Then, the moment he finished playing, he looked up and caught my eye. Well, more my lens. That look, it had none of the Savage swagger and cheek. The questioning in his eyes almost burned. At that moment, he became beautiful in his vulnerability. It only lasted a millisecond before the cocky look returned. I hoped I'd been fast enough to capture it.
"That was a preview from my new album," he said to the room.
A few people clapped.
He hadn't just played that song, he'd written it? That hardly seemed possible. Maybe he'd had some professional musicians "help" him out. It sure as hell was no pop song.
The studio became too silent now he'd finished playing. There were no words I could fling out there.
I checked back over the shots I'd just taken. They were as good as I'd hoped. There was some magic in there. I bit my lip. My editor would love this.
Savage's mask had come back now. He'd not let his guard down again in this session. I wondered if he'd regretted being so unwary. It was definitely something he rarely did.
Even if we worked for hours more, I'd get nothing better than I'd already shot.
I clapped my hands.
"Time to go home, folks."
I needed a coffee. There'd been a truck stop down the road.
Alice
I PACKED UP MY EQUIPMENT while the rest of the crew buzzed around.
"See you next time, Alice," a few of them yelled as they left.
I lugged my bag to my car.
"Hey, photographer."
I turned around to see Savage leaning against the studio building.
"What?"
Surely now the shoot was over, I could have a break from him. I popped open the hatch on the back of my car and started loading up. Savage walked over to me.
"My driver's had a spot of bother. Any chance of getting a lift back to town with you."
Oh jeez. Was that some cheesy pickup line? This guy had to have a crew of drivers ready to pick him up. There was no way he needed a lift with me. And, if he did need a lift, why hadn't he asked someone else? There had been about twenty carloads of crew going back to the city. The carpark had cleared out now. I'd happily leave him in the middle of nowhere to wait for the driver though.
"Nice try."
"Try?" He raised his eyebrows.
"Listen, that shit might work with the kind of girls you normally hang out with, but with me, not so much."
The dude had to admit he was attracted to me. He hadn't taken his eyes off my boobs all day. It annoyed the fuck out of me that he couldn't be a bit subtler about it. My boobs didn't exist for his viewing pleasure. I'd think that probably half the attraction at least was that apart from Sally and the stylist there were no other females on set. The dude was a walking male hormone and since there wasn't much else to stick it in, he'd settled on me.
"I'm not kidding," he said. "I'll show you the texts if you need proof."
That cocky grin did nothing to endear him to me. I wouldn't fall for his bullshit.
"Why don't you get one of your bimbos to come pick you up?"
"If they're going to drive the hour out from the city, I could just wait for my driver. That makes no sense at all."
"Look, I have no interest in you. Get that into your head. There will be no sex in this assignment."
His lips curled.
"You're kidding. You think that's what this is about? I want a lift, not a screw."
He reached over and ran his hand down my face.
"If I wanted you, you can be damn sure I wouldn't be using a stupid trick to get you."
I knocked his hand away.
He might be full of shit but if I left him alone here, who knew what trouble he'd get into? If I lost my client then this whole deal would be called off. That didn't suit me at all. Anyway, an hour's drive back to the city, what harm could that do?
I sighed.
"Okay, jump in the car but don't expect any fun road trip antics. You can sit there and keep your mouth shut."
"Yes ma'am." He saluted.
Despite myself, I smiled. I opened the car up and he jumped in the passenger seat. I knew he was a big guy but the actual concept of that didn't hit home until I saw him squeezed into my tiny car.
"You can put the seat back if you like."
Hell, he'd need to if he didn't want to spend the entire trip with his knees around his ears. I'd thought I'd be able to ignore his presence in my car but that would not be a thing. His citrusy aftershave filled my nose. He just ended up being there. A huge unignorable force. His shoulder almost pressed against mine and I'd have to brush my hand against his leg every time I changed gears. This was the stupidest idea ever. He was in the car now though, and I'd probably have to use physical force to get him out.
As I started up the car, music blared.
"Kit Molloy? Really?"
"You have a problem with that? You can always walk." I snarled at him for good measure.
"Nope. Your car, your music."
"But?"
"But it's a bit... well... overwrought."
I turned the volume up a little.
"Overwrought? Well, it's no 'the sunshine in your smile', I guess," I said, referencing one of Savage's pop songs.
"Hey, I didn't write it but what's wrong with making people feel happy? Life doesn't have to be all angst and anger."
I tried to think of a come back to that but I had nothing. Even if his music was complete shit, if people liked it and it made them feel good, then why was it wrong? I'd never really thought about it like that before. I divided the world up into people who had good music taste and those who didn't. But then some of the people with the best music taste could be complete pricks.
Of course, Kit Molloy was on a whole other level. His music was art. It spoke to the pain in my soul. Obviously, if you didn't have a soul, then there was nothing to speak to.
"I'm going to be judged forever for that," he said. He sounded tired.
"Yep."
Even though he seemed weary, I totally suspected that this was one of his ploys, his pickup act for chicks who weren't fans. No problem. We just had to get through this drive and we'd be back in the city where he had a whole army of fans willing to jump into his bed. I'd be forgotten the moment a leggy blonde came into sight.
