“Because we’re worried about him. The last few months were exhausting and took their toll on all of them, but they were especially tough on Alexis. I’m worried that he’s burned out, but he keeps insisting that he’s fine. Which can’t be true, since he had a breakdown after two of the concerts we played last. So I need some sort of personal spy to see what’s really going on,” he explains.
I should ask for a bonus if I’m doing this. But I’m grateful to have this job at all, so I’m not about to make demands now. I can keep an eye on Alexis alright, but I decide that I’m not going to run and report every step he takes to Mr. Young. If he’s really just exhausted and his mind is clear – which I really hope it is – I don’t expect him to do anything stupid. And if it looks as if he might, I can always resolve to a figurative kick in the ass to set him straight.
There’s a knock on the door. “I’m done here. I packed my bags and am ready to head out,” Alexis announces. “Going home.”
I lift my gaze to him. “I still need to pack my things. I didn’t think I’d be going with you today.”
“I could drive you over to your place and wait while you get your stuff.”
Mr. Young stands up. “Alright, I’ll be on my way to brief the others. Drive safely, and please call me once you’re there, Alexis.” He shakes his hand, but looks at me. “Honor, I’ll see you at the mansion when we discuss the upcoming shows.”
I get up and shake his hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Young.”
“Bye, Honor.” He offers me a friendly smile and then leaves the room.
As soon as the door closes, Alexis exhales audibly. “Thank god we’re rid of him.”
I look at him, puzzled. “You can’t stand him?”
“No, that’s not it, but he’s worse than my mom, overprotective and annoying.”
“Because you’re obviously not doing all that great.”
He sighs. “Don’t tell me he warned you about my alleged fragility.”
I study him. “If you don’t want people to notice the dark circles under your eyes, use concealer. I won’t mention it again if it annoys you. So you’re fine? Yes? Wonderful, let’s go then.” I can’t suppress a hint of sarcasm in my voice. Men are terrible. I still don’t understand how a tiny, harmless cold can lead to the infamous man-flu. At least Alexis doesn’t strike me as the sort of guy who succumbs easily. He does seem sickly, but tries not to let it show. Maybe he’s used to being required to function at any time. I’m aware that that will be my duty now, too. In this job, I won’t be able to call in sick because I have PMS or stuff like that.
Alexis smirks. “Yes, I feel fine, just a little strung out. I’ll be glad to get home and lie down. How are you feeling?”
“I’m great, thanks. Let’s get going then, yeah?”
He nods. “Sure. I’ll get my bags and then we can check out.”
“Awesome.”
And now we’re on the highway. My suitcase is in the trunk, I dropped off the keys to my apartment at Krys’s, so she can take care of my plants and the mail, and I’m ready for the Hamptons. Sort of. Deep inside of me. But on the surface, I’m not ready at all.
“How long ‘til we get there?”, I want to know.
He looks at me. “Two hours, maybe three, depending on traffic.”
“Oh, wow. What are we supposed to do for two or three hours?”
He laughs. “How about a round of crap talk?”
“A round of what?” I ask, amused.
“Crap talk. That’s what we do when we are on tour and get bored. It’s like small talk, only with more crap. We talk about stupid bullshit, like gossiping about people we can’t stand,” he explains.
“Okay. You go first.”
“Uh … You got me. I can’t think of a topic.” He clears his throat and continues in a softer voice. “Tell me about a pet peeve of yours.”
“My best friend screwed his professor for years, and he traumatized me with his detailed stories about their sex life,” I confess, not even trying to hide my disgust.
“Okay, well … there are women who are still hot well over forty, and then there are those who are–“
“Not.”
“Right. So, it would depend on the wrinkles-to-sex ratio in this case.”
I pull out my phone and look for a picture of her, taken at the graduation ceremony. “This is her.” I show him the photo and he glances at it.
“Oh shit.”
“Was that a positive or negative ‘oh shit’?”
“Whoa, no, don’t make me answer that, Honor.” He laughs.
“So you agree with me that it’s disgusting?”
“Nobody ever agreed with you more,” he admits with a grin.
“Which would confirm that Micah only fucked her to get better grades,” I state.
“I wouldn’t do that, even for my degree. I’d rather skip college and leave the United States!”
I burst out laughing, so hard that I have trouble breathing.
“Welcome to another episode of crap talk, live from the Range Rover of Alexis Kingston. Our guest today is Honor Prescott, a woman who is pissed at her buddy for screwing his professor,” he announces in the voice of a TV show host.
“And now the images are back again,” I gripe.
“And that means our show has a new category. Mental images,” he laughs.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Thank you; you’re not the first to notice that.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Of course not.”
I shake my head as I look out the side window, trees rushing by. “If you keep driving like you want to win the NASCAR, we’re going to be there in under an hour.”
“What can I do? They call me Mr. Lead-foot.”
“Again, I’m not surprised.”
“If you think I’m going too fast, I advise you never to ride with Linden’s girlfriend.”
“That bad?”
He looks at the speedometer. “I’m going seventy miles an hour now. Thally tends to rush it, going ninety or a hundred, even if the road isn’t empty.”
