by Clare Cole
He thought for a minute, then sighed. "Where I came from, there wasn't much in the way of opportunity. My mother was an alcoholic and my father was gone before I was eight years old. I grew up in a trailer where we couldn't even afford to have the heating on a lot of the time. I know that ambition can be hardwired into your DNA, but I don't always buy it. I used to escape into books and music. They were my way out of that life. I swore I would never end up in that position when I got older. Creativity sets you free, gives you the ability to forge a new life that you sometimes can't get working on a production line or stacking shelves."
I was intrigued. "What do you mean? You never doubted you would do anything other than become a musician?"
Rick nodded. "Don't misunderstand me, there's nothing wrong with those jobs. It's just that where I came from, that was the best people aspired to. You were expected to go and work in a factory or grocery store, nothing more than that. But I wanted a bigger life, a better life. I remember seeing a programme on the television when I was about twelve years old about Paris. I was blown away. These guys were speaking a different language, seemed to have such a different culture to me. Yet they were listening to the same music I was! David Bowie, INXS, Led Zeppelin, Radiohead. Anything and everything, the whole spectrum. It just made me realise there's a big world out there and I needed to explore it. Now everything is more compact. I can create music in my studio and have it online the same night, reaching people all over the world and earning me royalties immediately. It's mind blowing. Anyway, enough about me. What's your story, Amy Reid?"
I finished my scallops and sat back, completely relaxed in Rick's company. I felt like I could tell him everything about me, and for some strange reason I wanted to. "Well, I've been working on the magazine for two-and-a-half years now. Before that I was just a photographer in the North of England. We had an okay upbringing, nothing too dramatic. My father was an engineer, my mother a housewife. I thought coming to London would be the thing that made my career go into the stratosphere and, while it's fantastic meeting people like you, that hasn't quite worked out as planned."
"I wondered about that. How come you're photographing and interviewing me? Don't they have other people to do one of those jobs?"
I shook my head. "Cutbacks, Rick. These are tough times. We used to commission photo shoots and writing jobs to freelancers, but the print market is badly in decline. I'm basically doing two jobs now for one salary and even that's pretty terrible. I'm thinking of going freelance and picking up work from the web – music blogs, that kind of thing."
"Sounds a good move. Remember what I said about working on a production line or in a shop? When you're paid a fixed amount of money for your time, your income isn't scalable. Every time one of my songs gets played or bought, I get a royalty without having to do anything. Yet I only have so many hours in my day. If thousands or even millions of people worldwide by my stuff, I get paid more money without investing any more time. Make sense?"
"I guess so. So what you're saying is working for someone and earning a salary will never make you rich?"
"Exactly! That income cannot be scaled. The only exceptions to that are ridiculously well-paid athletes and CEOs. Everybody else is just running on the hamster wheel. You should use your skills to write books that can be sold again and again. Take photographs that pay you a royalty every time they’re published. Get the picture? You're not only scaling your income then, you're creating your pension. Your work will earn you money for the rest of your life and, because of copyright laws, your children's too."
I looked at his sparkling blue eyes and felt my heart begin to beat faster again. "You're pretty business-savvy for a rock star."
"Days and weeks sitting in a trailer as a kid reading textbooks, Amy. I used to get what the local library threw out."
I started to think about the possibility of what Rick was suggesting. In just one day, he had made me start to imagine life beyond an employer – more importantly, an employer that was making me work twice as hard for a single salary and was laying people off left, right and centre. Would I be next? Then where would that leave me? I was already broke, on a final warning from my electricity company. If I didn't pay the bill that month, they would cut me off. I had grown tired of living like this. At twenty-nine, I still had a long career ahead of me but, nevertheless, I'd imagined it working out a bit better than this. In a time when everybody around me was losing their jobs, I had kept reminding myself that at least I had a job. But what good was that if I still couldn't afford to live? I needed more. I needed the life that Rick was talking about.
