by E. M. Moore
With a sigh, I round to the front of the house again. Though the house is on stilts, there’s a wall under it that connects to the fences, making sure no one can get to the back of the house. There were plenty of other houses that we passed that were all open underneath, some with even staggered views of the beach and the ocean beyond that. Not this house. This house is locked up tight, which I can only imagine is for safety and privacy purposes.
Rex, I think. He’ll be able to get me in. I leave my bag at the side of the house and jog to the garage. The three bay garage doors are closed, but there’s a door on the side of the building. I knock first, but don’t leave any time for someone to open it. I twist the knob but find that’s immovable too. That’s also freaking locked! What the hell?
I walk around the entire building, peeking in the windows to see if I can see Rex in there, but I can’t. He’s gone, probably in the house or maybe he’s not staying here with them. Maybe he’s staying in a nearby house and only comes over when needed.
The sun beating down is starting to get to me. Beads of sweat drip down my back. The ocean breeze is still tickling my face, but it’s not enough to keep me cool. I stare up at the front of the house again, looking for any signs of life. Maybe they just didn’t hear me the first time around. Maybe they’re in the sound booth working and therefore can’t hear me. I walk back that way, grabbing my red luggage again and dragging it behind me up the stairs. When I get to the top, I hit the doorbell button a few times. I can hear it ring within, a tinny chime sound announcing my presence. When someone doesn’t answer within thirty seconds, I knock, louder. There’s a window to my left. I step over, pressing my nose against the glass, trying to see through the lacy curtains, but from what I can see, no one is around. The house looks empty.
With a huff, I sit at the top of the steps for a few minutes, tapping my feet against the porch. I decide to try to get in one more time before calling Mr. Nolan. Maybe he can get ahold of the band and tell them to let me inside. Or, if they’re not here, he can at least tell them I’m waiting for them. Maybe he even has a way to get inside. Either one of those options would work for me. After the doorbell chimes and the loud knocks go unanswered again, I pull out my phone. I hesitate with it there in my hand, my thumb hovering over Mr. Nolan’s name. This is so embarrassing. My first half an hour on the job, and I already have to call my boss. They should’ve sent me with keys, but it explicitly states in the instructions that I’ll be given a set of keys once I get to the house.
Setting the phone down, I sift through the paperwork again, just making sure I didn’t miss something. When nothing pops out at me, I even check under the “welcome” mat in front of the door. That’s where people always hide their keys on TV, but no luck.
I pick my phone up again. My thumb above Mr. Nolan’s name when the door suddenly opens behind me. “Who the fuck are you?”
I jump at the sudden intrusion. Turning to look over my shoulder, I quickly slip my cell phone back in my pocket. “A-Aisley.”
I recognize this guy from the album cover and the multiple Google searches I did. He’s got striking red hair. Online, his hair is always gelled, but right now, it’s just normal guy hair like he got up in the morning and just ran his hands through it a few times.
He tilts his head, eyebrows going up.
“I’m your new assistant,” I say, scrambling to my feet. They feel rubbery and out of whack. Despite the fact that he looks like he just rolled out of bed, he’s still unbelievably good looking.
He’s a few inches taller than me, especially when he backs up and lifts himself to his full height. He has a black V-neck shirt on, showing off a tip of a tattoo over his heart. I quickly make myself look away before I examine it further.
“Oh, right,” he says.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. He knew I was coming. “I knocked and rang the doorbell a bunch of times.”
He shrugs and steps out of the way.
I grab my bag and haul it through the door. “You didn’t hear me?” I ask as I step into a fairly wide hallway with doors on either side. Straight through the hallway though, there’s an all-glass wall. I can finally see the beach and the ocean I’ve been smelling and hearing. Even with my limited view, I can tell it’s gorgeous.
“We did,” he says.
I drag my eyes away from the scene and peek over my shoulder at the guy who let me in. Sean, I think his name is. “And you just…didn’t care?” I ask.
He smirks. “Something like that.”
I can feel my face turn to stone, which makes this guy smile even wider. “Good to know,” I say, sarcastically. After a few seconds of us just staring at one another, I buck up the professionalism to hold my hand out. “Aisley. And you are?”
He glances at my hand then back up at me. “Sean O’Clary. What, they didn’t give you our bios and everything to memorize?”
I pull my hand back since it’s evident he’s not going to be extending the same courtesy to me. “If they did, I guess I just didn’t care to read it,” I say, trying to throw his own words back at him.
His hazel eyes cloud over. They’re mostly brown, but with specks of green on the inside, rimming around his pupil. It matches the smattering of freckles that are over his nose and cheeks. Heather’s words come back to me, Don’t get pregnant.
Not bloody likely, I tell myself. He won’t even shake my hand, which means we have a long way to go before pregnancy is a concern. Unless it’s of the immaculate conception variety.
“You’re in this room,” he says, pointing immediately to our right.
I look over toward a non-descript door. Then again, they’re all non-descript through this hallway. I turn the handle and push the door open. The room is small, more like someone’s oversized walk-in closet. It has bunk beds pushed up against the wall to my left, and there’s one single window on the opposite wall, facing the street. I step inside to put my luggage next to the bed, but when I turn back around to ask if Sean will give me a tour of the house, he’s already gone. I stride toward the door and look down the hallway. I can’t see him anywhere. Sneaky, little fucker.
