The doorbell rings.
Shit.
My gaze goes to my cell. It's a quarter to seven. I take a long look at my outfit—a crop top and high-waisted shorts—and deem it far too slutty for a work meeting. "You're early."
"And?" Mal's deep voice flows through my door.
"I told you not to come early."
"Then make me wait outside."
"You think I won't?"
He makes a noise that's exactly what a shrug would sound like if it had a sound.
"Give me a minute." I'm not really a hair and makeup girl. I run a brush through my messy dark locks. I dab a little concealer under my eyes. Then a coat of mascara and one of red lip gloss.
There.
I look decent.
No, I look hot. Like I'm about to meet my fuck buddy for ice cream and sex.
This is not how a professional dresses.
Part of my job is understanding image. Usually, I know better. But right now my thoughts are split between oh my God, this video is going to be fucking amazing and oh my God, Malcolm Strong is outside my door.
Malcolm Strong is about to be alone with me in my apartment.
Shit, I can't make a fool of myself here.
"Just a minute." I grab a cropped cardigan and slide it on. Not perfect, but better. More like… a slutty professional. But at least that's a professional.
It's three steps to my door. I undo each lock carefully then I pull it open.
Mal is standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, all beautiful and effortless and irresistible.
He chuckles. "It's only been three minutes."
"And?"
"You should have made me wait until seven."
"This is a bad neighborhood. You shouldn't hang out outside." I pull the door wider and motion come in.
He follows me inside. Slowly, his eyes pass over my apartment. He takes in every detail—the indie film posters on the walls, the CD collection in the corner of my desk, the turquoise dishes in the sink, the tin of tea on the counter, the clean white sheets on my bed.
No comforter. It's too hot for a comforter.
It's too hot for this sweater.
I unbutton it.
He continues staring at my bed.
I fasten only the middle button. "Just say it."
He cocks a brow.
"We could shoot a lot more footage right here. Haha?"
He copies my tone. "Haha?"
I nod.
"That's not how I laugh."
"I can't do the deep, sexy chuckle."
He lets out a deep, sexy chuckle. "I like you."
"You haven't seen the footage yet."
"I like that you just said that."
"Why?"
"No reason." He motions to the bed. "Should I sit there or you want me leaning over the desk."
"No. You're the guest. Take the seat of honor." I pull my task chair from my desk.
Mal shakes his head. "I'm not going to sit while you stand."
"You should sit. Because that video is going to blow your mind. Your knees will go weak."
"I wouldn't want to embarrass myself by fainting?"
"Embarrass away. But my downstairs neighbors won't appreciate the thud of six feet of muscle hitting the floor."
His blue eyes light up as he smiles. This is the most expression I've seen on Mal's face. At least while he wasn't pretending.
"If you faint, you're going to have to pay an extra month of my rent."
"Deal." He offers his hand.
I shake.
It's not like before. We aren't pretending. Those calloused fingers against my fingertips, his palm against mine, his eyes fixed on mine—
Fuck, my body is already buzzing.
My head is spinning.
My heart is thudding.
I clear my throat. "Okay. Let me boot it up." I turn my monitor so it's facing him. "It needs a little more polish, but you should get the concept."
His gaze shifts to the bed, but he doesn't say anything.
I hit play before I can think too much about what the look on his face means.
He focuses on the video. His beautiful face is too damn hard to read. His lips barely move. His eyes stay fixed on the screen. They stay void of any particular emotion.
The video is different than Danielle's original concept. It starts with Mal sitting on the bed, staring off in the distance.
Hurting.
Longing.
Then he's reaching to the other side of the bed, staring at the empty spot with longing.
When the chorus kicks in, the video shifts into a flashback. At least, it should read as flashback—the exposure is turned up to make the footage look soft and dreamy.
That's Mal in bed with me.
We're kissing. Touching. Staring into each other's eyes.
It's soft. Tender.
Then it goes back to the verse, and he's alone again.
The next chorus, the video goes further. He's getting rough. In control. He pins me to the bed. Tugs at my tank top. Flips me over and pins me again.
During the solo, it keeps going. It gets rougher, harder. We're losing clothes—well, it's shot so it looks like we're losing clothes. The camera is on his face as he groans, this expression of pleasure, like he's about to come.
Then it's on mine, that same expression.
Everything builds to a crescendo, then we go back to Mal alone, staring at that spot with longing.
He goes to the window.
He brings the groupie chick into his bed. He looks bored. Hurt. Empty.
She leaves.
Then he's staring at the other side of the bed. The camera goes back to those early images, the sweet, tender, loving couple.
Then it goes to him.
Alone.
Lonely.
Hurting.
It's an obvious story of a man fucking the pain of his breakup away. It needs a few more visual cues, but it's coherent now.
It's surprisingly coherent given the footage I had to work with.
It's amazingly, horrifyingly sexy given that I'm the lead actress.
He turns to me with that same inscrutable expression. "It's good."
"Good?"
He nods.
I shake my head. "You need to do better than good."
Mal chuckles. "Do I?"
