Katie opened the unsealed envelope and peeked at the papers inside.
“It’s a contract. An NDA,” I said. “Brody insisted.”
She examined the papers in her hand, scanning over the legal contract.
“It’s a Non-Disclosure Agreement. It means—”
“I know what an NDA is,” she said, leafing through to the last page, where the signature lines were. “I’m not signing this.” She handed it back to me.
Damn. The girl had backbone. “Brody won’t like that.”
She ate her omelet in silence, in careful little bites, like she was still afraid she might hurl.
“You realize I’m being asked to go on a six-week tour in a foreign country with a man I barely know, pretending to be his lover, surrounded by other men—giant men, incidentally,” she added, eying me, “who all work for him. I need to know that I have some protection. If this thing goes bad, if you turn out to be the world’s biggest creep, I need to know I can say that to whoever I need to say that to.”
She had one hell of a point.
I folded the envelope and tucked it away. “I can live with that.”
“What about Brody?”
“I’ll talk to him.” Brody would just have to accept it. Had no choice, because I was bringing Katie on the fucking tour. “Maybe we should define creep, though. What if I get handsy and you don’t like it?”
“Then I’ll throw a drink in your face like a civilized bitch.”
I felt the grin twitch at the corners of my mouth. “Sounds fair. But I do have a couple of conditions. We don’t need it in ink. A verbal agreement is fine with me. I’ll take you at your word.”
“Okay…?”
“You’d be coming on the tour to act as my girlfriend, so if that illusion falls apart because you’re involved with someone else—”
“I’m not involved with someone else.”
“Good. But if you were to get involved, and the media got wind of it—”
“I’m not getting involved with anyone. If I do this I’m pretending to be your girlfriend for six weeks. That’s the deal. I won’t do anything to make you look bad.”
“Which brings me to my other condition. You can’t tell anyone the relationship is fake.”
“Pretty much assumed that. With the exception of Devi, who already knows.”
I didn’t love that, but so be it. “Alright,” I agreed. “But no one else.”
“Understood.” She was slowing down on her omelet and set her fork down. “I have some terms of my own, you know.” She leaned her elbows on the bar and looked incredibly businesslike for a woman in pajamas and no bra.
“I’d expect no less.”
“Devi wanted to write up a contract of our own, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I think we need a little trust between us if we’re going to do this. So.” She fixed her blue-greens on me. “One. You can’t tell anyone the relationship is fake.”
“Agreed,” I said. “With the exception of Jude, who knows every fucking thing I do, for security reasons.”
“Fine.”
“And Brody, who already knows.” Brody was also pissed that I’d gone to Katie with my “indecent proposal,” his words, before consulting him. Maggie wasn’t gonna love it either. “Which means Maggie, too.”
Katie frowned.
“My public image is their domain. I can’t keep Maggie in the dark.”
“Fine. Number two. You can’t see anyone else.”
“Okay.”
“I have to be the only one,” she insisted, as if I’d put up an argument. “If I’m gonna do this, let everyone believe we’re a couple and play the adoring girlfriend for all the world to see, I’m trusting you not to humiliate me—”
“Understood.”
I got it. Really. She was left at the altar. Two years ago. And hadn’t kissed a single dude since. Except me, a guy who was paying her for a fake relationship.
This girl was on recovery road from something that had scarred her deep, and going on this tour, trusting me, was a major leap of faith.
“Oh…” she said, like she’d been ready for a debate. “Um. Okay. So, then… if we do this, we both commit to keeping up the illusion. Which means…”
“Which means?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what it means. It means no fucking around. No getting your roadies or whoever to sneak groupies to you behind my back. No hooking up with old flames in every port. No messing around with Elle.”
“Is that all?”
“You get the idea. No going all slutty rock star behind my back.”
“Not a problem.”
From the look on her face, she really had to suspend disbelief on that one. Which rubbed me the wrong way and then some. But it wasn’t like she was the first woman to ever doubt my ability to keep my dick in my pants.
