by Claire Adams
Xavier thought for a moment. “I have a PR guy on it. He says it’s tricky, but it can be done. It surely won’t hurt your career, either. We were very careful. I never gave you a single recommendation.” Xavier laughed, shaking his head. “I remember a reporter once asking me if I didn’t like your policies, if I didn’t like your ideas on the bill. I wanted to scoff, to tell her everything. But I knew you’d kill me.”
I smiled. “I wanted it to feel like I’d worked my way to the top, on my own.”
“You never needed my help,” Xavier murmured. “You never needed anyone’s help.”
I bowed my head. “I need you, though. I need you more than anything.”
We sat in silence, brimming with the knowledge that we could finally be together, out in the open. We could go to brunch together, to the theater together. We could go out on double dates. I could introduce him to my family, if I wanted. Everything was different. He wasn’t the president, and I wasn’t his campaign manager. We were just people, struggling to survive and finding something particularly special along the way.
Xavier snapped his fingers then. He stood up, leaving me still, on the couch. “Do you want to make a toast? I have this aged bottle of red. I’ve been saving it.”
I nodded, standing up before him. “Of course,” I murmured, a bit sleepy. Something about making these big, overarching decisions seemed to conk me out.
Xavier was gone in an instant, rushing down toward the cellar. He left me alone, to my own devices, for several minutes. I began to roam the house by myself, gazing at the beautiful artwork. I wondered if the place had been decorated with Camille’s tastes in mind; I wondered if I could change anything, personalize anything to my taste.
I imagined the grand parties we would have at this place. The friends—and non-friends, the political socialites—would gather in the foyer, kissing each other on the cheeks, calling out to each other, eating hors d’oeuvres. Perhaps we would have my campaign party here. I imagined myself, then, 10 years down the line. A presidential candidate. The first woman to rule the office, poised with Xavier by my side. I shivered at the mere thought of it.
For a moment, I allowed my mind to shift back to my old life. Immediately after Jason—that terrorizing brute who I’d heard had accepted a job in the state of Illinois, for some political agency in Chicago—had been revealed by Xavier, I’d moved back into my apartment. Rachel had grown quite serious with Michael in the months after they met, and I knew that I needed to get out of their way, to bring myself back to the place I belonged. I remembered their wedding—the bright, outdoor ceremony the summer before Xavier’s second election. I remembered standing by her side at the helm of the ceremony, feeling myself brimming with such joy for her. My best friend in the world, finally meeting her happiness, head-on.
Suddenly, the cellar door creaked open. I stood, face-to-face with Xavier once more, in the kitchen. My fingers passed over the cold, beautiful countertop. My eyes met with Xavier’s. In that moment, a bit of tension flitted through the air. I swallowed, unable to breathe.
In Xavier’s hand, he held a bottle of aged wine and two wine glasses. He walked forward, his eyes still on me. He tapped each glass on the counter, and the sound rang throughout the air. He uncorked the wine and poured it, allowing it to breathe for only a moment. And then, he passed the wine to me.
I didn’t say anything. I waited as he pushed his wine glass into the air, as if he were about to make a toast.
He began.
“Amanda,” he said, his voice soft. “You have been a constant joy in my life. You’ve guided me through two presidencies. You’ve held my hand during difficult times. You’ve waited for me, until this final day when we can finally come together and be free with each other, find love with each other, without prying eyes. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for it.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. My heart had begun to swell in my chest.
He continued. He brought his hand into his pocket and revealed a small, black box. He sent his wine glass back to the counter. I noted that his hands were shaking. He bent down on one knee, allowing his dark, penetrating eyes to look up toward me—so deep, so full of wisdom, so full of love, just as they’d been all those years ago, when this all had begun.
“I want you to be my wife, Amanda. I want you to be by my side through thick and thin, and I want to do the same for you. I love you.” He opened the box then, revealing this stunning, immaculate diamond ring.
I brought my hands to my face, feeling the tears riding hot, fast down my cheeks. My mind knew my answer. I brought my left hand toward him, and he drew the engagement ring over my finger. I watched as it glowed in the subtle candlelight of the beautiful kitchen. I nodded, with passion, with zeal, unable to form the words.
Xavier understood, just as he always had. He brought his body up, toward me, and he kissed me, bending me over the countertop in the new home we shared together. Our lives were joined, then. We were united: at the helm of the country, our hands linked and our eyes locked together. Nothing could tear us apart.
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ROCK STAR BILLIONAIRE
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Owen
I hadn’t felt that energized in a long time. Nothing compared to the feeling of pouring my heart and soul into a microphone with my band. And tonight, I was feeling adrenaline I hadn’t felt since the early days when we were still unknown teenagers playing dive bars and practicing in the garage. Why? Because something was about to happen that hadn’t happened in over five years. Something I had missed terribly, but hadn’t realized just how much until the very moment I was standing there with the mic in hand and the guys playing behind me.
“I can’t believe we are actually doing this, Owen! Bleeding Heart, finally back together.” My younger brother, Talon, beamed at me, pushing his blond hair out of his face. He twirled one of his drumsticks with stylish flair as he sat behind his old drum set.
