Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1)

by Diamond, Jaine

  Danica

  Ashley Player buzzed me into his building.

  He lived in a sleek condo tower in Coal Harbour, just two blocks up from the marina. The glass lobby was modern and sparse with a cozy seating area to one side and a security desk to the other. I made a point of saying “Good afternoon” to the middle-aged gentleman seated at the desk in uniform, and offered him a lemon wedge, which he accepted from the bakery box in my hand.

  A lesson I’d learned early in my career: always be nice to the security guy.

  When I was in the elevator, I rearranged the five remaining pastries so it was no longer obvious that one was missing.

  On the fourteenth floor, I got out and took a deep breath to steady myself before texting my aunt.

  Me: Here. Text you when I’m done.

  I was doing my very best to treat this like any other client site visit, even though Madeleine had basically advised me—after Ashley had left our office, and even though I’d gotten his number for professional purposes—to just go ahead and fuck him, if that’s what I wanted to do, and to hell with my sister.

  While I appreciated the support, that was never gonna work for me.

  Then I texted my best friend.

  Me: I feel like I’m walking into the belly of the beast. If I don’t text you in an hour, call the cops.

  Taylor replied immediately—she was on standby for this day—with a crying-laughing emoji. Then she sent several fire emojis. Which I took to be shorthand for: He’s hot. Send me the play-by-play.

  I sent her a heart, then checked the time. Three-eleven. I waited for it to roll over to three-twelve. Then I knocked on Ashley’s door.

  Make sure you arrive when the time’s on an even number. Jesus Christ, was he serious?

  Was he crazy?

  I really didn’t care how hot he was if he turned out to be totally batshit.

  What I’d originally interpreted in the near-dark on Saturday night as a possibly nice-but-broken vibe had been reinterpreted—following the late night text flirting and the weird list of demands he’d given me over the phone yesterday—as very possibly cray-cray.

  Pennies? Dogs? The color red?

  Weirdness all around.

  But… here I was, doing my job. I was a professional, and he was still… well, beautiful, even if very possibly crazy.

  And this job could be a very good thing for me. You know, professionally speaking. If I landed it.

  It had better be. I was missing my candle making workshop for this.

  Maybe half a minute later, Ashley Player opened the door himself and briefly looked me over. Kinda like the way you’d look over a door-to-door salesperson who’d interrupted you from something incredibly important—like the best sex of your life.

  He was definitely exuding a sex vibe. It rolled off him in that same special way it did in my office, filling my head with all kinds of ridiculous ideas.

  Unicorn sex!

  Unfortunately, he was just as hot now as he was standing in my office two days ago. Hotter, actually, now that I was about to walk into his home. It felt personal. Intimate.

  Yes, sexual.

  But maybe that was just his sleeveless shirt, which showed off his gorgeous shoulders and ridiculously sexy arms, and the sweatpants that were barely clinging to his hips.

  “Good afternoon,” I said, putting on my most pleasant-professional voice. But even I heard the words wobble a little.

  I was standing face-to-face with a gorgeous unicorn—uh, rock star. It was natural to be a little nervous, right?

  “Hey,” he grunted in a low, barely-welcoming voice. Then he shifted aside a bit, inviting me in without another word.

  I stepped into his home, careful to avoid touching him. He hadn’t left me much space.

  At a glance, I didn’t see anyone else in the apartment. I looked for signs of it, but I didn’t see a dog, either. Still wasn’t sure why he’d asked me if I had one.

  Allergy?

  There was music on, not quietly, but not loud either. Some old-school Guns N’ Roses song? Taylor would know the name of it, undoubtedly, but I didn’t.

  I waited as Ashley shut the door, but even though he looked right at the pastry box, he didn’t offer to take it off my hands. So I balanced it on one hand as I awkwardly slipped off my high-heeled shoes with the other.