"You've been signed to a label for what, three years?"
"About that."
"Then you know good is not useful feedback. Unless you're telling me it's perfect and you want to ship it exactly like this."
Again, he smiles. "I could ship it like this."
"With me, there, on screen?"
"Unless you object." He looks around the room. "You have a laptop?"
I nod.
"Can you get this video on your laptop?"
"Yeah."
"You eat dinner?"
"Are you asking me on a date?"
Again, he chuckles. "Would you say yes?"
"Not until you give me some actual feedback on the video." I bite my tongue. Did I just decline a date from Malcolm Strong?
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It's a hypothetical, not a date.
He's not interested in me.
That wouldn't make any sense.
He looks to me. "You've got the mood right. I get the narrative. It's simple and it fits the song. A guy is thinking about his ex. People like that shit."
"But?"
"But nothing. It's missing a few beats. We can talk about how to fill them in, then you can cut it back together. Get it perfectly synched to the music."
I nod. "This was proof of concept. You should have Danielle—"
"I want you."
"But—" I bite my tongue. Editing this video will be the end of my job working for Danielle. But can I really turn down the opportunity? This is exactly the kind of thing I want to do.
"Let's talk over dinner. I have an offer for you."
How about we finish up with this video and hop on
to that bed? I force a professional smile. "A business meeting?"
He nods.
"Then I should probably put on something less slutty."
He chuckles. "I had you nearly naked in my bed. A crop top isn't going to make me think less of your professionalism."
But him knowing I regularly touch myself thinking of him—that will make him think less of my professionalism.
Which means I need to act like a fucking adult here. I'm not going to fangirl over Mal. Not even a little.
I take a deep breath, send the video to my Dropbox, pack my laptop in my bag.
And I turn to Mal like he's any other client.
And not like I'm currently fighting my desire to ask him to throw me on my bed and fuck me.
I can handle this.
I can totally handle this.
5
Mal
Lacey's eyes go wide as she steps into the restaurant. She looks around the sleek lobby, her gaze focusing on the Dress Code on the wall.
She looks to me. "You're kidding, right?"
"About?"
She reads off the sign. "Men must wear suit jackets. Women must wear skirts and heels." She tugs at her short shorts. "Not a skirt."
But a lot of leg. Fuck, she has nice legs. I want them wrapped around my waist. Or pinned to my chest. Or pressed against my cheeks.
"What the hell is that anyway? Women must wear skirts. Is this 1950?" She moves closer to the sign, inspecting it for some clue as to its date.
"This place has the best seafood in the area."
"Hmm." She looks to me. Then to the sign. Then to me. "And that's worth going back to a time when people weren't sold on women voting?"
I can't help but laugh.
"I know my canvas kicks fit in with the rock star associate thing. But they're not nice enough for this place." She lifts her foot to show off her bright pink canvas sneakers. They match the sweater hanging over her shoulders.
It's a cute outfit and the color looks good on her.
But I still want to rip that sweater in half. Even the tiny top under it is too much fabric. I'm losing interest in talking about this music video.
That isn't me.
I don't let my cock take the driver's seat.
I want to fuck Lacey. But that has to come after we settle the rest of this.
She tugs at her sweater, attempting to adjust it to cover the bare skin of her stomach. It's not happening, but it's fucking adorable watching her try.
I nod to the host stand. "Watch this."
She shoots me a look that screams you're an egomaniac. But it also screams and I like it.
This is a nice place. They should ask us to leave—I'm in a t-shirt and jeans and Lacey is in those adorable shorts and that tiny top.
We're not dressed for a nice place.
We're riffraff.
But fame is a get-out-of-jail-free card. It's almost annoying how easy it is to snap my fingers and get exactly what I want.
I place my hand on the host stand and wait. A man in a black button-up shirt and black slacks moves towards me. He tilts his head to one side. He grimaces like he's bracing himself for an awkward conversation.
Then his eyes meet mine. They fill with recognition. His frown turns upside down. His hands press together.
His gait speeds.
He steps behind the host stand with a smile. "One for dinner or—" He nods to Lacey, still a few steps behind me.
"Two," I say.
"Of course." He pulls two menus from the stand.
Lacey stares at me, shaking her head with mock incredulity. You awful celebrity show-off. At least, I think it's mock incredulity. Usually, I read people well. Right now, my cock is butting in to scream who cares what she thinks of you as long as she wants in your bed?
Time to press my luck. I motion to the dress code then to the host. "Do you mind?"
He stammers. "Of course not. That's just to keep out the beach crowd. You understand what it's like, when the wrong type of person shows up some place."
"Of course." I nod to him then turn back to Lacey. "We wouldn't want to dine with the wrong type of people, would we?"
Her lips curl into a smile. "No, sweetheart, we wouldn't want to deal with the hoi polloi." She stares back at me. Do you really think that?
I shake my head and offer her my hand.
She takes a step forward. Her fingers brush my palm. Her dark eyes fix on the ink on my wrist, then they're on mine.
She holds my gaze as she takes my hand.
