Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1

by Olivia Cunning, Jayne Frost, RB Hilliard, Crystal Kaswell, Michelle Mankin, Emily Snow, Athena Wright

  That night, I wanted a drink and to get laid. If drugs were included in the mix, even better. The cabby let me off on a side street and damn if I wasn’t immediately noticed. In trying to dodge the crowd, I ended up in a bar. Realizing my error in venturing out without a security detail, I sidled up to the bar, plopped onto a stool, and ordered a beer. I would have one, or twelve, before calling for a ride back to the hotel. While waiting for the bartender to notice me, I overheard the guy next to me talking about music. The poor schmuck was attempting to write a song and wanted to call it “Avalanche”, but was worried the title was stupid. I hated to break it to him, but most song titles sounded stupid.

  Leaning sideways, I said, “It’s your song. Call it what the fuck you want.”

  This led to an hour-long discussion about song writing. That’s when I discovered I was sitting next to Meltdown’s drummer, Dale Nelson. His buddy was the band’s head of security, Hank Brown. Eventually, we migrated to a table where Dale and I proceeded to get shit faced. The three of us continued to talk music and I discovered that he was a decent guy.

  Months later, I heard it on the radio. Dale had taken my advice. “Avalanche” was an edgy tune that rocked the charts, putting Meltdown officially on the map and elevating their status to rival ours. I feigned indifference, but underneath the bullshit of it all I was proud of him and his success. I never forgot that night in Austin. I didn’t realize it then, but music wasn’t our only connection. We were both addicts. The only difference was that I survived. Dale’s death rocked the foundation of the music industry. It especially hit home with me. To this day I attributed my sobriety to that guy I met in Austin and the friendship that came from it.

  Through the years, Hank and I stayed in touch. He was no longer with Meltdown, but working security for some big-wig philanthropists in North Carolina. I didn’t have many people I could trust, but I knew that Hank was one of them.

  The call was short and sweet. I told him I needed Greg Allen’s home address, and three hours later he had it for me. We spoke briefly about the show and what happened. Briefly, in that I brushed off his questions but promised to explain it in detail at a later date. After hanging up, I called down to the lobby for a car.

  Greg seemed less than thrilled to see me standing on his front doorstep.

  After staring me down, he said, “Good to see you again. Jayne warned me you might be stopping by.” A trickle of doubt slithered up my spine as I followed him down a long hallway and into a lavish study.

  Taking a seat on one of the leather chairs next to the fire, I asked, “Did Jayne also mention that this whole thing was a set up?”

  “She mentioned that she was worried about your attachment to Wynne Benfield.” My doubt instantly elevated to worry. He took the seat adjacent to me, crossed his legs, and leveled me with an expectant stare. Shit. This wasn’t good.

  In an attempt to appeal to his sense of right and wrong, I said, “We both know that Wynne won. Hell, the entire world voted for her. Have you seen the outcry on social media? People are outraged. They feel duped.”

  “Have you seen our numbers?” he countered. “I should thank you. The network is out of the red for the first time this year. Now, as much as I regret what happened with Wynne, this is a coup for us.” I had no idea how to respond. What happened to caring more about the music? The lying prick didn’t give two shits about Wynne or the music. Coming here was clearly a mistake. As if sensing my unhappiness, he attempted to amend his previous statement. “Look, what happened was unfortunate. I feel bad for Wynne. We all do.”

  “Great,” I cut in. “Then you’ll be willing to work something out. I was thinking that a tie would be sufficient. Think about it. XtBS could split the contract and the money between Ferris and Wynne. Not only would it appease the people who feel cheated, but it would land you two major talents under the XtBS banner. You have to admit, it’s a major win for everyone involved.”

  He let out a loud sigh. “I wish we could, Sander, but the check to Ferris has already been cut.”

  “And we both know it will take days for that amount of money to clear his account. You can still stop it.”

  As if I hadn’t spoken, he said, “You may not have been apprised of this, but Wynne has no rights to any winnings from Million Dollar Musician anymore. We have it in writing.”

  “Only because she was coerced,” I argued.

