“Um,” Summer looked at Chazz through the reflection in the mirror. “You do know hair is dead, right?”
Chazz patted her shoulder, condescendingly. “Not anymore, dear. Not anymore.” Chazz turned to Jeanette and steepled his hands into prayer. “Namaste.” Chazz bowed to them both and sashayed off.
Before she could stand, Chazz turned back and placed his hand aside his mouth, whispering. “And I want first dibs on the gossip. I created that—” he pointed at Summer. “I do not expect to read about Malcolm Angel’s one night stand with the hot vet in some gossip magazine.”
“You told him?” Summer glared at Jeanette.
“Shh…” Jeanette fanned her hands. “He did me a favor. He needed some kind of payment.”
“I’m assuming he takes credit cards.”
Jeanette placed her hands on Summer’s shoulders, staring at her in the mirror. She smiled. “Sum, you couldn’t afford him.”
Summer frowned. “But Jean, I can’t let you do this. You already bought me the outrageously expensive outfit. Who knew a pair of jeans could cost so much?”
Jeanette stood up straight, laughing. “Don’t even think about the outfit. It’s my pleasure, and it’s a tax deduction for me.”
“Really?”
“Um-hm.”
“Told you, you have a head for business.”
Jeanette spun Summer’s chair around so they were facing one another. “Enough.” Jeanette raised her eyebrows. “Look, Sum, if you’re going to learn to play in this world, even for one night, you need to start thinking less practically. As of this moment, Dr. Summer Wynters, your brain is no longer in charge. Move your center down about a foot and a half and lead from there. ’Cause I can pretty much guarantee Malcolm’s leading from a spot even farther south.”
Summer covered her mouth with her hand, and they both giggled as they made their way from the salon.
Chapter Three
Summer fidgeted in her seat.
“Cool it,” Jeanette whispered. “You’re ruining the image.”
“What image?”
“The cool one I have. Haven’t you noticed everyone staring at you? They are all trying to figure out who you are. So for tonight, you are Malcolm Angel’s girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend—?”
“Oh, just go with it. To belong in this world, you need to act like you belong.”
Summer adjusted the low cut drape on the front of her satin shirt. A spaghetti strap fell off her shoulder, and she slid it back on. “I’m freezing.”
“That’s the point. Not only do you look gorgeous, but your nipples will harden.”
Summer’s cheeks burned, making her eternally grateful it was dark in the auditorium. “Did you honestly just say that?”
“I most certainly did. You want to go to bed with the man who will be on that stage in ten minutes time…? Get in line. Because nearly every other woman in here wants it too.”
Summer crossed and uncrossed her legs, her high heeled boots lifting into the empty space before her. They had perfect seats—directly in the front row. Summer had never before sat in a seat like this, and she was amazed to find it waiting for her even though they had purposely arrived late and missed the warm-up bands. Jeanette led one glamorous life.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.” Summer shook her head as she looked around. Everywhere, seats were packed with gorgeous women, all after the same thing she was. She sank down into herself. What was she thinking? That was the problem, she wasn’t thinking. And that was always dangerous.
“Look to your left,” Jeanette tossed her head. “But be discreet.”
Summer turned to see seat after seat filled with beautiful women of all ages. All were in black, all wearing heavy makeup, and most had visible tattoos.
“I’m the only one who’s not in black,” Summer whispered to Jeanette.
“That will make you stand out.”
“Guess we forgot my tattoo, huh?”
“Didn’t forget. That’s one of your biggest selling points. Nearly everyone here has a tattoo somewhere. It’s become common. Done. You have virgin flesh.”
“Virgin flesh?”
“Yup.”
“That’s a thing?” Summer suddenly wished she was buried in a lab coat, in the middle of a clinic somewhere.
“It is now.” Jeanette turned in her seat to look at Summer. “The only way you’ll have a chance tonight is by making yourself as different from everyone else as possible. Yes, we’re going to say you’re a model, but that’s only to get your foot in the door. And because Malcolm Angel only ever—and I mean ever—dates models.”