I leaned toward her on the bar. “You got one thing wrong, though. As my woman, my crew is there to look out for you, too. Especially Jude and his team. And I take that shit seriously.”
“Okay.” She still looked unconvinced. “Number three. And I take this shit seriously.”
“Lay it on me.”
“I need you to promise me it’s only a business deal,” she said. “That none of it’s real.” Her expression was steadfast as she held my gaze. “You don’t do girlfriends, and I don’t do rock stars who don’t do girlfriends.”
Was that it?
She was afraid I was gonna put pressure on her to make this thing more than what I’d sold her it would be?
“It’s not real,” I said.
Which didn’t mean we couldn’t fuck like animals… but no need to negotiate that right this minute.
“And it’s just for the tour,” she said. “Six weeks.”
“Six weeks.”
She stared at me for a long, long moment. “Okay,” she said.
“Okay?”
She nodded and relaxed. “You have a deal, Jesse Mayes.”
Really?
That was all she needed to hear, all this time? That I wasn’t gonna pull a Romeo on her and get down on one knee or some shit at the end of all this?
“Then you’ll do it? You’ll come on tour?”
“Yeah. I’ll come on tour.” She lifted her Nudge coffee cup.
I toasted her with my juice. “Fuck, yeah.”
She sipped her drink. “I still don’t get why you bothered with all of this, though. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just pay some model to hang out on your arm for six weeks?”
I cocked my head, closing one eye to scrutinize her. “You mean like that super hot model who starred in my last music video?”
She blushed. “I was thinking someone with a little more experience as an arm ornament.”
“Ah, but she’s a quick learner,” I said. “And speaking of quick…” I got to my feet. My cell had been vibrating in my pocket non-stop; if I didn’t get moving Brody was gonna have Jude knock the door down and drag me out of here. “You leave tomorrow. Maggie will be in touch about your travel. Keep your phone on.”
“Okay. What about you?”
“Flying to Montreal today.” I tossed my plate in the sink, startling Max from his slumber. “You’ll have to do the dishes yourself, sweetheart.”
“Fuck that,” she grumbled. “I’m going back to bed.”
I took one last look at her in her pj’s as she toed Max’s fur, her chin resting on her hand. “Probably a good idea.”
“So that’s it, huh?” She looked up at me, a hint of a smile on her lips. “No rest for the wicked?
“Welcome to the fast lane, babe.” I planted a kiss on her cheek and walked out the door, a big-ass grin on my face.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
Katie
The next day, the day I joined Jesse on tour, was not much like I thought it would be.
For one thing, I didn’t see my new “boyfriend” all day. Then again, I’d never dated a rock star before. Much less fake-dated one.
I was picked up at my apartment, flown to Montreal with Maggie and Flynn, and driven to a hotel. I was told Jesse had flown out yesterday with Brody, Jude, the rest of his new solo band and key crew. At the hotel, I was given a key card to the room I’d share with Jesse.
His things were flung across one of the beds, but he was gone. And yes, the sight of all his stuff in our room gave me a little thrill. But I tamped that shit down, stat.
Maggie had told me he’d be busy doing promotional interviews, then sound check at the venue before the show. And despite my best efforts not to get caught up in the incredibly weird, exciting, and/or overwhelming of all of this, I was looking forward to seeing him again.
A lot.
I mean, it was okay to like the guy, right? After all, he’d made me bacon and eggs, and in my books, that was fucking A. And there was no denying the man was incredibly easy on the eyes.
When I woke up that morning it all felt too good to be true, and for a split second as I blinked my way out of sleep I had an infinitesimal panic attack that it wasn’t real. Like maybe the entire weekend, everything that had happened from the moment Jesse showed up on my sister’s front steps, was another fucked-up dream. I’d fallen off my skateboard and whacked my head to shit, and was lying in a hospital bed right now, hallucinating this whole thing.