I pull the door to my room closed behind me and walk toward the glass wall. There are quite a few doors down this hallway. I’m guessing one of them is the bathroom. Aw, shit. I hope I don’t have to share a bathroom with them. God. That would be a freaking nightmare.
When I get to the glass window, I walk right up to it and press my hands against it. There’s white sand in front of me, leading to waves lapping at the beach. It’s absolutely beautiful. I’ve only ever been to a beach on one vacation in my whole life, and this is a hundred times nicer than the hotel we had. We had to walk several blocks to get to the beach, and then when we got there, they had these nasty little sand fleas that kept biting me.
To my right and left, there’s a set of stairs that lead upward. I decide to take them, hoping to introduce myself to the rest of the band. Maybe they aren’t all as unwelcoming as Sean O’Clary. I mimic the way he said his name in my head. Slightly husky, slightly bored.
I climb the steel steps and end up in the middle of a gorgeous kitchen. There’s so much natural sunlight coming in from the wall of windows that it illuminates it perfectly. Stainless steel appliances, black granite countertops. The aesthetic in this house is definitely modern, except when my eyes travel toward the living area. In there, sit several black leather couches surrounding a big screen TV. Something that might be in any house, not just a rockstar house. A closer look, and I notice two hallways, one that shoots off the kitchen and another that leads away from the living room, but no band members in sight. Off the kitchen though, there’s a sliding glass door that leads to a huge deck decorated with patio furniture, a circle-shaped outdoor bed and two hammocks on either side.
I walk toward it and crack the door open. Just the barest of salty scent hits my nostrils when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn in time to see another guy I recognize from my internet searches. He has shoulder-length
blond hair. It looks a little lighter now than it did from the pictures I saw, probably because of the sun he’s getting from living in a beach house. He looks more like a surfer dude than a rock and roll guy actually. Built like one, too. He currently has his shirt slung over his shoulder, rippling abs greeting me before I lift my gaze to his face.
“Hey,” I say, shutting the glass door and turning around. “I’m Aisley. I’m your new assistant.”
“Archer,” he says.
When he gets closer, I realize he looks tired. There are dark circles under a pair of deep blue eyes the color of the ocean in a storm. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, transfixed for a moment as I take him in. Offhandedly, I wonder if it’s a prerequisite for rockstars to be hot or if I just very decidedly have a “type”.
He grunts in response, which brings me out of my trance in a nanosecond.
Sean comes out of the hallway near the living room. “Ah, Archer, you met our new assistant?”
Archer leans against the bar in the kitchen. He has a pair of low-slung shorts on that go past his knees with not one, but two belts on. I narrow my gaze. Maybe even three belts on. Interesting. Not that it doesn’t work for him. It totally does. It makes him look less California guy and more rock.
These guys can’t be much older than me. I was curious about that when I saw their pictures on the album, but the artwork was so dark it was impossible to tell how old they were. Though my first impressions aren’t stellar, I do have major respect for people who are already doing what they love at young ages. It’s like when you see teenagers in the Olympics, competing at such a high level. That’s where hard work, dedication, and talent gets people.
The sliding glass door swooshes open behind me, catching me off guard. I jump out of the way and am greeted with the two remaining members of The Rowdy Rogues. Ian and Finnick. The one who I think is Finnick walks right past me to the fridge, a pair of dark sunglasses on. Ian, however, encroaches on my personal space, closing the sliding glass door behind him while standing so close to me I can feel the heat radiate from his body. I move back.
When he takes his sunglasses off, I’m struck by the ice blue of his eyes. Coupled with his dark hair, it’s a contrast you don’t see very often. “She’s here,” he says, his tone bored.
“Aisley,” I say, reaching my hand out to him. Honestly, I’m kind of dumbstruck right now. This is the guy who was singing to me all flight. Plus, there’s something in his aura, something that makes it impossible for me to think straight with him looking at me like that.
I think he won’t shake my hand just like Sean, but he surprises me by grabbing it with a firm grip, maybe even a little too firm, like he’s trying to assert his dominance over me. I squeeze him right back. I don’t care if I am a fan of these guys’ music, I’m not going to let them walk all over me.
“Ian,” he says.
He points to the one who walked right past me, the one I now know must be Finnick since he’s the only one left. “My cousin, Finnick.”
“Cousin?”
Ian raises an eyebrow at me.
I give a quick shake of my head. “I just didn’t know.”
“Not in your paperwork about us?”
“She didn’t bother to read any,” Sean says.
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” I say, turning toward Sean to give him a dirty look.
“That is what you said though, right?” he says, a challenge in his question.
I can feel the weight of all their stares on me, and I fumble over my next words. “It’s not like they gave me your whole life stories, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“We didn’t ask for anything,” Archer says. “Least of all for an assistant.”
I shrug. “Well, I didn’t ask to be an assistant, but we’re stuck with each other anyway.”
