Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door

by Nadia Lee

  I stared, then read the caption.

  Be a rock star. Read Emma Grant.

  A cold feeling started in my gut, tendrils spreading cancer. My fingers grew stiff and numb. I gripped my phone tighter, staring at the photo and the caption, willing them to vanish from the screen. The comment right below the pictures caught my eyes.

  Oh my God! Killian Axelrod! I had no idea he read your books or that you guys knew each other! This is so awesome! He’s my favorite, and so are you!!!!

  Emily had responded: Thank you so much! I hope you like my new book coming on May 5! Don’t forget to let your friends know!

  The commenter had written: Don’t worry! I’m sharing this in his fan group and all my friends!

  What the hell was this about? And if Emily was going to use me to promote her book anyway, why had she declined my offer yesterday?

  My exes flashed through my mind.

  I only wanted an introduction, is it such a big deal?

  Smile! I want to put this on my Instagram!

  What’s the problem, Killian? I just wanted everyone to share in our happy moment.

  The last bitter argument had come from Caitlyn. She hadn’t understood why it wasn’t okay to use me—and our intimate moments—to increase her following and popularity. Why I didn’t want to livestream the proposal so that everyone in the world could be part of something that should’ve remained private.

  Emily had made it sound like she didn’t want or need me for that. Like she wanted to build a career on her own. But maybe she was just too slick to be that blatant. Or maybe she was just like others, who hoped to get away with it… Or at least milk our relationship until they got caught.

  But unlike my exes, Emily had a team that took care of publicity for her. What if somebody there had used the picture without getting her approval? It was possible.

  Give her a chance to explain. It might be nothing. You could be overreacting.

  Emily made a growling sound in her throat, then checked something on the screen.

  “Emily,” I said, gripping my phone and getting up to move to the couch where she was working. “Who does your social media?”

  “Umm…” She hit a few more buttons on her laptop, then looked up. “My mother does almost all of it, but my PR company also helps out.”

  “Does she do it independently?”

  She looked at me oddly. “No. We talk about what we’re going to say and what pictures we’re going to use—or need to make. I trust Mom, but ultimately I’m the one in charge of my brand.”

  So Emily had known what Abby was going to post…and approved it. It felt like a huge betrayal, especially after she’d declined my offer of help. I didn’t understand why she’d done it—or hadn’t come clean about using the picture from the breakfast—and I didn’t trust people whose motives I couldn’t comprehend. And I especially didn’t like people who acted nonchalant about it, like she was doing right now.

  “You should’ve asked me before using my picture to promote your book.” The words came out in an ugly, seething tone, but I didn’t care.

  “What are you talking about?” Emily said. “You aren’t mentioned in any of the promotions.”

  I held the phone up to her face. “What do you call this?”

  “What?” She squinted at the screen, then turned red. “I didn’t know anything about that. But I can check and see who posted it.”

  “It’s on your page, Emily. And you just said you review what people post there for you! You wanted to use it to sell your book! No wonder it hit number one!”

  She went pale. “Are you saying I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for that picture?”

  “Yes.” No. Maybe. I honestly didn’t know. But I’d be damned if I gave in. She didn’t get to act all outraged after getting caught. Shouldn’t “sorry” be the first word out of her mouth?

  “So you’re saying what happened is all due to you?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

  “Obviously!” A small voice in my head warned me I shouldn’t behave like I was taking credit for her success, but I ignored it. I was too pissed off. I hated that she’d acted like she didn’t need me to help with publicity—something I’d never offered to anybody else. Then she had gone behind my back and posted my picture anyway to promote herself. Maybe she’d demurred because she didn’t want to look like she was using me. She knew I despised that. But doing it behind my back wasn’t any better.

  Her face crumpled for a moment, but I hardened myself. Tears, recrimination and accusations. I knew all the weapons in a woman’s arsenal.

  “You’re such an asshole,” she said.

  “Me?”

  She opened a browser and navigated to the page in question. She deleted the post. “There. It’s gone. Happy now?”

  But I wasn’t. I was too angry, too worked up because what she’d done brought back memories of other girlfriends. The unpleasant doubt—especially when I’d been so high and happy—tasted of ashes. And deleting the picture didn’t undo the fact that she’d used it. Used me. It stung. It was disappointing. And I felt like an idiot for believing what she’d said.

  And I hated feeling like an idiot.

  When I didn’t respond, she clenched her hands. “What do you want? Do you expect me to give you credit for everything I’ve done? My writing has nothing to do with you. I was a writer before you popped into my life, and I’ll continue to be a writer after. My accomplishments aren’t about you! You have nothing to do with it!”

  “I don’t want credit,” I shot back, furious she was trying to reduce the reason for my anger to something so petty. “I just don’t want you to lie to me.”

  “If you think I’m such a liar, why are you here? Get out!” She pointed at the door.

  The exact same fucking repertoire. Caitlyn had done the same. The only difference between Caitlyn and Emily was that the latter wasn’t crying prettily.

  I left, slamming the door behind me. But that didn’t do a thing to improve my mood. The bang as the door closed felt like a shot to my heart instead.

