High Strung (Power Station Book 1)

by Gephart, T

  HIGH STRUNG

  Copyright 2014 T Gephart

  Published by T Gephart

  Discover other titles by T Gephart at Amazon or on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, or tgephart.com

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and scenarios 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.

  Edited by Marion Archer

  Cover by Gianni Renda

  Cover Image by Angelique Ehlers

  Formatted by Max Henry of Max Effect

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Connect with T

  Books by T Gephart

  I felt beads of sweat starting to form on the back of my neck as my fingers drummed restlessly on the arms of the chair. I needed this job in the worst way and I didn’t think I could cope with another rejection. Despite being ridiculously overqualified for the position, I would do anything to get out of the hospitality industry. Sure, it was something I was good at, having parents that owned a small Irish pub meant I grew up in a bar, and being able to pull a perfect draft was a skill that provided no trouble landing a job back in the industry. However, I was getting really sick of being called “sweetheart” and if one more jerk grabbed my ass while I served him his beer, I was seriously going to lose it.

  This had not been my dream when I moved to New York five years ago - making minimum wage and living in a shitty, cubby-hole apartment I was sure violated every safety code known to man. Still, it beat living on the streets, which is where I would find myself if I didn’t start earning more than I was now. Of course, I hadn’t always been so desperate. I couldn’t believe my luck when I had landed an entry-level associate’s role at a small brokerage firm straight out of college. I had stepped off the greyhound bus like a cliché in an ’80’s hair band video, leaving my nervous, conservative parents and six siblings back in Boston. I should have known it was too good to be true. Three years later, just as I was about to make the progression to junior broker, the company—like so many others—went bankrupt and closed its door. I found myself out of work and out of luck.

  There weren’t many opportunities for a commerce major during a global financial crisis. Any jobs there had been were snapped up by seasoned veterans, which is why I’d had no choice but to take a job at Garro’s, a sports bar on the Lower East Side. My previous bar knowledge had made it a safe and familiar choice even if the money wasn’t great. At least it was only a short commute from my Brooklyn apartment and it meant I had at least one hot meal a day.

  I looked nervously at my watch. Two o’clock. Shit. I still had another thirty minutes to wait before my appointment, and my bravado had already started to wane. Desperation was a horrible thing, because I knew either way this whole experience was going to suck. If I got the job, I was going to hate it, as it would no doubt be mind-numbingly dull, and if I didn’t, I should pack up my shit and reserve my park bench in Central Park. I was out of options and out of time. I took a deep breath as I tried to harness the nervous energy buzzing through my body. Rock stars. This is what it had come to.

  The job I was so desperately vying for was personal assistant to Lexi Reed, the head of Reed Public Relations. She held the account for a massive local rock band, Power Station. I was not a fan. Of the band I mean. The five-piece New York natives were gritty and raw with their sound featuring torturous guitar riffs with an unrelenting rhythm section. It was in-your-face loud. Obnoxious. Sure they were blessed with good looks. Okay, each one of them was insanely handsome but that still didn’t mean I would throw myself shamelessly at any of them and lose my self-respect. I never understood the allure of a rock band or why women with so much going for them would lower themselves to being groupies.

  Ms. Reed, on the other hand was, by all accounts, a fierce businesswoman. An import from the land Down Under, she had a reputation for being a hard-ass with an amazing sense of style, and a respected determination that led to her playing with the big dogs in the industry. Despite me loathing the assistant position I was hoping to land, I did have an amazing amount of respect for her. She not only held Power Station’s PR account, which was huge, but she was also successfully building her own company by bringing in lots of new business. Smart move. The growth projections in the industry were huge if she could land the right clients - a statistic I was hoping to wow her with when I finally got into the interview. It wasn’t my style to go in unprepared and my late night research had been fruitful.

  “Ms. Murphy?” A slender and attractive blonde with a strong English accent approached me.

  “Yes. Ashlyn.” I stood up and offered her my hand hoping it wasn’t too clammy.