He'd probably made more money out of that cheesy pop song than I'd made in my entire career.
He got his phone out. Good, that meant he'd shut up.
I stopped at a red light and he did it again. He looked. A blatant check-out. For fuck sake, that was okay in the studio. In my tiny car with his arm almost brushing against mine, it screwed with me. I blushed. Fuck it all, I blushed. That was not a thing I wanted to do.
I'd only worn this damn t-shirt because I had nothing else clean. Laundry wasn't my forte.
I'd have worn something covered in last week's pizza if I'd realized just how obsessed he'd become. Surely, the man had seen boobs before. Plenty of boobs. It wasn't like they'd be anything new to him. He seemed stuck in a permanent adolescence.
"I'm not just a pair of tits, you know."
Instead of looking away, embarrassed, he grinned at me.
"Nothing to be ashamed of, love."
"I'm not ashamed. I'm just saying there's more to me."
He brushed his hair back off his face. His arm came even closer to me. Fuck it, I should've made him sit in the back.
"There sure is." Again with that smile, the dimple in his cheek deepening. "You wouldn't have been asked to work with me if you weren't the best."
Wow, how could a man wrap up a compliment in such a massive stroke of his own ego?
"You're a bit of a dick, aren't you?"
"I've been called that, and worse. Never bothers me. There are worse things in this world than being a dick. Dunno why it's considered an insult, really. Now, call me a plantar wart, that's really nasty."
I bit my lips to stop from grinning. He did have a point, if you wanted to be that literal.
He grinned too, that wide grin that split his face and made his dimples pop. I shouldn't look at his dimples. I needed to focus on the road. Hell, imagine crashing the car with Ash Savage sitting beside me. When it came to the press, I much preferred being behind the camera.
I snuck one last peek.
"So, how do you think the shoot went?" he asked.
"You mean, did you come out looking good?"
"Well, yes, but the whole thing too. I don't know what you were going for there but you must have an image in your mind to start with."
I nodded.
"My editor wants things simple, pared back."
"Great. I'm all for that. Honest, country boy type thing."
"Yeah, right. Have you ever been that?"
"Listen, love, I might be a lot of things but I've always been honest. Well, in my private life. The only reason I hide things is because people like you want to dig around where you shouldn't be."
"People like me?" What the hell was he implying?
"Photographers. If you want to talk about honesty, maybe you should look at your own profession. Wanting to dig up the dirt, poking your lens in where it's not wanted. All that bollocks. You can take a thousand shots but it's the one making me look like a stumbling drunk that gets printed."
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. If this dude didn't know the difference between a real photographer and the paparazzi, I wasn't about to educate him, but it was damn insulting.
"Not going to happen with me. I've no interest in airing your dirty jocks in public."
"Yeah, but if you got a chance to get the dirt, you'd jump at it."
He could think what he liked. I had a job to do and I'd do it. I regretted giving him a lift. Should've left him back at the studio. We'd reached the outer suburbs of the city. I pulled over in the carpark of a train station.
"You can reach where you want to go from here," I told him.
He raised his eyebrows. "Here? It's the middle of nowhere. You can't just kick me out here."
"You can catch a train or you can call a cab. I've got work to do. Rummaging through some other celeb's trash bin, that kind of thing, you know that's what us photographers do."
"Oh, that cut, did it?"
I shrugged. "Get out."
I thought he'd argue but he opened the door and got out of the car. Before I even got out of the carpark, he had his phone out.
As I drove back to my apartment, the car seemed empty without him, and the scent of his aftershave lingered. Damn Savage.
Savage
"SHE'S A BITCH," I SAID.
Matt had called me out for a drink. He was one of the few bastards I'd kept in touch with. There'd been never-ending rumors of me leaving the group on bad terms. Every denial of those rumors had been a lie. Those terms were as bad as they could be. On more than one occasion, there'd been punches thrown. Those guys hated me, and I wasn't that fond of them. Matt though, he'd managed to come out of it while staying friendly with everyone.
At least the whole photographer trailing me thing wasn't as intense as I'd first thought. Way less intense. She couldn't have thrown me out of that car fast enough.
Matt laughed.
"What happened to the old Savage charm? I thought there was no woman in this world you couldn't wrap around your finger."
I took a swig of my beer.
"True, I'm just not sure I want to charm this one. She's in charge of photographing my entire comeback. What happens when I ditch her after a night of hot sex? Nothing worse than working with a woman you've tossed aside. All that anger and vengeance."
I shook my head. I knew from experience that was a mistake.
The music pounded around me. Coming to this place had been a mistake. I sure as hell wasn't in the mood for a noisy club. Must be getting old. At least it was quieter in the VIP bar, off to the side of the place. In the main room, I wouldn't have heard a word Matt said.
Matt laughed. "Getting scared, that's all it is. You'd rather not try than risk rejection."
"Ha, you'd know all about that, mate. Rejection's only something I know about from watching your piss-poor efforts."
He laughed.
"I heard from Fiona the other day," he said.
I shrugged. "Yeah, so?"