"You're absolutely right," I said as Rick poured some more wine into my glass. "I need to get out before I'm pushed out."
"That's the spirit."
"What about you? Is doing this solo album your way of breaking out, too? Aren't your bandmates pissed off about it?"
The corner of one side of Rick's mouth turned upwards in a sexy smile. "Are we off the record?"
"Absolutely."
"I really couldn't give a shit what they think. Those guys haven't contributed a single creative thing to the band in the last three years. They've been faxing in their performances on the last couple of tours and I'm the sole songwriter. If they resent what I'm doing, they can go to hell. They're all sitting in mansions screwing prostitutes and snorting coke off the backs of girls' asses because of the royalties I'm earning them. So if they don't like it, they can write their own material and see where that gets them."
My jaw dropped. "Holy crap," I said, genuinely shocked. "I knew there were rumblings of discontent in the band, but I didn't realise it was that bad."
"All good things, Amy. All good things." He raised his glass. "Here's to both of us. New beginnings, fresh opportunities."
I smiled, momentarily thinking about what lay ahead. "You're a dangerous one, Rick Borrell. You get a girl thinking about doing all sorts of crazy things."
"Such as?" He replied, leaning forward.
I peered seductively over my glass at him. Shit, what was I doing? Was I actually flirting with him?
"Quitting her job…"
"And…"
"Travelling the world," I giggled. He leaned forward and placed his hands softly on mine. Tiny bolts of electricity shot through me and I felt my nipples harden beneath my little black dress.
"What about dating a rock star? Is that too crazy even for you?"
Suddenly, my defences fell away. "I'm open to anything," I smiled. "Life's too short not to take risks." I felt tears well up in my eyes as I thought about the awful year I had just had. Rick took my palm in his hand, his soft touch feeling so comforting, so right.
"What's wrong, Amy? Was it something I said?"
"No," I replied, embarrassed. He handed me a napkin and I used it to wipe the tears away from my cheeks. "When I was a little girl, my parents didn't have much. My dad would work such long hours and get so little in return. I always thought it seemed so unjust. But no matter how poor we were, we always did things as a family. They always made time for me. On weekends, my dad would take me out with this camera – an old Hasselblad that his father had passed down to him – and we would walk for hours. We would take photos of whatever we could find that was remotely interesting. The way the light passed through a particular tree branch, the brutal decay of a dilapidated building. We found beauty in everything."
"Is that what inspired you to become a photographer?"
I nodded. "My dad would take me in the darkroom and we'd make pictures from chemicals and liquid. I'll never forget the first time I put a blank piece of paper into a mixing tray and saw this image I'd taken – it was something silly, like a rusty old lock or something – suddenly appear. It was magical! Just magical. Life seems so cynical now. There's little magic these days."
"Come on, let me walk you home. I'll get the bill and we can talk some more with nobody else around."
As we made our way down darkened London streets, Rick held me close. I felt completely
at ease, as if I could sink into him. The warmth of his hard, muscular body made me feel like I had found some magic in my life again. Magic that had been lost all those years ago when my dad finally locked up his darkroom once and for all.
"My parents lost their house this last year," I explained. "They had been ripped off many years ago by an investment plan that should have paid off their mortgage. Instead, it left them desperately short. I tried to do everything I could to help, even selling my car a few months ago. But it was too late."
We stopped and Rick turned to look at me. "I'm sorry, Amy. Sometimes life just sucks ass. Where are your parents living now?"
"The council gave them a little flat. That's an apartment to you Americans. You couldn't swing a cat in there, but they're holding it together, pretending everything is all right. But I see the sadness in their eyes. Life shouldn't be this hard when you've worked all your life like that."
"And now you don't even have a car? How the hell are you getting around?"
"Public transport and my feet," I laughed. "This is my place. Do you want to come in for a coffee?"