  His brow shot up. “Was she? Here’s what I think. I think you diddled around with one of our contestants, which I might add, is a breach of your contract.” His hands shot into the air at my attempt to deny it. “You mistake me, Mr. James. I don’t give a good goddamn if you fucked her or not. You want to know why? Because we came out on the winning side, that’s why. Now, I can tell you’re upset, and I’m sincerely sorry for that, so here’s what I’m going to do. XtBS is signing Million Dollar Musician for five more years and we want you to spearhead the whole venture. As head judge, we will pay you fifteen million dollars per season. In addition to this we would like to offer you an exclusive recording contract.” I’d been reeled in by this exact same offer once before. In fact, Jayne had been dangling it over my head for three fucking months. Fuck him if he thought I would take it now.

  “Give it to Wynne,” I clipped. Greg’s lips pursed in irritation. “Look, man, this is your chance to make it right. I’ll sign your contract if you’ll agree to give the recording deal and a million of my salary to Wynne.”

  He sighed. “Come on, Sander. It’s over. Fine, so you weren’t sleeping with her. Ferris caught you at a weak moment, you spouted off, and now you feel responsible. I’m sorry, but Wynne Benfield is no longer a factor for us. It’s time to let it go and move on.” Move on? Was he kidding?

  Leaning forward, I stared into his greedy little eyes, and in a low, angry tone that told him exactly what I thought of him, I said, “You’ve completely fucked that girl’s life. You know it and I know it. Now, I’m asking you to make it right. Give her my contract. Hell, I don’t care if you give her my entire salary for the upcoming season, just as long as you do something.”

  “And I told you, I can’t.”

  “You can’t or you won’t?” I challenged.

  “Both,” he responded. Rage and disappointment welled up in equal measure.

  “Don’t do this,” I urged.

  “It’s already done,” he clipped.

  Slowly, I stood. “My attorney will be in touch.”

  He managed to look surprised. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “Yeah, it does. Just remember, I gave you the chance to make it right.” Without another word, I turned and walked out of the house. Little did he know, but Greg Allen had just declared war.

  By the time I made it back to the hotel, I felt as if I was crawling out of my skin. The place was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable. I wanted a fucking drink, but more than that, I wanted to fix things. I kept playing the conversation with Greg back in my head, wondering if I could have said more or done something different. I couldn’t stop thinking of Wynne, of what she must be feeling. She probably hated me. Hell, I hated me. Then again, I’d always hated myself. With the parents I’d been cursed with, how could I not? I was never good enough, never strong enough, and certainly never smart enough.

  “Guitar is for pussies, and I ain’t raisin’ no pussy,” my dad used to say. My mom was useless. All she cared about was booze and pills. No wonder I ended up an addict. My dad never even tried to understand me. Music saved me from his abuse. It saved me from their neglect. It saved me . . . from myself. And that’s when it hit me. I knew people. I had connections. Okay, maybe I’d burned a few bridges along the way, but I had experience on my side. I’d paid my dues and had no problem calling in favors. If Greg had been paying attention, he would know that people were angry. They felt cheated. They’d voted on Wynne and had gotten Ferris. I could capitalize on this. I had shit on Ferris. I had shit on Jayne. Hell, for that matter, I had shit on everyone. One by one, I was go
ing to take them all down, but I needed to be careful. There was no doubt in my mind there would be blowback. Whatever happened, I couldn’t let it touch Wynne.

  The next morning, I called for a car. On the ride to Aspen, I phoned my attorney, Alex, and filled him in.

  As promised, a resignation letter was waiting at my house. Accompanying it was a list of the top five record labels in the world. After signing the letter, I sent it back to Alex and told him to deliver it to XtBs by the end of the day. I then shot a text to Wynne. Out of everything I could think to say, I’m sorry seemed to matter the most. Her response caught me off guard. I wanted to tell her more, to explain that Ferris wasn’t acting alone. I didn’t know this for a fact, just call it intuition. Someone was pulling his strings and my bet was on Jayne. If Jayne and Greg were working together . . . shit, this was bad.

