As I came down from my orgasm, panting and sweating, and my hair sticking to my face, the anxiety I felt moments before began to resurface.
What if someone saw us? The thought swirled in my head as he pulled out of me and adjusted his pants.
I did the same, arranging my skirt and shirt back to their original position and smoothed my sweaty mass of hair into some semblance of normal.
“Wow,” he muttered as he stood before me. “I’ve never done that before.”
I found that hard to believe, with as many groupies and women who threw themselves at rock stars, but I didn’t dispute what he said.
“Neither have I.” It was the truth for me. I didn’t lose control like this. Ever.
“I’m Rhys. Rhys Beckett. My band, Weighted Armor, is on tour on the East Coast for the next few months.”
I didn’t know what to say to him because I was so out of my element. He seemed nice enough, but I didn’t really want to know anything about him. I wanted to escape from the alley and forget we ever met.
“I’m Natalie Livingston,” I heard myself say on autopilot. I almost stuck my hand out for him to shake, as if he were a business acquaintance. The whole thing was so awkward and surreal.
“Maybe I can get your number and call you when I come back into town in two months?” he asked me, as I was digging in my clutch for my phone to see if the driver had tried to call me.
“Uh, sure.” I didn’t want him to call me.
“Do you have a pen?” He held out his hand so I could write my number on it.
I reached back into my clutch and pulled out a pen, cursing myself for being so organized and practical. Scribbling quickly, I wrote my cell number, ignoring the urge to give him a fake number. I didn’t like to play games and I had a feeling he wouldn’t call anyway, so it didn’t matter if I gave him my real number. Rhys was being polite because he just fucked me in an alley.
“Cool,” he said, looking at his hand where my number was scrawled in black pen.
I turned to leave but felt a hand close over my bicep and pull me around. My heart sped up again as I landed square against his chest, the front of me flush against the front of him.
“This was great.” He murmured the words against my mouth and the urge to kiss him again made me close my eyes.
I didn’t understand why he was affecting me this way when we had just met moments before, and I wanted nothing more than to flee the damn alley and go home.
“Yeah,” I responded, so quietly I wasn’t sure if he heard me.
I wasn’t lying; though it was rushed and frantic, it was the best sex I ever had.
“I’ll call you, Natalie.” He didn’t wait for me to respond before pressing a rough kiss to my lips.
I kissed him back, the same desire I felt before flaring to life again. By the time he pulled away from me and turned to the door to head back inside, I was panting. We didn’t exchange any more words after that. Rhys Beckett headed back into the building and I stood, unable to move, gasping for air in the alley.
After a few minutes, I gathered myself together, smoothing my clothes and hair before exiting the alleyway. Back on the sidewalk, the lights surrounding the stadium were blinding and I squinted as I searched the curb for my car. I released a long breath of relief as I saw the car my father sent a few feet down the sidewalk. With haste, I made my way to where it was parked and scrambled inside before the driver could get out to open the door.
“Take me home please, Erik.” My voice sounded hoarse and strained, and I winced as I spoke.
“Certainly, Miss Livingston.”
I looked out the window at the Garden and the mystery man hiding in the shadows as we pulled away. Relief and regret swamped me as we drove away because I was glad the night was over, but I knew my encounter with Rhys Beckett wouldn’t leave me without scars.
1
Natalie
Six weeks later
“Miss Livingston, your line one has been blinking for fifteen minutes with that call I put through.” The voice of my assistant blasted over my intercom as I read through a client file I had been meaning to get to for weeks.
I sighed, because the day was swamped, I was exhausted, again, and my father wouldn’t get off my back about going out with some entrepreneur who was in town for the weekend.
“Jessica, I’m in the middle of an important client file. Can you take a message?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, nausea swamping me for the fourth time that day. My coffee threatened to come back up, as I took a deep breath and tried to will it back down. Of course I was getting sick, on top of everything else.
“Miss Livingston, he says it’s important. Says you’ll know what it’s about. Rhys Beckett is his name.” Jessica sounded impatient and I didn’t blame her, but I also didn’t hear anything she said after the name I had been trying to forget for weeks.
Rhys Beckett.
That night outside of Madison Square Garden over a month ago came rushing back and my face flamed with the memory.
“Get rid of him, Jessica. Now.” I barked the order at her like the bitch boss everyone thought I was.
The truth was, I couldn’t deal with Rhys Beckett. Not only had I made a mistake in having sex with him in the alley, but I also couldn’t stand the idea of my father or anyone else finding out about it. He was handsome, and sexy and irresistible, in a way no one else had ever been, but it could never be. Rhys Beckett was a B-list rock star and I was an A-list heiress and CEO. My father wouldn’t have it and I didn’t have time for it. And he wouldn’t stop calling me.
“Yes, Miss Livingston. Right away.”
Jessica disconnected and I let out a long breath, covering my face with my hands. I was working too hard and too much, and it was starting to take a toll. But working kept my mind off of everything else; my father and his incessant worry about me remarrying and starting a family, my clients and their laundry lists of demands, and the media and the constant hounding and stalking I endured from day to day. I couldn’t handle much more and I needed a vacation, but knew I would never take one.