“Wow, a woman with a death wish.”
“More like one that’s too impatient,” he corrects me with a smile.
“And who’s got a death wish.”
“Okay, maybe that’s true, but I wouldn’t mention it in front of her or Linden. They get their panties in a bunch pretty damn quickly”
“I won’t mention it.” I take a deep breath and cross my legs, grateful that Alexis drives such a spacious car. “Is there anything else I need to know about your friends?”
He nods briefly and keeps his eyes on the road. “Well, let’s see. Gavin is going out with our choreographer. He and Madeleine danced together on Celebrity Dance Hall. Azer is single and crazier than ever after his girlfriend kicked him to the curb. Mike is the calm in the eye of the storm. He never seems to give a damn about anything, but in reality, he’s the best listener I’ve ever met. Linden is the real star of the band, he’s my best friend, and he’s in a serious relationship with Thalia. She lives in Miami, but she’ll move in with him next year. As for me, right now I’m the most fucked-up asshole you could meet.”
“That’s a lot of input,” I say dryly.
“Well, it’s the short version. I could elaborate, but I think you should form your own opinion about us anyway.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Fair enough.”
“And why do you think that you’re such a fucked-up asshole?” I come back to his statement, curious.
Alexis gives me a scrutinizing look. “Because that’s the way it is. I may look like the perfect son-in-law, but that’s just a guise. You should stay away from me if you’re female and over twenty-one.”
“Because you’re a manwhore?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” he replies with a nod.
“Men,” I giggle as I slip out of my flats, putting my naked feet up against the dashboard.
“
So, what are your dark secrets? Your idiosyncrasies?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.
I think about that for a moment. “I’d say I don’t have any, but I’m sure my friends could easily list a few.”
“Come on, I’m sure you can tell me something.”
I lean my head against the headrest. “I’m chaotic, as you might have realized when you saw my apartment. There are times when I don’t like to talk, but instead I sing everything, from shopping lists to bus schedules. And I swear in Italian, but you knew that already.”
Alexis nods when I look at him. “I bet there’s more.”
“That’s entirely possible, but since I now know that you’re a reckless manwhore, you’ll have to make do with those three nuggets of personal information,” I reply and flash him a grin.
“Alright, fair enough. I’m going to find out the rest eventually.”
“There you go.”
“How about another episode of crap talk then?” he suggests.
“I can’t think of another pet peeve.”
“You could just ask me whatever pops into your head.”
“I’m not very good at interrogating people,” I say slowly.
“Okay.”
“I prefer to get to know you as we go along. Naturally, you know. It’s not as forced as playing twenty questions, plus you could always evade a straight answer. Isn’t that the first thing you learn when you become a pop star?”
“The first thing I learned when we became famous was to say, ‘no comment’. And to smile stupidly at anything and everything, or show your poker face, respectively.”
“That really sounds as if you’ve lost all the joy you used to have in this job.”
“Well, it’s not very joyous if you’re constantly on the road, can’t be yourself ninety percent of the time, and haven’t seen your family in over a year and a half.”
“Don’t you need them?”
“My family? It always stirs things up, so I avoid seeing them.”
I look at him with suspicion. “Why? What things?”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Honor.”
“Then don’t. It’s okay.”
“The rest of the band knows what’s going on, but they’re my closest friends, you know?”
“I don’t want you to tell me anything you think is too touchy a subject. I have my own problems, Alexis. No need to carry your load,” I say as neutrally as possible.
“I’m glad we got that out of the way.” He smiles at me again, this time it’s a charming smile. My heart skips a beat, but I clear my throat and will it to go on, calm and steady.
“You finally made it, Alexis.”
“Hello, Ms. Cunnings.” He hugs her briefly. “How are you doing?”
She pats his stubbly cheek. “How do you think an old woman like me is doing?” Then she addresses me. “Good afternoon, my name is Starla Cunnings, and you are?”
I take a step forward and hold out my hand. “Honor Prescott, nice to meet you, Ms. Cunnings.”
She shakes my hand. “Nice meeting you, too, Miss Prescott.” She looks at Alexis again. “A friend of yours?”
“She’s one of the new background singers, and she’ll be working on the new album with us.”
“I see.” She looks at our bags on the floor. “Then I guess I’ll prepare one of the guest rooms for Miss Prescott?”
“That would be nice, Ms. Cunnings, yes,” Alexis says in a patient voice.
“Which one would you like?”
I’m only half-listening, because I’m staring at the beautiful façade, unable to think about bedroom arrangements. I’d sleep on a couch in the living room, if I had to.
“Gavin’s old room would be best, I think.”
She nods. “Come on in then.”
Alexis smirks and follows the spry housekeeper, who reminds me a little of my Italian grandmother. Apron dress, short curly hair, deep lines in her face. I bet she’s just as warm-hearted as my nonna. “Are you coming?” he asks me.
“Sure.” I pick up my bag and grab the handle of my trolley, then I follow them inside. In the foyer, Alexis immediately heads for the stairs, while I stop and take it all in.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I thought my room wasn’t ready yet,” I say shyly.