  I dropped to the sofa, scrubbed my hands through my hair, and sighed. Patience was not my strong suit. While mulling this over, my eye caught the paper with the list of record labels Alex had pulled together. In my gut I knew they would all want my girl, but would they take care of her? She needed to land in a place that would guide her but also allow her to spread her wings. None of these would allow her such freedom, but I knew someplace that would. It was a longshot at best, but for Wynne, it was worth the risk.

  Swallowing down the giant fucking lump that had taken up permanent residence in my throat, I picked up my phone and scrolled until I found Olivia’s number. “Here goes nothing,” I said, and hit send.

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  “THE NEW DAY”

  Wynne

  I’d always hated Monday mornings, but I especially disliked this one. I’d barely slept a wink since Saturday night—since Sander’s text, which I had yet to respond to, partially because I didn’t know what to say, but mostly because I was still angry with him, not to mention hurt. I couldn’t get over the fact that he knew Ferris was up to something and didn’t put a stop to it.

  He tried to blackmail me and I called his bluff. I didn’t think he had the balls to go through with it. I must have read those lines a million times. If only he had confided in me. I would have told him that Ferris was a spoiled, manipulative, dangerous shit of a human being. Of course, he would go through with it. Being a dick was in his genetic makeup. And he’d accused us of cheating. Ferris was the biggest cheater of all. Either way it didn’t matter, because I was here and he was there. I was trying to pull my life back together while he was gearing up for a tour. A tour that I was supposed to be on. I missed it. I missed everything about it. The sound of my phone vibrating on top of my dresser jerked me from my thoughts. I missed everything, but that. Thanks to Ferris, my life had turned into a social media nightmare. Thanks to Ferris, I now had to screen my calls. Thanks to Ferris, I now dreaded leaving my house. It seemed that everyone had an opinion and most of those were not nice. For every kind word there were at least ten nasty comments. One person even went as far as to call me “An untalented whore.” It wasn’t just social media that had me running for the door, though. It was the realization that I’d fallen in love with a man I barely knew. A man who was apparently known for breaking hearts. I’d been warned. Yet, I’d still done it, and because of this, I was now a social pariah. I felt weak and powerless.

  Sighing loudly, I walked across the room, picked up my phone, and checked the screen. A text from Carrie read: Will I see you this morning?

  Yup, I responded before shoving it in my purse and heading for the door. I hadn’t told Carrie or Mom about the messages from Sander. I didn’t want to give them another reason to dislike him. I knew that this made zero sense. It wasn’t as if we were together or anything, but still . . .

  “Good morning,” Walter called out on my arrival. I responded with a grunt before making my way over to the coffee maker. I could feel my mother’s eyes on me. Much to her disapproval, I was venturing out into the world for the first time since returning home. If it was up to her, I would never leave the house, which is exactly why I had to do just that. I’d missed a lot while I was away, but travel-cup coffee and morning rush hour were not on that list.

  “I think you should give it a few more days,” Mom grumbled, as she man-handled some toast from the toaster. I waited for her to butter it before snatching it from her plate.

  “I can’t just sit at home for the rest of my life. I have to do something, even if it’s substitute teach for a few months,” I explained through a mouth full of buttery goodness.

  “You could always perform at that club. What’s the name again?”

  “Percussion.”

  “Craisen would be lucky to have you.” Wynne was bad enough, but being named after a cranberry and a raisin would have tipped me over the edge.

  “His name is Kazen, and for your information, I already tried to play at that club and was turned down.” I left out that I was rejected on three different occasions and that it still stung. I also didn’t tell her that I hadn’t picked up my guitar or sung a note since the night of the finale and that the real reason I was so eager to get back to work was because I needed to focus on something other than Sander and the social media shit storm that he and Ferris had evoked.

  “You need to get back on the horse. Promise me you’ll think about it.” She looked at her watch. “Shoot! I’ve got to get going. Call if you need me, otherwise I’ll see you later tonight. Walter and I are going to dinner, if you’d like to join us.” She kissed Walter before rushing from the room, her heels clicking across the floor like a rabid metronome. Seconds later, the door slammed with a loud bang.