“No one will believe I’m a model, Jean.” Summer looked down, her dreams deflating.
“They will tonight.” Jeanette smiled smugly.
“Well, I’m glad this is only for one night, because any longer, and I’d never be able to keep up this façade. I don’t know how you do this night after night.”
“Have some fun with it.” Jeanette squeezed Summer’s hand. “For tonight you are a tall, gorgeous, jade-eyed model, new to the city, with virgin flesh.”
Summer laughed out loud, covering her mouth. “I sound like a character in a young adult vampire novel.”
Jeanette rolled her eyes and giggled along. Summer laughed even harder, leaning forward.
“Oh!” Summer’s top slipped down, and she grabbed it just before her nipples were completely exposed. She covered her mouth with her hand, leaning against Jeanette, laughing until her sides hurt.
Summer tossed her head, a tear rolling down her cheek from the laughter. She took a deep breath, calming herself.
That’s when she caught a glimpse of backstage, and saw Malcolm Angel in the wings, staring at her, smiling along with her laughter.
****
Malcolm was momentarily sidetracked by this woman sitting in the front row next to Jeanette, the girlfriend of his business manager, Elijah. There was something about her—beautiful, absolutely, but something else. She seemed so out of place, a feeling he understood completely, although he would never admit it to anyone. She also seemed above everything and everyone surrounding her, not in a conceited way, but in a real, honest way. She was, in a word, different. And that intrigued Malcolm.
“Mal?” It was his stage manager.
“Yeah?” Malcolm couldn’t tear his eyes off this woman in the green top. She had looked away now, but Malcolm was certain, even from this distance, he had seen her blush. If that was true, what an incredibly welcomed change from the women who usually sat in the front row, licking their lips and baring their breasts on purpose. Malcolm laughed slightly, reliving the moment of this girl’s top falling, of how embarrassed she seemed, of how it made her laugh.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Malcolm chuckled, amazed at how very okay he was feeling all of a sudden.
The lights were dimming on the audience, but Malcolm stayed still, staring at her until the last glimmer had faded. That was it. After the show was over, he would find out who she was. Until then, well he was going to dazzle her with his show.
****
When Malcolm Angel glided onto the stage, the audience went wild. They had sat through three warm-up bands just waiting for Malcolm and his band, and they were impatient and hungry. Summer felt her heart rate increase, and her palms grow sweaty.
Jeanette eyed her coyly.
“It’s a natural biological response to the primal plans I have scheduled for tonight.”
“Uh-huh,” Jeanette cooed, laughing. “Face it, Summer, he’s incredibly hot.”
Summer bit her lip and breathed deeply. There was no way to deny it. Malcolm Angel was incredibly sexy.
Malcolm wielded his microphone like a weapon, sauntering downstage—dangerously close to Summer. Summer sat back in her seat, inhaling sharply, and a cocky sideways grin spread across Malcolm’s face. So it wasn’t her imagination. He did notice her.
Malcolm turned back to his band, and Summer jumped wi
th the heavy downbeat of the bass drum. Immediately Malcolm and his band broke into a new release that was already an international hit. As the music grew louder, Summer felt herself become swept up, swaying with the music. He was magical to watch. Yes, he was sexy and his voice sent chills down her spine, but he was also incredibly talented. And his music was inspiring. Summer didn’t care what Jeanette had said, there was no way this man was dumb.
Summer sat glued to her seat, her breath racing, as once again, Malcolm made his way near to her. He was close enough that she could see the sweat glistening on his forehead, and her eyes spontaneously made their way up and down his body. He was thin, but not “rock star drug induced” skinny, and he appeared much taller and stronger in person. Summer was fighting to breathe now, inhaling audibly through her nose. After Malcolm sang another few verses of his song, he winked at her.
Summer sat up straight and smiled, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush.
“We have contact,” Jeanette whispered, leaning over.
