Rockstar Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle New Adult BBW)

by Emme Rollins

  The crush I had harbored towards the lead singer and the creative force behind the band, Ax Stevenson, was something that fueled some of my lustier nights in college. After some wine or weed, I’d listen to their music, while touching myself in unspeakable places. There was something about Ax’s voice, a sultry, melodic siren call, that had me tingling, my tummy twisting into pleasurable knots. Little did he know it, but he’d been my boyfriend for four years, satisfying me far greater than any real lover ever had.

  Being overweight and far too bodacious, I hardly fit into the thin, blonde, Hollywood stereotype. I’d recently colored my hair, from mousy brown to flaxen-haired gorgeous, the thick strands one of my best features, but, other than that change, I still jiggled when I walked. I struggled to find clothes that fit properly, and I hated the way I looked on my driver’s license. It was ridiculous to worry over these things, but I knew my size prevented me from dating, as it hindered my self-confidence in that area.

  Work was an entirely different matter. I was a go-getter who could take a meeting with anyone; my social skills and tact had served me well. I could have been employed at any number of places, as the offers had flooded in, but I needed to join the Petty Thieves Tour. I had expressly come to Los Angeles for this purpose, waiting patiently for the call, which I had hoped and prayed would come—now it had, and I was on the edge of a personal precipice; my dreams of meeting Ax Stevenson were about to come true. With any luck, I would be working closely with him, touring with him, standing backstage at his concerts, and relishing every moment of his company.

  My sister breezed into the room. “What’s up, buttercup?” Her hair was in rollers. “Was that the call you were waiting for?”

  A huge smile split my face. “I’ve got an interview with Sharon Web.”

  Darla’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! Congrats!” She sat next to me. “You stubborn bitch. You might just get this gig.”

  “I can only hope.”

  “You’re young enough to follow a bunch of hard drinking, hard living rock stars around the planet. I want lots of pictures. Lots.”

  “We will see.” I smiled wistfully. “I can’t wait to meet Ax.”

  “Aren’t you a little old for a teen crush?”

  “College crush. His band wasn’t around when I was in high school.”

  “Okay, whatever, but…reality is never as hot as fantasy. That guy’s a freaking mess.”

  “I know.” Ax Stevenson’s marriage had broken up, he was going through a divorce, and it had made gossip rag headlines, because his wife had taken up with the lead singer of Down 'n Dirty, which was a rival band. “So, there’s a bit of drama. Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

  She laughed, “Oh, lordy. A bit of drama? I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. There’s a reason they can’t keep employees around for long. He’s probably a bitch to work for.”

  “I’m good. I got this.” My tummy rumbled. “Let’s do Chinese take-out. I’m starving.”

  Her look grew grave, but there was humor there. “Make the call. We need it. I’ll open a bottle of wine.”

  “I’m all for a pre-celebration.”

  She got to her feet. “Absolutely.”

  I loved food. There was nothing in the world as nice as relaxing on the sofa with a plateful of yummy treats. The shrimp with lobster sauce dish was scrumptious, as was the braised beef with vegetables and the cashew chicken. We watched a movie on DVR and drank wine, talking about everything and nothing in particular, although, a hot bout of sex would have topped off the evening even better, but that’s what my dildo was for. I had every intention of working myself over later…in private.

  The next morning I drove to Sharon Web’s office, finding the commute aggravating, as traffic in Los Angeles was stereotypically bad. Her building, a 1960’s high-rise, had been revamped with steel and glass, which gave it a slick, modern look. The receptionist made me wait for a few minutes and then motioned me through.

  “She’s ready for you now.”

  “Thanks.” Windows lined the wall with a view of neighboring buildings.

  A leather chair swiveled in my direction. “Have a seat.” Sharon was a woman in her mid-forties with short, messy hair and an earnest expression. Her gaze rested on me. “Good. You shouldn’t be too much of a distraction for him.”

  “Pardon?”

  She held out a hand. “Sorry to be rude as shit, I’m Sharon.”

  I shook it. “Brandi.”

