Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1

by Olivia Cunning, Jayne Frost, RB Hilliard, Crystal Kaswell, Michelle Mankin, Emily Snow, Athena Wright

  “For fuck’s sake, Sander, what did you do?” With a frustrated growl, he jerked the contract from my grasp and began pouring over it. When he reached page three, he paused—I’m pretty sure at the part that spelled out how I was agreeing to give Happenstance a shit-pile of money for allowing me to manage Wynne’s nonexistent career. A long moment of silence passed before he lifted his eyes from the page. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

  “Probably. Good thing it’s mine to lose,” I pointed out.

  His brows shot to the ceiling. “The pussy was that good?” It took a moment for me to fully process his words. Instead of reaching across the desk and delivering the ass beating that he deserved, I stared at the floor and counted to ten.

  As if sensing my inner struggle, he said, “Fuck, I’m sorry, man. That was uncalled for.”

  It took me a moment to unclench my jaw, and then another before I could actually look at him without wanting to smash his face onto the desk. His expression screamed regret, but I didn’t give a fuck. He shouldn’t have said it. “You’re my friend, Alex, but if you ever fucking refer to Wynne as if she is just a piece of ass again, I can guarantee you won’t be any longer.”

  “You’re right. That was uncalled for and I’m sorry, but we’re talking four hundred thousand dollars here, Sander.”

  Because Alex was my friend, I wanted to make him understand that this was about more than just money. It was an investment. I explained exactly how it would work. That with each new client, I would gain more autonomy within the industry.”

  “Okay, but of all labels, why Happenstance?” he asked.

  “You know why.”

  “What, are you a masochist now? Have you forgotten that Olivia Marshall nearly destroyed you? I watched you snort away your career and then wash it down with a bottle of booze, and all because of that woman.”

  “It wasn’t just Olivia, Alex. You and I both know that Gio and Frank played a huge part. Look at me. I’m here and I’m clean.”

  Scowling, he stated, “For the record, I think this is a bad idea.”

  “Relax, Drama Queen. All of that is in the past. Olivia and I are cool. In fact, she’s marrying Meltdown’s drummer.”

  “Chaz Jones?” he sputtered. “That guy is a dick.”

  “That guy is responsible for this contract. He’s my ticket to the future, so be careful in how you handle things,” I warned.

  “He’s still a dick,” he muttered, and before I had a chance to comment, he added, “I know, I have to play nice in the sandbox. Give me a few minutes to go through the rest of this.”

  It took about half an hour of listening to him bitch before Alex finally agreed that the language in the contract worked. Once Wynne signed it, my bank would wire Happenstance the four hundred thousand dollars. There were two ways this could go. One, Wynne would hire an attorney, figure out that she was being played and that I was going to be her manager, and refuse to sign it, or she would stupidly skim to the back of the contract, confirm the numbers, and sign on the dotted line. Wynne was a smart girl, but in this instance, I prayed for a little bit of naiveté.

  “Are we done?” I asked, glancing at my watch. I had ten minutes before I had to leave.

  “Gio called again,” Alex blurted. Fuck. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m worried. He’s seriously fucked up, man.” That was just it, Gio was always fucked up. He was a manipulator, an enabler, and an all around shitty human being. I wanted nothing to do with him and I sure as fuck didn’t want him to find out about Wynne.

  “What did he want this time? Let me guess, he offered to suck you off for money or drugs.” Gio knew better than to call me. The last time he decided to harass me, I sent the cops to his house, claiming that I was worried he was going to harm himself. They arrested him for possession. Instead of calling me, he now called Alex.

  “He was hard to understand, but kept repeating that he’d done something and needed to talk to you.”

  “That’s not going to happen. If you want to continue talking to him, that’s on you, but don’t include me. Also, Alex, Gio cannot find out about Happenstance or Wynne. Do you hear me?”

  “You know me better than that. If he hears anything, it won’t be from me.”

  “Good, now, I have to get going.”

  “I do, too. Want to hang out this weekend?”