I blew out another breath, sitting back in my chair, and closed my eyes against another wave of nausea. Willing it to pass, I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, but this time it didn’t. I jumped up, making it to the toilet just in time, before collapsing on the cold tile in a heap with my head resting on my knees.
I didn’t have time for a stomach bug and I certainly couldn’t go home in the middle of the day to lie down. Soldiering through was my only option and after splashing water on my face, I made my way back to my chair, feeling weak and bone weary. I felt much older than my twenty-five years, but that wasn’t a new feeling.
My smartphone buzzed from the drawer I stashed it in this morning, and I groaned. I wanted to check it, in case it was something important, but I worried it was Rhys again. He called me four times in the last week, leaving messages about being in town for a concert. I never thought he would call because if I had, I wouldn’t have given him my number. Going home to hide under the covers sounded glorious and I looked at my watch to see if I was any closer to being able to leave for the day.
Two o’clock.
I groaned again, staring at the client file I was reading before Jessica interrupted me, but was unable to focus. At this rate, I’d be done with it in the next three weeks.
In a rather uncharacteristic move, I decided to go home. I packed up the folder I had been reading, hoping to get some work done while I rested, before shoving my laptop in the bag as well.
“Jessica, can you forward all my calls to my home office for the rest of the day? I’m not feeling great, so I’m going to go home and rest.”
An exasperated sigh met my request and I bit my tongue against the smart remark I had waiting in the wings for her. Jessica was always annoyed with me lately, and usually I would cut her down, but I didn’t have the energy today, so I let it go.
“Certainly, Miss Livingston. Anything else?” The
last sentence was said with a hint of a snarky edge.
“No, but I’ll call you if I think of something.”
I hoisted my bag over my shoulder as my stomach growled with hunger. Didn’t I eat a full lunch two hours ago? Shaking my head at the weirdness of this stomach thing, I walked from the office, texting my driver as I made the way to the elevator.
“Where are you going, Nat?” I heard my father’s voice just as I was about to step onto the elevator.
Shit. I didn’t need his pestering on top of everything today.
“I’m headed home. I’m going to do some work from there today because I’m not feeling so great. It may have been the sushi I had for dinner last night.” I added the last part because the sushi restaurant we went to the night before had been his idea.
“Really? Well, feel better because we have a big client meeting tomorrow, bright and early, and I need my best girl to help me pitch it.” He winked at me and I smiled.
My dad was insufferable with his fix-ups and his need for me to get married again, but he also was the only person I had who wasn’t scared of me or using me in some way.
“I will, Dad. See you tomorrow.”
I hurried into the elevator before it began to buzz from holding it open too long, resting my head on the cool mirrored surface of the walls as it hurtled to the lobby. My phone buzzed again from inside my purse and I cursed to myself. Why was he calling me so frequently when all I wanted was to forget about him?
By the time I reached the lobby, my stomach was no longer hungry and was solidly queasy again. I made it to the doors, my sling backs clicking over the marble tile, before spinning through the revolving doors to be deposited on the busy New York sidewalk. The building where my father’s company took over the top three floors loomed large behind me. He owned the building, but our company only used three floors. I looked up at it and vertigo gripped me, worsening my nausea. Taking a deep breath, I pivoted slowly and made my way to the car waiting at the curb. I had to kick this illness quick, so I could return to my normal self and get everything off my plate that was swamping me.
“Where to, Miss?” This was not my usual driver, Erik.
“Home, please. Do you need the address?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Erik filled me in on everything while he is away.”
Memory of the conversation I had with Erik the week before dawned. His wife just had a baby and we hired a replacement for him so he could have the next two weeks off. Other people’s children were now cutting into my time. This was why I never planned on having a child. It was too hard to maintain control over your life when you had a child, and I needed to be in control at all times.
“Thank you, uh…” I couldn’t remember his name.
“Davis, ma’am,” he answered, without a hint of irritation at forgetting his name. I liked him already.
“Right, Davis.”
I tapped the button to close the partition and we rode in silence until we reached my Upper West Side building, in record time for mid-day in the city, and Davis opened the door for me to step out.
“Will you need me for the rest of the day, Miss Livingston?” Davis asked as I gathered my belongings and stepped over the curb.
“No, thank you, Davis. Not until tomorrow morning. Please be here at six a.m. sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He answered me with all the efficiency of a trained military man, which he very well could have been.
I nodded and walked away, straight through the double doors the doormen held open for me. I nodded at them but didn’t stop for small talk. That wasn’t my style and since I wasn’t feeling so hot, I didn’t want to waste any time talking in the lobby. Lying down and getting out of my suit were the top priorities at the moment—that, and not vomiting in the elevator.
