by J. Nathan
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not considered to be real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by J. Nathan
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Edited by Stephanie Elliot
Proofed by Gem’s Precise Proofreads
Cover Design by Tiffany at T.E. Black Designs
Cover Photo by Eric McKinney
First Edition February 2020
PROLOGUE
Brielle
Age 10
I hurried through the kitchen packed with unfamiliar faces, my straight black dress constricting my legs so I could only shuffle. My mom never would have made me wear something so grown up. But my father wasn’t my mom.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, honey,” a stranger said as I moved by him.
“Oh, Brielle, we’re so sorry about your mom,” a woman I didn’t know added, piercing a hole in my already broken heart.
“Such a shame to lose a mother so soon,” I heard two women say as I quickened my pace.
I made it to the sitting room where a pianist played classical music on my mom’s piano. She was the only one who’d ever played that piano. I wanted to tell him to stop. Tell him it was her piano and he couldn’t touch it. But instead, tears stung my eyes as I moved toward it, pulled in by the notes drifting from the ebony grand piano. I leaned my bony hip against it, letting the familiar notes of my mom’s favorite piece, “Clair de Lune,” settle over me.
A tear trailed down my cheek as I pictured my mom during her final days. So pale. So weak. So lifeless. The vision created a deep cavern in my chest causing my tears to fall freely. I wiped my cheeks with the backs of my hands so the prying eyes couldn’t give me the same sympathetic looks they’d been giving me since she joined the other angels in heaven—or so Father Murphy said at her funeral.
Funeral.
My mom was really gone.
The room began to close in on me, suffocating me with its sudden unfamiliarity. The voices around me became muffled. A ringing pierced my ears.
I needed to run.
Run far away from everyone and everything.
I turned from the piano in a desperate attempt to run out of the crowded room, but somehow, my hand caught the crystal bowl filled with M&M’s my mom kept on top of the piano. The bowl landed with a clunk on the small rug beneath the piano while the M&M’s scattered all over the hardwood floor. My eyes shot around the spacious room as everyone stopped talking and looked at me. I bent to retrieve my mother’s candy, but the hem of my dress tripped up my legs. I launched forward and landed on the floor. The boom echoed through the house.
Again, my eyes jumped around, hoping no one had noticed—especially my father. Necks were craned from adjoining rooms and eyes were on me.
Shoot.
I closed my eyes wanting to be anywhere but there. My father would be furious if I embarrassed him in front of the actors and musicians I’d seen him with at award shows on television.
Two arms scooped me up from behind and placed me on my feet. I didn’t bother looking at my savior. I mumbled my thanks and moved as quickly to the grand staircase as the stupid dress would allow me to. I shimmied sideways upstairs where I knew no one would be.
With a bowed head, I walked to my room at the end of the hallway, desperate for silence.
“What the fuck do I know about raising a kid?” my father’s deep voice carried down the hallway from his home office. It’s where he spent all of his time while he was home—twice a month. He usually stayed in a condo in LA while my mother and I remained in our home in the hills. Our normally quiet existence was disrupted by his bellowing voice whenever he graced us with his presence.
“She’s all you’ve got left,” his lawyer said as I inched to the slightly open door.
“Can’t we hire a nanny or something?” my father asked.
“You could do that…”
A nanny? What was he saying?
“Or,” his lawyer continued. “You could move back here and raise her.”
Laughter burst from my father’s mouth.
How could the thought of moving back home and raising me be funny?
“You had me there for a minute, Silas,” my father said, taking a sip of his amber colored drink.
The sound of the ice cubes bouncing off the sides of his glass would be engrained in my brain forever because it was the soundtrack to me learning the truth.
The truth my mother was too kind to ever admit.
My father didn’t want me.
CHAPTER ONE
Brielle
Age 27
I watched from the side of the stage. Z, aka Kozart Savage the lead singer of Savage Beasts, kneeled at center stage in front of his girlfriend Aubrey. The South African crowd roared, the sound echoing through the outdoor arena like nothing I’d ever heard before. I knew Z loved her, but her time with the band overseas for the summer tour had solidified it. And none of us could deny it. Z was happier when she was around.
On stage, Z gazed up at Aubrey like she was the only girl on the planet.
For him, she was.
I’d been with my boyfriend Keith for a year, and I couldn’t recall him ever looking at me with that intensity, with that mix of love and awe, that Z looked at Aubrey with.
And, in that moment, I knew I wanted that.
But did I deserve it?
I’d been wrong to keep Z and Aubrey apart because it could have been bad for his reputation as a rock star—the most eligible rock star in the world. As their publicist, it was my job to clean up the bands’ messes. It was my job to anticipate future messes. But I had been wrong about their fans’ reaction to him being in a committed relationship with a college student. I had been wrong to think an A-list actress would’ve been better for his reputation—better for publicity.
“Congratulations,” I said to Aubrey as she floated offstage, eyeing the ginormous diamond on her finger.
