Beauty in the Breakdown (A Rock Star Romance Novel)

by Natalie Baird

  “Well,” I started, “I do have some news, about my job.” I paused momentarily as our mimosas arrived and took a big sip of mine, nervous to tell my parents about the upcoming trip. “My boss has asked me to take on a pretty big assignment that will probably be a huge step in my career. It could, quite possibly, put me on the map as a music journalist.”

  “Wow,” my mom said, “What’s the story?”

  “Um, do you guys know who Jackson Brent is?” I asked. I felt my cheeks grow flushed as I said his name in front of my family. It felt a little illicit somehow, after all the steamy flirting that had gone on between the two of us.

  “Duh,” Max chimed in, “Who doesn’t know who Jackson Brent is?”

  “He’s the rocker, right?” my dad asked, “The one with the hair?”

  “He is a rocker with hair, yes,” I said, “Though god knows, that doesn’t narrow it down. He’s the British one. With Carnal Knowledge?”

  “I think most rock stars have Carnal Knowledge, Alexa,” my mom said, as our food was placed in front of us.

  “No,” I said, “That’s the band’s name.”

  “That’s a rather ridiculous name,” my dad muttered through his toast.

  “Regardless,” I pressed on, “Jackson Brent got in touch with Kellan and asked if I’d be interested in writing a story about him for the magazine.”

  “What?!” Max cried, dropping his spoon full of scrambled eggs, “Alex! That’s amazing!”

  “There’s just a tiny little catch,” I said, pushing my hash browns around my plate.

  My mother’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?” she asked coolly.

  “I, uh, have to tour Europe with them,” I said quickly.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Max asked incredulously.

  “No,” my dad said, “But it is rather suspect...”

  “Dad,” I said, “Don’t get the wrong idea about this. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

  “Alex,” he said, “Do you know what goes on during those tours?”

  “Do you?” I shot back.

  “Sure,” he said, “I’ve seen Almost Famous. I don’t want you stranded in Bohemia, hopped up on Quaaludes.”

  “I don’t think Quaaludes are a thing anymore, Dad,” I said patiently, “And neither is Bohemia.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said, “Are you going to go with this Jackson person?”

  “I am, yes,” I said, dismayed by my dad’s disapproval, “I’d have to be crazy to turn this offer down. Jackson Brent is one of the most famous men in the world. Getting the inside scoop on him will open every door there is for me. This could make my career.”

  “Damn right it could!” Max said, “You should absolutely do it.”

  “Thank you, Max,” I said, frowning at my dad.

  “We trust your judgement, Alexa,” my mom said quietly. “But tell me this. Have you met this Jackson Brent?”

  “I have,” I said, “We’ve spent some time discussing the details of my assignment.”

  “I see,” my mom said, “And do you think that he’s a respectful person?”

  I thought about Jackson’s strong hands, the way his fingers felt as they brushed against the small of my back, the way that his lips turned up ever so slightly as he teased me. I was glad that my parents couldn’t see my pulse quicken as I thought of Jackson.

  “Definitely,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  “Well, that settles it,” my mom said, “You’ve always been a good judge of character, Alexa. If you think that this is a smart, safe thing to do, then we stand behind you one hundred percent. Don’t we, Jeff?”

  “Of course,” my dad grumbled, “But don’t expect me to pretend to be thrilled.”

  I smiled across the table at them. Not an entirely painless conversation, but not too shabby as far as these things went. As I turned my attention back to my breakfast, I felt my phone vibrate against my thigh. I slipped the device out of my pocket and checked to see who was trying to reach me during the brunching hour. I almost dropped my fork as I saw the name on the text message.

  Jackson.

  Trying like hell to keep my expression placid, I opened his message under the table. My heart was throwing itself against my ribcage at the very thought of him. This attraction thing was totally out of control.

  “Hey you,” the text read, “Sleep OK?”

  The first response that leapt into my head was, “I would have slept better with you.” What was the matter with me? As calmly as possible, I responded, “Yes, thanks for getting me home.”

  “Who are you texting?” my mom asked.

  “No one. Nothing,” I blustered, acting for the world like a sixteen-year-old. The phone vibrated against my thigh almost immediately.

  “Can you meet me?” Jackson said. I could practically feel myself being drawn out of my seat, floating toward wherever he was.

  “Not now,” I replied, “I’m out with my family.”

  “Where?” he shot back instantly.

  “This place in the East Village.”

  “Can I join you?”

  I looked up at my family, startled. “No,” I typed quickly, “I think that would be a little awkward.”

  “Not at all,” he responded, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “You don’t know where I am!” I protested.

  “Alexa,” he wrote, “I have my ways.”

  I tucked my phone back into my pocket and sat, silently amazed. There was no way he could know where I was having brunch with my parents, was there? I fiddled around with the food on my plate, though it had already grown cold. My mom and dad were eyeing me suspiciously over the table.

  “Everything OK, Alexa?” my mom asked.

  “What?” I said, “Oh, sure! Yeah! Why do you ask?”

  “Because you look like a deer caught in the headlights,” my dad said.

  “Me?” I said, “No! What? You’re crazy.”

