Slay Me (Rock Gods #1)

by Joanna Blake

  Slay Me

  Joanna Blake

  Copyright © 2014 by Joanna Blake

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2014

  Pincushion Press

  For Connie

  Chapters

  One - Acidly

  Two - Trickily

  Three - Crudely

  Four - Dizzily

  Five - Longingly

  Six - Deeply

  Seven - Fancily

  Eight - Silkily

  Nine - Tenderly

  Ten - Royally

  Eleven - Emptily

  Twelve - Lonely

  Thirteen - Lushly

  Fourteen - Lovely

  Fifteen - Adoringly

  One

  Sabrina stared at the neat rows of black stilettos. They were all nearly identical black Jimmy Choo’s. She frowned. Didn't she have a gray pair in here somewhere? Hmmm… guess not. She pulled out the newest pair and stepped into them. They were still perfectly shiny, just the way she liked them.

  She was already dressed in a tight black pencil skirt, sheer black stockings and a white silk blouse. Her uniform, as her coworkers jokingly called it. It didn't bother her though. She didn't like to waste time on things like picking out clothes. It was a distraction from the lessons her parents had drilled into her for as long as she could remember.

  Work hard.

  Win.

  Nothing else really mattered.

  Besides, the outfit in all it's variations looked good on her. Really good. All her clothes were expensive and impeccably designed. She only wore the best garments, went to the best salon in LA, worked out with the best trainer.

  Win.

  She was the youngest in her department at Metro Records as well. It was the best recording company in Los Angeles. No. The world.

  Win.

  And now she'd been given her first high profile client. The biggest money maker at the label. Bigger than all the other artists combined.

  Nick Falcon.

  She'd grown up on his music, even danced to it at her prom. Well, if you could call awkwardly standing close to someone and swaying dancing. Sabrina didn't date much back then.

  She didn't date much now either.

  She was meeting her new client this afternoon for the first time. Drinks at his place. She'd been emailing with his team for weeks now.

  She was ready.

  She wasn't even nervous.

  That was a laugh.

  She was terrified.

  Never mind that this could make or break her career. Never mind that if she lost her job she'd have to go running back home to her father, to the look of disappointment in his eyes. It was much worse than that.

  The man himself scared her. There was something about him. Something… virile. And wild. The man did whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

  Throw an impromptu concert on a beach in Ibiza? Check. Marry and divorce three supermodels? Check. Fill his private jet with bubbles just to win a bet? Check.

  According the tabloids, he'd done all that and more. Most of it just in the last month.

  Gorgeous, with a face that graced countless magazine covers and stole a hundred thousand hearts. Talented, with a long career and at least ten gold records to his name. Rich beyond imagining, with houses all over the world, including the one she was about to visit in Los Angeles. Even with all the trappings of wealth, there was something about him that was utterly wild and untamed.

  Sabrina had a strong suspicion that Nick Falcon was even wilder than he looked.

  And harder to handle.

  She squared her shoulders.

  He'd just have to see things her way.

  And if he didn't, she'd make him.

  **********

  Nick was playing ping pong with his cousin Marley when the doorbell rang. He ignored it. Nick didn't answer his own door. He didn't pour his own milk. Hell, the only thing he really did for himself was wipe his own arse.

  He probably could find someone to do that for him to. If he wanted to. He seriously considered it for a moment before mentally walking through the process.

  Nah.

  God, he was bored.

  The doorbell rang again.

  "Jesus Christ! Somebody bloody get the god damned door!"

  He threw his ping pong racket at the floor, hitting his foot.

  "Ow! Christ! Where's the damn champagne gone to?"

  Marley pointed to a table on the far side of the room. Nick walked over to it and swigged directly from the bottle. Then he spat it out, spraying the glass windows that overlooked the pacific ocean.

  "What is this piss water?"

  "Uh, looks like Dom Perignon Nick."

  "I can bloody well read you twat. It tastes disgusting. It's not even cold."

  He poured the rest of the bottle into a houseplant, an enormous palm that reached nearly to the ceiling.

  "There you go. Now I can fire the gardener. Look! I'm doing your job for you you cod wallops!"

  Marley was laughing at him. Marley always laughed when Nick got drunk. That's part of the reason Nick kept the prat around. Other than the whole blood relations business.

  One of the maids came in. He could never remember their real names but internally he called them Rolly Polly, Beanpole, and Mustache. This was the bigger girl. He smiled at her charmingly. He was never rude to his staff. Everyone else, yes. But he actually respected women who supported their families through hard work and sweat.

  Just like his dear old mum.

  "Yes, my dear?"

  "Ms. Newton is here to see you Mr. Falcon."

  "Who?"

  Marley cleared his throat.

  "It's the new A&R girl from the label mate."

  Thank god Marley was actually good at something. He kept track of all this shite for Nick. Somebody had to. In return Nick paid him an absurd amount of money and took him everywhere with him. Sometimes, he even got him laid.