  “Ashlyn, I’m Sydney. I’m Ms. Reed’s current assistant.” Her bright blue eyes sparkled as she accepted my hand graciously. “Lexi is just finishing up with another interview and then you are up next. Is there anything I can get you while you wait?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.” I was relieved the wait was almost over.

  Sydney nodded and disappeared back through the doorway from which she had emerged, her cute bob haircut bouncing with each step.

  I sank back down into my seat, rubbing my palms nervously against the fabric of my skirt. I hated job interviews. They were the intellectual version of a beauty pageant. Here are my qualifications. Smile. Judge me. Smile. I hope I’m good enough. It was enough to make me want to vomit. My stomach churned in solidarity with my train of thought.

  The previous candidate stepped out from Ms. Reed’s office and into the reception area, signaling the end of her appointed interview. She used her sly glance and cocky grin, I assumed, to unnerve me further. So that’s how we’re going to play? I’m one of seven children, honey. I am the master of the mental psyche-out.

  I stood, in preparation for my turn, when I felt a shadow cast over me blocking out the midday sun. It was just my luck to finally get an interview with a halfway decent job and some crazy-ass Armageddon took over New York. I slowly turned—might as well get a good view of whatever fate was about to befall me—and I almost smacked directly into Alex Stone.

  *crickets*

  Alex Stone was the lead guitarist of the band, Power Station, and while I had not been a fan of the band, I was definitely an appreciator of this fine specimen in front of me. Standing six four, with an amazingly toned body, ice-blue eyes, and magnificent blond hair, he had been engineered to be a sex symbol. Rivaling Michelangelo’s David, he was chiseled to perfection. The fact I didn�
�t care for his music did not detract from my fascination. In fact he could probably give up his music career, stand in the Met Museum and allow us mortals to glare longingly at him all day. What? Living art is a legitimate gig.

  “Hello,” Alex purred, dazzling me with his amazing devilish grin. “Are you waiting to see Lexi?”

  Of course I knew Lexi Reed was not only the band’s publicist but also married to the guitarist, aka the guy in front of me, but man, Lexi was like Barbie. The bitch had everything.

  I blinked, allowing my eyes to float down his sexy muscular chest and noticed he had a Baby Bjorn carrier with a sleeping infant inside strapped across it, hindering my view. I think my ovaries just exploded. It was too much. Because when Alex wasn’t sending the panty-wearing population into overdrive by being a rock god, he was a new dad to his baby daughter, Grace. I mean, seriously, how could a woman not swoon over that deadly combination?

  “Um,” I mumbled like a moron, all my years of education flashing before my eyes, unable to make my mouth function. He was talking to me?

  “I’m just going to need a moment of her time, mind if I step in ahead of you?” His smooth voice curled around every word, making love to it.

  I nodded wordlessly, feeling compelled to continue the moronic theme I had running. It was better than throwing myself at his feet and worshiping him, a very real danger the longer he stood there. He was more than just good-looking, he was obscenely attractive, and I had this unbelievable urge to lick him, slowly, like a cat.

  Taking my wide-eyed, enthusiastic nod as a yes and seeing he wasn’t going to get anything more intelligible out of me, Alex strode into Lexi Reed’s office. I watched as his ridiculously hot body disappeared through the doorway, my eyes straining to catch the last glimpse of his incredibly toned ass before it slipped from view.

  “He’s married and a douchebag,” an uninvited voice said, pulling me from my happy place.

  “Huh?” I twisted around, ready to disembowel the owner of said voice for ruining my Alex Stone fantasy.

  “He,” the owner of the voice pointed to the door Alex had just walked through, “Is. A. Douchebag.” He enunciated slowly before continuing, “Alex. Is. Also. Mar-ried.” He paused before each syllable for effect.