Rick looked up at my apartment building and softly stroked my cheek. "I'd love to, but I'm going to be the antithesis of a rock star and treat you with the respect you deserve. I'm going to say goodnight, go back to my hotel and think about you. I will warn you, I may masturbate.”
I rolled my eyes in mock disgust.
“Okay, too much information. Then, tomorrow, I'm going to send a limousine to pick you up."
"A limousine? What… What for?"
He looked straight into my eyes. "I'm flying to the south of France tomorrow. I own a recording studio there and I'm going to finish off production on the album. I want you to come and photograph the process. Then, when you quit your job, you're going to sell those intimate images of me on the verge of becoming a solo artist to the highest bidders."
I didn't know what to say. "Rick… But you don't have to…"
"Just say yes, Amy. Leap off that cliff with me."
I didn't even have to hesitate. "Yes."
He kissed me softly on the lips and, for a brief few seconds, I felt as if the world around me had simply disappeared. "There's one thing I need to know," I said as we parted. "Why did Brian say you're a terrible comedian?"
"He's just jealous. I have a little known talent that is virtually impossible for anyone to replicate. Are you ready for this?"
"Hit me with it," I smiled.
"I can make up endless one-liners on the spot. Give me a subject, any subject."
"Careers."
"That's easy," he laughed. "I had a job as a swimming pool attendant once. Boy, did they throw me in at the deep end."
I groaned. "That's appalling."
"Hey, I didn't say they were any good. Give me your best straight face. I'll bet you anything I can make you laugh, no matter how hard you try to resist."
I faked a stern look. "Go for it, Chris Rock."
"My next job was selling rucksacks. It wasn't my bag."
I felt my lip start to quiver.
"I tried working in a shovel factory but I just couldn't dig it."
My face didn't move, but I couldn't contain a snort.
"Ha! I have you now. This one will do it. I spent a few months as an elevator salesman. Wait for it…"
I closed my eyes, my face starting to shake.
"… Business was up and down."
That was it. I lost it, bursting with laughter at some of the worst jokes I had ever heard. Once I started, I couldn't stop. It had been so long since I had laughed at all, let alone so hard. Laughter turned to tears, but happy ones for once. "Thank you," I said, crying. "I needed that."
Rick kissed me on the forehead. "My pleasure. Thank you for one of the best nights of my life. And, trust me, I've had some good ones. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
As I locked my door for the night, I felt my feet move that little bit faster, my heart beat that little bit harder. I was doing something completely outrageous, and I'd never felt more alive.
Chapter Three
He came to me in my dreams that night.
"I want to make love to you, Amy. I want to be inside you. Now."
His body, rippling with hard muscle that had only been hinted at beneath his clothes when he had walked me home, sent shivers through my fingertips as I explored the swoops and curves of his skin. My giddy excitement had kept me from falling asleep immediately that evening, but as I thought more and more of him and I eventually drifted off, I found myself somewhere between reality and fantasy, unaware if I was dreaming or fully awake. He seemed so vivid in front of me; so real as he stood, naked, at the foot of my bed. The wetness between my legs was definitely real though, soaking my thin lace panties and demanding that I remove them. I parted my inner thighs slightly and slipped my hand downwards, allowing my delicate fingers to find my sensitive clit, slick and aching to be touched.
If this was a dream, I didn't want to wake up.
He mounted the bed on all fours and worked his way slowly up my body, like an animal stalking his prey. His lips seemed to linger just above the surface of my skin, causing it to prickle and goosebumps to form. He slipped a hand under the thin band of my underwear and clenched it in a fist. We stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity before he flexed his arm and, in a sudden movement, ripped off my panties.
I almost came immediately.
Instead, I tortured myself further, first with one then two fingers slipping easily inside me. I hooked them to stroke at the rough patch of flesh that men rarely seemed to find, his kisses peppering my neck and the scent of his aftershave lingering in the air.
"Fuck me," I found myself saying, firstly in a whisper then in a voice that could no longer be kept silent. "Fuck me now."