  “I think I’ll just hang here tonight,” I told Walter. He gave a nod that he heard me, and that was that.

  As expected, the Monday morning commute was as harrowing as ever. Also, as expected, the faculty parking lot was full. After circling it a number of times, a spot finally opened up.

  Whispered voices and surprised stares greeted me as I made my way inside the building.

  “Hi, Miss Benfield!” one of my former students called out. “I’m really sorry about . . . you know.” The two girls standing beside her broke into giggles. Normally, I would have stopped to chat, but the not-so-subtle laughter gave me a feeling of unease. Stares and whispers followed me down the long hallway. Maybe this was a mistake.

  I was almost to the office when I spotted Carrie standing in the doorway of Chuck Leonard’s classroom. Chuck taught seventh grade math. He’d asked me out a few times, but I turned him down. I thought he was too old, which I now found funny, because Chuck was actually two years younger than Sander.

  “Hey, you!” Carrie called out on my approach. She took one look at my face and went into protective mode. “What’s wrong? Did someone say something?”

  “No, it’s just strange being back here.” I wasn’t about to mention the whispers and quiet laughter. Knowing Carrie, she would give the entire school detention.

  “Welcome home, Wynne!” Chuck called from inside the classroom.

  Sidestepping Carrie, I craned my neck around the corner. Chuck wasn’t an unattractive man, but he was no Sander James. Looking as if he’d stepped straight out of an eighties catalog, he had on khaki pants, an Oxford button-down, and a tweed blazer.

  “Thanks, Chuck. It’s good to be home,” I responded with a smile.

  “You should have won. I mean, you did win, but—”

  “Have you talked to Bruce yet?” Carrie interrupted, rolling her eyes at Chuck. Poor Chuck.

  “Thanks, Chuck,” I repeated, then turning to Carrie, said, “No, I’m heading there now.”

  “Good. Make sure you mention Zariah. Her mother’s sick and she’s looking for a sub. We’re talking a month or so.” This was potentially good news. Zariah taught eighth grade English. I’d subbed for her before and knew the routine. Just then, the bell rang and pandemonium hit. As lockers slammed and the kids began to clear the hallway, my feeling of unease increased. I’d lied to Carrie. It was much more than strange being b
ack here again. It was downright uncomfortable. This wasn’t my place anymore. I’d always felt like a square peg. This job—the life I’d carved out for myself and was trying so desperately to fit back into—was a perfectly round hole. Before the show, I’d managed to squeeze in, but now . . . now I didn’t belong here. I belonged in Denver with Sander. I belonged on a stage playing my guitar and singing my music. My heart ached with the thought that I would never find that again.

  “Go get ‘em, tiger,” Carrie urged. Squelching my inner freak out, I told her I’d catch up with her later. On the way out the door, I waved goodbye to Chuck.

  You can do this, I told myself as I neared Bruce’s office. Bruce, the principal of the school and our boss, was a giant pushover. There was no doubt I would get a job. The question was, did I really want it?

  “Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Bruce’s secretary, Lollis, all but shouted when I stepped through the door. “It’s a shame what happened. We were all rooting for you, honey.” My faced flamed with embarrassment.

  “Thanks, Lollis, is Bruce in?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you. Go on in.”

  Lollis couldn’t have been more wrong. Bruce wasn’t thrilled to see me. It was quite the opposite. He didn’t say as much, but he didn’t have to. His lack of eye contact and fidgety demeanor said it all. He confirmed this when he assured me that all sub positions were currently filled, including Zariah’s. When he finally did make eye contact, I knew what was coming.

  “Look, Wynne, the board met yesterday and in light of everything that has happened, we feel that you would be better off finding employment elsewhere.” His words clawed straight to the heart of me, digging deep into the raw mess of brokenness and betrayal. This job was all I had left. Now, thanks to Ferris and Sander, I didn’t even have that. Afraid that I was going to break down and start crying, I jerked to my feet. After quietly thanking him for his time, I walked out the door. Lollis stared at me with pity as I scurried past her desk.