Cold, Hard, & Heartless: A Rock Star Romance (Heartless Few Book 2)

by MV Ellis

  “Sounds like you’ve met your match with her, so good luck, Grasshopper.”

  Luck has nothing to do with it. A hostile takeover is a game of skill.

  Now all I have to do is work out how to seal this deal once and for all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I don’t believe in fate, or in serendipity, or the planets, or the universe, or any of that faux mystical bullshit. I believe in the planets and the universe insofar as they relate to astronomy, of course, but not in the sense of them lining up to facilitate or keep things from happening. I believe shit just happens. Good shit, bad shit, and the kind of shit in between. I don’t believe in coincidences either. Shit happens, and sometimes it happens at the same time as other shit. That’s all there is to it.

  Shortly after my conversation with Jake, my phone rings. Noting the name on the caller ID, I answer it impatiently, guessing it’s more hassles regarding getting the tour back on the road.

  “Paul.” I’m preoccupied thinking about London, and my tone is arctic.

  “Hi Arlo, how are you?”

  “What do you want?” I should be less of a dick, but right now I can’t muster the energy.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  That’s pretty much a given when I pick up the phone to him, but I keep that gem to myself. There’s a pregnant pause.

  “So stop dicking around and say what you have to say. I’m not going to like it any more if I have to drag it out of you.”

  “It’s about the photography contract.”

  Motherfucker. He’s right. I don’t like it at all. This fucking contract is haunting me like the ghost of drug-fueled nights past.

  “What about it?” My tone earlier was sunny in comparison to the shade I’m throwing his way now.

  “Well, the publishing house say they’re going to assign somebody to shoot these photos, and if you refuse to go ahead, they’ll sue.”

  “Screw them.” I struggle to think of something I give less of a fuck about than this stupid fucking contract.

  “The thing is, as much as you’re against it, they’re well within their rights to do both. This whole thing has spun way out of control. Honestly, the fact that they haven’t pursued this through legal channels before now is nothing short of a miracle, but we can’t afford to continue to push it and expect the same result. They’re shit out of patience on this now, and I can’t say I blame them. This project has been hanging around like a festering sore. It should have been put to bed months ago, yet here it still is, a fly in the ointment for all concerned.”

  I know its Paul’s job to protect us, but I often find myself wishing he’d grow even half a pair of balls. He trundles on.

  “Bottom line? This is about money. They offered up this contract in the first place because they know there’s money to be made, obscene amounts if all goes according to plan. I know you regret agreeing to it, but that’s exactly what you did, and no amount of tantrums is going to change that fact. Your signature is on those contracts in black and white for all to see. They’re upholding their end of the bargain in good faith, and they expect you to do the same, whether that means them serving papers and waiting the whole thing out in court, or continuing to apply the pressure to ensure it happens before it gets that far.”

  If I roll my eyes any further, they’ll disappear down the back of my neck.

  “Trust me, court is the last place we want to end up on this one. It’s not a good look. Either it will drag out for months, which sucks shit for anyone concerned, or they’ll be angling for an out-of-court settlement, which will be quick but by no means painless. They’ll want to be compensated for loss of projected potential earnings from sales of the book and art prints in perpetuity. They’ll pick a figure, then quadruple it. It won’t be pretty.”

  “Yeah, I get all this shit. Apart from the fact that you’ve told me no less than eight hundred times, I also wasn’t born yesterday, I know how this works. It’s not my first rodeo when it comes to litigation. You of all people should know that.”

  “I do. All the more reason we need to keep this one out of court. So either you nominate somebody or they do, but either way it’s going to happen.”

  I’m still mentally bitch slapping myself for getting myself into this situation in the first place. Paul pretty much conned me into signing a deal with a publishing house to produce a coffee table book and gallery showing full of photos of me. My travels, touring, partying, hanging with the band, and “the rest.” Basically a photo essay. The whole thing was to be launched via the gallery exhibition of the prints. The purpose of which was primarily to excite journalists and other industry people. The whole thing is tedious but potentially very lucrative.

  Okay, so he didn’t con me in the true sense of the word; it’s not like he forged my signature on the contract or forced me into signing something I didn’t want to. He was approached by the publishers with a deal that made good financial sense for all parties concerned, and which I must concede would be tremendous PR for me specifically, and for the band in general. I’m big enough to admit that he wouldn’t have been doing his job if he’d withheld the offer and not made me aware of it.

  Not only that, but I had the contract checked out by my own lawyers who deemed it essentially sound, bar a few changes that they ironed out with the legal suits from the publisher’s side. The part where the whole thing fell down is that no fucker pointed out to me that the reality of the logistics of the project made it a damned fool idea for most people, but for me especially.

  Of course, on a normal day, I don’t need anyone to tell me that anything that involves me having some asshole photog shadow my every move for months on end is borderline suicidal, but those weren’t normal days. I had been hitting it pretty hard—drinking, smoking, snorting, fucking as though my life depended on it… and though I don’t recall the specific conversations, I’m guessing Paul got me at a weak point when my defenses were down, and I just agreed to whatever he was saying so that he would shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone.

