by Wood, Vivian
“Hope you'll consider becoming a fan?” she heard the other guy say before the door slammed shut behind them.
She walked over to the windows to take in the view one last time and then turned toward the door to try and find her friends before heading home. It was really late, or early, depending on how you thought about it, and she needed to get to bed.
In the absence of Rhys' presence, she suddenly felt worn out and tired, if not at least a little lighter for having told him some of her story.
On the way out the door she spotted a poster that had previously been hidden behind it. Thick dark letters half framed the top of a photograph of a group of five men. “Misery.” So this was the band, huh? The biggest band on the planet from what she'd heard, so she figured she'd better get a look at her absent hosts before she left.
As she moved closer to the photograph, she lost her breath for the second time since entering this room, and she started to feel a bit dizzy.
Staring out at her from the center of the poster, was the same man she had just been sitting across from, spilling her guts out to. He was the main man of the band from the looks of things. Misery's very own lead guitarist.
Shit. What an idiot she had just made of herself. Feeling tears for a good old ugly cry coming on, she ran from the room, down the stairs and headed home without even thinking about finding her friends.
That must have been why he was at the fundraiser, she realized somewhere in the back of her mind on her way home. Misery must have been the band that had donated all that money. She'd never proclaimed to be smart, but now she really felt idiotic.
7
Josh had been asleep by the time she'd gotten home, and was already gone by the time she woke up. The joys of being a responsible, working adult. Someone should really warn children to shop wishing they would grow up, she thought.
The green lights of her alarm clock blinked at her. Okay, she hadn't slept in much, especially given the time she'd finally gotten to bed the night before. Never mind the time it took her to finally fall asleep despite her weariness. The humiliation still stung and seemed to be a living, breathing entity laughing at her in the confines of her small, cluttered room.
Right, onwards and upwards. It wasn't like she was ever going to see him again, so time for a shower, maybe a short run, and then back to the job hunt. Okay, so who was she kidding? She didn't run. Unless something was chasing her and it was really big and scary. And if there was no one else it could target. And if she'd suddenly found something to live for that would make it worth running away. And... no, again, she digressed.
Shower and searching for a job it was. She grabbed a soft, comfortable skirt and top from her closet and headed toward the bathroom she shared with Josh. Just because she felt crummy didn't mean she needed to look it. Looking good didn't necessarily mean being uncomfortable.
She was just stepping out of the shower when she heard a knock at the door. “Just a minute!” she yelled, hoping whoever was out there could hear her. She dressed quickly and wrapped her hair in a towel before going to answer the door. Josh must have ordered something, or shit, had she texted Mary that she was home safe? She's going to kill her, she thought.
She flung the door open, her mouth already starting to form an apology for her best friend. “I'm... Rhys?” She blinked. What?
“No, I'm Rhys, actually. But I'm glad you remembered. I brought breakfast.” He motioned to a pizza box cradled in his arm.
Holy shit. He’s really here.
Looking, if possible, even more gorgeous in the soft morning light out in the hallway than he had the night before. Dressed in dark skinny jeans, a tight black t-shirt and sunglasses pushed up into his hair, green eyes seemingly staring right into her soul through her own blue ones.
There was no mistaking that it was, impossibly, the man himself. Although she knew that he couldn’t have gone to sleep long before she did and probably did only long after she had, he looked no worse for wear.
Since she had been unable to sleep on account of her humiliation, she had Googled him before finally drifting off to sleep. The basic stats she found about the band within the space of about a millisecond were staggering. The sheer amount of interviews on YouTube made it seem impossible that they had ever lived off camera for more than a few hours over the course of the last five years when their first album had been released.
The bare bones of it were:
Born: Rhys Jason Grant. Goes by Rhys.
Age: 27
Siblings: Anders Donald Grant. Yes, Donald.
Years active: 5 years. Lead guitarist and backup vocals for Misery.
Almost 30 million followers on Twitter alone, more on Instagram.
Five tours over five years. Two of them world tours. The last of which ended days before she had walked in on Bryan and the start of her subsequent downward spiral.
She had planned to do a little more cyberstalking this morning. Was it possible he knew, and had come to stop her from invading their privacy? She wondered for a split second before realizing there was no way he could have known.
She'd recovered enough to step aside, painfully aware that her face and feet were bare, and her hair was wrapped in a towel. Great. Apparently she was destined to be humiliated around this guy.
He stepped inside the apartment and silently scanned his surroundings. “Not nearly as bad as you made it out to be. Definitely a palace in comparison to some places we've lived.”
“Uh, thanks. And of course you are Rhys. Sorry, I was just surprised. I thought you were my friend Mary who I ran out on last night. Thanks for bringing breakfast. Pizza though? And uh, not that it's not great that you're here, but why are you here?” She tried to sound confident, but her voice was soft, hesitant.
“Pizza is the perfect meal for any time of day. Besides, this is a breakfast pizza, it’s got eggs, cheese, mushrooms, bacon, bread… What else could you possibly want in breakfast? As for why I’m here, how about we get you fed first.”
