by Jennifer Ann
“Relax, Charlie. Your career isn’t over.” She barges past me to the kitchen, eyeing the broken laptop. Then she leans back against the island before her gaze swings back onto me. “At least not yet.”
My fists flex at my sides. If ever I were to break my rule of not hitting women, today would be the day. “What are you doing here? How the fuck did you get my address?”
“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to be resourceful.”
I shove my hands inside my jeans pockets, resisting the urge to wring her pretty little neck. “What. Do. You. Want? Are you here to bribe me? Do you think I’ll have sex with you if you somehow find a way to fix the mess you made, or are you here for money?” Blinding anger expands throughout my chest, making my hands shake and my throat tight. “You’re going to have to spell it out because I can’t think of any other reason why you’d be dumb enough to stand here and look me in the eye after you wrote that bullshit article!”
The way she squirms under my glare, I wonder if I have her intentions pegged. Sex with her wouldn’t be the end of the world, but the money thing could lead to bigger problems. I found that out the hard way two years ago when an officer from the NYPD let me off for driving under the influence in exchange for $10,000. He kept coming back for more money until my lawyer finally threatened to sue him for extortion.
“Spit it out, Gwen. I don’t have all fucking day for this. I have to find a way to save my reputation that you managed to piss down the toilet.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “I came to tell you I’m sorry, but that was a mistake. You brought this all on yourself. Just because you’re thee Charlie Walker doesn’t mean you can treat women like shit. It was time someone taught you a lesson.”
I take two big steps until her back is against the wall and my body is pinning her in place. “You want me to believe you fucked me over because you didn’t get laid? What do you really want?”
When her eyes darken with rage, it wouldn’t come as a big surprise if she took a swing at me.
“Charlie?” Lorenzo asks from the open doorway. His eyes flicker between me and the broken computer before landing on Gwen. Spine straight, his nostrils flare. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
I push off Gwen to face him. “I was just giving Miss Porter a crash course on bribery one-oh-one.”
“You think you can mess with my boy?” Lorenzo asks her, eyebrows drawn down. “It was bad enough you made him sound like a washed up rockstar, but we both know the thing about the drugs and women was total bullshit. We could sue your ass for libel. Write anything like that again and I’ll have the best lawyer in Manhattan bury your skinny ass. I guarantee your Lois Lane gig isn’t going to pay for the legal fees you’ll burn through in court.”
“Your threats don’t scare me,” Gwen tells him. “My sources will back up every last word I printed.”
Madison must’ve blabbed. Big surprise. “Stay the fuck away from me,” I tell her.
“That won’t be a problem.” She starts for the door, pausing to glare at me over her shoulder. “Your career is over anyway. Did you notice how quickly your fans were ready to crucify you? They know you’re shit without Danny and the rest of the band.”
Once she’s out of sight, Lorenzo squeezes my shoulder. “Bro, she’s created a real cluster fuck. We better get this meeting with Rick over with so we can focus on damage control.”
As I’m throwing on a shirt and sandals, the negative media storm and Gwen’s final words push against my skull until I have a raging headache. I’m fucking done for.
Chapter 7
EVELYN
Both Sharlo and I sleep in late Saturday morning before storming Brooklyn Heights on foot. Though I’m tickled to find a beautiful dresser, headboard, and matching mirror in my price range at a flea market, it hardly distracts me from my thoughts of Charlie Walker. The blissful high of getting to watch him live only lasted until the show was almost over and the older blonde woman next to me bragged about how Charlie personally invited her as his date for the night. I was so wrapped up in the fantasy of meeting him that it was probably a good thing when she brought me back to the real world.
Sharlo mistook my somber mood for being tired and insisted we head home. We left before Charlie was finished and I decided it was for the best. Someone like me lusting after someone famous was ridiculous to begin with.