Summer looked away to hide her blush, and over her shoulder she saw the angry stares from the other women in her row. She couldn’t let herself care. It wasn’t like they were on a marriage reality show, and Malcolm was choosing the woman he was planning to marry. Summer just wanted him for one night—this one night. And then from there, if his reputation was founded, there would be plenty of Malcolm to go around for all of them.
****
Malcolm was on fire tonight, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He knew judging his performance meant he was distanced from it, and to be distanced meant mediocrity. He had to live his show. His song finished, and he stopped short, holding his mic in the air over his head. Judging from the screams he heard, no one seemed to notice he was…somewhere else. He looked back at his band. Surely, Jimmy, his bass player, would tell him if he was blowing it. Nothing. Jimmy just smiled and started the next song. Malcolm exhaled. So it seems he could successfully focus on the blonde in the green shirt and put on a hell of a performance.
Go me, Malcolm thought, grinning.
Jeanette stood up, and the blonde followed. Standing next to Jeanette, the blonde wasn’t quite as tall, but best Malcolm could guess, she was probably five nine or five ten. A model, no doubt. For a second Malcolm’s face dropped from disappointment, and he couldn’t understand why. He dated models all the time—frankly, it was what was expected of him. But this woman appeared different… Malcolm shook his head. He had no idea why he was having these thoughts—or any thoughts about her—while he was performing…or any other time.
Still not the slightest bit tired, Malcolm had sung, danced, and performed his way through almost the entire show, and it was time to slow things down. First you bring the audience’s energy up, and then let the romance wash down over them. It was his formula and it worked, as long as he could continue to perform taxing ballads near the end of his shows. He could. He was blessed with a good voice, and he was well-trained, so he knew how to sing an entire show without causing the slightest bit of damage to his vocal chords. But still, most nights he would be tired by this point. For some reason, tonight, he had an abundance of extra energy.
Malcolm sat on the stool supplied for him and picked up his guitar. He was about to play the song that made every woman swoon, the song that easily made him the most beddable man in the business—a love song that no one, ever, truly understood.
And that made Malcolm incredibly sad.
Malcolm took a deep breath. He looked out at the audience, the people swaying in anticipation. They knew what was coming, the ballad most of America had used as a wedding song for nearly the past twenty years. The song more people had fallen in love to than any other song in history. At times, Malcolm would announce an engagement or a proposal before he started the song—the audience loving the interaction, everyone falling even more deeply in love with Malcolm’s idea of love. If they only knew, Malcolm thought, shaking his head.
Just as he was about to play the first chord, Malcolm felt compelled to look over at her. She smiled sweetly, but the sincerity of her smile made Malcolm melancholic. He smiled back, a small, but real, smile. Then, somewhere deep inside, in the place Malcolm never allowed himself to go, in the place he had closed off all those years ago, something stirred.
“Hell no,” Malcolm muttered, jumping to his feet. The crowd gasped in response. Most of them had been to as many of Malcolm’s concerts as he had, and they knew the routine. If he sits with his acoustic guitar, then it’s time for a love ballad. People shuffled and groaned, and silence began to sit heavily over the audience. Malcolm needed to fix this, fast.
Thinking on his feet, Malcolm walked to the edge of the stage and stared down at the girl in green. He saw her sit back farther into her seat, her hand resting on her tummy, her breath racing in and out of her chest—and what a chest. If those were real—damn. Malcolm signaled to security, and soon two very large men were standing next to the girl. Her already large eyes widened with anticipation. He liked that. It made him think about watching her eyes widen for other reasons…but no. Not now. Not in front of thousands of fans. Malcolm smiled at the girl, reassuringly, and picked up his mic.
“Hell no…I’m not gonna sing this song alone. Not when there’s beauty like this around.” The audience whooped in appreciation. Sure, some of the women would be jealous, but as soon as he opened his mouth, they’d forgive him, getting caught up in the romance of the situation.
