by Wood, Vivian
“Josh! No! I won’t be spending my days ‘fucking some rock star’!” Though certain parts of her clenched at the idea.
“I’ll take some pictures with him, spend some time with him and that’s that. Help the band, in a way.”
Josh's expression was darker than she'd ever seen it, which was saying a lot since she'd been the one who'd comforted him when his childhood pet hedgehog died, when his parents had gotten divorced, and countless other moments when life had smashed his head in.
“No, Serena. I will not let you live here while being some rock star’s pet prostitute!”
If I was going to be his 'pet prostitute,' I'd be able to get lots of sweat to sell online, she thought sarcastically as he continued yelling his nonsensical bullshit at her. He seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier eagerness to sell the man's sweat... Not that she would ever!
“You needed some place to live, and I gave it to you. No questions asked. But I will not have you living here while dating. Especially not while dating some self-absorbed, dangerous, alcoholic rock star! Christ, Ser, I know your parents are overprotective and all, but surely you've seen how he lives? Different girl every night, drinks enough bourbon to fill the Valley when he's having a rare quiet one. I mean, the man's a god at guitar, but sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll is a cliché for a reason. He's one of those goddamn reasons!”
“So wait. I can live here for as long as I want, as long as I'm single? But once I start dating, I'm not welcome anymore? Forget about Rhys and whatever life he may have to offer me. You said you won't have me living here while dating?” Those were the words that stuck out to her. No living while dating. What the hell?
“Yes, Serena. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” His voice was cold, laced with anger.
She hadn't missed how he'd used her full name before, but this time it seemed like an ultimatum.
She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and stalked into her room, scrolling to Rhys' name without having read his message. She played with the note, now crumpled, that she still held in her hand.
To her surprise, he actually answered the phone himself. Rock stars answered their own phones?
“Serena?” he asked by way of greeting, a note of surprise in his voice.
“Uh, yeah. I mean hi, it’s me. This proposal of yours, does it include a place to live by any chance? 'Cause if it does, I think I’m in.”
There was a burst of relieved laughter from the other end of the line. He didn't skip a beat, his voice confident and sure. “I can make that happen. When do you want to move in?”
“Ten minutes ago, or so? Whenever is fine, though. Just let me know.” Her hands were shaking. She couldn't believe she had just asked Rhys Grant if she could move in, and he had said yes!
“Okay, start packing, princess. I'll send someone right over.” He clicked off.
She stayed in her room. Josh had tried knocking a little earlier, proclaiming that they had to talk. Fuck him. She stayed in her room for another hour or so before she heard a knock at the front door. Seconds later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. “Miss Woods? Mr. Grant sent us to collect you and your things. If you could open up, please?”
She cracked the door open just an inch to find a giant man in a dark suit staring back at her. “Mr. Grant sent us. This is a non-disclosure agreement.” He handed her a document. “Mr. Grant insists that you sign it before we move you, or your things.” His voice was strong, but not arrogant. He remained stoic as her eyes flashed to the NDA.
She barely glanced over the legalese in the document before she signed it with a flourish and handed it back to Mr. Security. She figured there was no use in reading over it. She knew what Rhys wanted from this “relationship,” and she had no intention of selling her story after the fact. She may not have studied law, but she'd picked up a few things at her father's company, and the NDA had seemed like the standard 'don't fuck with me, and I won't fuck with you' variety. If it wasn't, well, then so be it. She needed to get out of here.
“Can we go now?” Mr. Security was still standing in her doorway. Once she handed the signed NDA over, he nodded and several other men appeared from outside her bedroom door.
It took them less than fifteen minutes to load all her worldly possessions into a fleet of luxury SUVs, and soon, Josh's building was fading in the rearview mirror.
“Name's Thomas, Miss Woods.” Mr. Security introduced himself as the wheels started rolling. “Been with Mr. Grant almost five years now. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Thanks, Thomas. I'm Serena. And what I need right now is for you to not call me 'Miss Woods'.”