We spend the rest of the weekend painting my bedroom a light gray and setting my room up until I feel like I’m truly at home. By the time Monday comes, we’ve bonded more than I thought possible and I start to think of her as more of a sister than a friend. Sharlo heads off to her part time job at the gallery a couple of hours before I report for my first shift at Leona’s.
The bar’s manager, Hope, an adorable blonde covered in tattoos who’s bubbling with personality and constantly has me giggling, teaches me how to operate the iPads and runs through the basics before we’re to open. The minute Nolan enters in shorts and an athletic shirt with earbuds around his neck and sweat covering his skin, his dark eyes light with a smile. I may have resolved not to mess around with my new boss, but he’s even hotter with the sculpted muscles on his arms exposed. It’s hard to draw my eyes away from the symbols tattooed inside one of his biceps.
“Good to see you again, Evelyn,” he says with a bright smile. “I hope the city’s still treating you right. Did you have fun this weekend?”
“It was good,” I answer with a polite nod.
“I’ll be in for an hour or so, answering emails. My office is down the hall from the break room if you need anything.”
I nod again. “Okay.”
His smile straightens when he eyeballs his manager. “Morning, Hope.”
“Mornin’, bossman,” she replies in a teasing tone without looking up from the drink she’s pouring. “Nice of you to stop by and show off your muscles to the new staff.”
Nolan opens his mouth like he’s going to answer, then shakes his head and glances my way. I look down, embarrassed on his behalf. Without another word he turns away and heads for the back.
The minute he’s out of sight, Hope releases a nasally laugh. “You’ll learn before long you don’t have to be so polite around him. He’s not the formal kind of boss you’re probably used to. He’s only here because he loves this place. I like to give him shit to keep him on his toes.”
After a few shifts at Leona's, I fall into a comfortable routine in my new surroundings. I’ve met a dozen co-workers who are all friendly enough and I enjoy getting to know Nolan better as he tells stories of his grandma and musicians he’s met. Though I’m only paid a few dollars above minimum wage, the tips are decent as I manage to serve with a smile and without mistakes. A few guys ask for my phone number—a request I politely decline for reasons unknown even to myself.
Even though I’ve tried like hell to forget about Charlie Walker, he’s always lingering in the back of my mind. In my free time I casually began to stalk him on all his social media sites. I was livid when I found hundreds of Tweets where everyone trashed him for delivering an “awful” performance. He was far from awful and really owned the spotlight. I’ve seen a lot of bands perform live and was moved by his beautiful voice without the aid of drums and electric guitars. Plus I thought his songs were deep and meaningful, like they came from his heart.
Then I came across pictures of him with the older blonde that claimed to be his date and found an article about some underage girls in Cabo, and I started to lose respect for him. I should’ve known better. Someone that famous is bound to be a womanizer. I was full of shit thinking something had passed between us when he stared at me from the stage. What I had seen in his eyes was probably repulsion by someone so ordinary claiming to be a fan.
Still, the memory of watching him perform that night never fails to give me the chills or turn me on in some mysterious way. I’ve even watched a few of his older interviews, wanting another taste of those icy blue eyes and his deep, rumbling voice.
By S
aturday morning, my first full day off, I wake late and find Sharlo in the kitchen, wearing a flowered kimono over a cropped tank top and feminine shorts, hair still wet from a recent shower. She smiles up at me with a cup of coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “Hiya, roomie! Now that you actually have a day off, I say we go out and properly celebrate!” she sings. “Anything particular you fancy seeing in the city today?”
Sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, I wrap my arms around my bare legs and rest my chin on my knees. “You know me, I’m not picky. You said you don’t get to the city much either. Why don’t you choose?”
“Right then,” she answers with a bright smile. “Considering our mutual love for clothing, I think I know just the place. Oh, and if you’re up for it, I was hoping we’d catch the gig at Leona’s later tonight. If you’re sick of the place, I completely understand. It’s just that Nolan’s been going on about this up and coming act for months. I realize whoever’s playing won’t be as fit as Charlie Walker, but I’m sure it’ll still be aces all the same.”