Two hundred thousand dollars to spend six weeks on the arm of a ridiculously gorgeous rock star?
Really?
But when I found the text waiting on my cell phone, it hit me all over again.
This was happening.
Good morning beautiful, it said. Pack light. Maggie will take you shopping in Montreal.
That was it.
I called my parents from the hotel room, to let them know I’d arrived safe. I’d told them I was working as Jesse’s “assistant,” but given the fact that I’d never expressed an interest in working in the music industry before and the fact that they’d seen the two of us going at it in the “Dirty Like Me” video, I kinda doubted they believed me. I called my sister, who definitely didn’t believe me, and who was taking care of Max; I heard my dog woofing happily in the background and already missed him like crazy.
I got off the phone feeling weirdly alone.
I allowed myself a few seconds to linger in the hotel room, and run my fingers over the clothes in Jesse’s open travel case. But I wasn’t gonna be a weirdo and snoop.
I wasn’t going to swim in his pool without an invite, so to speak.
I tore a page out of the sketchbook I’d brought and drew a little caricature of myself, adoring hearts shooting out of my eyes as I gazed at a little caricature of Jesse Mayes, who was holding a guitar in the air. It was a damn fine sketch. I signed it with the words, I’m here!
Then I left it on the bed for him, in case he came back to the hotel before I saw him.
* * *
I spent the afternoon with Maggie—and Flynn, by default—on Rue Ste-Catherine.
While it was incredibly weird to me that Flynn escorted us everywhere but didn’t actually talk to us, I had to admit being babysat by an ex-military tough guy, who looked something like James Bond in a motorcycle jacket, had its perks. He carried our bags, opened doors, and drove us around when we got tired of walking. He even got us seats in a busy restaurant for a late lunch when we needed a break.
By late-afternoon, though, Maggie had several new outfits and I’d picked out only one item for myself—a pair of jeans from a sale rack.
“It’s on your new boyfriend,” she told me. “Don’t be shy. Trust me, he can afford it.”
That didn’t help.
I still wasn’t keen on feeling like an escort, and being asked to dress differently than I normally did, which was at least being implied by this shopping spree, made me want to revolt. I’d thought shopping would be fun, but bottom line, every time I tried on some item Maggie handed me and stepped out of the fitting room for her perusal, I felt like a whore.
“Hon,” Maggie said when we walked out of the umpteenth store empty-handed. “This isn’t a criticism. No one’s telling you how to dress. I just want you to think about the image you put out there. You’ve seen Jesse, right? In photos? On stage? And how does he look? What does he wear? He’s oiled up, his pants are undone, his shirt is off.”
“Uh-huh.” Yeah. I’d noticed that. Kinda hard not to.
“Well, it’s not an accident,” she said, as we stepped into yet another amazing boutique. “A lot of work goes into that image. You’re his girlfriend now. Your image is as important as his.”
By now, I knew that Maggie knew the relationship was fake, but she was cool enough not to mention it. Actually, everything about Maggie was cool. The girl was gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous you might not even notice at first glance, but by the second or third, you were riveted. She managed to pair a giant infinity scarf over an asymmetrical T-shirt with rolled-up boyfriend jeans and stiletto-heeled boots, and she walked in those boots like they didn’t have four-inch heels. She was a tiny thing, probably just over five feet out of those boots, but she had the kind of presence that told you she didn’t put up with bullshit. From anyone.
Which was undoubtedly how she’d survived so long co-managing the hottest band of rock ’n’ roll bad boys around.
“It must be interesting, you know, being the only woman on the team,” I said as I browsed through a rack of beautiful but exorbitantly-priced leggings. “I mean, besides Elle. You must see just about everything.” Yeah, I was digging, but I was acutely aware that this might be my only chance to get the dirt from Maggie. She and Brody were flying home to Vancouver tomorrow. Apparently they had their hands full managing Dirty, even when the band wasn’t touring or promoting a new album, so they couldn’t also handle the day-to-day of Jesse’s tour. They’d hired a tour manager and a bunch of other people for that.