  * * *

  Emily

  I stood in front of my laptop, shaking, my eyes glued to the door. I couldn’t believe Killian had yelled at me like that. Accused me of lying and using him.

  All because of that picture.

  Okay, so it looked bad. I didn’t know it had been posted. I hadn’t seen or heard about it, but I’d noticed that it was Mom who’d done it, since the account owner could see who had posted on their behalf. And I honestly didn’t know why she felt the need to post it, except… Well, she was a huge fan—of Killian, that was—and might’ve wanted to brag or something. Which wasn’t the smartest move.

  But I was incredibly frustrated with Killian’s reaction. If he’d just asked me about it without being so nasty, I would’ve apologized. And talked to Mom and told her not to do it again. But when he got angry and then made it as though without that photo, my book would’ve languished, my temper had flared.

  Because he was acting just like Dad.

  I’d worked too hard to let a man make it about him. One lousy picture didn’t trump all the things I’d done—writing the book, and arranging and paying for promotion and publicity.

  Bitter disappointment sat in my gut. Why had I thought he’d be different? Because Killian had kept saying the right things, done the right things and made me feel the right things?

  Why hadn’t I learned they didn’t mean anything?

  A hand over my forehead, I breathed out, muttering to myself. Then spotted the Dom that Killian had uncorked.

  More than half the bottle remained, but I’d be damned if I was going to drink it. I’d taken it as a symbol of his faith in my ability, but that had been an illusion. He’d only wanted to buy it so he could look good. Like Dad had always done when he wanted to feign generosity.

  I poured the rest of the champagne down the drain, washed the flutes and put them away. Through the kitchen window and trees, I could see his house. Another wave of
anger surged.

  This was supposed to be my day to bask and glow. Instead, all I had left was disappointment, anger, resentment and self-hatred for thinking that he could ever be a real-life romance hero. He was just an asshole. A villain. The worst kind, too, because he wasn’t evil from the beginning. He made me think he could be different from all the rest…then showed his true colors when I realized I was in love with him.

  Dick.

  I couldn’t stay here where I could see his house. It was just too close. I dashed to my bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. I needed to be in Northern Virginia to catch a flight to San Francisco. I was going to tell him about that today, then depart the day after tomorrow, but there was nothing stopping me from taking off now…and everything to make me want to leave.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Killian

  Emily didn’t come by that evening or the next day. But then, I expected her to be stubborn. None of the women who’d tried to use me ever apologized. To them, what they’d done wasn’t anything bad—just something they were entitled to in exchange for sleeping with me. Bitterness unfurled in my mouth, leaving a nasty tang. Their actions reduced everything between us to a transaction—intimacy for profit. I might as well have slept with a prostitute.

  And I hated that Emily’s behavior had made me feel like that again, when I really, really…

  Fuck. I loved her. That was the problem. I thought what we had was real, that we could be happy together…and then this had to happen. Watching the sky turn dark blue in the predawn, I pulled a pillow closer. It smelled like Emily. I missed her now, even after what had happened.

  There are literally three billion other women out there, my rational side pointed out. Surely you can find another one good enough to fall in love.

  Emily is one in three billion. Should have been nicer to her. Maybe there really was an explanation for the picture. And you know perfectly well that one lousy picture of you couldn’t have been the sole reason she beat her dad in the bet, my heart whispered.

  But she really wanted to win that bet. Her mom said so. People will do anything to win.

  This is why people don’t fall in love. You use your head too much, rather than listen with your heart.

  If people used their head more, they wouldn’t divorce so much, because they wouldn’t have gotten married in the first place.

  I put the pillow over my head, wanting to drown out the pointless argument I was having with myself. My phone buzzed on the table, and I grabbed it, hoping it was Emily calling to apologize. I’d be magnanimous and say it was forgiven because… Shit, the things I felt for her were deeper than anything I’d ever felt for any other woman.

  “Hey, maaan…” It was Dev. He sounded drunk.

  The letdown was so abrupt that it hurt. “You out partying?” I asked, trying to decide if I wanted to talk to him if he was intoxicated. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but I was out of patience at the moment.

  “No. Wass thinkin’.”

  God save us all. “About what?” Don’t say an orgy. It was too damn early in the morning to talk orgies with Dev, even if it would provide a much-needed distraction from my shitty situation with Emily.

  “Found the bess place for you’n Emily,” Dev said. “Betcha not even Felicia got anythin’ better. You may thank me now.”

  The muscles in my jaw tightened. I wished he hadn’t bothered, because now I was going to think about things I couldn’t have. The mornings with her when she grumbled and hugged a pillow and wrinkled her nose, trying not to wake up. Or the days when she pounded away at the keyboard, murmuring to herself and lost in creation. Or the smiles she gave me, her eyes bright and beautiful. Every moment with her had been as precious and perfect as a sunny, breezy summer day with an endless blue sky. “Sorry, man. Don’t need it.”

  “Wha—? How come?” His confusion was palpable. Then outrage followed. “Felicia foun’ somethin’ first?”