She continues talking, but my mind clouds over with the mention of Charlie Walker’s name. Just when I thought I had him out of my system, the visual of him standing on the stage seeps into my brain until I’m warmed from head to toe. What is it about the guy I just can’t shake?
“Love, are you there?” Sharlo asks. When I look up, she pops a grape into her mouth and grins. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were fantasizing about someone. Care to share with the rest of the class?”
I’ll die before I admit to Sharlo or any other living being that I’ve taken my obsession with a rockstar to the fangirl level. I sit tall, shaking my head.
“No worries,” she says with a laugh. “Perhaps tonight’s the night you'll finally find a bloke to have a go with. Maybe we’ll both find someone. God knows I could use a little snogging myself. It’s been far too long.”
Another private car—one of the many perks of living with a wealthy heiress—takes us to the Chelsea Market where I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to shopping heaven. Despite my tight budget, Sharlo goads me into buying an artistic, floral print cami dress and coordinating jewelry for our night out. It’s a little bit sweet and sexy at the same time, showing off my tanned legs and most of my back without revealing too much up front.
“You look smashing in that dress, love,” she gushes as we leave the boutique with bags in hand. “It’s well worth the money, I assure you. I’ve got the perfect pair of strappy sandals you can borrow and I must insist on buying your drinks tonight, so it will basically be a wash. You’ll have men tripping over themselves to have a chat.”
“You should talk,” I say, motioning to her bags. In her true bohemian style, Sharlo chose an ivory dress that sits off her shoulders and stops at her knees, filled with lace detail and billowing sleeves that make her look like an angel. “I doubt you’ll make it far without starting a mob of admirers in that gorgeous dress.”
Her lips tilt with an amused smile. “A mob? Really?”
“I don’t understand how someone like you could be single in a city this size.”
“American men can’t assimilate my forward personality. Believe me, I’ve had my share of suitors. They just never pan out once they get to know the real me.” She hooks her arm through mine, laughing. “We better get a move on. I made reservations for a late lunch at a rooftop bar with a smashing view of the city. It’ll knock your knickers right off.”
“Sounds dangerous,” I say, bumping her hip with mine. “Maybe it’s the fact that you’re willing to eat lunch in public without your underwear that scares men.”
Tilting her head to the blue sky, Sharlo laughs in the tinkling sound I adore before we flag down the private town car and take the short ride to our next destination.
The rooftop bar on Fifth Avenue is easily my favorite place since I’ve arrived in the city. While eating fish tacos and drinking margaritas, surrounded by palm trees and tropical music, we take in the stunning panoramic view of the skyscrapers and the Chrysler Building. Sharlo tells me stories of growing up with wealthy parents in California, some of which I’ve heard before, but still love to hear again.
The two of us couldn’t have been raised any differently. While she was rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, I was playing in the dirt. She’s never had a driver’s license because she always lived in a big city, and my dad had me driving the pickup when I was just twelve. Her vacations were all over the world, while mine were usually an hour down the road on a green, slimy lake. She grew up an only child, and I had to put up with five siblings. It’s both exciting and a little intimidating to be around someone accustomed to a completely different lifestyle.
After the late lunch and a few more cocktails, we head back to our loft to get ready for the night. Once again, Sharlo styles my hair, this time twisting the sides back with bobby pins. She stands by, giving pointers as I attempt to apply makeup the expert way she had the week before. By the time we’ve each put on an armful of bangles and sprayed ourselves down with our favorite scents, we’re both eager for the walk to the bar and in good spirits.
Just like the night Charlie Walker performed, Leona’s is packed, making me grateful Nolan insisted on giving me another week before assigning me a shift when there’s a band playing. At least this time there’s a healthy mix of women and men. When I spy the same stool on stage where Charlie sat, a warm buzz sparks between my legs.