The car seemed to be heading toward Hollywood Hills. Maybe Rhys was sending her back to the band's party mansion where they had first met.
She had no idea whether they lived there, or just rented the place for parties. Or heck, maybe they had just broken in that night. Though, the latter seemed highly doubtful. And if nothing else, the room at the very top of the stairs she had been in had seemed lived-in – as weird as it would be living with five rock stars, three of whom she hadn't even met yet.
The SUV kept going, however, past where it should have turned to get to the party palace, and drove toward the Bird Streets.
Her mouth dried up. She may have been a native, but she had never dared go near the Bird Streets. Up in the Hollywood Hills, where only the richest and most famous called home, they pulled up in front of a grey gate that gave nothing away as to what was beyond it.
As they slowed, she finally pulled out her phone to read the message Rhys had sent her after Josh had barged in.
Her breath hitched as she read his simple words.
No problem, like I said, there are perks. I’ll take good care of you, princess.
10
The grey gate opened slowly as they pulled up. The SUVs made their way up a long driveway that ended in a porte-cochère, and deposited her right in front of the stately double doors that led to her new home – for now, anyway. It was all big windows and wooden walkways and greenery around the front.
Thomas told her to make herself at home as he and his men handled her belongings. According to him, Mr. Grant would be by shortly.
She took the chance to explore. The house was beyond magnificent. It wasn't everyone's style, sure, but it was definitely hers. It was reminiscent of luxurious homes in Bali she'd seen pictures of, with floor to ceiling windows that highlighted a view of the Pacific Ocean from the lounge. A sparkling blue swimming pool was flanked by not one, but two entertainment areas.
Was this Rhys' house? His gorgeous personal hideaway from prying eyes? She thought of Thomas and his men, unloading her belongings at this very moment, and she wondered briefly if they were hanging her precious designer clothes in Rhys' closet. She shook her head to clear that thought. If he'd wanted a girl living with him, surely there were millions who would jump at the chance.
I'm here to serve a purpose, she reminded herself. Nothing more, nothing less.
She headed back inside, only to be confronted with the man himself bursting through the front door... and no less than three women hanging onto him.
“Serena,” he scooped her into a hug. “So happy you could make it!”
Who the hell were these girls? Had he changed his mind? “Ladies, meet Serena, my girlfriend.”
The words did nothing to dislodge the supermodel lookalikes who had clung to his arm again as soon as he had set her down.
Jealousy coursed through her veins, however misplaced it may have been. She was about to march to her room to escape the scene when another member of Misery burst through the door.
Jett Green was as attractive as the best of them, though he lacked the magnetic quality possessed by Rhys. Jett bound straight for the swimming pool with barely a nod in her direction, and had only just managed to pull off his jeans by the time he jumped in.
When he surfaced, there were already several bikini-clad women in the pool with him, and a puce-f
aced man appeared in the doorway.
“Deacon,” Thomas' voice whispered from behind her. “He's their manager.”
They'd hired this guy as their manager? He looked like he was in permanent need of an asthma inhaler, antiperspirant, and something in life that could make him happy.
“So,” he sneered as he walked up to Serena, quite obviously giving her a once-over. “You're her, huh? Nicely done, Rhys.”
Rhys had lost the girls on his arm, and moved closer to her.
“Seriously Serena, I'm so happy you're here! Thomas show you your room?” He ignored Deacon completely and fixed her with an intense, but happy look.
“Not yet, they were busy with my stuff, so I just took a walk around.”
“Sure. Yeah. I want you to feel at home here. Anything you need, just tell me or Thomas, and we'll sort it out. Let me show you your room, you're going to love the view!” He grabbed her hand again and pulled her up the stairs, shooting a menacing look at Deacon she wasn't sure she was supposed to see.
She followed, still marveling at the fact she was in a house as magnificent as this.