"Just saying."
Fiona had been my first love. We'd been the couple everyone loved, for a year or so. Then we'd broken up. It'd been very public and very messy. I'd been photographed with another girl. The other girl had been nothing to me but the press sure as hell hadn't made it look like that. Fiona threw a jealous tantrum. The first of many. I tried to placate her the first time. After the first half-dozen times though, I gave up on that, then I gave up on her. And that'd been where my whole playboy reputation came from. After a while, I just went with it. The more my reputation as a man whore grew, the more women threw themselves at me. It'd become too easy.
I hadn't spoken to Fiona in a while but she rang me a few times a year, usually when she was shitfaced drunk and wanted to either abuse me, fuck me or both. It was old ground I wouldn't be going back over.
A girl walked up to the bar. She gave me a look while she waited for her drink but I didn't follow up on it. Not interested. What the hell was with me and this reflective mood? I blamed that damn photographer.
"Maybe she's a lesbian," I added. "That'd explain it."
I doubted it though. For a moment there in the car, a hint of lust had crossed her face. It didn't last but it'd definitely been there.
"Fiona?" Matt said.
"No, Alice the bitch photographer. That's the most likely explanation."
"Maybe you're just not her type."
"Bullshit, mate, I'm every woman's type. You think there's a chick in this bar I couldn't pick up?"
"That's not exactly a challenge. The types that come here are looking for losers like you. This photographer doesn't sound like the kind to hang out at sleazy clubs. Maybe she's looking for a brainy type. Someone with stuff going on between the ears. That'd count you out."
I punched his arm. I wasn't the book-learning type but then I'd never had time for all that school stuff. When you're a teenager raking in the cash, you don't really see the need for it.
"So, she kicked you out of the car on the outskirts of town?" The laughter in his eyes didn't help.
"With no phone reception. I had to catch the bloody train into town. The train. I don't even know if I've ever caught a train on my own."
I definitely hadn't. By the time most kids were catching the train to go on dates or hang out with friends, I was being driven around in a private car. I wanted to be more in touch with regular fans and all that but catching the train took that a bit too far.
"It's a tough life."
"Tell me about it, mate. I had to pick up a newspaper someone had left on the seat so no one recognized me. Imagine if that got on social media. Savage on the train. Down on his luck. That'd be all over the papers tomorrow. It'd ruin my image."
"Ha, that's for sure. No one wants to see a popstar acting like a regular person."
"Hell yeah. Have you ever caught a train? They stink. People are pigs. They leave their shit all over the place. And I'm not even sure if I mean shit figuratively. There was an old guy muttering away to himself. School kids shrieking like banshees." I sighed. "I never want to catch the train again."
Matt called for another couple of drinks.
"What made her so mad?"
"A few cracks about photographers. I should've kept my mouth shut but those bastards ruined my life."
"You could argue they just were around to document the ruin."
"Same thing. If you ruin your life without it being documented, it's not really ruined." I dunno why Matt thought I didn't have the smarts. I'd get a philosophy degree with that kind of thinking.
"Well, it'll be the straight and narrow for you for a while. That's going to be tough. You sure you can't bed this photographer chick? It'd make life a whole lot easier for you."
I swirled the beer in my hand. Did I even want to? Maybe I should just grab someone easy like that girl who'd been eyeing me off and get this whole photography thing out of my system. It took more than a great pair of tits and feisty green eyes to rock my world. The fact that she didn't want me just made me fascinated by her though.
"You know what's really sad. She loves that sappy rocker, Kit Molloy. God." I rolled my eyes. "How do chicks get sucked in by that shit?"
"He's a poet, man. A poet."
Matt laughed. I joined him. Molloy made the pair of us look like swell guys. His whole emo image was built on what made him dollars and what worked with chicks. The guy was a total douche. You see him in the news, visiting sick kids in hospital but even that was a lie. He'd sweep in, have a few photos taken, then douse himself in disinfectant in case he picked up any germs.
"Still, it's no wonder she's got no interest in you."
"What do you mean?"
"Chicks that dig Molloy aren't going to look twice at you."
I gave him an evil glare. "There are no chicks who don't look twice at me."
"Except this photographer. Well, disregarding that she has to look because it's her job."
"If I wanted to, I'd have her doing more than looking."
"I'd put a grand on her not being interested. She wants the emo guy with all the angst and pain. You might have angst and pain by the bucketful but you don't wear it in public. You're more the cocky dickhead type. Are you really going to scrape up all your pain to get her interested? Stare out the rainy windows, fighting back your tears, because no one knows the real you? That kind of shit is what it'll take."
"Are you doubting me?"
"I'm doubting you'd put that much work into one chick. You like the easy pickings."
He wasn't wrong but I liked a challenge too.
"I'll take you on." I banged my beer onto the counter. "A grand you say? Why not make it more interesting? I win, you join my backing band and come on tour with me."
I'd asked before and Matt had said no. But he wasn't just a pretty face, he was a damn fine muso and we were on the same wavelength. This bet would kill more than one bird.
Rock Mayhem: 8 Complete Rock Star Romance Novels Page 3