How in the world I was going to tolerate a concert tour when Times Square gave me a headache was beyond me. I tried not to dwell on the uncertainties of my trip as I meandered home. Instead, I took a good long look at the positives. I was finally going to get to see Europe, and on someone else’s dime! I so longed to know what Paris, and London, and Prague looked like in person. I wanted to know their smells and tastes, to keep the impressions of those cities with me forever. Sure, I would be riding around in a stinky tour bus, but it would so be worth it. And the story I’d get out of the experience would be priceless, though surely I would get a good price for it. And the company...Well, I would be spending four intimate weeks with Jackson Brent himself. Things would surely be interesting.
I rounded a corner and came at last upon Gramercy Park. Surrounded on all sides by gorgeous old brownstones, the park was a private oasis in a crazy city. Perfectly manicured and kept, it was only accessible by special key. Only those people whose apartments bordered the plot of land could get in. I would never be able to afford such a place on my own, not on a low-level journalist’s salary, but I had a little help. My best friend and roommate, Hadley Spencer, had inherited a park-facing walk-up from her grandmother. We lived on the fifth floor in what was, essentially, a two bedroom broom closet. But at least we had the park.
The air on our block was perfumed by the park’s abundant blossoms, and I filled my lungs with the smell before heading up to my home. The five flights of stairs up to our place were a nuisance, to be sure, but it was amazing how quickly you forgot about them. Hadley and I had been living in our place for two years by then, and five flights was nothing. Plus, we saved a bunch of time that we might have otherwise spent at the gym toning our tushes. After a few months, we each had cheeks of steel. As I climbed the steps, I wondered if Jackson had noticed my stair-toned ass as I left the bar the night before. I laughed at myself as I climbed, amazed by the frequency with which these thoughts were bombarding my mind. I couldn’t keep my brain away from Jackson if I tied it up with an iron chain.
I fiddling with the lock and swung open the door of our humble abode. The door opened directly into our narrow kitchen, and I sidled in sideways. Our two bedrooms and teeny bathroom led right off the kitchen, and there was no living room to be found in our apartment. Still, Hadley and I were both so busy that we rarely needed anything from our apartment but a place to crash. Hadley had the bigger bedroom, since it was her place to begin with. She also needed a little extra floor space for the company she often brought home. Hadley had male guests over like they were coming in through a revolving door. I’d never seen the same man twice in our entire time living together. There had been many awkward mornings between Hadley’s boys and me. I couldn’t count how many times I’d walked into the kitchen, only to find a boxers-clad bloke with a cup of coffee and a dazed look on his face.
The Company, as we called Hadley’s men, didn’t bother me a bit. I was a heavy sleeper, and the walls were graciously thick. The only time I lost my cool was when one particularly hairy specimen had used my razor on his mountain man beard. Otherwise, Hadley’s love life was her business. I was free to be relatively celibate, she was free to screw every Tom, Dick, or Harry that she pleased. We understood each other, that way.
Hadley had been my roommate back in college, and we’d become inseparable since the moment we met. She came from wealthy Connecticut stock, but never rubbed it in anyone’s face. Whereas I was an Italian/French-looking mutt, Hadley was a WASP through and through. We made an odd pair, but that’s why our friendship was so perfect. My career path was focused on the creative, but Hadley’s was far more ritzy. She worked for a rich wedding planner on the Upper East Side, and spent her days thinking up creative centerpiece ideas for the upper crust of New York. I couldn’t quite share in Hadley’s delight over china patterns, but her enthusiasm came from a creative place.
“Hello?” I called toward Hadley’s room. “Do we have any Company?”
The bedroom door swung open, revealing my best friend in a criminally thin, black lace teddy. “Not yet,” she cooed theatrically. “Todd will be over in an hour or so.”
“Which one is Todd?” I asked.
“With the cleft chin,” she responded, running her fingers through her long blonde hair.
“There have been twenty cleft chins in and out of here,” I reminded her.
“He’s the one with the Portuguese water dog,” she went on.
“Nope,” I said.
“Ah, well,” she said. “What’s the story, morning glory? How did it go with Kellan?”
“Well...” I started, “I was assertive and clear headed for all of...three minutes.”
“And?” Hadley prompted, her body tensing with excitement.
“And...” I said, drawing out her suspense as long as I could. “I’m gonna go!”
A loud shriek bounced off the walls of our kitchen, and Hadley’s generous boobs were soon smothering me as she embraced me with glee. We bounced up and down together in our tiny little kitchen, delighted by each other’s happiness.
“This is wonderful! I’m so proud of you, Alex!” Hadley cried, planting a kiss on my cheek. “I didn’t want to bum you out, but passing up on this trip would have been the stupidest thing you’ve ever done!”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I’m so glad you came around,” Hadley said, clapping her hands together. “I can’t believe that my best friend is being whisked away by Jackson Brent. The Jackson Brent! What did he say when you told him? Can I meet him?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “I haven’t told him yet.”
“What?!” Hadley cried, “Why?”
“Just...Haven’t gotten around to it,” I said.