He stopped outside a bedroom almost at the end of the hallway. “That,” he pointed to the door at the end, “is me. This is yours.”
He stepped through the door as he opened it. The room seemed to be about the size of Josh's entire apartment, and was decorated in the same style as the rest of the house.
There was a large bed, a sitting area complete with TV, a bookshelf filled with books that appeared well-loved, and an entire wall of closets. Off to one side was a stunningly white en suite.
Her suitcases sat neatly at the edge of the bed.
“This one okay? It’s the biggest one, next to mine.”
He fixed her eyes with his gaze, and seemed genuinely interested in her answer.
“Yeah, wow, this is great.” She lost herself in those eyes as she turned to face him again.
“It's settled then. It's yours.” His eyes still lingered on hers when he gave his head a little shake and led her back downstairs, where a party was now in full swing.
A young woman not in a bikini was sitting on a couch in the entertainment area as she sipped a cocktail and surveyed the scene playing out before her with a look of disdain.
“Ah, this is Annie, she's in charge of making sure the public loves us,” Rhys told her, one side of his mouth turning up in a sarcastic smile. She couldn't see Annie's eyes as they were hidden behind large designer sunglasses, but Annie rose from the couch gracefully and extended a perfectly manicured hand toward her. She was wearing a beige suit with a pressed white shirt and low slung heels. Even though she'd just been on a couch, not a single wrinkle was to be seen.
“Annie. I’m in charge of this public relations nightmare the world knows as Misery.”
She accepted her hand, giving it a light shake. “Serena. I'm-”
“Here to make my job a bit easier for the next few months. Just do me a favor and don’t make it harder, okay? I texted you my number, save it. I call, you answer, capiche?”
“Yeah. Okay. Of course,” she stammered.
Seemingly satisfied with Serena's answer, she sat back down on the couch, smartphone already pressed to her ear.
Rhys took her hand again and led her to the bar, where a sopping wet Jett and other tall guy were holding court with adoring women as they mixed cocktails. She thought by now she'd be used to the feel of Rhys' hand in hers, and the accompanying heat every time they held hands, but she was wrong.
Rhys accepted a tumbler of what looked like bourbon from the other guy before he said, “Jett, Anders, meet Serena.”
They both took a second to survey her. Jett broke into a wide grin. “Don't go breaking his heart now, Serena! Welcome to the family!” he quipped easily, and went back to his cocktail mixing.
Anders, on the other hand, seemed less than pleased to meet her. She had known he was Rhys' brother, but in person it was easy to see how they favored each other with their strong jawlines and emerald green eyes. They weren't the piercing green shade of Rhys', but they were still gorgeous, albeit unfriendly, almost bordering on hostile. He was taller than Rhys and more built, although there was not one spare inch of fat in sight.
His hands were tapping out a beat on his legs. Right, she remembered, he's the drummer.
“This is still a fucking stupid idea, bro,” he spat quietly at Rhys and stalked away. He didn't bother with saying anything to her before he left.
“I'm here. You're all welcome. The party can start now,” a voice proclaimed from the doorway to the entertainment area they were all in.
She turned to find yet another one of the faces she had stared at during her brief stalking expedition. The last band member she'd yet to meet.
Luc walked up to the bar and grabbed a bottle of vodka, taking a swig straight from the bottle before acknowledging her presence. His watery, but cool gaze gave her a slow once-over.
“Serena, I'm Luc,” he said simply before Rhys interrupted, visibly tense now.
“You look like shit, bro.”
Luc seemed unaffected by the comment and only tipped his chin in Rhys' direction before he picked up his bottle of vodka and ambled over to the bikini-clad women who had followed Jett and Anders to the pool.
The rest of the day was your usual garden variety pool party, except that this particular garden and pool must have cost a couple million dollars, and the fact that there were actual rock stars in attendance.