  “No can do. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “Oh? Where to?”

  “I’m going to Florida . . . .”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  “COME ALONG”

  Wynne

  “I don’t have to tell you how important tonight is. I want you to ignore all of the bullshit, okay? I want you to waltz in like you own the place and show them what a real winner looks like. Remember, sweetheart, you’re the one who’s been wronged, not the other way around. Now is the time to take the bull by the horns, and own it.” My eyes glazed over as I listened to my father’s diatribe. “You’ve got to make them—”

  What I needed was to get off the phone. “Okay, Dad, I’ve got to go now,” I said, cutting him off mid-sentence.

  “Alright, darling girl. Oh! One more thing, don’t forget to make eye contact with the audience.” I thought of Sander, and frowned. What was it with these two and eye contact? You would think I’d never done this before. “And get your mother to tape it for me,” he added. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. The last time Mom agreed to tape one of my gigs for him, he took it upon himself to critique each song in excruciating detail.

  “Will do, Dad. Talk to you later.” Some things never changed. My father was a dreamer—always had been and always would be. Thankfully, I had more of my mother in me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my dad. He was the reason I picked up a guitar and actually learned to play it. He encouraged my love of music, paid for the lessons, and pushed me to be the best I could be. He was my greatest fan as well as my biggest critic. His obsession to see me succeed, however, came at a price—my childhood. If Dad had been given his way, I would have spent every waking moment honing my skills. Had it not been for my mother, he would have been the quintessential “Stage Dad.” I would have been dragged from competition to competition, not because I wanted it, but because he did. I would have lost myself before I ever had the chance to discover who I was supposed to be. Thank God for my mother. She was the voice of reason, always encouraging stability and balance. She taught me that baking cookies, shopping, and having sleepovers were just as important as music. Sadly, my parents didn’t see eye to eye on this, or most other things for that matter, which inevitably cost them their marriage.

  Needless to say, my decision to try out for Million Dollar Musician came as a shock to both of them. Dad was thrilled beyond measure. In his eyes I was finally taking ownership of my talent. Mom didn’t see it that way. She felt that I was throwing away a perfectly stable career on a whim. They were both wrong. I was stuck, bogged down, frozen at a crossroads in my life. I loved teaching music, but loved performing more. The problem was I didn’t make enough money to quit teaching and perform full time. I viewed Million Dollar Musician as an opportunity. It could open doors for me, or at least get me noticed. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think I would make it to the finale, much less win the entire competition.

  Earlier today, while practicing for tonight’s performance, I had a revelation of sorts. I won. Not Ferris. Me. I could have kept the title, but at what cost? My integrity? Sander’s career? I chose to walk away on my own terms with my head held high. So why was I cowering in my mother’s house as if I’d done something wrong? Sander wasn’t hiding. He was taking a stand. And even though I thought he was crazy for doing so, at least he was doing something. Maybe it was time for me to do something, too.

  ***

  That night, as I stood in front of the mirror and contemplated whether my off-the-shoulder blouse looked good with ripped jeans or not, I thought about my father’s earlier comments. He was right. I needed to s
top thinking of Million Dollar Musician as the end and start treating it as a beginning. For the first time in weeks, I stared at my reflection and actually recognized the person looking back at me. The despair I’d been harboring since the night of the finale had lessened. I felt lighter. Maybe even hopeful. If my meeting with Olivia went well, I could have a contract by the end of the night. I shook my head at the thought. I was getting ahead of myself. First, I had something to prove—to myself and to the people who voted for me, who believed in me. Then we would see.

  “I can do this,” I whispered.

  “Wynnie, the car’s here!” my mother shouted from downstairs.

  “Coming!” I called back. On the way out the door, I reached for my guitar. Slowly, my gaze shifted across the room. Should I? It was by far the better instrument. The thought of the finale and how Sander had wanted me to switch guitars with him made me hesitate.

  “Carrie just pulled up! Should I have her follow us?” Mom shouted. Fuck it. He’ll never know. Feeling defiant, I threw my shoulders back and strutted across the room. Not only was I going to do this, but I was going to do it with Sander’s guitar.