“You’re unbelievable,” Hadley huffed, “You just haven’t gotten around to telling Jackson freakin’ Brent that you’ve accepted his very generous offer? It’s OK. It’s not like he’s one of the most famous men in the world or anything...”
“OK, OK,” I said, “Point taken! I’ll call him tonight.”
“You’ll call him right now,” Hadley corrected, “I’ve got to get finished preparing for Tom.”
“Todd,” I corrected her.
“Whatever,” she said, closing her bedroom door behind her.
I headed into my own room and shut the door with a click. I collapsed onto my tiny twin bed and kicked off my shoes. My tiny room was pretty much just one giant heap of clothing and CDs, with one Janis Joplin poster hanging on the wall. It could have been the living space of any teenaged pack rat, but it was home. I wondered if I’d miss my little nook while I was off on my European adventure? I would probably be too busy fending off jealous groupies and drugged out musicians to worry about it.
“Speaking of which...” I mumbled, pulling out my phone. It was time to make the call. I took a deep breath and entered the number on Jackson’s business card. This was his cell number, I knew. Probably half the women in America would be spitting jealous if they knew I had these digits. I was satisfied by the fact, against my best intentions.
The line rang once, twice, three times, and finally clicked. My throat all but closed up when I heard a gorgeous British voice on the other end of the line say, “Good to hear from you, beautiful.”
“How did you know it was me?” I asked incredulously.
“Caller ID,” he replied simply.
“But I didn’t give you my number,” I protested.
“Darling, please,” he said, “I have my ways. Have you come to a decision?”
“I have,” I said, “After much needling from my boss, my best friend, and everyone else in my life, and not at all because I’m personally inclined, and really only in the interest of my career which always comes first—”
“You’re coming!” he said happily.
“You didn’t let me finish,” I said.
“But you are, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Well...Yes,” I allowed. How did this guy
keep rendering me speechless? I usually had words for everything.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am,” Jackson said, “Really. This is stellar news.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I said, and meant it. Hearing the happiness in his voice was filling me with extreme satisfaction. Although I wouldn't admit it to myself, I liked pleasing him, and I liked giving him what he wanted. I was sure that that was going to get me into some deep trouble down the line, but Jackson didn’t give me time to reflect on it.
“Tell you what,” he said, “This calls for some celebration. I’m coming to collect you.”
“Now?” I said, looking down doubtfully at my work attire.
“Of course,” he said, “I’ll be there in ten.”
“How do you know where I live?” I cried.
“I told you,” he said, “I have my ways.”
The line clicked, and he was gone. I stared at the cell phone in my hand, my jaw hanging open. I fervently pinched the skin of my upper arm between two fingers and felt a sharp pain. So I wasn’t dreaming, but how else could I explain the sudden, sharp turn my life had taken?
“Hadley,” I called through our bedroom doors, “I need to borrow a dress...”
Ten minutes was all my best friend needed to engineer a complete transformation. We weren’t exactly the same size, as Hadley tended far more toward Victoria’s Secret Angel than I did, but it was close enough. She squeezed me into a black leather skirt with knee-high boots, a loose black tee shirt with a frayed hem, and dozens of metallic bracelets on each wrist. She coated my eyes in her signature smoky fashion, rubbed by lips with a dark red, and tousled my usually straight dark hair expertly. I peered in the mirror and was, as ever, amazed by her ability. I really did look like I belonged on the arm of a rock star.
Just as my look finally gelled, we heard a car horn sound from the curb. Hadley and I flew to the window and spotted a shiny black town car waiting in front of our building. And waving up from the backseat was no other than—
“Jackson Brent,” Hadley breathed, “He’s even more beautiful in person...”
“Hey, that’s my client,” I said, “You’ve got Todd”
“Screw Todd,” Hadley pouted, “You get to go out with a rock star.”
“We’re not ‘going out’,” I said, “We’re just...”
“Whatever you say,” Hadley smiled, “Now get the hell out of here and grab yourself some rock star tail! I expect a full report when you get home.”
I waved goodbye and hobbled down the stairs in Hadley’s three-inch heels. How she managed to make her way around the city on those stilts was beyond me. I finally emerged into the night air and made my way toward the town car. The door swung out towards me and Jackson leaned out, grinning. The moment my eyes fell upon him, that aching need inside of me came roaring back. I actually staggered a little with the force of it. If Jackson noticed, he was nice enough not to say. His eyes were busy raking up and down the length of my body, leaving flaming streaks of sensation wherever they landed.
“Well, this is not what I was expecting,” Jackson said finally.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Last night was a business meeting.”
“And tonight isn’t?” he smiled.
“I...Um...” I struggled to speak with those bright blue eyes boring holes right through me. I suddenly doubted whether I’d ever be able to write a coherent thought while on tour with this man constantly nearby.
“Come on,” he said, “We’ve got a town to paint red!”
I climbed into the town car with one last glance at my apartment. I spotted Hadley doing something that looked very much like a victory dance in the window. Typical.
Jackson slammed the door behind me and we peeled away from the curb, circling once around the park before careening off into the city. I nervously looked around at the interior of the car, trying to keep my eyes away from the man beside me. Everything in the car was finished in soft leather, and there was a bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket just before us with two flutes at the ready.