Then her cheeks are flushing and she's staring at her adorable pink shoes.
I pull her closer as the server leads us to a booth in the back of the restaurant. He's a smart guy. This spot keeps us away from prying eyes—the ding, ding, ding celebrity in my sights ones and the why are they dressed like that ones.
I wait for her to slide into the booth then I take the bench opposite hers.
She crosses and uncrosses her legs. She leans back in the bench seat. She taps the table with her fingers.
Her nails are painted a different shade of pink. A soft, pastel one.
She forces her lips into an awkward smile as she turns to the host. "Thank you."
He hands over our menus then leans in to whisper to me. "Your server understands your desire for discretion." He steps back with a smile and addresses both of us. "It should be a few minutes."
I nod thanks.
Lacey too.
He holds my gaze for one more moment then he turns and leaves.
Her chest rises with her shallow inhale and falls with her heavy exhale. "You got caught having sex at that club."
I cock a brow. "Did I?" I've been caught having sex at a few clubs. Every time, I've paid handsomely to make sure that stayed out of the press.
Her dark eyes fix on mine. She studies my expression like it's a frame she can pick apart. "You did."
"You have proof?"
"Why do I need proof? We both know. It's in your expression."
"Most people can't read me."
"Maybe this is an elaborate bluff." She shrugs, attempting to play coy. "Who knows?" She leans in to whisper. "Either way, our host and our server apparently think we're here to fuck."
"People don't fuck at restaurants."
"Okay. He thinks you're going to slide into this booth and finger me."
It's not exactly out of the realm of possibility. "I'm glad my reputation is generous manwhore."
Her eyes light up as she laughs. "Maybe he thinks I'm going to crawl under the table to blow you."
I check the space between my crotch and the bottom of the table. "This table is too low for that."
"But otherwise, you'd be game?"
My cock screams fuck yes. "Are you offering?"
She shakes her head. But the way her tongue slides over her lips—she is thinking about it.
Her gaze shifts to something behind me. She nods to our waiter coming towards us.
He does have that I won't interrupt your dirty restaurant sex look about him. He stops in front of our table and drops off two waters with a wide smile. "Can I get you two something else to drink?"
"Just the water."
Lacey looks to me then to him. "Me too."
"You ready to order?" I ask.
She unfolds her menu and takes a quick glance. "I can be ready."
I don't look at mine. "You have a grilled wild-caught fish?"
"Yes, sir, we have a barramundi and we had a red snapper."
"The barramundi on mixed greens, oil and vinegar on the side." I hand over my menu.
Lacey smiles knowingly. She looks to the server. "Make that two." She hands over her menu. Her eyes fix on mine.
Her smile gets goofy.
I cock a brow.
She smiles wider. "Nothing."
"It's something."
"You ordered diet food."
"And?"
"I've never been out with a guy who orders diet food."
"You go out with a lot
of different guys?"
"No. But still… I have friends. We go to restaurants." She leans back with a smile. "I'm not judging."
"You sure?"
She nods. "You're expected to look a certain way. If you just shot a video, you're probably in the middle of promo shit. I bet you have photo shoots lined up. Another video maybe."
"Not yet."
Her eyes light up. "Not yet?"
I nod. I want her shooting our next video. But I'm not going to pitch that until I'm sure she's receptive.
She presses her lips together. "You didn't order a drink."
"Alcohol is bad for the vocal chords."
"Are you singing sometime soon?"
"We have a few local shows. Some shit to re-record. It's easier staying on my tour diet."
"Sounds like a drag."
"It's mostly skipping coffee and booze."
"The fish and salad?"
"Nothing that will irritate the throat or the stomach."
She looks at me funny. "I shouldn't be surprised you take your work seriously. It's just…"
"Grilled fish, salad, and water isn't very rock and roll?" I take a long sip of my water. "A lot of people sacrifice a lot more for their art. Skipping coffee is the least I could do."
She takes in my expression. She's looking at me the same way I was looking at her at Danielle's studio—she's impressed by my passion and dedication.
This is the time to ask her. I set my glass on the table and stare back into Lacey's pretty brown eyes. "I want to ship that video you just cut together."
"With me in it?"
"Yeah. You're perfect in it."
"Uh…"
"You are."
"Stealing Danielle's footage and cutting it together will be the end of my job."
"It's a better job."
"It's one gig."
True. "What if it's two?"
She stares back at me. "What are you talking about?"
"I want you to shoot our next video."
She chokes on her water. "You… you're fucking with me."
"Do you really think I fuck with anyone?"
"No. But still… based on the three minutes of Hurt Me, Baby."
"Songs happen three minutes at a time." I lean back in my seat. "Three minutes is all I need."
"Really, three minutes? That's it? I would expect more from you."
"Cute."
She presses her lips together. "Mal, I… I want to. Really." Her gaze gets fuzzy, like the wheels in her head are turning. "I mean, editing a Dangerous Noise video is one thing. Directing it… that's… that's exactly the kind of thing I want to do." She bites her lip. "Fuck, I'm a terrible negotiator."
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 4