  When Kazen mentioned sending a car for me, I thought he was just being nice and that it was probably a courtesy extended on behalf of Percussion. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He sent the car because he knew there was no way in hell that I would be able to walk through the front door on my own two feet without getting mauled. Carrie, who had taken it upon herself to act as my agent, rode with me, while Mom and Walter followed behind.

  “Holy shiiiiit,” she whispered as we pulled into the parking lot and saw the line of people wrapped around the building. I was no stranger to crowds, but this was different. This wasn’t a television set. This wasn’t a controlled environment. This was the real deal. Talk about crazy insane. These people were here to watch me. The thought of disappointing them weighed heavily on my shoulders. I was just going to have to make sure that didn’t happen.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Carrie advised as the driver parked between two dumpsters.

  “I’m not,” I lied.

  He turned to us and said, “Hold here for a moment. Mr. Grange is sending someone out to escort you ladies inside.” About that time, the back door swung open and two security guards stepped out.

  “Talk about the royal treatment,” Carrie muttered. I had to agree.

  My door suddenly opened and a masculine face appeared in my line of sight. “Welcome Miss Benfield. My name is Benjy. The man behind me is Bill. We’ll be your security detail for the evening. Our objective, here, is to get you safely inside without incident. I’m going to ask you and your friend—”

  “Carrie, and I’m her manager,” Carrie interjected.

  He blinked, then continued, “I’m going to ask you and your manager to slide out of the car.” We both slid out, and with security surrounding us on all sides, we headed for the building. I had to give it to Kazen, he had the security thing down pat.

  Right as we reached the top step, the door swung open. “This is Rodriguez,” Benjy announced. With a nod of his head, Rodriguez ushered us through the door and into a brightly lit hallway. I’d seen a few shows at Percussion but not since it had been redone. Harsh green walls and grungy floors were now warm beige and pristine white in color. The place looked completely different.

  Benjy took the lead and the other two men flanked us on either side. “If you’ll please follow me,” he said.

  “Your parents,” Carrie whispered. Yikes! I’d completely forgotten about them. They were probably sitting in the parking lot wondering where in the hell we’d disappeared to. Right as the thought entered my brain, my phone rang.

  “Hang on, Mom,” I answered, and turning to Benjy, said, “My parents are in the parking lot.”

  “I’ll get them, Rodriguez offered.

  “You can’t miss them. Just look for the electric blue Buick,” I offered. “Mom, stay in the car. Someone’s coming to get you,” I told her. Rodriquez nodded, before peeling off to go find my parents.

  “This way,” Benjy waved. Carrie and I followed him down the hall, through two sets of doors, and into a massive dressing room where we were greeted by Kazen Grange. Across the room were a woman I’d never seen before and a man that I instantly recognized.

  “That’s Chaz Jones,” I whispered.

  “Oh my God, those tattoos,” Carrie replied under her breath. Carrie wasn’t lying when she said that Kazen was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Chaz Jones was the complete opposite. He was dark in a dirty fantasy kind of way. He was the tattooed bad boy. He was . . . just like Sander. I squeezed my eyes shut, and thought, God, save me.

  Kazen spoke. “Welcome to Percussion, Wynne.” His voice was velvety deep, like dark chocolate and a rich cabernet rolled into one. He towered over me, but then again, I was only five feet five inches tall, so that wasn’t difficult to do. I pegged him at about six feet, give or take an inch either way. His jet-black hair was perfectly styled. He was perfectly styled—too perfect, if you asked me.

  Carrie took my bag and I gave her a nod of thanks. Balancing the guitar case between my feet, I held out my hand. “I really appreciate you giving me this chance, Mr. Grange.”

  “Please, call me Kazen.”

  “Kaaaaazen, I love the suit,” Carrie purred. Oh, Lord, she was pulling out her sex-kitten voice.