“Just about,” Maggie said. “Didn’t see you coming, though.”
I glanced over the racks of clothes that stood between us.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. She held up a pair of red skinny jeans, and even though I didn’t mind them, I wrinkled my nose without meaning to. I couldn’t help it; I had an aversion to this whole process. She put them back on the rack and kept searching. “In my eyes, Jesse is the most mysterious guy in the bunch,” she explained. “Hard to get a lock on, even in the years I’ve known him.”
“And how many years is that?”
“Like six or so. I came on after Love Struck, so I kind of missed all the debut album madness.” She came over to me with several dresses and began holding them up to me, one at a time. “I can tell you this. He’s not a bad guy. He’s also not a saint. If I had to pick one word to sum up Jesse Mayes, it would be… unpredictable.” She waved over a sales associate and handed her some dresses. “She’d love to try these on,” Maggie said, shooting me a look.
“And this,” I relented, handing the sales girl a skirt.
“Take you, for example.” I followed as Maggie continued browsing. “This whole girlfriend-for-hire thing.” She glanced my way like she was checking if it was okay with me that she called it what it was.
I smiled awkwardly.
“Never would’ve expected it,” she went on. “But that’s Jesse. You never know what he’s going to do next.” She pulled a sexy black mini dress from the rack and held it up to me at arm’s length. “You had a spark, though, you and Jesse. Brody and I both saw it. You know, when you offered him that cherry pie?”
“Oh. That.”
“Yeah, that,” Maggie laughed. “That’s why we wanted you for the video. That spark. Didn’t know it would ignite on screen like it did, but damn, it was hot.” She flipped through the dresses, throwing a few more over her arm. “You have this quality… How did Zane put it? ‘The girl next door I really want to fuck.’” She rolled her eyes a little.
I blushed, not sure if I should feel flattered, but I laughed too. “And is he exactly what he seems?”
Ma
ggie’s gray eyes clouded over. “Zane? Oh, he’s everything you see in the media and then some.” Her tone was breezy, if not a little condemning, but it was the first time I got the feeling she was filtering her comments. “He’s a lot of other things too, none of which are good news. He’s pretty much a nightmare for any woman.” She plucked one more dress from the rack and turned to me. “Really,” she said, “the only useful thing I can tell you about Zane Traynor is keep your distance.”
Interesting. But not a problem since he wasn’t coming on this tour.
Maggie off-loaded her pile of dresses to the sales girl and kept foraging. I followed, managing to pick out a pair of rocked-out jeans that were ripped to hell and cost a fortune.
“What about the new guys?”
“Friends of Jesse’s,” she said, “cherry-picked from other bands. They’re all in a really different place than the guys in Dirty, though, and I think that’s why he chose them. They’re all married, for one, and Raf has two kids. Letty’s wife is pregnant. So it’ll be a way different vibe than it is on a Dirty tour.”
“Which is?”
“Total madness,” she said, and laughed. “Lucky for you, you won’t have to deal with it.”
“Right.” Because once this tour was done, I was history.
Day one and I was already starting to feel a little regretful about that, even though I’d agreed to it. Hell, I’d made him agree to it. But I just wanted things to be clear. I didn’t need my naïve self thinking this was more than it was, or weaving some kind of fantasy that it was going to continue beyond the tour.
The very last thing I needed was another broken heart.
I was here to do a job, and that was all. On that note, I tried to put more effort into the shopping thing. Maggie was just doing her job and we were running out of time. We were supposed to be at the concert venue in like an hour. And when I held up a sexy-as-sin champagne-pink dress and Maggie said, “Nuh. Jesse’s not into pink,” I was finally struck with inspiration.
Rock Star Romance Ultimate Volume 2 Page 41