  One small mercy is that even lit, I was at least compos mentis enough to ensure that I could nominate the photographer, which the publisher then reserved the right to reject. Still, even with that clause in the mix, in the cold light of day I couldn’t think of anything worse than months on the road in close quarters with a stranger. Like Gramps said, for a smart guy I really do some dumbass things at times.

  I’ve been giving them the brushoff since I signed, with one excuse after another about why it’s not the right time, hoping they’ll get bored and back out. Which of course they haven’t. Two years down the track and they still want their pound of Arlo Jones flesh and the greens that go with it too bad to just drop the subject. Not that I can blame them from a business perspective—if it goes down like I think, it will make everyone a whole stack of cash, which is what we’re all in it for. I know if the tables were turned and I was the one instigating the deal, I’d have sued my slack ass long ago. I take no prisoners.

  While I’m half listening to Paul threaten me with fire and brimstone, half making a voodoo doll of him in my mind, then hacking it to pieces with a Samurai sword and dunking the pieces in a vat of acid, I have an epiphany. A plan comes to me that is so beautiful in its simplicity, it’s beyond perfect.

  “Yeah, I get it. I have a possible solution. I have a photographer in mind, but it’s going to take some juggling to make it happen.”

  “You do?” He sounds like I said I’ve invented a cure for stupidity.

  “Don’t sound so shocked. Despite some pretty damning evidence to the contrary, I am actually what’s loosely termed a responsible adult. As well as the band, you know I have the club and the tattoo parlor. But unlike most celebrity business owners, I’m not just a public figurehead. I’m hands-on in both businesses, and what do you know? They’re both thriving. Clearly I’m not a total incompetent.”

  “That’s not wha—”

  “Relax, I’m yanking your chain. I g
et it, and to answer your question, yes, I do have someone in mind. Her name is London Llwellyn.”

  “Her name. So it’s a woman.”

  “Ten out of ten for observation, Sherlock, she is indeed of the female persuasion. So the fuck what? It’s not 1847, women can do whatever the fuck they want.”

  “Of course, I know that. That’s not the issue. I just wonder about the wisdom…. You know…. It’s thirteen weeks on the road….”

  I’m glad this conversation is by phone. If we were in the same room together, I would have strangled him with his Hermès tie by now.

  “Seriously, Paul? For fuck’s sake. Google her, and you’ll find her website—her portfolio is there. She’s a phenomenal photographer, and I am 100 percent sure she’ll nail this gig to the wall. Bottom line? It’s her or nothing.” I can hear him frantically typing, I presume doing exactly as I instructed.

  “Hmmm… you’re right, some of these photos are… exceptionally good. She’s definitely skilled, but what did you mean by all or nothing?”

  Since discovering her website, I’ve cruised it an embarrassing number of times. Like, I’m officially at stalker level: DEFCON 1. She really is ridiculously good with a camera. Way too good to be cleaning up after pigs like me and panhandling for tips at some third-rate restaurant. In the course of our conversations and confrontations around the house, she revealed that she’s working her ass off to build up her photography career, which makes perfect sense—clearly cleaning and waitressing aren’t her calling.

  I need a photographer. She’s an outstanding photographer in need of work. Supply, meet Demand.

  “I thought that was pretty self-explanatory, Paul. Either London Llwellyn is the photographer for this job, or there’s no deal.”

  What better way to put her firmly on the map than to produce a coffee table book and gallery exhibit featuring her photos of one of the world’s most recognizable and in-demand faces? Like it or not, photos of me are big currency. Huge in fact. A book and exhibition are basically the Holy Grail. If she’s as serious about taking her career to the next level as she said, then this is the definition of an offer she can’t refuse. And even if she does, I’ll work on her until she sees this for what it is—the career-making offer of a lifetime.

  Of course, the plan also works ridiculously well for me. Stevie is out of rehab and cleared to work again, which means that the Cold, Hard, & Heartless tour is back on track, and we’re heading out on the road again to fulfill the dates that were canceled. When I found out, I was happy that Stevie was okay, excited to be able to get back on the road to do what we love best, and pissed off that I would be away from London for weeks on end.

  Mostly I was pissed. Just as I felt like I was maybe, possibly starting to get somewhere with London—I wasn’t sure where, but somewhere had to be better than nowhere—I got the news that the tour was back on. I felt a gnawing anxiety in the pit of my stomach that this would be the beginning of the end with her. I’d only gotten as far as I had, which admittedly wasn’t very far, because I’d persevered. I’d chipped away at her defenses and shown her something of the man behind the myth. Gramps’s advice had been on the money, and I’d been executing it every day.

  “The thing is, Arlo, that’s not how it works. You can’t just issue an ultimatum like that. There’s already a deal. The deal is that you get to nominate the photographer, but the publisher has final right of veto. You signed a contract, and it’s watertight. As I said before, if you refuse to go ahead, they’ll sue.”