He headed confidently toward the kitchen, and by the time she was able to move her feet to follow him, he had already located plates and set the pizza in the center of the kitchen counter. She grabbed a slice and hesitated for only a second at the thought of a breakfast pizza before she took a small bite.
Wow, that's actually good, she thought. Her mother would kill her if she were to ever find out she was eating pizza for breakfast, but she pushed the thought from her mind before it could ruin the moment.
The moment, of course, being that she had a rock 'n' roll god and the world's favorite guitar player in her kitchen sharing his ridiculous breakfast pizza. He wolfed down three slices before she managed to finish her first, seemingly strangely happy she was eating. He was definitely an anomaly.
“You know,” he began speaking softly, still watching her eat with a content look on his face. “The guys and I have been together for a long time. Long before Misery ever made it big. Anders and I, by now you probably know he's my biological brother. The other guys though, they might not be our brothers by blood, but they're just as much our brothers as if they did share our blood. Thank fuck for the fact they didn't have to share our beginnings though.”
She just nodded. She'd started on her second slice of pizza, mostly so she could keep her mouth occupied with something other than talking, and it gave her a convenient excuse to just keep listening. Though, she had absolutely no idea why he was telling her this.
“Milo and I met in high school. He spent every free second with me and Anders back then. We've been through a lot of shit together. So we just kinda stuck together. We met Jett when we were seventeen in... yeah, back when we were seventeen. Luc kinda followed us home one night when we were all nineteen, and stuck with us. We were all twenty-two when 'Hit the Road' made it big. Haven't looked back since.”
She just kept nodding, not really tasting the pizza anymore, waiting for him to continue while stlil having no idea why he was telling her all this at barely 10:30 in the morning.
Surely rock stars only went to bed by now? But then, what did she know...
“Thing is, Serena, like I told you last night, I like you. You make me feel, shit, I don't know if this is the right word, but you make me feel normal. Like you're not trying just to suck my dick so you'll have a story to tell. You don't seem to give a shit about who's who, and that's refreshing.”
She was completely at a loss for words, though she was starting to feel like she should at least say something. She had a feeling he was going somewhere with this little story now, though she still had no idea where that somewhere might be. Plus she was starting to feel just a little bit scared. And what scared her even more was that she was also feeling maybe, just a little bit exhilarated? Still, she just nodded. Her mouth was feeling dry, and the way he ran his tattooed hand through his soft dark hair was not helping things, at all.
“The band's taking some heat coming off this last tour. We got a bit out of control along the way.” He laughed again, then corrected himself. “Some of us got a little more out of control than usual, I mean.”
Oh, that laugh. She had hoped it was nothing more than a slightly drunken memory, but no, her insides still melted from the sound of it.
“Last night, when you walked into me, I was working on an idea. An idea I think you might be perfect for. You're charming, totally hot enough, and what's more is that I think you might just like it. You'll have all the exposure you could ever want to the world of fashion. Designers will be drooling to meet you, to dress you.”
He definitely had her attention now. “Okay, that doesn't sound awful,” she managed, though she could still feel herself blushing from his offhand comhernt about she was “totally hot enough” for whatever he had in mind. Rhys thought she was hot?
“I discussed it with my lawyer and our manager this morning, they both think it’ll work. I don’t know anyone more perfect for the part. It’ll be a purely business arrangement, my lawyer can draw up the necessary contracts immediately. I’ll pay you, of course, whatever you want - we’ve done really well for a couple of rejects.”
“You’ll pay me for what, exactly?” she asked, cautious now. This was seriously starting to sound dangerous and a little illegal maybe.
“No, no. Not that. Got a bit ahead of myself there. What I'm asking, Serena,” he got down on one knee next to her, took her hands in his and smiled that internationally heart-shattering smile at her before he asked, “Will you do me the eternal honor of being my fake girlfriend?”
She nearly slid off her own chair from shock. Her mind had hit a complete blank. It seemed she had been robbed of her voice, her common sense, and her free will, all at once. “Wh-why?” she stammered, a million thoughts rushing through her head, but she stopped at the protests of the two loudest ones. “Why me? And why do you need a fake girlfriend?”
He remained down on one knee, his strong and callused hands in hers. “Told you why already. Told you why I need this. We need something to take some of the heat off the band. The other guys, they don't see it yet. Some because they're not capable right now, and others 'cause they don't want to. I need them to at least try to fucking focus. This will be the perfect distraction for the paparazzi. I've never come right out and admitted I was in a relationship. The press will eat that shit up. We'll create the narrative, and people will believe it. It'll give the guys a break from all the attention, and I'll have a totally hot girlfriend for a couple of months.”
“So just to be clear, you’re asking me to lie to the world to give your band a break from the me?”
“Not my band, my brothers… and yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I’m asking. There’ll be lots of perks, though. I’ll personally make sure that you get introductions to whomever you choose, I’ll pay for design school. Whatever else you want.”