  Ashley crossed his arms over his chest and watched me do it. I wobbled a little but managed to pull it off. Then I just stood, awkwardly, in his entryway.

  Yep. I was definitely nervous as hell.

  When he’d come into my office and Madeleine told him about me and Dani, I’d offered him this consultation out of sheer discomfort and desperation. One, I felt bad for him, and two, I just couldn’t stand to let Madeleine scoop him.

  But as I stood here in his home, so close to him… I knew the truth.

  I wanted to see him again.

  This was the only way I knew how to do that that wouldn’t be entirely inappropriate.

  So, here I was.

  I smiled, or tried to—he was still staring at me. Then I looked around.

  The condo had a simple, open floor plan, obviously a one-bedroom layout. The kitchen was off to the right, the living area directly ahead in a spacious L-shape. The area closer to the kitchen was currently the living room, while what would’ve been the dining area by the windows was unfurnished. A short hallway on the left revealed doors to what had to be a washroom, laundry and linens, and the bedroom.

  I was familiar with the builder. It was an excellent building with beautiful, high-quality design finishes, including such perks as top-of-the-line appliances, in-floor heating, and nine-foot floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Ashley’s suite was well-situated, facing north, directly over Coal Harbour and to the mountains across the water. He wasn’t making much use of the view, though. A large flat-screen TV on a stand and the heavy window curtains obscured most of it.

  “What a beautiful space,” I said.

  Ashley remained silent.

  “Maybe I’ll put this down and we can get started? It’s for you.” I set the robin-egg-blue box on the kitchen counter.

  “What is it?” He kinda scowled at it. “A bribe?”

  “Uh, no. It’s a gift. It’s lemon wedges.”

  “The fuck are lemon wedges?”

  “Oh. Uh, pastries.”

  Well, that was rude. He’d seemed nicer before… didn’t he?

  Shit, was I sweating?

  It was kind of hot in here. He could really open a window. It was May, for Christ’s sake. Felt like a vampire lived in here, and so far, he’d been about as welcoming as one.

  Maybe he was just angry about my sister being such a bitch to him. And since she wasn’t here to be a dick to, I was the next best thing?

  If so… could I really blame him?

  When he said nothing, I added, “They have a light, flaky bottom and a creamy lemon filling.”

  “You made them?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not that talented. My aunt Mireille owns a bakery. I bring them for all my potential clients.”

  Truly, Mireille made exceptional pastries. It made me happy to support her business and at the same time put a smile on my clients’ faces. Generally, people raved about Mireille’s treats. The lemon wedges were usually a hit with men in particular.

  This man, though? No smile in sight. I’d never had someone so… suspicious… about pastries.

  “Um, they’re gluten free, but you’d never know it. She only uses top-quality ingredients. I promise you, they’re quite good.”

  He stared me down.

  And damn, his eyes were so stunning… even with that semi-scowl on his face. Whenever I made eye contact with him, my stomach twisted into sparkly little knots.

  “Anyone ever tell you you sound like a commercial?” he said.

  “Must be my sales training.” I laughed a bit, nervously. “Um, actually that’s a joke. I don’t have sales training. Madeleine is always telling me I sho
uld get some. I prefer to just be honest. The lemon wedges are delicious, by most accounts. If you don’t like them, though, don’t feel bad. It’s definitely not a bribe or any kind of… um… test.”

  He just stared at me.

  Awkward.

  I cleared my throat and dug out my phone. “So… you’re allergic to dogs?”

  “Nope.”

  I looked at him again. What the hell was the thing about the dogs, then?

  Maybe he was nuts?

  Crazy-eccentric rock star with people issues? Like a total lack of social skills?

  He looked me over again, incredibly slowly. His perusal went all the way down to my bare toes—which I’d hastily re-polished this morning with a light-pink shade when I’d realized they were red—and back up my bare legs to my knee-length cream-colored pencil skirt, where his gaze lingered. Then it flicked up to my pale blue blouse, tucked into the skirt. Or more specifically, my boobs. Then to my face again, lingering on my lips.