  Kazen’s gaze dropped to Carrie, and I could have sworn I saw his lips twitch, probably with suppressed hilarity. “Carrie, it’s good to see you again,” he murmured in that velvety chocolate voice. I bet he could carry a tune. I made a note to ask Carrie about it later. While the two of them made small talk, my eyes wandered over to Chaz and the woman sitting on the sofa next to him. Olivia Marshall. Wearing a Harley Davidson T-shirt, camo pants, and a pair of black, sparkle hi-tops, she was the epitome of rocker-chick fashion. She was also drop-dead gorgeous and exactly the type of woman I would put with a man like Chaz Jones. Olivia glanced up and smiled when she discovered me staring at her.

  Kazen began to speak, “Imagine my surprise when I discovered Chaz Jones sitting at the bar. When he explained that he and Miss Marshall were here on behalf of their record label and were meeting with you after the show, I offered to bring them back and make introductions.” At Kazen’s suggestion, I picked up the guitar and we made our way across the room to Chaz and Olivia.

  “Wynne, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” Olivia said, and before I could respond, she pulled me in for a hug. I wasn’t normally a huggy-feely kind of person, but she was so nice that I couldn’t help but hug her back.

  “There you are!” my mother exclaimed from the doorway. Great, the cavalry had arrived.

  “That’s my mom and stepdad,” I explained.

  Still smiling, Olivia said, “We don’t want to interrupt, but just wanted to stop in to wish you luck.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, while thinking, what if I screw up? Will you still want me? Do you even want me now? If so, why? I’m a liability. The sound of my mother’s laughter carried across the room. All eyes shifted in that direction. My face flamed with embarrassment as I found her making goo-goo eyes at Kazen right in front of her husband. Did the woman have no shame?

  “Let it go. She’s proud of you and enjoying the moment,” Chaz advised. Shocked that he’d read me so well, I nodded, then like a stupid rookie, admitted that I was nervous.

  “Chaz still gets nervous, don’t you?” Olivia offered.

  Chaz frowned. “Fuck no. I don’t give two shits what anyone thinks. If I mess up, I own it,” he replied with a scowl.

  “He’s lying,” she mouthed, and I busted into laughter.

  “What did you say?” he asked. She giggled and he smacked her on the ass. Then he kissed her. Oh my God, they were so cute, so . . . real. Chaz’s gaze shifted to me and his smile faded to a more serious expression. “You’ve been handed a load of shit. Now’s your chance to turn it around. Go out there tonight and own it.”

&
nbsp; “Okay,” I whispered.

  “Good girl,” he replied.

  Olivia and Chaz took off with promises to meet back after the show. Shortly after that, Kazen escorted my parents and Carrie to their places at the side of the stage.

  Once I got over the fact that I’d just been given sage advice from the one and only Chaz Jones, the nerves began to creep back in.

  If only Sander were here…

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  “MEADOW”

  Sander

  Much to my surprise, Percussion wasn’t a massive venue, but was much smaller, almost theater-like in size. Despite being completely packed with people, it felt low-key and intimate; the perfect setting for Wynne’s comeback. When I told Alex of my plan to slip in and slip out without Wynne ever knowing, he gave me that look—somewhere between exasperation and disappointment—and then accused me of being reckless. Forget that I was sober and perfectly capable of making sound decisions. To him, I would always be that broken man in need of fixing. I needed him to fix shit, just not this. Wynne’s voice, as she crushed another insanely high note, broke through my thoughts. The crowd went berserk. They loved her. They weren’t the only ones.

  As one song ended and another began, I noted that she was playing my guitar. Her long, feminine fingers slid across the strings with graceful precision. The guitar wasn’t the only thing those fingers had mastery over. I knew that seeing her would be dangerous, but it was so much more. I wanted her. Alex had called it when he said that I wouldn’t be able to walk away. He was right.

  I was contemplating how to make this happen when a voice beside me said, “She’s good.” Shit. I recognized that voice. So much for my disguise. The dickhead had found me. Then again, I’d spotted him in his lame ass baseball cap and fugly glasses within the first five minutes of being here.