He was still on one knee, and it was really starting to feel bizarre to her now, looking down at him like that.
As if he could read her mind, his voice was quieter now as he looked up at her, his piercing green eyes bright and burning a hole into her soul. “Come on, what do you say? I've never gone down on my knee for a woman before. Never fucking figured I'd have to beg once I did.”
“I'm...” she struggled to find the right words. “Well, one, you're not on your knee for real, and two, this is a huge lie you're asking me to tell. Could I at least have some time to think about it?”
“Look, fuck, you're right.” He pulled one of his tattooed hands from hers, running it through his hair and dislodging the frightfully expensive sunglasses that sat on his head. He didn't move when they thunked lightly on the floor.
“Okay, how about this? How about you just give it a try? Go on a date with me tonight? One date before you make up your mind?”
She took a deep breath. Hadn't she disappointed enough people recently? He seemed like he really needed her help though, so without really thinking too much and knowing she could never just outright say no to him, she barely heard herself say, “Okay, one date. Then I'll think about it and let you know.” Her mind swirled; could she really do this?
He stayed down on his knee, holding her hand and staring into her eyes for just one more second, making it feel like something completely different before he shook his head almost imperceptibly and got back up to his feet.
He arched his eyebrows at her as he headed to the door. “Prepare to be wowed, Serena. I don't take no for an answer.” With that, he was out the door and off to do whatever rock stars did with their days.
Her knees felt completely wobbly as she headed back to her bedroom. Her head felt swollen with disbelief. On the bright side, at least she already had one job offer for today. As she didn't see any other exciting jobs coming her way, she decided to get ready for what she now viewed as her interview tonight. She grabbed all the nail polish she would need for a classic French mani/pedi and started pampering herself.
At around three in the afternoon, there was another unexpected knock on her door. She'd just started rummaging through her bulging closet to decide on what might be appropriate attire for a date with a rock star.
She had fired off a quick text to Mary after Rhys had left, letting her know she was sorry for bolting and that she was safe, so she doubted it would be Mary at the door. Still, she opened the door more cautiously this time and found herself face to face with a delivery guy who looked like he had enough boxes and garment bags to be moving a new tenant in.
“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong apartment.”
“Miss Woods?” he inquired, looking a little less bored after having seemingly spotted the modest cleavage revealed by the shirt she was wearing.
“Uh, yes. I’m her. I mean, that’s me.”
“Delivery for you then, would you sign here please?”
He thrust a clipboard into her face and tapped the line at the bottom he clearly wanted her to sign.
“I'm sorry, but I haven't ordered anything?” Upon closer inspection, the items all seemed to be from fancy boutique stores she hadn't been able to shop at even before her parents had cut her off.
“Ma’am, I just get told who and where to deliver stuff. You’re Miss Serena Woods and you live at the address on that piece of paper, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then this is for you. If you’d please just sign, ma’am, I’ll be on my way.”
Completely confused, she signed his stupid piece of paper and he immediately issued a command to someone out of sight, “Let's bring it in!” A man appeared from somewhere down the hallway and the two men had all the packages sitting in Josh's living room within seconds. Shit, now he really was going to kill her.
She started opening the garment bags as soon as the delivery men were gone. At first she moved tentatively, but as she discovered the absolute treasures they held, she felt her excitement building for each new one.
She was practically swooning by the time she opened the last garment bag. She had never really been a fan of sci-fi, but she imagined this was how certain fans of t
he genre felt when they received new memorabilia.
Inside the bags were some of the most beautiful dresses she'd ever seen, from designers she could never in her wildest dreams have imagined wearing. Yet, here they were, carefully displayed on Josh's random assortment of couches.
She moved on to the boxes next and nearly started weeping with glee while hugging the shoes they held close to her chest. She opened another box, shaped slightly differently, but seriously eager to see more gorgeous shoes, only to discover it didn't hold shoes at all.
Instead, it and the three boxes after it, held some of the finest lingerie she had ever seen – even in the catalogs she was too embarrassed to admit to have paged through. She checked the tags on each set, and each was exactly her size. Sure, it was a little creepy, but she couldn't stop the shiver that ran up her spine.
The next box was again shaped differently. Not knowing what to expect anymore, she opened this one more slowly again. The first thing she noticed was soft white tissue paper with a note nestled inside.
Have fun. Hope you love all of it.
See you at 8.
-R
She set the note aside carefully, wondering if he had written it himself. It smelled faintly of him, but if she was honest, she thought she was just high on designer spoils.
She lifted the tissue paper to find a bottle of perfume she had been eyeing for ages, but had never bought, though she always made sure to spray some of the test bottles on her neck and cleavage when she walked past a shop that stocked it. Next to the perfume she found some of the best cosmetics in the industry.
She smiled. For a man she had known for less than twenty-four hours, he sure as shit knew her style.
It took her the rest of the day, but she finally picked out what she thought was the perfect outfit for unknown circumstances, and she was ready just in time.