  I’d worn no red, even though my sister told me I should, just to see what happened.

  Honestly, she would’ve.

  When I told her that he’d come into my office looking for her, and that, after Madeleine told him about us being twins, I’d ended up booking him for a consultation, she’d laughed. She’d been way more amused about the whole thing than I’d expected.

  According to her, he “must want a piece of that,” and I “should make him work for it.” It and that being me, apparently.

  At this point, though, I wasn’t sure he wanted anything other than to be a dick.

  His blue eyes finally met mine again… and I felt annoyingly pleased with my outfit choice. Because I’d met his weird demands?

  Why?

  He definitely hadn’t dressed to impress. From what I could tell, his shirt had a naked lady on it, but his arms were partly covering it and I refused to stare.

  “Did you have any ideas of what you’d like me to do here?” I turned away, and focused on something else—the single framed piece of art on the living room wall. Some band poster. Random Attack? Never heard of them. “Anything specific you’d like to change? Some thoughts on what you’re looking for in a decorator?”

  “Nope.”

  I glanced back at him. He was still standing there, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

  Okay. This job, if I got it, was either going to be easy as hell… or the job from hell. Ashley Player was either incredibly easygoing… or he was being passive-aggressive, and was planning to let me do whatever I wanted, then hate everything.

  Or… maybe he was just that pissed about how my twin sister had treated him. He hated my face, and he hadn’t yet decided if he was gonna totally waste my time here for his own shits and giggles.

  Yeah. The more I read his body language, that seemed increasingly likely.

  Well, I’d met with skeptical potential clients before—and turned them into happy clients. All his attitude was accomplishing here was getting my professional integrity all fired up.

  This was a gorgeous condo, and I’d love to work on it. I was going to win this job.

  And not just so I could see him in a sleeveless shirt again.

  I took out my measuring tape and set my purse down next to the lemon wedges. “Maybe I’ll start by taking a look around, if that’s okay. I’ll make some notes and take some quick measurements for reference. Usually I take a few photos with my phone, to help me remember what I saw.” As I said that, I realized how it might come across, him being famous and all. “If that’s alright with you?”

  “Go nuts,” he said flatly.

  Alright, then.

  I took a walk through the living area, measuring the wall space and jotting a few things down in the notes app on my phone. I heard Ashley sit down on the couch behind me as I nudged the curtains aside and took in the breathtaking view.

  The only evidence that a rock star lived here—or pretty much that anyone lived here—were the five guitars strewn about the dining room area. There was barely any furniture, and what he did have was poorly thought out. It looked like a young dude’s first post-college apartment, the furniture thrown together and mismatched.

  It definitely wasn’t furnished like the home of a successful, stylish adult with means.

  When I turned back to him, Ashley was sprawled on the couch, his attention locked on the phone in his hand. His thumb scrolled away as he ignored me.

  I headed into the short hallway, peeked into the virtually empty guest bathroom—there wasn’t even toilet paper—and disorganized closets, also vastly empty.

  Then I walked into the dark bedroom with its massive unmade bed. No one was in here, so I supposed I hadn’t interrupted him having the best sex of his life after all.

  Unless he was having it with himself.

  That thought was accompanied by a full-body hot flash. Could you have a hot flash at twenty-seven?

  I collected myself, then went into the en suite bathroom.

  There was a condom wrapper, among other things, on his disorganized bathroom counter.

  For some twisted reason, I felt the need to glance into the little wastebasket by the toilet. And yes, there was a used condom in there.

  I felt myself blushing, though why I should be embarrassed by his dirty condom made no sense. It’s not like he was standing right next to me, watching me look.

  Back in the bedroom, I took a few more measurements and tried to forget about that condom. There were clothes strewn on the floor, including men’s briefs and a couple of bras—from two different women, according to the totally different cup sizes.