Ian’s gaze narrows at me. He’s full on rock and roll. Even though he came in from outside, he looks like he could just as easily be on stage right at this moment. He just has that look about him. A hint of danger, a hint of mystery. The girls go wild over this guy, I’m sure.
Finnick grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and then joins the rest of his bandmates in the kitchen where they’re all still staring at me like I’m a specimen under a microscope. “Let’s go over a few ground rules,” Ian says.
“Absolutely,” I say. I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the glass door.
“First off, you’re not our friend. You’re not our confidant. You work for us. Period.”
The guys all stand there, giving me similar looks. Their gazes are hard, like they’re reliving memories of being burned before. Okay, I get that. But what the hell did I do to them? They left me out on the damn porch for crying out loud just because they didn’t feel like getting the door.
None of them move to say anything else, and a silence falls over the room. It’s such a contrast from the sunshine and the heat around us. A cold shiver creeps up my spine. These guys are serious. They’re not just saying it to be badass or because they think they’re better than me because they’re rockstars, they absolutely mean it. Suddenly, I feel like even though I’m working for them, it would probably be best to also keep my distance from these four.
“In fact,” Ian adds with a scowl. “I wouldn’t even get unpacked. You’re not staying.”
4
Somehow, within the first hour of meeting The Rowdy Rogues, I’ve found myself in a conference-like room, surrounded by The Rowdy Rogues and talking to Mr. Nolan on a conference call. He’s sighing a lot. Each and every sigh, too, seems to grate on the guys’ nerves even further, especially Ian. Archer and Sean aren’t crazy about it either. Finnick, I notice is kind of quiet. When he does say something, it’s to placate everyone, kind of like a peacemaker when he can tell the tension is about to get really high.
“Aisley, are you still there?” Mr. Nolan asks.
It’s no wonder he’s asking me. I’ve only said one word to him since they first got him on the line, and that was to let him know that I was here. “Yes, Sir.”
Ian smirks at my use of the word Sir. A twinge starts in my belly. He’s my boss. What the hell else am I supposed to call him? Though, I can tell the guys have a few different words they’d love to use.
“Bottom line,” Mr. Nolan says. “Aisley works for us, not you. You can’t fire her or make her leave. You’re in one of Big City’s beach houses right now, not your own.”
“We can get one of our own,” Archer says.
“And why would you want to do that, fellas?” he asks. I can picture him kicking back at his desk, staring out over the city. Maybe he even has his feet up on the sleek desk and fondling a stress-reliever in the shape of a guitar. “Because I sent someone there to help you? Why is that a crime? Is she not helping you? Is she—?”
“I literally just got here,” I say, speaking up. I don’t like the way this line of questioning is going. “I’ve said maybe a handful of words to them.”
“Huh,” Mr. Nolan says.
“You know,” Sean says, leaning back in his chair with his hands crossed over his chest. “I think I could use a water. Do you mind?”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. I don’t know why. I am their assistant after all, and miscellaneous personal tasks was clearly spelled out to be one of my duties in the information Nolan gave me. “Of course,” I say, a tight smile on my face. I’m sure I’m not fooling anybody. No one wants to be a gopher. “Excuse me, Mr. Nolan. I’ll be right back.”
Mr. Nolan doesn’t say anything as I get up from my chair at the big, oblong table. The room is set up for this kind of thing, which makes me think that maybe the record company has to do this for a lot of their artists. The only thing I’m jealous of is that this room is far bigger than my closet-sized one at the end of the hall. Before I can ruminate too much on that, though, I push the door open and close it softly behind me before heading up the steel steps to the kitchen again. I open the humongous refrig
erator and notice, despite its size, there’s not much in there. There’s water and beer along with a bottle of ketchup.
With a roll of my eyes, I grab one of the bottles of water, close the fridge behind me, and head back down the steps. When I’m in front of the door, I hear raised voices inside. Mainly, Mr. Nolan’s. I press my hand against the wall and lean forward to hear better, wishing I would’ve cracked the door on my way out instead of shutting it completely. “You’re three months late on the new album. What did you think was going to happen?”
“We expected a little leeway.”
“Isn’t three extra months, a beach house, and some sunshine leeway? Christ. None of my other artists get that. Damnit, guys. Pull your fucking heads out of your asses and get this shit done.”
There’s silence on the other side of the door. I breathe in deep, shocked at what I’ve just heard. I’ve never seen Mr. Nolan look anything other than completely calm and collected. This is a whole different side of him. I make a mental note not to piss him off.
“We told you we’re working as hard as we can,” a voice says. Judging by the tenor and what he’s said, I’m pretty sure it’s Finnick.
“Then why the hell are you bothering me about this assistant chick? She’s there to help. Use her. If she doesn’t work out, we’ll send someone else, but don’t bother me again with this shit. Instead of worrying about what she’s doing there, you should be up in the goddamn studio.”
There’s a click and the line cuts off. He’s hung up on them. Shit. Wow.
There are two heavy thuds and then the door secreting me on the other side is thrown open. I stifle a squeal and step back. I must look guilty as fuck because Archer is on the other side of the door, glaring at me. He takes a look at the water in my hands and yanks it out of my grip before stalking away. His heavy footsteps thump up the stairs and then they go quiet.