  Standing in front of me, marring my memory of Alex, was the owner of the voice – an annoying man. Shorter than Alex, at what I assumed to be roughly six foot, he eyed me with more interest than I was comfortable with. He had a mess of dark hair, smoldering dark brown eyes, and was covered in tattoos, the evidence poking out from the sleeves of his T-shirt. Next to the word badass in the dictionary, I’m sure there was a picture of this guy. Dressed in torn, dark blue jeans, and a Misfits T-shirt, he was the epitome of a rock star, without the finesse Alex possessed. Despite his unkempt look he was strangely sexy, although his smug smile made me want to add ripping out his tongue to the disembowelment I already had planned.

  “I heard what you said,” I snapped. “There is nothing wrong with my hearing. I just don’t know why you cared to volunteer that information.” Despite his good looks, I think if either of those two men was a douchebag it would be the one who was still talking to me.

  “Oh cool, you talk.” He laughed. “I just wasn’t sure if you were just a star-struck fan or you had a disability. I was trying to be polite.” He moved closer, stretching out his hand. “I’m Dan. Dan Evans.”

  “I’m not a star-struck anything. And I don’t have a disability. I don’t know what you are talking about.” I purposely rejected his handshake and instead adjusted my jacket, annoyed he had assumed I was just another one of those girls. Who was this guy anyway? Judging by his appearance, I guessed him to be another member of the band, possibly the drummer? He probably needed to compensate about not getting enough attention being holed up behind a drum kit.

  “Look, it’s fine, babe. We’re used to it. Girls get crazy over us all the time. You don’t need to be embarrassed.” He pulled back his hand and shrugged, seemingly unfazed by my lack of civility.

  “I’m not embarrassed. And I’m not your babe. Whatever you think you saw, you were mistaken. I don’t get crazy.” I was slightly embarrassed, but more irritated I’d been caught staring…and called on it.

  “Sure. Okay. You don’t want to admit it, that’s fine but I know what I saw, and you were throwing so much heat in Stone’s direction I’m surprised the paint didn’t peel off the wall.” He pulled out a stick of gum and popped it into his mouth, thoroughly enjoying the fact I was irate. Clearly not a gentleman.

  “Oh my god. I was not throwing heat. Are you insane?” I hissed, my embarrassment manifested into full-blown anger as I tried my best to save face. No matter how gorgeous this man in front of me was, I was not going to let him get the better of me.

  “You can keep denying it all you like, babe. Makes no difference to me. I just thought I’d be charitable and point out it’s a waste of your time.” He chewed on his gum, smirking. “You have a better chance of the Cleveland Indians winning a World Series than Stone sleeping around. Now me on the other hand, I don’t have those kinds of restrictions.”

  My face flushed with anger, as I officially wanted to kill him. Yet stupidly, I couldn’t deny how attractive he was as he smugly stood in front of me, his broad chest filling the material of the tee that did little to hide the toned flesh that lay beneath. What the hell was wrong with me? He was rude, arrogant and probably teeming with every STD known to man, and he’d called me babe…twice. I was not going there.

  “Did you take some kind of class to learn how to be so offensive or is this a natural ability?” I leaned forward, refusing to allow him the pleasure of knowing he was getting under my skin.

  “How did I offend you? I have been nothing but polite. I haven’t even looked at your tits.” Dan stared at me bewildered, actually confused.

  “Wow. My tits and the rest of me thank you for your lack of interest.” I gave him my best death stare, disappointed I didn’t have some mutant ability that would render him incapacitated. I blamed my pre-teen fixation with comic books for giving me such unrealistic expectations.

  “Don’t mention it. They are a little on the small side, it makes things easier.” He shrugged, talking about my breast size like it was no big deal. The edges of his mouth curved as his eyes dipped down to gaze at my aforementioned tits, which were thankfully contained by my conservative business shirt.

  “Really? You’re not even going to hide the fact you are now staring at my breasts?”

  “Well now we are talking about them, I kinda can’t help myself.” He grinned, not even having the decency to be remorseful. “You know, now that I’ve looked at them, they don’t seem so bad. You should maybe pop a button or two though, work with what you got.”