I gasped as his hardness entered me, inch after steel-like inch effortlessly penetrating my slick folds. His thrusts were hard and considerate, each stroke delivering his full length and stretching my walls around his cock. My fingers were soaked now, juices coating them completely and I felt that familiar feeling in my stomach when an orgasm was due to arrive. This one was earth-shattering; a tightness that gripped me from deep within, pulling my insides down and, it seemed, into the mattress beneath. My entire body curled up, almost into a foetal position, as I did everything in my power not to take my hand away. I wanted to push through the sensitivity, overcome the overwhelming urge to let what I was feeling subside.
But I couldn't. Not that night. My greed took over. I came hard, and I wanted more.
Eventually, as warm juices flowed between my legs and over my soaked hand, the vice-like grip within began to relax, bringing me back to reality and causing my eyes to flutter open in semi-darkness.
My breasts rose and fell with each heavy breath as I lay, exhausted, on my white cotton sheets. My panties had somehow made their way onto the floor – not ripped after all, but soaked and somehow cast aside. I bit my lip and smiled to myself as I thought of the incredible sex I had just imagined. I tasted my sweet juices on my fingertips before wearily pulling myself up and off the bed, heading towards the bathroom to clean up.
Poor Rick. He was going to have a lot to live up to after that.
Thankfully, by the time we had arrived in southern France, he was off to a good start. A text message at 8 AM told me to be ready in 30 minutes; soon after, I was picked up by a sleek black Maybach car, complete with driver. I had to pinch myself several times on the journey to convince myself this was actually happening. This was far from my average Saturday morning, to say the least.
When we reached our destination, it was a private airstrip near Heathrow. There, on a small patch of runway, was Rick's very own jet. I shook my head in disbelief as I walked towards him, trailing a suitcase behind.
"Your chariot awaits, Miss Reid," Rick smiled, looking utterly delicious in tight black jeans, a white T-shirt and leather jacket. "You look absolutely beautiful this morning."
"Thanks," I smiled. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
"That's what I'm planning on."
"Isn't this a bit early for the average rock star?" I asked. "I didn't think you guys ever got up before two in the afternoon."
Rick took my case and led me up the stairs into the cabin. "Don't believe everything you read, Amy," he replied. "I'm at my most creative in the morning. It's when I get most of my writing done. If I'm tired, there's always the afternoon for a quick nap."
"Wow," I gasped as I entered the plane. It was small, with only a few seats, but each one was in a light brown crushed leather, sumptuous to look at and even more divine to sit in. I sank into the seat opposite Rick and he poured me some coffee that had already been brewed. "This is gorgeous. I can't believe this is happening, Rick. Sorry if I seem a bit overwhelmed."
He handed me my drink and looked up. "Don't worry, I still can't believe it either. When I first formed the band, I never expected us to get quite as big as we have. There is this incredible feeling when you become really famous, like huge. Suddenly, everybody wants a piece of you – the media, fans, old family members and people who you haven't seen since you were waist high. Everyone comes out of the woodwork. Soon that incredible excitement turns to an almost paralysing lack of privacy. But you get toys like this jet to play with, so it's all good."
"Is that what you meant in the restaurant? That you would love all that success but without all of the exposure?"
He nodded. "To some degree. Anonymity would be great, to be able to fade like a shadow from time to time. But look, I'm the front man in one of the biggest bands in the world. And I'm planning on being a hugely successful solo artist, too, so I have to be a bit of a show-off, now don't I?"
I leaned forward. "Are you a bit of a show-off, Mr Borrell?" I was teasing him, knowing that my cleavage was visible due to my plunging, tight V-neck top. On the one hand I was having immense amounts of fun with this bad boy – being flirty, letting go. On the other hand, it was the polar opposite of what I was – respectable, almost boring at times. Maybe it was time for my life to be spiced up a little.