  This is the ultimate hostile takeover, part IV. I couldn’t have planned this shit better if a genie had popped up and offered me three wishes. I’d figured that once I was on the road, it would be a case of out of sight, out of mind for London. She’d move on, or worse still, come to her senses, and I’d lose all the ground I’d made. It had felt like a giant game of Chutes and Ladders. Like I would have come back from tour and have to try to win her over from scratch.

  I was especially pissed when I mentioned my imminent departure to her and, while I was losing my mind over it, she apparently didn’t care. In fact, she seemed almost glad to see the back of me. I’ve been stewing over her reaction for a few days, and I seriously can’t believe I didn’t think of this whole thing sooner. Gramps would want to shake me by the lapels if he knew I’d been so lax in applying his very sage advice. “Find out what she wants, and give it to her,” he’d said. The answer had been right under my nose from day one, but I’d been too blind to see it.

  “Fuck the contract, and fuck them. These are my terms. It’s London, or it’s nobody. If they don’t want to go ahead on that basis, I’ll see them in court. I have the money, time, and sheer bloody will to go all the way, and I will.” As far as I’m concerned, it’s well worth getting sued for.

  “Bu—”

  “No buts. Do me a favor: earn your fee, and make this happen.” I hang up, excited.

  From here on in, it’s a numbers game: thirteen weeks, fifty shows, thirty-two cities. Two thousand, one hundred and eighty-four hours to make London mine. Hostile. Takeover.

  Complete Arlo and London’s story in Pushing Arlo.

  Other Books by MV Ellis

  If you loved Cold, Hard, & Heartless, you might enjoy the other hot, fierce, and fiery stories and books MV Ellis has published.

  LIST OF BOOKS

  Catching London

  Cold, Hard, & Heartless

  Pushing Arlo

  Catching London

  Heartless Few #1

  He’s not looking to change his bad boy ways.

  Arlo Jones is a bad boy billionaire rock star with the world at his feet. He lives the “sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll” lifestyle to the max, and believes in working hard and playing harder. He’s a man who always gets what he wants, especially when it comes to women. Until he meets London.

  She’s a damaged dancer not looking to fall.

  All London Llwellyn wants is to rebuild her life following the tragic car accident that robbed her of her fiancé, and ended her career as a professional ballet dancer. She’s working two jobs to scrape together the cash to set up her own studio, and reinvent herself as a photographer. The last thing she wants is to get involved.

  Arlo promises to always be there to catch her, but can London trust him enough to let herself fall?

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  Pushing Arlo

  Heartless Few (#3)

  He thought he had it all, until he met her

  They say you don’t know what you’ve got 'til it’s gone, but for notorious womanizer Arlo Jones, it’s a case of not knowing what you want 'til it’s standing right in front of you.The moment he meets London, he realizes she’s the piece of the puzzle he never knew was missing, but now can't live without. He does everything in his power to get her, but just as he thinks she’s finally ready to give in to her feelings for him, he’s reminded how empty his life was before she was in the picture.

  She thought she had it all worked out, until she met him

  They say the best-laid plans often go awry, and for aspiring photographer London Llwellyn, that’s definitely the case.when she falls for Arlo. That was never part of her plan. She tries her best to avoid being sucked into his vortex, but he does everything he can to turn her head upside down and her heart inside out. Just as she thinks she’s ready to commit to forever with him, life throws a curveball that leaves her running in the opposite direction.

  He’s pulling on her heartstrings, so how long can she keep pushing him away?

  KINDLE UNLIMITED

  Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2Judyi2

  Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2usmnV0

  Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2JsGCX7

  Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/2Nn0jSB

  About the Author

  Thanks for reading Cold, Hard, & Heartless. I do hope yo
u enjoyed getting into Arlo’s head, as much as I enjoyed writing it. I appreciate your help in spreading the word, including telling a friend. Before you go, it would mean so much to me if you would take a few minutes to write a review and share how you feel about my story so others may find my work. Reviews really do help readers find books. Please leave a review on your favorite book site.

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  Acknowledgments

  They say it takes a village to raise a child, and it turns out it also takes a village to produce a book baby. Lucky for me I have my village, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

  To my very own rock star—thank you a thousand times for putting up with the endless hours I spend slaving over a screen, and for picking up the slack when I don’t have the time or energy to get sh#t done. Thanks for the endless supply of coffee, patience and love. You helped me build my village, and I couldn’t be happier with how it has turned out.

  My village of girlfriends is always ready with an encouraging word, a listening ear, and laughter for miles. Also gin. Gin is very important. Thank you for the gin. I couldn’t do it without you. Or gin.

  Thank you to my publishing village—the team at Hot Tree Publishing. Between the pleasure and pain of editing, the crafting to ensure that each word on the page is just right, the marketing and management of a book from my mind to people’s Kindles or the bookstore; having the right team with me every step of the way is vital.