  There were a few magazines, an acoustic guitar and some random guitar picks sprinkled across the carpet, but I just kept looking at those bras. So casually discarded on the floor.

  Did he customarily screw the sort of woman who didn’t even care that some other woman had recently left her bra behind?

  Or were both women here at the same time?

  Did he have two girlfriends?

  The generous walk-in closet, designed for a couple, had Ashley’s almost entirely-black wardrobe hung haphazardly throughout and spilling in small piles from the built-in shelves. A stack of guitar cases on the floor made most of the closet inaccessible.

  No women’s clothing.

  The place wasn’t particularly messy, otherwise. There wasn’t enough stuff in it to be messy. But as I headed back out to the kitchen, I noticed a few days’ worth of dirty dishes piled in the sink, even though there was a dishwasher a few feet away.

  Clearly, he hadn’t lifted a finger to prepare for my arrival. Not that that was mandatory, but I usually found most people made the effort. Like put away the underwear and such.

  When I came full circle to the living room, Ashley was still lounged out on the couch, playing with his phone. He didn’t even look up when I walked in, though maybe he didn’t hear me at first. He’d definitely turned the music up a bit since I arrived.

  He was propped up on an elbow, his legs spread wide, one leg tossed over the arm of the couch. His shirt had ridden up a bit to reveal taut, perfect abs.

  His black sweats rode so low on his groin, I could see tattoos running down his left side and into his pants… and his sleek, dark treasure trail…

  Holy hell.

  I really didn’t need to be seeing his sex hair right now.

  I still couldn’t believe that my sister had made out with this man… and walked away. Seriously. Unicorn.

  If nothing else, on a purely physical basis, this man was definitely special.

  If there was one thing I’d learned about my sister’s taste in men, though… she did not do special. Dani preferred handsome but obedient men. Men who worshipped her, and did not expect the adoration to flow both ways.

  Special unicorns need not apply.

  Even so, I would’ve thought she’d make an exception for someone as gorgeous as Ashley Player.

  Maybe not, though?

  Had one of us been dropped on our he
ad as a child? Because I would never understand how she could so casually pass up this man.

  Never.

  As I stared, he slid his hand over his crotch and adjusted himself in his sweats.

  He put his hand on his dick.

  Right in front of me.

  My breath caught and my pussy tingled without permission… but as I watched his package bulge in his grip, I told myself to calm the hell down. It clearly wasn’t a Come-hither move. More of an I’ve-got-an-itch-and-I-don’t-give-a-shit-that-you’re-standing-right-there move.

  Then he smoothed down his shirt, covering his abs a bit more. Like he knew I was ogling him.

  I could now make out the image on the front of the shirt, with the words: Babes & Bondage. It was the silhouette of a woman, down on her knees, all tied up with rope.

  He either really didn’t care that I was here… or he was trying to scare me away.

  Both?

  “So…” I cleared my throat. “Have you given any thought to color?”

  He didn’t even react right away. Definitely didn’t jump out of his skin like he didn’t know I was standing here.

  He knew I was here.

  “Nope.”

  “I think the place could use fresh paint, throughout,” I said. “Do you agree?”

  “If you think so.”

  He didn’t even look at me.

  Was he seriously planning to just lounge there, all spread-eagle and sexy, while we had this conversation?

  “How do you feel about your furniture?” I asked him.

  “Feel?”

  “Do you like it? Want to keep any of it?”

  “You can get rid of the bed. I need a new one.”

  I sat down on the one awkward chair across from him and made a note on my phone about the bed. Though honestly, the bed was the one piece I’d recommend he keep.

  “How would you like your home to feel?” I asked.

  “I dunno. Like home?” He still hadn’t looked up from his phone.

  I tried another tack. “How much time do you spend here, on average?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not on tour this year. I’ll be in town working, and I’m not spending as much time at my other place.”

  “You have another property?”