She looked to me all doe-eyed and in love. “Thank you. Did you know?”
I shook my head, just as stunned as everyone else. “Z’s good at keeping secrets.”
She nodded, that knowing look flashing in her eyes—the look that two people who were truly in love got when they knew something the rest of us didn’t. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, likely eager to tell her family the exciting news as she disappeared backstage.
Aubrey had warmed up to me over the past month—us being the only females on tour with the band—but I wondered if Z would ever fully forgive me from trying to keep them apart.
I guess time would tell.
* * *
Glasses had been raised for Z and Aubrey, the newly engaged couple, in the trendy hotel bar. It had been closed off to everyone but the band and crew to celebrate. They were all smiles, stealing glances at each other the whole time before saying their goodbyes and ditching the party so they could be alone.
I watched them leave. A heaviness pressed on my chest, longing to have what they had.
If I was being honest, it’s why I’d dropped everything to come on a two-month tour with the band. I never travelled with the band. But I’d convinced myself they needed me this time. I was the only one who could publicize all the charity work and fun they were having overseas.
But that was a complete lie.
I cou
ld have hired any number of photographers and journalists who would have been more than willing to travel across the globe with the band. But, the truth was, I needed a break from my life. A break from my boyfriend. A break from my father—my boss. A break from everything.
Treyton slipped into the seat beside me at the bar, his dirty blond hair disheveled and his blue eyes distant. His rock star look was such a contrast to my tight ponytail and thick glasses. He was all bad boy drummer, and I was trendy business suits and attitude. “What’s up, Brie?”
“What?”
“You don’t answer ‘what’ when someone asks ‘what’s up,’” he said.
I rolled my eyes. Treyton and I had a strained relationship. He may have been a hell of a drummer, but he was the band’s biggest screwup. I’d saved his ass and covered up the real story more times than I could count.
“Are we ever gonna be okay?” he asked, tossing back his drink.
“We’re fine, Trey.”
He scoffed, both of us knowing that was a lie.
“Why don’t you just go hang with Cam and Marcus? I don’t need a babysitter,” I said.
He pushed himself to his feet, towering over me with a glare before joining his band mates at the bar.
I pulled in a deep breath, feeling more alone than I had before he sat down.
I was a bitch.
A complete and utter bitch all the time.
It’s what I’d been bred to do. What I watched my father do for my entire life. It’s what made him the powerful man he was today. I was just a publicist now, but my end goal had always been to take over his company, Artists Limited, when he retired. How satisfying it would be to run his company and prove to him that I was something. My need to prove to him once and for all that I was worthy of his respect ate away at me. I knew it was pathetic to need to prove myself to someone who had proven countless times that he didn’t want to be part of my life. Yet, there I was. Doing everything he asked of me. He’d definitely given me the Savage Beasts job because he didn’t believe they’d make it as a band. But they had, and I hadn’t failed. And now, five years later, they were the company’s biggest client.
And while the guys viewed me as a bitch, I didn’t care. I was there for two reasons. I kept them out of trouble in the press and made them a shitload of money.
I finished my drink and slipped out of my seat, making my way out of the bar and down the slightly shifting hallway. The designs in the multi-colored carpet swirled to life as I attempted to put one foot in front of the other.
Dammit.
How much had I drunk?
“Brie.”
I grasped hold of the wall and turned slowly.
Trey’s lips twitched as he moved toward me, his swagger firmly in place. I assumed that swagger—mixed with his insanely good looks, tongue ring, and tattoos—was what got him so many girls. “You okay?”
“Isn’t that usually my line?” I asked, a slight slur to my words.
He scoffed. “You mean before or after you ream me out for fucking up?”
I cocked my head. “I don’t ream.”
“Bullshit.”
“I forcibly make my thoughts known.”
He rolled his eyes as he flicked his tongue ring, the silver ball catching the hallway lights. “Let me walk you to your room.”
I lifted my brows.
He laughed. “That wasn’t a line. I just wanna be sure you get back safely.”
“Words I never thought I’d hear uttered by Treyton Collins.”
“I’m not always a dick.”
“You mean thinking with your dick?” I asked.
“Wow. You’re full of the lines tonight, aren’t you, Brie?”
He was the only one I let call me Brie, and normally he didn’t do it in front of the others. Truth was, even though he pissed me off ninety-nine percent of the time, I’d spent the most time with him—cleaning up his messes. Which made us...if nothing else…frenemies.
I stopped outside the elevator and pressed the button, nearly tripping over my own feet as I stepped back. Good one, Brie.
“How much did you have to drink?” he asked as he stepped beside me.
His woodsy scent, a mix of cedar and pine, floated around me, and I hated that I noticed his freaking scent. “I can ride an elevator just fine on my own.”
He didn’t bother looking at me. “The spoiled child act doesn’t suit you, Brie.”
I clenched my teeth, stopping myself from saying something I may regret. The elevator doors split apart, and I stepped inside.
Trey stood there staring at me, probably wondering if I’d knee him in the balls if he followed me inside. “Try loosening that ponytail sometime,” he said.