  “I gotta speak plainly. I hope you don’t have tender feelings. This job ain’t for the faint of heart.”

  I sat, crossing my feet at the ankles. “I’m good. I can handle it.”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know. I’ve been through five assistants in just a year. Working for Roger is a pain in the ass.”

  “Roger?”

  “Ax Stevenson. His real name is Roger. Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. This is a shit job. The pay is so-so, the hours are horrific, and the bullshit is piled thigh high. If you plan to have any kind of a life, forget it. You’ll be on call 24/7, like an emergency room doctor, but it’s like working in an insane asylum. Rock stars are like four-year-olds. No joke.”

  I nodded. “I had expected that.”

  She reached into a drawer. “I have a file here you might want to go over. These are the concert dates, appearances, photo shoots, and incidentals. I was out there two days ago, and it’s a shitshow. He’s still dealing with the divorce, among other things.” She sat back in the chair. “He’s a chauvinist, hedonist, demanding son of a bitch, and that’s when he’s sober. When he’s drunk or high…all bets are off.”

  “I’m not afraid of a challenge. I can handle it.”

  “That’s your first mistake right there. He’ll make comments about your weight. He’s an insensitive jerk, Brandi. You gotta prepare yourself. It’s like sexual harassment. It’s the way he is. I need you to sign the contract anyway; it’s all in there. You can’t sue him for being a dick. Sorry. The last assistant tried, but our lawyers are damn good. If you don’t want to work under these conditions, then there’s the door. I can’t sugarcoat it. It’s a crap job. I’d get out while you can.” She grinned slightly.

  I leaned forward. “I know I’m overweight; it’s not a secret, but I don’t care. I’ve looked like this my whole life. I’ve got a Teflon coating. Shit don’t stick.”

  “He’ll get under your skin. He can charm the socks off you one minute… and then rip you to shreds the next. Three assistants ago, Julie, she left and checked herself into a mental health facility. She couldn’t handle it. It’s brutal.”

  “He can call me a cow all day long. I’m a duck. It’s water off my back.”

  Her expression was grim. “Okay. You’ve been warned.”

  “Can I read through this?”

  “I highly recommend it. It’s pretty detailed. Nothing was left out. You won’t be able to sue for any reason. There’s also an airtight confidentiality clause.”

  I spent thirty minutes reading over the terms, and they weren’t pretty, but I had expected this. I was fully prepared to be teased and abused and made fun of. Rock stars were notorious for these sorts of things, but I would not be dissuaded.

  “There’s another thing.”

  I glanced at her. “What?”

  “Um…there’ll be sex and drugs.”

  “Of course,” I laughed. “Goes with the territory.”

  “Yeah, but you need to refrain. I need you clear. You’ll be one of the few in this condition. Somebody has to be in charge. I have other bands to manage. I can’t be with them all the time. I’ll pop in every once in a while, but that’s why I hired you. You have to make sure he’s sober before he hits the stage. You have to get him to appearances on time, to photo shoots and interviews. It’s a hell of a task.”

  “I can do that.”

  She looked doubtful. “You’ll have help. There’s Lauren Cotton, his publicist, and Ally Palmer, the stylist. They can help you, but they’re pretty p
owerless.”

  “Got it.”

  “Now…about the sex…”

  I tilted my head in her direction.

  “Um…there’s a lot of it. You’ll see stuff…you’re not allowed to take photos. No Tweeting, no Facebook. It’s all in the contract.”

  “I understand.”

  “You can’t blackmail him. There’s a no blackmail clause.”

  “Okay,” I laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

  “I hope you have a good sense of humor, Brandi.”

  “I do.”

  “You’re gonna need it.”

  Chapter Two

  To say that I was excited about this job was an understatement. After having filled out the necessary paperwork, I found myself on an airplane heading to Phoenix for two shows, although I had already missed the first one. Ax’s publicist, Lauren, greeted me at the airport. She was a thin brunette with purple hair, wearing a flowery cotton dress.

  She waved vigorously, holding up a sign that said, Petty Thieves Tour.

  I approached her. “Hi, how are you?”

