Rock It

by Jennifer Chance

  The girls around him screamed his name, along with several creative suggestions of how they could help him spend the night. Dante smiled and shook his head, waving one last time as he ducked inside his waiting bus. It was only a short trip to the night’s hotel, a soaring penthouse suite. He settled back into the plush leather seats and watched the world slide by.

  He wondered if he’d sleep tonight.

  Chapter Two

  Lacey strode through the gleaming white corridors of IMO Worldwide at her trademark “rush without looking rushed” speed, turning into Brenda Harris’s office without missing a step. She placed a fresh Starbucks latte, a breath freshener, and a sparkling water next to the tidy report she’d typed up after 1:00 A.M., frowning slightly as she saw that the pages still hadn’t been touched. Brenda sat with her back to her while she talked on the phone, staring out the window at the Boston skyline. Lacey turned to leave when Brenda abruptly cut the connection.

  “Lacey, hang on. I don’t have time to read this,” she said, tapping Lacey’s ten-page report, complete with bulleted points and graphics of Dante Falcone’s current promo items and marketing gear. “Falcone has moved the meeting up to two o’clock.”

  “Two?” Lacey’s words were casual, but her heart stutter-stepped. “That’s forty minutes from now. Does anyone else know about this?”

  “I do, and you do, that’s enough. Jim will make it work. Now about the report—what’s the topline? I need to gush appropriately. The endorsement deals we have with Goju and Zee alone will beat our revenue expectations for the next three quarters.”

  “I’ve bulleted the topline on page three. I’ve got to nail down a conference room. We have the Berlinger group in conference room A at two o’clock.”

  “Well, fix it, fix it.” Brenda waved a lazy hand, bending toward the document.

  Lacey pulled out her cell phone while Brenda turned to page three. Lacey’d omitted her near-death-by-crowd-mauling and subsequent Dante eye-lock, but the rest of the event had been classic Dante Falcone. The rock star had lived up to everything he’d become known for: sophisticated pyrotechnics, sensual rock, a great band in Paradiso, and lots and lots of audience participation. By the time the crowd had been primed for their next stage rush, Lacey had stationed herself well out of harm’s way. Close enough to get the flavor of the band’s every move, but far enough away that she wouldn’t be embarrassed again. One crowd stampede per night was her limit.

  She straightened her sharply tailored suit as she spoke into the phone, badgering the third-floor receptionist to prep the large conference room. She clicked off, then frowned at her schedule. “I’ll email all the attendees, but you also had a conference call with Jon Peterson at two P.M. I can move it to four?”

  “Make it tomorrow, I’ll be leaving for the spa after the meeting.” Brenda waved her deep plum nails again. “Okay, so this looks pretty standard. What else do I need to know? Anything different about the crowd than what we were prepped for?”

  Lacey tapped out the meeting instructions and flashed her best junior-agent smile. Meek, helpful, thorough. “Pretty much what you’d expect. Mostly female crowd, solidly young twenties. Dante’s incorporating heavy rock with just enough of a pop sound—”

  “I got that,” Brenda said, swirling in her chair to stare out at the skyline again. With her shimmering blonde hair, exotic eyes, and hourglass figure, Brenda “the Barracuda” fit perfectly into the role of agent femme fatale—and the predominantly male clients of IMO were more than willing to play along. “He’s going to need an interim manager, you know,” Brenda mused. “But just for the Dream It junket and maybe the Paradise Lost tour. There’s no way he’ll tie himself up for more than that, not with the money we have planned for him. He won’t be on the road nearly as much after this current rotation ends.”

  “Who’ll be his manager for the short-term, then?” Lacey asked brightly. Please say it’s you, please say it’s you, please say it’s you. She knew better than to ask for the job herself, of course. Maybe one day she could handle a star’s career at that level, but right now that sort of responsibility looked less like her wildest dreams coming true, and more like her worst nightmares—even, especially, if the star in question was Dante Falcone.