“I thought it was appropriate,” Jackson said, “To toast our upcoming adventure.”
Before I could say anything, he had reached for the bottle and poured out two generous servings. He handed a glass to me, and I accepted with quivering fingers.
“To...?” I started.
“To us, of course,” Jackson smiled warmly. A shudder ran through me as that smile spread across his face. The heat from that grin could have stopped the ice age in its tracks.
“To us,” I agreed, “Colleagues.”
“Or something like it,” he said, and raised the flute to his lips. I scowled and followed suit, sipping the bubbly drink. I could tell from the fine, airy taste that it was an expensive bottle, far nicer than anything I’d ever had before. Good. That would make it easier to sip, rather than swallow.
Jackson leaned back into the plush leather, spreading his legs and making himself comfortable. I couldn’t keep my eyes from glancing at his perfectly toned form. He was wearing a simple flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms. His blue jeans were ripped and faded in all the right places, but not grungy. The stubble on his chin remained, and when he ran his fingers through his short black curls, I almost moaned out loud. I wanted to be those fingers, just for one touch of him...
“You’re staring,” he chided playfully.
I blushed and took another sip of my champagne. “I’m not staring,” I said, “I’m just thinking.”
“Of me?” he asked, scooting closer to me on the seat. My hand ached to reach out and touch him, just for a moment.
“Of you, yes,” I said, keeping my gaze forward.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, turning his body toward mine.
It was almost too much to bear, the pull he had on me. I had half a mind to toss the glass away and lay myself across his lap. But instead, thankfully, I gathered my strength and looked him straight in the eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes.
“I’m wondering what makes you think you’re so special,” I said.
Jackson blinked at me, genuinely caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“What is it about Jackson Brent that has you and everybody else so totally convinced that he’s the next messiah?” I went on. “Now, I’m not very familiar with your music, but I know that you’re technically a pretty good rock front man. You play rather well, your picking technique is consistent. Your vocals are just original enough to stand out, but typical enough as to not offend the virgin ears of new listeners. Your lyrics pretend to be poetic, but really they’re just made up of a bunch of borrowed images—which is fine, I guess, since you get away with it, but that’s beside the point...”
“What is the point?” Jackson asked. I noticed that his eyes were no longer smiling, but curious.
“The point is,” I said, “That I am being asked to write an amazing, ground-breaking story about you, and I’m really hoping that there’s more to you than a pretty face and killer biceps. You are obviously pretty well aware of the fact that you’re exceptionally attractive, but what else is there to you? Is your fame really the only reason for your pride? How can you walk up to any woman and assume that you can have her, based on nothing more than the amount of albums you’ve sold?”
“Well,” Jackson said, “Because I’ve never been told 'no.'”
“Exactly,” I said, turning toward him excitedly, “You’ve never been told 'no' as Jackson Brent, the rock star. But what about as Jackson Brent the man? Where did you come from? What was your childhood like that you compensate so heavily with booze and women and god knows what else? There has to be some other layer to you that no one else has seen, that no one else knows about.”
“Does there?” he asked, “Can’t I just be...all this?” He gestured to his hips with both hands.
I blinked at him, did he really just do that? “Well...Sure,” I said, “You can be. But if that’s
really what you want, then why are you asking me to write your story?”
For the first time since I’d met Jackson, he fell silent. A contemplative look crossed his beautiful brow, and lingered on his features. I stared at him in awe, wondering how one person could really be that gorgeous to look upon. The moment of silence lasted longer than I’d expected, but I was so mesmerized by his thoughtful expression that I hardly noticed.
“Tell you what,” he said, “You’ll get all the answers you need when you come with me on tour. To be completely honest with you, I don’t even know what the story is. I don’t know why I need it told, or what it’s going to be like. All I know is that I need a platform, I need someone to help me figure out what’s missing from my narrative.”
“And that someone is me?” I asked quietly.
“Yes,” Jackson said, “You’re the only person I can trust to write it.”
“But we don’t even know each other,” I insisted.
“What do you mean?” Jackson said, “We’ve had a drink, haven’t we?”
“You know what I’m saying,” I said sternly.
“No, you’re right,” Jackson admitted, “I don’t know why I feel so strongly about you being the one to write the piece. There’s something about you that makes sense to me. Something that I recognize. I don’t know how to explain it.”
I tore my gaze away from him, turning toward the window for another sip of champagne. Things had turned rather intimate rather quickly, I realized. And this was only the second night that we were spending in each other’s company. If I was going to come out of this tour unscathed, I was going to need to keep my wits about me. And lapsing into talk of kindred spirits wasn’t going to do.
“I think we need to set some ground rules,” I said firmly, setting the champagne glass back beside the bottle.
“Rules?” Jackson said. It was as if he’d never had much respect for the word.
“Yes,” I said, “Before we set off for our wild and crazy adventure, I think that we should get some things straight between us, so that nothing goes wrong while we’re on the road.”
Beauty in the Breakdown (A Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 3