My face scrunched, knowing my ponytail was firmly in place.
“Maybe it’ll help you relax and get that stick outta your ass for once in your life.”
My breath caught in my throat as the doors closed me inside alone.
As much as I hated to admit it, his words stung. Probably because they confirmed what I already knew he really thought of me. What they all really thought of me.
CHAPTER TWO
Treyton
Sweat dripped down my face as I pounded away at the drums. Z’s voice echoed through the Australian outdoor stadium as the crowd of fifty thousand sang along. That shit never got old. These fans loved us. Loved every song we released. Loved every move we made. It was nice to be on top of the fucking world.
Z finished the lyrics, and the guys and I wrapped up the instrumental. As the last note drifted through the speakers, a half-second of silence passed then the crowd exploded in a wave of screams and applause.
At the front of the stage, Z spoke to the crowd. I took that opportunity to grab the towel from beside my feet and wipe my face. I glanced to the side of the stage where our manager BJ stood beside our publicist Brielle. BJ was a hell of a guy who’d do anything for us. And Brielle? Let’s just say she and I had a tense relationship. If you asked her, she’d say it was all hate. And most days it was.
I’d give her one thing, though. She was a pro at making us look like saints, making us a shitload of money on endorsement deals, and cleaning up after me. My latest escapade involved the president’s daughter. Though by the time Brielle got done with the story, the world thought I’d helped the first daughter raise money for under-privileged kids.
Yup, Brielle earned her money.
But she was a real bitch.
We all knew her daddy owned Artists Limited. But the bastard gave her nothing, except the job, making her earn every last cent she made. Brielle didn’t know we knew that, but BJ had spilled the beans one night during a drunken bender.
Z introduced our next song, and I geared up for my drum solo. Each night I amped it up, showing them I was the best mother-fucking drummer in the world. And, tonight in Australia was no different. I owned those drums. And that crowd.
By the time I hit the end of my solo, sweat covered my bare chest. I ducked down and checked the bass drum to be sure I hadn’t put the pedal through it while rocking the hell out of my drum set. I held my sticks high in the air and the crowd roared.
Fuck yeah, they did.
* * *
“What got into you tonight?” BJ asked as I stepped backstage after our encore, grabbing a bottle of water and pouring it over my face. “You couldn’t wait for a shower?” he asked, noting the water dripping down the front of my chest.
“It was hot as hell out there.”
“Speaking of hot as hell…” BJ said softly, before turning and motioning over a hot little blonde standing there in a Savage Beasts T-shirt and tiny cutoffs.
Hello there.
“Hey, Treyton,” she said with a soft Aussie accent as she approached.
“This is Zoe,” BJ said before spinning away and making himself scarce.
“Your manager said you wanted to meet me,” she said sheepishly.
She was exactly my type and BJ knew it. “How could I not?” I said
. “Can I get you a drink, Zoe?”
She nodded.
I ticked my head toward the food and beverage spread. We always had the best of everything when we traveled, and Australia had pulled out all the stops for us. I grabbed a water for me and a beer for her, and led her to the leather sofa. I sat and Zoe followed me down, the indentation where I sat pulling her small frame right into my side. I cracked open her beer and handed it to her. I held my water up, touching it to her can. “To new friendships,” I said.
She smiled, and that’s all it took. I’d be getting laid tonight, and we both knew it.
* * *
“Fuck,” I groaned as a right hook connected with the left side of my jaw. I bent at the knees, trying to reel back from the fucking pain emanating from my face. My now-glazed eyes focused on the uneven floorboards, wondering what the hell kind of bar Zoe had brought me to.
There were five massive Aussies and one of me.
I straightened my six-foot-two frame, glaring at the even bigger guy who’d sucker-punched me. “I had no idea she had a man.”
His eyes cut to Zoe. She looked scared, ducking behind a group of girls who stood by the bar.
“And obviously she didn’t mention I wouldn’t be welcome here,” I said, taking a small step back toward the exit, having already sent an SOS from my pocket. I bumped into something hard behind me. I glanced over my shoulder at another big dude. What the hell did these Aussies eat?
“Where you going, mate?” His arm shot out and locked around my neck, pulling me into a tight-ass headlock and cutting off my airflow. “You’re not so tough now, are you, rock star?”
I clawed at his arm with both my hands, but the motherfucker was huge. I kicked my legs out trying to gain any kind of momentum to get out of his grip, but all it did was give him a chance to lift me further off the ground. I was no lightweight. But this fucker was massive.
“Let him down,” Zoe cried. “He didn’t know!”
“You sticking up for him?” her man growled.
“I just…” her voice trailed off.
If I could’ve spoken—or breathed—I would’ve begged for my life, but I couldn’t. Fog crept into my head, and an unfamiliar lightness filled my body. I wasn’t gonna make it. Out of all the hell holes I’d been in, this was where I was gonna meet the maker. Talk about fucking irony.