“I’ll get drinks,” Sharlo yells above the loud rumble of voices and music playing over the speakers. “You spend enough time standing on your feet in this joint. Try to find us a place to sit!”
“I’m on it!” I confirm, nodding. I push my way through the crowd, scanning for any available seats. When I see a few at a small table near the bathrooms, I’m quick to claim a seat before texting a message to Sharlo, letting her know where she can find me.
The band seems to have drawn in a crowd closer to our age, many of them too beautiful to compete with. I catch the eye of a cute guy and we exchange shy smiles, but apparently he’s too invested in his buddies to break away.
“Tosser,” I mutter, laughing to myself when it occurs to me that I’ve take on one of my roommate’s terms.
“Something funny?” a deep voice asks beside me.
I turn to find a large man standing empty-handed beside me, dressed in a tight pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with Led Zeppelin’s first album cover. It’s tight enough that I can see he has a chiseled body and massive arms, one of which has a tattoo running down to his wrist. The bill of his baseball hat is so low that his eyes are hidden, so the first thing I notice is a mouth-watering pair of lips set above a freshly shaved, defined jaw. With hair too short to be seen beneath his cap, I wonder if he’s in the military. Who else would have that smoking hot of a body? He’s by far one of the sexiest men I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“I—um—it’s a long story,” I stutter.
He tilts his head at the open chair. “Can I join you?”
“My friend is coming with drinks,” I say before chewing on my lip. Shit, I’m making myself sound aloof. “I guess—ah—she probably won’t mind if you join us.”
“I’ll stand when she gets here, so long as you haven’t chased me outta here by then.” His rumbling voice has the familiar Brooklyn accent I’ve grown accustomed to in the past week. When he takes the chair at my side, I’m hit with a tantalizing blend of men’s cologne and his natural musk that makes me a little lightheaded.
“You live around here?” he asks.
“Just…moved into the neighborhood,” I say hesitantly, all at once feeling paranoid. How much info should I be sharing with a complete stranger hanging out in a bar without a drink in hand? Sharlo has been on me about being too trusting and probably wouldn’t approve if I gave out too many details. “What about you?”
“Born and raised just down the block. Where you from originally?”
“Minnesota,” I answer, feeli
ng a blush creep into my face. “And before you ask, yes I was raised on a farm and drove tractors for my dad, so everything about living in Brooklyn is pretty new to me.”
“No shit? You’re a farmer’s daughter?” His lips bend with a dazzling smile. “Sounds like you walked your way right out of a country song.”
Once I’ve snapped out of the spell his smile put me under, I hold a hand up and giggle. “Swear to God. But it doesn’t make me a country bumpkin, so don’t even start. I’ve never owned a cowboy hat and can’t stomach the sound of country music.”
“Damn, I never would’a guessed.” A deep chuckle vibrates against his throat. “What brought you to New York?”
I find myself staring at his lips a little too long and heat fills my cheeks. “The friend I came here with tonight. She’s highly persuasive and a lot of fun. Plus I figured I owe it to myself to at least give the big city a try. I never really fit in back home. The small town life just isn’t for me. It sucked leaving my dad behind, but I didn’t willingly sign up to be a farmer for the rest of my life.” When I realize I’m babbling, I set my hands in my lap and lean forward. “Sorry. You weren’t asking for my life story.”
“It’s all good,” he answers with another alluring smile. “I enjoy listening to beautiful women talk about themselves.”
Tipping my chin down as yet another warm flush fills my cheeks, I’m able to see more of the tattoo on his arm the way his sleeve has shifted. I know I’ve seen that drawing somewhere.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
The bar takes on an unusual slant when it all clicks together.
The tattoo.
That voice.
Those arms.
Snapping my eyes back up to meet his, I lean closer and reach out to nudge his hat higher on his head. A set of surprised, extremely beautiful icy blue eyes stare back at me, igniting a blazing fire in my belly.