  But she was just starting out in this business. She had plenty of time to learn. Besides, with the Barracuda away on long-term assignment, she could interface with all of Dante’s sponsors, make valuable connections. She’d need those connections when she made the jump to the next level—no longer a “junior” agent but a straight-up professional able to build her own clientele. She’d put in a year already here, on top of three summers’ worth of internships. She’d paid her dues.

  “I plan on wrapping up that question today, actually.” Brenda’s words recalled her. “With a silky red bow.” Her boss leaned back luxuriously into her executive chair. “But that’s only the first step.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Lacey kept her smile steady and tapped on her iPhone as quietly as possible, sensing Brenda gearing up for another “listen up, little grasshopper” speech.

  She needn’t have bothered being discreet; Brenda was so used to capturing everyone’s undivided attention, she never expected anything else. “It’s always the same thing,” Brenda said now, staring out the window. “You get a hot alpha star used to having his way, running the show, and he immediately thinks he can run you, too. That the potential for mind-blowing sex hanging between you will cloud your judgment, cripple your ability to act decisively. It’s so silly, but they do persist.”

  Lacey nodded, shooting off an email to secure the beverages and food for the afternoon event. Not that anyone ever took anything, but if Lacey didn’t have a decent spread sitting perkily alongside the conference room, people invariably complained. Afterward, she would send the snacks home with the security guards. Somebody in this place needed to eat.

  Brenda’s sigh drifted across the room. “This evening, I’ll be visiting with Mr. Falcone personally to ensure he understands that IMO can meet all of his expectations, to his complete satisfaction.”

  Lacey stopped tapping on her phone for a second. What does she mean, “all” of Dante’s expectations? Funny how her throat felt tight.

  “While you were busy typing up your report on the concert last night, I looked up all his past girlfriends. He likes blondes, you know. Strong, sexy, preferably tall.” Brenda’s gaze swung back to Lacey, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “I’d heard that,” Lacey murmured, doing her best to look short, boring, and hopelessly brunette. It wasn’t hard, sadly.

  “His last serious girlfriend was Miranda Pierce, but they’re both mum on the reason for the split.” Brenda tapped the desk with her lacquered nails. “Since then, he hasn’t found a replacement, at least not that I can tell. So he’ll be more than ready to play the part of sexy rock god, I’m thinking. Fortunately, I can handle that.”

  “I’m sure you can.” Lacey’s veneer of calm professionalism was decidedly cracking, right along with her voice. Heat flashed through her at the thought of Dante Falcone “ready to play.” Would he be smooth and sensual? Or intensely demanding? Would he tease and flirt, or lock her in a tight, passionate embrace? Maybe up against a wall, or maybe … Okay. Time to bail. “I’ll, um, I’ll just go now and make sure everything is ready for the meeting.”

  She’d strode all the way down to the corner before her brain started working again. Glancing at her watch, she stifled a curse. Between both Dante and Brenda’s little surprises, her afternoon had quickly turned into a suckfest. She’d have to move it to make sure everything was in place.

  And it all had to go brilliantly. Despite whatever Brenda was planning to do with Lacey’s long-ago teen idol this evening to convince him that IMO could meet his every need, Lacey herself was too close to the perfect ending of the perfect first job after the perfect internships in the perfect college program to screw up anything now. And, bright side: If she could get Brenda out of the office and onto th
e specially outfitted trio of super deluxe tour buses they’d commissioned for the Dream It promo tour, she’d have plenty of time to get caught up with her endless list of assignments.

  Still … Dante and the Barracuda. It sounded like a horror movie. Lacey picked up her pace a notch and raced—elegantly and professionally—down the corridor.

  Ten minutes later, she perched with military alertness at the far end of conference room A, busily jotting down final notes on Brenda’s stack of client review reports. For the past four months, Lacey had taken over the write-up and delivery of reviews, freeing Brenda up for new client acquisitions. She grimaced. When it came to Brenda, she’d never think of “new client acquisitions” in quite the same way again.