The alcohol flowed freely and Jett, Luc and Anders openly snorted some white powder every once in a while. Loud music blared from unseen speakers that seemed to be situated in every wall in the place.
Rhys was lounging in the pool on a giant flowing white swan, his tumbler of bourbon never leaving his hand. He checked up on her every so often, making sure she had a drink, but otherwise kept his distance.
By the time the sun started to set, the party showed no signs of letting up. She couldn't keep her eyes off Rhys, now engaged in a serious conversation with Jett on the other end of the garden.
His black boardshorts hung off his hips in the most delicious way. His tanned body was hard and muscular, but not overly so. She could see the artful tattoos on his back, chest and arms, though she hadn't been able to inspect them the way she wanted to, nor find out what each one meant to him.
His wide shoulders were set back, with his corded arms folded over his perfect chest as he nodded to Jett. She couldn't help but notice that beneath those arms and hard stomach, a little trail of hair led from his belly button, past that perfect V she'd never seen in real life, to a place she didn't care to think about with so many people around.
Her covert ogling from the now darkened corner she had taken up residence in earlier was interrupted by Luc. He had a towel tucked around his slender waist, but drops of water escaped his wet hair to fall onto his shoulders.
“So, Serena,” he slurred, definitely under the influence of something, though she wasn't sure what, exactly. “You having fun?”
“Sure Luc, yeah. Thanks for checking in.” She fully expected him to head back over to the party, but instead he slid into the lounger next to hers.
Jeans, presumably his from the way he was now digging in the pockets, were slung over the couch next to him, and he pulled out a small bag containing more white powder.
“Want to have some more fun?” he asked as he busied himself with forming lines of the stuff on the patio table in front of him.
She blushed. She didn't want to seem uncool or judgy, but there was no way she was doing that. Even with a rock star. A really hot rock star, she might have added. Not Rhys, but then, by now she didn't think she'd ever heret anyone that herasured up to him. How depressing...herher
“No, I’m okay, thanks. Thanks for the offer though.”
He looked at her incredulously, definitely not used to being turned down.
“It’s just, I don’t, uh, don’t do that.”
“You don't do drugs?”
He waggled his brows at her. “So you're a virgin, no worries. Uncle Luc will teach you. So first, you...” He trailed off. He must have noticed she was blushing twice as hard at the mention of the V-word.
“No way, are you an actual fucking virgin?” He barked out a laugh at that, then snorted a line of his powder.
“I should head over to Rhys, see if he's okay.” Though she couldn't see him now, he wasn't standing with Jett where he had been before Luc had interrupted her ogling session. She stood up to go find him, but Luc jumped up and grabbed her wrist.
“Come now, honey, Uncle Luc can help you with that little problem, too. I'll teach you everything you need to know, and a whole hell of a lot more!” He pulled her closer to him, his vise-like grip on her wrist not letting up.
“What the fuck is this?” she heard Rhys demanding behind her.
“Fucking relax, Rhy, not like you’re fucking marrying her! We’re just having some fun, aren’t we, honey?”
“Let her go, Luc. You don’t fucking so much as look at her ever again. You fuckin’ hearing me, bro?” His eyes were dark as they flicked between her, Luc and the powder on the table, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Then he grabbed her wrist hard, jerking her away from Luc.
“And you? What? One of us not enough for you? Plan on working your way through the whole fucking band? And you’re snorting coke now?” He looked downright murderous.
She was shocked completely into silence by his words. They made no fucking sense. First, she didn't have him. She fake had him. Second, it's not like she had wanted a clearly drunk, stoned off his ass Luc to grab her. She'd been trying to get away from him!
The words didn't seem to want to form and come out though, so she just stared at Rhys, dumbfounded.
“Just go upstairs, Serena. Party's over,” he spat and glared at her expectantly. Unsure if she should listen to him, wait for him to come with her, or help him clear everyone out of the house if the party really was over, she stayed put, simply staring at him. “I said go the fuck upstairs, Serena. Now!”