it’s not.

  I let out an exaggerated sigh. Why couldn’t he just leave me be?

  Erin’s eyes grow wide as she watches me remove two tickets and VIP passes that clearly state ‘Marcus Bailey’ on them.

  “You have VIP passes to Marcus Bailey?” she gasps, while I pull out the accompanying note.

  Perhaps I’m the exception to the rule.

  Marcus

  Keeping my expression neutral, I slip the note into my pocket and replace the tickets and passes inside the envelope. "Would you like them?" I say to Erin, holding the envelope out to her.

  Her hand flies out to grab it, but hesitates. “You don’t want them? Are you sure?”

  “Then they’re yours.”

  “You can’t be serious. That show was sold out months ago. I am such a huge fan of his.”

  I thrust the envelope into her hand. “Have a great time.”