  Her eyes skimmed over me. “Good. Welcome to the tour.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “I got a car waiting.”

  “Great.” People rushed by.

  “It’s hotter than shit here,” she said. “A hundred and fifteen in the shade.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You work for LiveGate Entertainment before?”

  “No. First time.” I had a firm grip on my luggage, which was pulled behind me. “I’m so excited to meet Ax Stevenson. I can’t wait.” I regretted sounding like an overeager groupie, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Yeah, that’ll wear off. Not to worry.” She sounded jaded. “You’ll get an eyeful, for sure. He won’t look so shiny after you get to know him.”

  “Sharon already warned me. I’m ready.” This was the most amazing adventure I had ever been on, and nothing could diminish that feeling, short of a nuclear strike.

  “Nobody is ever really ready. Just try to keep your head above water.”

  “I’ll do my best.” The limo waited; the driver held the door for us.

  “Your chariot.”

  “Thanks.” I stepped in, sitting on a cushioned, leather seat.

  Once Lauren was seated, she glanced at an iPad. “Okay. The show’s at eight, but there’s a press junket at four and a fitting for a video shoot at five. We don’t normally have so much stuff crammed in before a show, but…er…Roger fucked up the schedule. I won’t go into the details, but we’re just screwed, so…it’s gotta be done today.”

  “Got it. I have the itinerary.”

  “Yeah, but it never means shit. Stuff’s always changed at the last second. It gives me a fucking migraine sometimes.”

  “We’re staying at the Four Seasons?”

  “Unless they kick us out, which is always a possibility.” She glanced at me. “He has a new girlfriend, just to warn you. Her name is Denise LaMore. She was a groupie, until she hit the rock star jackpot. Now she’s moved up to the master’s bedchamber, but it’s bad news. Ally and I are trying to get rid of the bitch. Roger has enough on his plate. He doesn’t need to deal with a coke-whore on top of everything else.”

  “How are we going to get rid of her?”

  “I’ve tried everything.” She looked exasperated. “I’ve changed his cell number three times, his email a dozen, and moved hotels to shake her off our ass. She’s like a rash. It just won’t go away, and Roger doesn’t help at all.”

  “Do you call him Ax or Roger?”

  “Roger.”

  “Okay.”

  “The thing is…” she leaned forward…“we want this tour to be a success. It is a success, but he’s losing it. I’ve been with him for three years. I know the signs. It’s a meltdown in slow motion. It’s been coming on since he split with Clair. Then he found out she was fucking Lenny Steel, and all shit broke loose. Anyhow, Kill Me, Bitch is currently at number three in the Top 40. I found out this morning it’s going to number one. He’s at the top of his game. He’s never been more popular, but it could all implode at any second. It’s our job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  I’d heard that song many times, having purchased it off iTunes. Kill Me, Bitch was Ax’s ode to his soon to be ex-wife, filled with angry lyrics and a heavy rock beat. It was the antidote to Eric Clapton’s Layla. The song wasn’t about a man in love. It was about a man who had been cheated on and dumped. It was as raw as it gets, with angst and pain, and so convincing that it became an instant hit.

  “Is there a plan for this?”

  “Keep him away from the shit and the bimbos, and try to get him sober enough to perform.” Her look was stark. “No easy feat.”

  I nodded. “Got it.”

  “This one’s all on you. You’ll be on call 24/7. Hope you don’t have a family that needs attention.”

  “Nope. I’m single.”

  Her gaze ran over me. “You’re not his type. You’ll do fine.”

  What was that supposed to mean? “What’s his type?”

  “Thin, Victoria’s Secret-looking models. You got a smart look about you. That won’t interest him at all. He doesn’t like chicks who think.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, nothin’. Look, I love Roger. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just focused on getting through this tour.”

  My intuition jumped up and down, trying to get my attention. “Did he hit on you?”

  She gave me a look. “You could say that.”

  “You guys…had a relationship?”

  “I’d hardly call it a relationship.” She snorted. “It’s more like a drunken night, where I can’t really remember what the fuck went on. I just want to forget what I do remember.”