“And, we actually don’t sound half bad for being so out of practice,” Jeremiah, my best friend and lead guitarist, added. “I’m just shocked we got you out of the office,” he added, looking directly at me. “You've been wearing a suit and tie for so long now, I was wondering if you even knew how to slip into those ripped-up jeans anymore.”
I laughed and shook my head. “What can I say, man? The record company has been keeping me pretty damned busy. You know how crazy this business is, and when you get to the top, you really start to understand just how hard you have to work to stay there.”
“Right, right,” Jeremiah piped in. “We get it, but we’ve been talking about coming out of hibernation for the last three years, and it's only happening now. I'm not trying to bitch about it, but, hell, aside from Talon, most of us have barely even seen you. Still, it's great, dude, it's really great to have you back where you belong. You might be a billionaire record mogul now, but being on stage in front of that mic is where you truly belong. It's where you've always belonged, and you know it.” Jeremiah slapped a heavy hand on my shoulder as the other guys nodded in agreement.
It was true. I did tend to get lost in my work, but I couldn’t help it. Especially when my record company Young Productions had still been in its infancy. My dedication had paid off, though, because I’d managed to bring the company from a small, indie label to a billion-dollar up-and-coming monster of a label that was constantly churning out hot new talent and Billboard Top 40 hits.
Still, telling my band mates that didn’t
make a difference when I had continuously promised that I’d get back behind the mic—a promise I’d made a long while ago and had taken years to fulfill. All they wanted was for me to keep my word so we could get back in the studio and on the road. I’d heard from each of them over the years, including our other guitarist, Jay, and our bassist, Nate, but ultimately, it had been Talon that had convinced me to make good on my promise.
“So, we going to play the new song you sent out or what? Give it a whirl?” Talon waggled an eager eyebrow at me as he continued twirling his sticks impatiently.
When I'd finally made the decision that we should get together, I’d sent out a new song I'd written to each of them. After being inspired by my brother’s struggle with drugs, I wrote the music and lyrics in just a couple of days, then attached it to an email and sent it out to everyone along with the note telling them it was time we got the band back together. Naturally, everyone was pumped to try the new song since they’d all been waiting on me for years.
Talon was especially pumped. He was a good kid, and one of the best drummers in the business, but he had gotten into some bad stuff for a while. He had a nature that was easily tempted.
I nodded at Talon, smiling. “Yeah, man; let’s do it.”
Nate started on the bass, strumming the first few measures as we all took in the beat, then Jay and Jeremiah came in on guitar before my brother hit it on the drums. I couldn't help but beam out an ear-to-ear grin. Hearing my newest creation coming to life with the guys I’d always been close to, despite the time and distance away from each other, was a sensation words truly couldn't describe.
When I came in on the vocals, all the pieces finally came together as one, and it sounded as good as it felt. Granted, it was different from our old stuff, but despite this, it still remained true to the heart of our sound. I could feel everyone’s energy merging, and the song started coming together even better than when I had imagined as I was writing it. Some people have different views on what heaven might be like, but at that moment, right there, playing with the band is what it felt like for me.
I looked back at my brother during one of the guitar solos. He had a wild grin on his face as he slammed on the drums, his hair flipping around. He winked at me and nodded. This is some good shit right here, that look said.
My smile widened as I went into the next verse and my energy rose. Playing was such an adrenaline rush for all of us, not just me, and it had been since we had started the band as teenagers. We'd always been in it for the thrill of the music, for the intensity of it, for our shared devotion to the beauty and power of what music could do for the soul. You could just see it in the movements and in the strumming of guitars, in the booming of the bass, in the pounding of the drums. Yes, this was it. We really were back together—maybe even for good this time.
“Hell yeah! Owen, you need to write more new stuff. That was sick as shit!” Talon announced after the last few thumps and the final cymbal crashes on the drums.
“Yeah, well, you make a good muse on occasion, little bro,” I winked at him.
“Well, I can be a bit a…musing.” He flashed me a sly, cheesy grin and followed it up with a quick drum roll and a cymbal crash.
“Jackass,” Jay snorted, chuckling. Aside from being one of the guitarists, Jay and Talon were best friends, always on each other’s asses with snarky and idiotic jokes flying back and forth.
“Whatever, man, you love my ass. Just like the ladies.” Talon flipped sweaty strands of hair out of his face, his green eyes glowing with mischief. “Speaking of ladies, when are we going to get this tour on the road? You said you had our first gig set up in a month, right?”
“Yep, Tal. One month exactly. Then it's on.”
“Hell yeah, man. I’m pumped as shit, seriously pumped!” He was practically bouncing on his stool with excitement. “Open road, tour bus, shows…and chicks, oh yeah, chicks. Can’t forget about that, no, no, no, we cannot forget about them girls.”
There was a collective eye roll amongst the rest of us. Sometimes it seemed as if my brother seriously had a one-track mind. “Just as long as you don’t forget we are in this to play music. You're not on this tour for the sole purpose of fucking your way from coast to coast,” I said. “This is about the music and our fans.”