  "Ohhh right. Well, show her into the solarium please."

  "We're in the solarium."

  "Right. Show her into the living room. And offer her something to drink if you don't mind."

  The chubby little maid bobbed her head and left the room.

  "She's a good girl, that one."

  "She's new actually Nick."

  "What? Don't tell me there are two Rolly Polly's now!"

  Marley was laughing too hard to answer him. Nick leveled a finger at his chest.

  "You're not drunk enough. Alright, come on and let's get this bloody over with. How the hell do I get to the living room from here?"

  Marley led the way through the sprawling ultra modern cliffside mansion. Nick had got it last year but this was only the second time he'd been here. After his last tour he'd spent a few months in the French Riviera and then stopped home to see his mum. Then he'd gone somewhere else… oh right, Dubai.

  That place was so sterilized it had made his brain hurt to look around. Like Vegas without strippers or gambling.

  Or booze.

  Where was the fun in that?

  They walked into an enormous room with floor to ceiling glass door that opened onto a deck. All you could see in here was sea and sky. It was pretty nice actually now that Nick looked around.

  "Not bad."

  Marley grinned at him.

  "Now, where is the bossy twat?"

  A small gasp greeted him from behind the floating eco gas fireplace in the midd
le of the room. Damn, the bird must have heard him. He'd have to turn on the charm then, wouldn't he? Maybe then she'd stop sending all the demanding emails and daily phone calls. His old label rep had left him alone more or less. As long as the money kept rolling in, what did they care? Still, he'd better put on a happy face for the harpy.

  Time to act like a rock star for his adoring public. No woman stood a chance against The Nick Falcon. He'd tried to find one that did once on a whim. Old, young, fit, ugly, even married they all seemed to fall at his feet.

  And he was expected to service them all with his rock star prowess. Otherwise, his reputation would start to slide. And with that, record sales.

  It was a bit of a nuisance sometimes if he was honest with himself, which he rarely was.

  He strode around the fireplace, oozing his public persona. His back was straight but his limbs were fluid. He knew how to work it. He'd better have after all these years.

  He pictured a hatchet faced middle aged woman with a clipboard. He turned the corner and froze. A girl was sitting there, looking very young and very nervous. Scratch that. She was bloody beautiful. Her long golden hair and high tits were his second impression. After that he saw her long toned legs. But first he saw her face.

  Jesus.

  This was his new A&R Rep? She looked straight out of school. But what a school it was.

  Her dark blue eyes widened as she saw him staring at her. She lifted her chin boldly and stood, her shoulders thrown back. The nervousness was gone. Suddenly, she looked like a CEO.

  Or a general preparing for war.

  Not a pushover apparently. He realized he'd been contemplating getting her into bed. Today. Now. This instant.

  Christ he felt like a teenager.

  But he wasn't bored all the sudden.

  Not at all.

  "Marley would you bring us some champagne out here. Two glasses."

  His cousin raised an eyebrow at him but he barely noticed. He was too busy mentally undressing the Goddess he saw before him. Now that she was standing, he could really see her body.

  Sweet Mary and Joseph.

  Nick had his share of beautiful women of course. Even professionally beautiful ones. But this girl was something else. She was tiny for one thing. Short and sweet, just the perfect little package. And there was something regal in her bearing that reminded him of some of the Lords and Ladies he'd met when he'd been knighted.

  He felt a little less cocky at the thought. Out classed. But he pushed that aside. What did he have to be nervous about? He was a knight of the bloody realm!

  But he was nervous, all the same.

  She stepped forward, extending her hand. No wedding ring. Good.

  He'd hate to break up someone's marriage. It wouldn't stop him for going for what he wanted but he'd feel at least a small twinge of guilt about it. Or not.

  His hand closed over her small soft hand and he smiled, oozing charm. She shook his hand firmly and pulled it back just as he was lifting it to his lips.

  "Mr. Falcon. I'm Sabrina Newton. I'm your new rep."

  "Yes, that's right. Marley told me about you. What happened to Wendell?"

  "He died."

  "Oh god. That's bloody awful. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  "You sent an arrangement. To the funeral."

  "I did?"

  "Yes. It was lovely. His wife was thrilled."

  "Oh good. That was good of me."

  He grinned at her cheekily but she just stared back, cool as a cucumber. He sighed and gestured to the low slung chairs near the open sliding glass doors. Maybe the ocean breeze would blow her skirt up a bit. He'd like that.

  He'd like it a lot.

  "Shall we?"

  She nodded.

  He settled into a chair facing her and threw his arms back. He was going to enjoy working with this Sabrina girl. He could tell already. He watched her sit and let his eyes wander all over her body.

  Christ, look at those tits!

  She cleared her throat and he lifted his eyes to her face with a sheepish smile. She was not amused. That was odd. Women usually swooned after being visually ogled by him.

  Well, they didn't always lose consciousness, but they were usually bloody thrilled at the attention!