  “Is there anyone in the entourage he hasn’t slept with?”

  “All the dudes,” she laughed. “He doesn’t roll that way.”

  “I see. And I’m not his type, so I’ll be safe?”

  She shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “Well, thanks for the warning. I’ve gotten a lot of them in the last two days.”

  “You can’t go in blind and unprepared. I did, and…it wasn’t good.” She glanced out the window. “We’re here.”

  She’d given me a lot to think about. “I’ll take it all under advisement.”

  “He’d be so good, if he wasn’t so damn bad,” she murmured.

  We pulled to the curb, garnering attention almost immediately, as the car was swarmed by eager, screaming women. Once they realized no one famous had arrived, they scattered, loitering near the foyer, but security would not let them into the hotel. The lobby was a two-storied marvel of granite and marble; the elevator banks were to the rear. An enormous table held a huge vase filled with a gorgeous flower arrangement, which left traces of rose and gardenia in the air.

  “He’s in the penthouse suite. Luckily; the press junket’s in the hotel, but we gotta get him to it.” She inserted a key card and pressed a button, the door closing. “That’s half the battle right there.” Her phone buzzed, and she typed a quick reply. When we reached the 20th floor, the door opened, and a short, blonde woman stood before us. “Hey, Ally. This is Sharon’s new assistant, Brandi. Brandi, this is Roger’s stylist, Ally.”

  “Cool.” She shook my hand. “How are ya?”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “Let’s go meet our king,” murmured Lauren. “Hopefully, he’s coherent.”

  “Barely,” quipped Ally.

  “That’s what I was worried about.”

  I pulled the luggage behind me, wondering when I would be able to drop it off. Ally caught sight of it. “I’ll take that to the room. You need anything?”

  “No. Thanks.” I gave her the handle. “It wasn’t a long flight.”

  “You gotta use the loo?”

  “What?”

  “The bathroom?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Ally d
isappeared down the carpeted hallway.

  “Here goes nothin’.” Lauren inserted the key, knocking on the door after it had opened. “Anybody home?” Music blared in another room, and it reeked of marijuana.

  A slim brunette appeared, wearing tight pants and a sparkly top. She was shockingly thin; every angle of her face protruded, as did her collarbone. “What? He’s busy.”

  “Oh, I’m sure, but he’s got a press junket in twenty minutes, Denise. Ally’s bringing wardrobe.”

  “He won’t do it. He’s chillin’.”

  She sighed. “Where is he?”

  “Bedroom…but…it’s do not disturb.” She eyed me. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Sharon’s new assistant, Brandi.”

  “You won’t last long enough for me to remember your name.” She glanced at Lauren. “Can you order more champagne? We’re out.”

  Ally appeared in the doorway, maneuvering a portable clothing rack. “Where’s Roger? The Jake Piper Jeans came in. He’s gotta try ‘em on.”

  The music in the other room suddenly stopped. “Where the fuck did you go?” The man of the hour suddenly appeared, wearing torn jeans and nothing else. His hair was a messy riot of chestnut strands, while his torso was an anatomical marvel. Defined pectorals gave way to an array of muscles that crisscrossed his abdomen.

  I knew what Ax Stevenson looked like. I’d had posters of him all over my dorm room and a Pinterest board dedicated to him, along with a fan website. I’d been lusting after those photos for years, but they hardly did him justice. In the flesh, he exuded an unmistakably sexy vibe, the energy coming off of him in waves. It was almost like a cloud of testosterone, a force field of sex appeal. I knew I would be far too susceptible to forbidden fruit such as this. Every female instinct I had was suddenly on high alert, warning bells blaring somewhere in the back of my mind. This wasn’t a silly fan-crush or groupie-lust. I was in the midst of a full-blown, panty wetting hard on. I could actually feel my clit swelling, rubbing distractingly against my underwear.

  His eyes were on me, a peculiar light shining in their depths. “Whoa. Big mamas make the rockin’ world go round.” He grinned, flashing impossibly white teeth.