Malcolm held out his hand to the girl, forcing a smile, swallowing his guilt. He knew he had made her a pawn in his elaborate game of subterfuge, but he had no choice. Everything Malcolm had was at stake here, and he couldn’t blow it.
Malcolm raised his eyebrows as he looked down at the girl. He prayed she wouldn’t leave him hanging. He exhaled quietly as she stood up and allowed herself to be escorted to the edge of the stage. She stood there, looking up at him, waiting for the next move…his next move… Malcolm inhaled deeply, nodding. He liked it. He liked the way she looked at him and how incredibly masculine he felt right now. He thrust his jaw forward and reached down for her hand. Her look of surprise when security lifted her up onto the stage was endearing. She was standing before him now, even more gorgeous up close, but looking completely lost and uncomfortable. Malcolm wanted to make it right.
“What’s your name?” Malcolm asked, holding out his mic.
The girl didn’t answer. Malcolm smiled his trademark cocky smile, but she looked even more terrified. Her breathing grew faster, making her incredibly voluptuous top rise up and down. She looked over her shoulder at Jeanette, and Malcolm felt a punch to his gut. He couldn’t leave her hanging. He needed to make this right.
As she turned back to him, Malcolm covered his mic with his hand and leaned forward. He felt her catch her breath as he brushed against her shoulder slightly. He inhaled—she smelled clean but full of promise, like Manhattan at dawn.
“I promise…” Malcolm whispered, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
****
Summer stood up straight, inhaling again without ever remembering to exhale. His words—contrived, practiced, and fake as they were, were nonetheless a pure aphrodisiac to Summer. She smiled then, a real, honest smile—an odd response to such insincere words, but there it was. He smiled back…a smile that hit her deep in her belly, and made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. And there, onstage, in front of thousands of Malcolm’s screaming fans, Summer finally understood Jeanette’s warnings. She didn’t believe in love, but Summer couldn’t deny this crazy, primordial attraction that could, if she wasn’t careful… really…really…hurt.
“What’s your name?” he asked again, his eyes bright, his smile wide. It was obvious he was having fun with her situation, but he appeared good-natured, and not at all malicious.
Summer stared at him, lost in his dark eyes and the grooves on either side of his mouth, lining his cheeks. He looked—dangerous. And sexy as hell. Summer shook her head, trying t
o concentrate, and trying desperately to remember her name.
“Summer…” There. She exhaled. She’d remembered. She just prayed the day would never come when Malcolm Angel would show up in her operating room, or she wouldn’t remember an osteotome from a bone ronguer.
“Summer…”
The way her name rolled off his tongue made her long for him to say it again and again.
“I think summer has just become my favorite season.”
The audience hollered in appreciation.
Malcolm reached out and gave her warm hand a tiny squeeze. He headed back to his stool and picked up his guitar. Summer stood there, staring at him, waiting, in vain, for her instincts to finally kick in. If only she knew what to do…
It didn’t matter. Once Malcolm Angel played his first chord, she, and every other person in that coliseum, was lost. He finally looked away from her, and down at his guitar. Summer relaxed and gave over to Malcolm and his music, confident no one in the audience was looking at her.
Summer listened to the song she had heard a million times before—but somehow, in this giant venue before all of these people, it sounded incredibly intimate. It also sounded…different. She cocked her head, watching him, listening as he poured out his pain for thousands of people, and she wondered, for the first time since she paid any attention to Malcolm Angel, if his pain may be real. His lyrics: “This time I’ll know—not to let you go—before we ever get a chance…,” smooth. His words: “Forever,” “Baby,” “Stay with me…,” intoxicating.
Summer closed her eyes, letting herself get swept away—and why not? Wasn’t this what she was here for?
All too soon the song ended. Summer opened her eyes, and her gaze landed on Malcolm, staring at her. Without ever tearing his eyes from hers, he stood and walked to her. There, in front of thousands of people, Malcolm reached out, took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it.
Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series) Page 3