  “Emily and I aren’t moving in together.” Because there was no way we could after that ugly argument. And I said it like I wasn’t affected at all, even though my heart felt like it was full of broken glass.

  “What happened? Thought you guys were screwin’ like bunnies ’n’ had mad chemissry. Izzn that why you said no to the girls?”

  Sighing, I told him everything. Might as well. I might regret it later, but at this point, nothing really seemed to matter. By the time I finished, he’d sobered up.

  “Why does every woman have to be like Caitlyn?” I said.

  “It’s easier to change yourself than change the world, bro. World wants to use you, so you use the world back. That’s why I screw everything. It works.”

  “I don’t want it to be just sex.” But he probably had a point. Depression started to weigh heavily on me. Was Emily going to do to me what Ashley did to Dev?

  “Didn’t look like it was just sex with her to me, either, which is the only reason I told her I was sorry. I had my assistant help me make it up to her by buying a print copy of the book. I’m going to take a selfie and post it. It might help promote the book, although I don’t know how many of our fans read chick books. Emily seems like a nice girl.”

  Coming from Dev, that meant she was a saint. The kind of woman you took home to meet your parents. Apprehension ran its chilly fingers down my spine. Had I fucked up?

  “I know you’re in denial about this, but fame is part of us now,” he said. “I grew up with it.”

  His mom had been a supermodel, and given him his pretty face.

  He continued, “It’s like a nuke. With the right handling, it can be used for good, but if you’re stupid about it, boom, we’re all fucked. Look, she might’ve just wanted to let her readers know you guys are together. You don’t want her to hide the fact that she’s with you, do you? Hell, some asshole might hit on her, thinking she’s available.”

  “No, I don’t.” Just the idea of another guy made my blood boil.

  “And you like her books, right? I mean, you were reading ’em. So what’s the problem? She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. If some reporter asks you if you liked her writing, what are you going to say? ‘No comment’?”

  “Of course not,” I said, starting to feel like the scummy crud on the bottom of my hiking boots. When did Dev become so…rational? At the moment, he seemed more centered than me. “I’d say I liked them.”

  “So let it go. She might not have thought it would be a problem. And she might not have thought you’d care. People knowing that you liked her books isn’t a violation of your privacy. Trust me. Coulda been worse. I had a dick shot posted once. And the bitch didn’t even have the courtesy to take it while I was hard. Took the damned picture while I was sleeping.”

  I put a hand over my face. It had been outright horrifying and ridiculous, especially since the girl had also tagged the band in the picture and sworn she’d get the rest of our dicks as well.

  Dev yawned. “So anyway, man, just enjoy what you got. And chicks. And let the chips fall wherever. You can be uptight about stuff.” Another yawn. “Okay, I gotta get some sleep now. Tell your girl I’m going to post the pic later today. And go kiss and make up. Otherwise Bianca’s gonna get mad.”

  “Who’s Bianca?”

  “The blonde from Spain. She’s hot, and we’re going to hook up again when we’re in the same town.” Then he mumbled something I couldn’t catch and hung up.

  I put the phone down and stared at the ceiling. Dev might be right. I could’ve been overthinking everything. And after he’d given his sleep-deprived analysis, I wondered if I’d gone overboard. He was right—I didn’t want to hide our relationship, or that I read her books.

  I thought back on our interaction. Emily hadn’t recognized me. She didn’t check her social media profiles first thing in the morning to see how many likes and new followers she’d gotten the previous night. She didn’t post endless selfies, or obsess about every like and comment and share. What she was concerned about was writing, eating like a kid an
d having fun with me.

  To her, I was just a person—Killian the guy next door, not Killian the rock star. She’d still be with me if I didn’t have the trust fund from my parents or fame from the band.

  And wasn’t that what I’d been looking for? Somebody who loved me for who I was, not what I was?

  Dread curdled in my belly like milk gone bad. I’d broken something that a lot of people spent a lifetime looking for. All because I’d been so busy thinking about all the ways Emily could be like my exes. How could I have been so stupid? I wasn’t a fucking rock star. I was a fucking rock. IQ of granite.

  I recalled the angry words from yesterday. I’d actually been more upset about her turning down my offer of help than seeing that picture on her account. If she’d asked, I would’ve likely said yes. If I was really honest with myself, I might not have thought much about it at all if she hadn’t turned me down two days earlier.

  Yeah, I had definitely let my past color my interaction with her.

  An image of Emily’s furious face flashed through my mind. She’d accused me of trying to take credit for her accomplishment—and beating her dad. Abby had said he liked to boast that Emily would be nothing without him. Did my behavior remind her of her shitty father?

  I needed to explain that wasn’t what I meant at all. Then convince her to give me another chance. And not just to move to Dallas. But be mine forever. I’d be damned if I was going to lose her. I’d do whatever it took to win her back.

  Decision made, I showered and had a coffee. I was going to talk to Emily as a well-caffeinated, civilized person.

  I’d apologize first. Tell her I’d been an idiot. Then I’d ask her to give us another go, because what we had was too precious to leave broken. It was fixable. It totally was. I’d grovel, too. I’d never done that, but how hard could it be? My coffee-pumped brain would think of something.