  A burst of activity outside the conference room drew her attention, and Lacey rechecked her watch. It was only a quarter to two. Surely Dante wasn’t early.…

  Looking like he’d just swaggered out of her latest fantasy, Dante Falcone sauntered into the room with a complete entourage of IMO secretaries in his wake, his hand wrapped around an insulated thermos that he’d clearly brought with him. Today he wore an expertly tailored white button-down shirt, with just enough of said buttons undone to give a hint of that smooth bronze skin beneath, and black leather pants that slid over him intimately without quite being obscene. Somehow. Silver chains draped around his neck and his fingers sparkled with more silver, but he wore none of the makeup from last night’s performance. His hair looked like it had just been washed and windblown dry. She wondered if he’d ridden his motorcycle there. Just the thought of his legs wrapped around that long, lean Ducati—

  Stop it.

  Lacey stood and smiled graciously, as if it were the first time she’d ever seen IMO’s new number one client. There was no way he’d recognize her today. Her usually unruly dark hair was now slicked back in the ugliest god-awful bun she could manage, her conservative off-white suit was the epitome of professionalism, and her makeup was muted to the point of severity. She looked nothing like she had the night before, by careful design.

  “Mr. Falcone,” she said, her tense, eager-intern focus totally unfeigned. “Welcome to IMO Worldwide. Can I get you anything else to drink or eat?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and she smiled with greater determination. Dear God, he was even beautiful hungover. She bet he’d had at least six shots of espresso in that thermos, from the way his hand shook. Where the hell is Brenda? Lacey gestured toward the table overladen with scones and bottled drinks, and tried to get her pulse under control. Despite her best efforts, she could tell Dante was trying to remember where he’d seen her before. If he brought up last night’s embarrassment in front of the others, she was screwed. And so not in a positive way.

  “I’m good, thanks,” Dante murmured, his eyes not quite tracking her movements. He furrowed his brow. “Hey, were you—”

  “Mr. Falcone! Welcome, welcome.” Jim Greer, head of IMO Worldwide, bounded into the room with a broad smile and open hand, and Lacey turned to him with an expression of rapt adoration that, in this moment, she absolutely felt. “I see you’ve already met our junior agent, Lacey Dawes,” Greer said, just as the chirp of a phone sounded from somewhere in the region of Dante’s hips. Lacey determinedly kept her gaze away from that dangerous area as she and Dante exchanged nods. “You’ve met Brenda, of course.”

  “Right. Brenda, sure,” Dante said, as the Barracuda slinked up to him for a social kiss. Lacey forestalled a frown at Dante’s suddenly distracted response. He’d forgotten her for the moment, which was a good thing. But now, in place of that spark of interest, he seemed a little too rock-star cool. Like he’d really rather check his phone for whoever’d texted him just now. Like he really didn’t have time for the agency that was about to close career-making deals for him. Deals that had taken the better part of six months to put together. Even Brenda, posturing in front of him with the kind of smoking-hot vamp appeal that was as much a part of her attraction to star clients as her brilliant business sense, wasn’t getting through to him. Dante just wasn’t quite in the game. What was on his mind? Why wasn’t he paying attention?

  Lacey tightened her hands on her folders, remembering the words of advice her brownstone housemates had assailed her with just that morning. In this meeting more than any other, she needed to keep her cool. But what if something was truly wrong? What if their deals were about to fall apart? Maybe she was reading too much into it—hell, she probably was. But still …

  She puffed out a short breath, forcing herself to smile. Dante the rock god was one thing. Unassailable, in her mind. Lacey’d been a member of his very first Dream Team fan club, for crying out loud. She’d written him a hundred gushing letters in one year alone, and filled up a dozen different “I Love You, Dante!” scrapbooks before she’d even turned eighteen.