  This girl was different sort of fish altogether.

  **********

  Sabrina held her thighs together tightly as she pulled the papers out of her briefcase. Her cheeks were getting hot. The man was impossible! He was staring at her like she was a stripper!

  She felt naked in front of him. He was lazily inspecting her body, pausing at space where her legs met. As if he could see everything. She adjusted her skirt, tucking it firmly to her knees.

  He just smiled as if he knew what she was doing. Damn him. He wasn't going to make this easy for her, she could tell. If only he wasn't so handsome, with those high cheekbones and chiseled features. His dark hair was deliberately tousled, curling over his bright green eyes. His body was insanely fit looking too, especially considering he must be almost 40. Broad shoulders, long legs and a flat stomach. Never mind the talent and bazillion dollars, the man was movie star gorgeous on top of it.

  "You seem young to be taking on an A list client."

  "I am. I was also young when I finished Business School." He smirked at her. She tilted her head and stared at him coolly.

  "At Harvard."

  He raised his eyebrow, conceding her the point. She pulled out a stack of papers.

  "We should review your schedule. You have some promotional events to do before you leave, as well as several appearances at each stop on your tour."

  He leaned back, and waved his hand dismissively.

  "I don't do publicity. I don't have to."

  She rested her hands on her lap. Clearly nobody had this talk with him yet. Thanks a lot, Wendell.

  "Mr. Falcon-"

  "Nick."

  He was smiling again, his gaze warm and inviting. Jesus, did the man ever stop oozing sex appeal?

  "Mr. Falcon, I am not sure you are aware but your advance ticket sales for this tour are-"

  She paused, unsure how to put this.

  "Not up to expectations."

  "So?"

  He was staring at her legs again, stroking his chin with one hand. He actually licked his lips a little bit. He looked completely unconcerned with anything other than what she looked like under her clothes.

  "Are you prepared to play empty arenas?"

  He stared at her, surprise written all over his face. Surprise and a little bit of anger. Not a little. A lot.

  "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means, Mr. Falcon, that unless you do some publicity, more than half your tour will be cancelled."

  "You're joking."

  "No, I'm not. It's not your popularity that's waned, it's the economy. Particularly in Europe. They are simply not spending money on entertainment."

  He leaned forward, a markedly unpleasant look on his face.

  "Now you listen to me, miss. Music is not entertainment. It's life's fucking blood! Without music, there's nothing to stir the soul of the common man."

  She stared at him without reacting.

  "That was quite a speech Mr. Falcon but I'm afraid the numbers don't lie. If we don't do something, this tour will lose money instead of making it."

  "Call me Nick for Christ's sake! Jesus."

  At that moment the scruffy blond man came back with a bucket of champagne and two glasses.

  "I brought champers!"

  Nick sat back in his seat and stared at her while the other man popped the cork. He filled two glasses and handed her one.

  "No, thank you, I don't drink."

  The man stared at her, agog.

  "What, never?"

  "Exactly."

  His jaw dropped.

  "Marley."

  Hastily he handed Mr. Falcon the second glass and stood there confused for a moment befor
e skulking away to sit on the other side of the room.

  She snuck a glance at Mr. Falcon again. He was watching her again as he lifted his champagne flute to his lips. He drank deeply, never taking his eyes from hers.

  "Give me the damn schedule then."

  She sighed in relief. They were too far apart to just hand it to him so she stood and walked it over to him. He smiled at her coldly as his eyes slid over her body. Again.

  Jesus!

  Sabrina found herself tottering on her heels for a second. The man had her that off balance. Literally.

  She handed him the paper and went back to her seat.

  He was still staring when she sat down again. He shook his head and finally focused on the piece of paper in his hand. He raised his eyebrows.

  "Marley, come and take a look at this."

  Marley trotted over and leaned down to see. Nick looked annoyed and waved it in the air.

  "Just take the bloody thing!"

  Marley grabbed the paper and stared at it, reading. Nick was back to staring at her.

  "I thought you didn't do this sort of stuff?"

  "I don't."

  "Sooo… what do you want me to do with it?"

  "Burn it."

  He was smiling at her.

  "Or wipe your ass with it. Up to you mate."

  "Thank you?"

  Sabrina would have laughed if he wasn't being such a pain in the ass. She knew he might take offense at his lackluster concert sales but this was ridiculous. He was being a prima donna.

  "That's very entertaining Mr. Falcon but I have plenty of other copies."

  She smiled at him and waved a few other papers in the air. He narrowed his eyes at her. They were playing some sort of verbal tennis match. And she was winning.

  "It doesn't matter. I won't do them."

  "Mr. Falcon, I am willing to go to bat for you with the label if you do even just a few of these promotional events. Can we compromise that way?"

  He leaned forward suddenly, his hands on his knees.

  "I'll tell you what sweetheart. I'll do one promotional event per city, of my choosing."

  She let out a big sigh of relief.

  "If you'll let me rub my wang all over your tits."