  “Dan!” Ms. Reed fired from the now opened doorway startling me from my seething rage. Alex Stone, aka sex god, was standing beside her, looking somewhat amused.

  “Don’t harass my candidates.” Lexi turned to Alex, gently touching his arm. “Can you please remove him from my office? I’ll call you later.” She tenderly kissed the top of baby Grace’s head and whispered a soft goodbye.

  Alex nodded as he walked over to us. “My apologies for Dan, he has no impulse control.” Alex gave me a blinding smile, grabbing Dan firmly around the arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Don’t apologize for me, numbnuts. We’re just talking.” Dan protested against Alex’s grasp.

  Lexi rolled her eyes at the commotion before addressing me. “Ashlyn, if you are ready I can see you now.”

  “Your name is Ashlyn? Unusual. It’s pretty.” Dan’s eyes lit up with excitement at finally learning my name. Not that he’d asked, clearly he was too preoccupied with being an ass to worry about regular pleasantries.

  “My life is a little more complete knowing you approve. Thanks for that. Have a wonderful day.” I gave a forced smile as I pushed past him and strode purposely toward the open door of Lexi’s office.

  I needed to get m
y head in the game and flirty Dan was not aiding my cause. Instead I focused forward as I followed Lexi into her large and neatly maintained office, mentally evacuating thoughts of the tattooed, scruffy rock star I left in the foyer.

  “I’m sorry about him. Dan really is a unique human being.” Lexi gestured to the large plush chair opposite her desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  Lexi Reed was stunning; a petite brunette with feminine curves, she owned the fitted, bright green shift dress she was wearing. Finishing her look with an impressive black pair of heels and a fancy twisted up-do, her appearance had me feeling slightly underdressed in my Target-purchased jacket and skirt combo.

  “He is harmless. Obnoxious, but harmless.” I settled into the chair not willing to admit Dan Evans had unnerved me. After all, if I was going to be Lexi’s assistant I was going to need to be able to handle the likes of Dan.

  “Well, that is reassuring.” Lexi smiled as she settled into her leather office chair. “So, Ashlyn. Tell me why someone has a commerce degree from University of Massachusetts, and who previously worked on Wall Street, wants to be an administrative assistant?”

  I took a deep breath as I tried to determine the best way to rationalize my position. Damn. This was going to be a hard sell.

  “Dan, do you go out of your way to piss off my wife?” Stone chuckled as we walked back to the car.

  “Dude, come on. You know she loves it, her day isn’t complete until she has gotten her daily dose of Dan.”

  Lexi and I were cool; she knew the score as far as I was concerned. Granted our friendship had started with me trying to crawl into her panties; she’s a solid ten. Who wouldn’t try for that? But I totally respected she was now off the market and happily married to Stone. I never understood what the attraction was. Sure the man wasn’t ugly but he got way more than his share of pussy. At some point when Lexi crossed our path, the two of them had started fucking and somehow managed to keep it from the rest of the band. I was absolutely appalled. If you’re banging a girl like that, then it’s your civic duty to share details with your brothers. Fuck, photos would have been better. Instead they kept that shit on the down low leaving us oblivious and not contributing any new material for my spank bank. Of course they eventually got it together enough to be a couple and did the whole walking down the aisle thing, and as much as I think marriage is for suckers, those two pretty much belong together. Not that I’m getting soft, ’cause Dan Evans does not get soft, but after the amount of shit those two have gone through, to see them happy with a kid was kind of fucking awesome. Oh and the kid, Grace, pretty much owned me. That little girl had me wrapped around her finger so tightly I’d move the world to please her. Between her and Noah, James and Han’s little dude, I was happily playing Uncle to some of the coolest kids on the block. Not to mention the gaggle of nieces and nephews my sisters had given me. Being Uncle Dan was a pretty sweet gig.