  But Dante the man was proving more difficult to figure out. And she knew she shouldn’t care, but … she couldn’t help herself. Somehow, he wasn’t what she expected—which was simply the sexed-up version of the teen dream heartthrob she’d followed so obsessively for so many years. Instead, even as he was annoying her with his current lack of focus, he seemed … more real. More substantial. And now, to do her job, she needed to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, to anticipate his every need. She needed to help his star shine even brighter. She needed to—

  Lacey grimaced. What she really needed was to pull it together, stat.

  Meeting today had been a really bad idea.

  Dante took another hit of his homemade adrenaline fusion drink and prayed his phone wouldn’t ring again. Calls right now would only be bad news. He’d forgotten that his manager had handled this part, fielding the contacts from the hospitals directly. Dante was supposed to be the money guy, the more-or-less anonymous donor. But now he had no manager, so when the hospital had asked if he’d wanted to be apprised of the success of the surgeries he was funding … he hadn’t thought to say no. And since the first damn surgery was scheduled to happen at any minute, a call could only mean a delay or a complication. A kid on some table who wouldn’t be getting better.

  Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate on his new “team” assembling around the table. It always seemed to be the same cast of characters, no matter how many firms he went through. The big-laugh agency head. The bright smiling accountants. The predatory account exec. Then there was always the eager intern. Junior agent. Whatever.

  Well, maybe not so eager this time. From his angle at the table, Dante could see how rigidly the woman held herself now, how much energy she was holding in her hands as they flew over a stack of papers and punched notes into an iPhone that looked like it’d already been through a war. He suddenly found himself thinking that this particular junior agent would be a handful in bed, assuming she didn’t sleep in that bun.

  Dante smiled. At least that was a good, distracting thought.

  He let his gaze wander back to Brenda Harris, who was presenting information about the two major sponsors and half a dozen smaller guys who all seemed ready to cash in on Dante’s growing fame. Of course, he was ready to cash in, too.

  “Not GoJu,” he said, holding up one of IMO’s concept cards. “I drink what I want, not that crap they sell to the public.”

  “Of course you do, and we’ve already factored that into the negotiations,” Brenda said evenly, as if he hadn’t just shot down what he knew to be her cornerstone client. “I’ve spoken to our account partners at GoJu and explained your unique dietary preferences. They’ve agreed to work with you to create a drink mix that’s formulated to your specifications, a blend of pomegranate, acai, and taurine, plus the vitamin infusion that best fits with Paradise Rush.”

  Dante blinked at her. “How do you know the contents of my blender?”

  Brenda’s smile could have cracked diamonds. “We’ve been coordinating your food and beverage deliveries since we took over your account, Mr. Falcone. Your nutrition requirements were very specific, and we’ve been more
than happy to accommodate them—as well as use them to ensure your satisfaction with this partnership.”

  Her eyes flashed with victory as Dante paused, doing a mental back step as he considered IMO’s growing involvement in his everyday affairs. He glanced over at the ever-faithful junior agent, unsettled by the faint smile now playing over her lips. What did she think was so funny? She didn’t know how important his privacy was to him. He’d never seen her before in his …

  Dante frowned.

  “You’ll be involved in the creation of Paradise Rush every step of the way, of course, but only to the extent that you wish,” Brenda continued, pulling his attention away. “GoJu has agreed to launch the drink on an accelerated timetable to capitalize on the publicity of the Dream It tour.” She leaned forward to put one sharp-taloned hand on the table. “Paradise Rush will be your signature energy drink, and if it’s in production in time, it can be the beverage of choice at the Zee Fashion Show, Dante. We’re looking to be ready in time for New York’s Fashion Week this coming September. In fact, we’ll be seeding the rumors about your clothing line as soon as the Dream It tour begins. Over the next several weeks, we’ll be sharing with you some of Zee’s original design concepts. I think you’ll like the Falcone line very much.”

  Dante sat back, forced to admire Brenda’s quick response. His own clothing line. Health drink. Sponsorships for everything from his boots to his watches to his Italian roadster. “I won’t have time to do promotions,” he said gruffly. “I’m touring straight through Christmas.”