“That’s okay. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.” He holds out his hand.
I lift my trolley and start to climb the stairs. It’s harder than you’d guess, which is mostly due to the weight of my luggage.
Alexis sees me struggling and takes the heavy trolley. “Your room has an ensuite bathroom. I’m going to show you the kitchen, living and dining room once you’ve settled in, and you’ll see the studio soon enough, when we hole up to write new songs.”
“Do you always write your songs in the recording studio?”
“No, we write them wherever inspiration catches up with us. I like to write in my own room, because I like to be on my own when I write.” When we reach the landing, he sets down my trolley. “Do you write songs, too?”
I shake my head. “No, I haven’t tried that yet.”
“You should give it a try. I bet you’re talented.”
“I don’t know.”
He leads me to an open door. “This is yours. If you need anything, just call Ms. Cunnings. My room is two doors down.”
I nod. “Thank you, Alexis.”
He winks at me and then heads down the corridor. I stare after him until he disappears into his own room. Sweet Jesus, that man! Did he really have to come out and say he was a fucked-up asshole? Don’t guys know that the bad boys are what most women like to fall for? I, for one, really have a thing for bad boys.
“Is that you, Miss Prescott?” Ms. Cunnings asks.
With an inward sigh, I enter the bedroom that is going to be my home for the upcoming few weeks. “Yes, it’s me.” I carry my luggage into the room and set it down on top of a low table at the foot of the bed. “Can I help you with that?”
“No, kid, but thanks for asking.” She gives me that special grandma look, a look any old woman has down pat.
I walk around the bed to the other side. “We’ll be done much quicker if we do it together.”
“You really don’t need to help me.”
“But I want to, Ms. Cunnings.” I pick up one corner of the fitted sheet, pulling it down over the edge of the mattress. “Could you show me the kitchen next?”
“If you tell me what you want, I can make it for you.”
“I know, but I like to fix my own coffee. I don’t feel comfortable with someone else serving me, or preparing my meals,” I explain.
She sighs. “I wished the boys would feel a tiny bit like you do. The only one who’s capable of taking care of his own needs is Alexis. I try to make sure not to let Azer even get into my kitchen. He messes it up in no time.” Then she laughs.
I smirk. “Is it really that bad?”
“They are a bunch of young men who can’t cook for the life of them. It’s worse. Fortunately, I only had to peel the pancakes from the ceiling once so far.”
“How did they get up there in the first place?”
“Azer thought he could flip them over in the pan, like the chefs do on TV. He was a little too enthusiastic, and after five failed attempts, Linden finally got him to stop.”
I laugh along with her. “I’m sorry, but I can assure you I won’t be flipping any pancakes.”
“You have no idea what a relief that is.”
“I think I really don’t,” I say with a smile.
We finish making the bed, and then she looks at me. “Do you need help unpacking your things, Miss Prescott?”
“Oh no, I can do that. But maybe you could show me the kitchen now?”
She nods and points at the door. I follow her back into the hallway, down the stairs, and then into a kitchen that looks like something straight from Better Homes and Gardens. Spanking-new state of the art appliances, a wonderful cooking island i
n the center of the room, and generally a lot of space for this often-neglected part of the house. “You wanted a cup of coffee, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then let me explain how the coffee maker works.”
“Thanks, Ms. Cunnings.” I follow her to the gigantic bean-to-cup coffee maker that looks vaguely alien. There are so many buttons that I stare at the thing in confusion.
“If you want a regular cup of coffee, you put your cup here.” She demonstrates it. “And then you press this button.” She points at the respective one.
I nod sagely. This shouldn’t be too hard. Put the cup in that spot, press this button.
“But if you prefer a latte, a macchiato, an espresso, or a cappuccino … anything but a regular black coffee …” She explains the entire apparatus and its many options, and I feel as if I’m briefed to start working at Starbucks. “So now you’re all set to make yourself a nice mug of java.”
I give her an overwhelmed look. “Do you really want to hear the bitter truth?”
She emits an amused snort. “You want me to go over it again? Or I could write down which button does what. Then you’d have a cheat sheet.” She smiles at me.
I exhale with relief. This woman is my coffee angel. The machine is honestly too much for me, but she just offered to write down instructions for me. She just scored all the possible brownie points at once. “You’d be my angel of mercy if you did that for me.”
“No problem at all.”
“Thank you, Ms. Cunnings.”
“So, you want a regular cup of coffee now?”
“Yes. Where do you keep the cups?”
She points at the cabinet above the coffee maker. “Right there.”
“And it’s okay if I come in here and make my own?”
“Please make yourself at home, Honor,” Alexis’s voice cuts in. “And of course you can fix yourself a coffee whenever you feel like it, or grab a snack … No need to ask every single time.”
I look at him. “Thank you.”
“Anything I can do for you, Alexis?” Ms. Cunnings asks.
He shakes his head. “No, I only wanted to get a bottle of water. Thanks, Ms. Cunnings.”
“Then I’m going to leave you alone now.”
“Thanks for your help,” I add.
Alexis: In love with a rockstar (The Hamptons Series Book 2) Page 6