By the time I reached the penthouse floor, I was practically green with the need to throw up. I fast walked to my door, throwing it open and dropping my bag to the ground, before running to the powder room and tossing the toilet lid up. Coming home when I had was the best decision I could have made because though I didn’t like to skip out on a work day, being sick in the office for everyone to see was not something I wanted. Sick was equal to weak, and I needed my team to think I was tough as nails. If they knew the insecurities and turmoil I held on the inside, they would never follow any of my orders again.
After everything I ate the whole day, and possibly the day before, came up, I hauled myself up from the floor and washed my face. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I walked out of the bathroom and cringed. My face was pale and my eyes dark underneath, my sable brown hair plastered to my head. I couldn’t remember a time when I had been this sick, and after gathering my discarded bag from the floor and locking the door, I made my way to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. I wanted to change out of my suit, but I didn’t have the energy.
Finally managing to shuck the jacket and undo my shirt, I pulled the blanket over myself and closed my eyes. Within minutes, I was nearly asleep, but just before I drifted off, a horrific thought flitted into my mind. What if it wasn’t a stomach bug at all?
2
Rhys
“You comin’, man?” our drummer, Rob, asked me as I stared at the screen of my phone.
Her assistant told me she was busy. I called her three times in the last two days on her cell, and nothing. Why was I even trying? Why did I even bother?
Because the sex I had with her in the alleyway behind Madison Square Garden was the most intense connection I had with another human being in a long time.
What did that say about me?
“Be there in a second.” I waved a backward hand at him.
We had rehearsal for our show in New Jersey this weekend, but my mind was on Natalie. After she didn’t answer my calls to her cell phone yesterday, I looked her up. I’d like to say I wasn’t surprised by the information I found about her but that wasn’t true. She was a socialite, an heiress, and a CEO.
Miss Natalie Livingston, the youngest CEO of a PR firm in the city’s history, just closed on one of the firm’s biggest deals in over twenty years. Her father, Christopher Livingston II, said the best thing he ever did was to promote his daughter to CEO when he stepped down, though he remains on the Board of Directors.
“Natalie has been an asset like I never expected. I think she is even more cutthroat than I was back in my prime,” Mr. Livingston said with a chuckle when we interviewed him last week.
The Forbes article I found scrolled through my head as I contemplated calling her back again. What was wrong with me? I had sex with the woman after a show over a month ago, and now I couldn’t get her out of my head. The guys would never let me live it down if they knew what I was up to, which was why I didn’t tell them.
“Rhys!” Rob yelled from the stage, and I blew out a breath before looking at my phone one more time.
I’d send her a text and that would be the end of it.
Me: This is Rhys Beckett, from Madison Square Garden. I’m in town for a gig in Jersey this weekend and thought I’d see if you were free. Hit me up if you get a chance.
I read over the text one more time before hitting send, stashed the phone in my pocket, and ambled onto the stage to practice our set for Saturday. If Natalie didn’t respond this time, I was done trying.
* * *
After practicing for several hours, I was starving, exhausted, and ready to head to a hotel. My shoulders ached from holding my guitar up for so long, and a hot shower and room service were calling me. I resisted the urge to check my phone, feeling like a fourteen-year-old girl waiting for the crush in her class to call back.
Not for the first time, I wondered why I was so obsessed with this woman. Yeah, she was a good fuck, but there was something else about her I couldn’t get out of my head. The sadness in her hazel eyes when I caught her alone in the alley would flash in my mind at night. She looked lonely and scared. The way she looked in that alley was a completely different picture tha
n the one they painted of her in the media. She was described as cold, calculating, and vicious, someone who would betray and belittle you to get ahead in her job and society. I didn’t know Natalie Livingston but the woman I met in that alley, the woman who clung to me like her life depended on it while I took her against a brick wall, didn’t appear to be any of those things. She looked like a lost kitten in need of a new home.
Running a hand through my shaggy hair, I set my guitar gently in its case, closing it up and hoisting it off the table. The guys were all chatting about which bar or club they were going to hit tonight, and they knew better than to ask me. After practices and before a big show, the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. At first, they thought it was odd, because they were all partiers, always looking for the next score—drugs and women—but that wasn’t my scene. I would drink here and there, but I didn’t like to sleep around and I hated clubs and crowds. They laughed at me for being a rock star who hated the rock star life, but I couldn’t care less about being famous. I just wanted to play.
“Hey, Rhys, you headed out?” Nathan, our bassist, called after me as the three of them ran to catch up.
I nodded. “I need a shower and some food.”
“You sure you don’t want to go into the city with us and hit up a club? We heard there’s a club downtown, where the women and drugs are real loose.” Nathan elbowed me, as if I didn’t get the joke.
I gave him a weak laugh. “Nah, bro, I’m exhausted. This tour is kicking my ass.”
They all shrugged. “Suit yourself, more women for us then.”
They all guffawed in unison as they headed towards the bus. I followed them, stashing my guitar and grabbing my suitcase, to head out in search of the nearest hotel. We usually spent the whole tour on the bus, but after being on tour for a month, I needed a real bed, a real shower, and some alone time. Since we were going to be in the New York area for over a week, I figured they wouldn’t miss me if I stayed in a hotel.
One Song: book two in the one series Page 2