“Why not both? I can’t help it if ladies love the ‘D.’”
“And there he goes about his dick. I was wondering how soon it would be before that would come up,” Jay shook his head, laughing.
Talon’s eyes narrowed into mischievous slits. “That’s exactly what she said, man.”
“Damn it, Tal,” Jeremiah choked on his beer as the rest of us broke into laughter.
My brother and I were complete opposites. He was outspoken, loud, crude, and ridiculous, while I was more of the stereotypical quiet type, only a bit more intense and definitely a lot more focused. I was the one always keeping the business in mind in addition to the music. It was probably why he got laid more often than any of us on tour the first go around, though. All he cared about was banging the drums, then banging chicks. As long as it kept him happy and off the drugs, we were okay with it. After all, it could have been worse. Indeed, there had been many times when it had been worse...a lot worse.
“So, speaking of touring, and leaving the topic of groupies alone for a bit,” I gave my brother a sideways glance that told him we needed to get down to business. “We have a lot to do before we kick off the tour. I mean, first and foremost, we have to rehearse our asses off. We have a reputation as a band to uphold, and our fans will not be satisfied with second rate, sloppy performances. We have to be tight as shit. We didn't get to the top by messing around and being lazy, so this is no time to start with that shit.
“We have to practice more of the newer songs as well as our old stuff, of course, but there’s also bookings, accommodations, updated gear for the road, promotion, travel plans, sponsors. I mean, we have a few people on that stuff, but we need to go over all those details ourselves as well, just to make sure everything is perfect.”
The others nodded, but not one of the assholes was taking notes. Before, they had relied on me to take care of most of those things, if not all of them. And, I hadn't minded so much, seeing as I had always been a bit of a workaholic. But, unlike before, I now had a Titanic-size business to run on top of everything else. I just couldn’t afford to do it all by myself again, not if I wanted to sleep more than an hour every night. That was part of the reason I’d gotten burnt out on touring the last time.
“How about we do this? Each one of you takes responsibility for a couple of the tasks I've just mentioned, and we can all get that stuff knocked out together,” I suggested. “It'll just be easier, more streamlined, and more efficient like that, and everyone is pulling their weight equally. That's fair, right?”
Grumbles of dissent circled the group along with flimsy excuses. I sighed and couldn't help the sting of anger and frustration bubbling in my core. They surely knew I couldn’t do all of it by myself again. Didn’t they?
“That’s funny, Owe. You think the rest of us are responsible enough to help manage a tour?” Talon cocked his eyebrow, then hit a “da dum tiss” on the drums and hi-hat.
I gave him, and the rest of them, a stone-cold look. “Seriously? You wanna joke about this? You guys all know I can’t handle all of that planning on top of running the record company while we’re touring. It's just physically impossible. Not to mention mentally. I’d lose it. There aren't enough hours in the day. Literally.”
“I know, Mr. Young CEO Slash Rock Star. Sounds like you need another solution aside from depending on us slackers, huh? C'mon, bro, you know us. We're, uh...well, we're just not cut out for that type of shit, you know? I'm good at banging—chicks and drums, mind you—but that's about all I’ve got to bring to the table,” Tal said.
I sighed again, always wary of any solution he came up with. “What exactly do you have in mind, there, little brother?”
“They are
called assistants. Ever heard of 'em? Seriously, dude, they not only do all the grunt work, but they also bring you coffee and snacks, and, oh yeah, they generally have really nice asses to look at as they are running off to get your shit done.”
Of course, his solution had to do with bringing a woman into the mix. I wasn't even the least bit surprised. Still, it was a solution worth considering. “I don’t know, man. And why do you just assume I would have to hire a woman? Why can’t we get a male assistant?”
“Um, first off, total sausage fest. There are enough swinging dicks in this room already. I think some feminine company on the road could help keep things in line. Secondly, they just smell better. Plus, they’re just more fun to look at.”
I frowned at him, but I had to admit that he did have a point in terms of getting an assistant. Not necessarily the other stuff, of course. It didn't have to be a woman, and even if it was, it didn't have to be an attractive one. No, efficiency and reliability were my top priorities in that regard. But yeah, getting an assistant in on the mix really could help to make things go a lot more smoothly for sure.
But at the same time, I hated bringing a stranger into the mix, and a woman at that. There was already the possibility that complications could arise with the band, as they had in times past, and I certainly didn’t want any sort of tension to get between us by adding a new element.
However, there was absolutely no way I could handle managing the tour all by myself. Not even a chance. And with these bozos not being able to do pretty much anything aside from play their instruments and rock out, it was quickly beginning to look like I'd have no other option but to hire somebody, as much as I wasn’t sold on the idea of someone outside our circle handling some of the load. Sometimes, the only solution was the uncomfortable one, and it really didn't seem like there'd be any other way to do this.
I sighed and shrugged my shoulders, conceding to the idea. “Screw it; I guess I’ll make a few calls, see what’s out there. I have a business contact that has a staffing services agency that can probably hook us up,” I said.