  They were both exchanging worried glances when the sound of a slamming car door made me turn my head toward the street.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. There, walking toward our brunch spot, was Jackson. He looked devastatingly handsome in a pressed linen shirt and wool slacks, the fabrics falling against his well-muscled body in just the right way. I couldn’t have ripped my eyes away from that beautiful form if I’d tried, though I wasn’t making much of an effort. He breezed through the doorway and stepped into the tiny cafe. In a moment, he’d spotted our little party and made his way across the room to us.

  “Good morning, Alexa,” he said, that accent nearly melting the clothing off my body.

  “Um. Hi...” I squeaked.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your family?” he asked, smiling brightly, all charm.

  “Oh...Yeah...” I said, turning back to my baffled family members. “Guys, this is—”

  “Jackson Brent!” Max all but shrieked, leaping up from his chair and grabbing Jackson’s hand in a vigorous shake. “Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s actually you!”

  “I promise that it is,” Jackson smiled kindly, “And you are...?”

  “Max,” my brother panted, overwhelmed by the moment, “Max Vansant.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Max,” Jackson said.

  “Dude,” Max went on, “Your music is...Everything you do just...You’re the man!”

  I couldn’t help but grin as my brother babbled on. He tried to play the cool guy so often that it was rather charming to see him all riled up for once.

  “Jackson,” I said, “These are my parents, Jeff and Bonnie.”

  “Charmed,” my mom said, extending her hand.

  “Mrs. Vansant,” Jackson said, accepting her hand, “I’m so happy to meet you.” And before any of us could blink, he’s planted a sweet kiss onto my mother’s hand. A brief moment of amazement overtook the table before my father stepped in.

  “Young man,” he said, in a distinctly lower voice, “You’re the one who’s whisking my daughter
away to Europe?”

  “Dad!” I hissed.

  “I wouldn’t say whisking, sir,” Jackson said, “I’m a huge fan of your daughter’s writing. She’s doing me a huge favor by writing my story.”

  “She is very talented,” my dad agreed, “You’re lucky to have her working for you.”

  “Trust me,” Jackson said, “I know that for a fact.”

  “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” my mom asked. She was being extremely polite, which usually meant that she was testing someone. I didn’t doubt that this encounter was not an exception.

  “I was just in the neighborhood,” Jackson said, “And I wanted to check up on Alexa, here.”

  “Check up?” my dad said, furrowing his brow. “Check up on what?”

  I shot Jackson a quick look that said don’t you dare say anything else. He received the message loud and clear and managed, somehow, to cover.

  “Her packing,” he said, “We leave in a couple of days, after all.”

  “A couple of days?” my mom said, “Alexa, you didn’t mention that part.”

  “Whoops,” I said weakly.

  “Oh dear,” Jackson said, seemingly genuinely distressed, “I apologize, I’ve made things awkward. Here, let me join you and put your minds at ease.”

  He sat down at our table and began to tell my parents exactly why it was a wonderful idea for me to travel with him. I watched as he drew them into his narrative, laying out his case expertly. I watched, amazed, as this world famous rock star humored my parents' anxieties. I didn’t hear a word he was saying, however. The whole time I was too busy wondering, what is your game?

  Jackson paid the check, waving away my dad’s insistence that he pay, and we all made our way back out into the beautiful day. I stared dumbly as my family fondly said farewell to Jackson first, as if he were an old friend of the family. He’d completely bamboozled them! They finally remembered to say goodbye to me, as well, wishing me bon voyage.

  “You still need to be careful,” my dad said, “Just stick close to Jackson while you’re touring.”

  I stared at my father incredulously. Stick with the horny rock star who had already spent the last forty eight hours shamelessly hitting on me? Sure. Why not.

  “Call us once in a while,” my mom said, “So we can know you’re OK. I’m sure nothing will go wrong with Jackson there with you, but you never know about these things.”

  I could scarcely believe that these words were coming out of my mother’s mouth. This was the same woman who had calmly explained the entire feminist movement to me when I was seven. Now here she was, charmed pantsless by some tool with a good accent?

  “Alex,” Max said, “You’re the luckiest person I know. Have an awesome time!”

  “Thanks...” I said. Could none of them see beyond Jackson’s polite exterior to the dog that lurked inside? He had a worldwide reputation for being a complete and utter womanizer, but they were treating him like some gentleman who had come to propose a courtship. I half expected them to sit us down on a porch swing together and insist that we drink lemonade, for Christ’s sake.

  “You take good care of her!” my mom said as the three of them walked away from us.

  “Don’t worry,” Jackson said, “I’ll take better care of her than anyone ever has.”

  “Is that a promise?” I hissed, when my family was finally out of earshot.

  “You bet,” Jackson sneered, the nice boy facade melting away in the warm spring air.

  “What the hell was all that?” I said, rounding on him.

  “What?” Jackson said, “I was trying to make a good impression!”

  “There was absolutely no reason for you to meet my parents,” I said, “That was entirely uncalled for! God, you are so presumptuous. You just walk into a room and expect people to fawn all over you, just because you’re famous.”

  “Well to be fair, they usually do,” Jackson said, sticking his hands into his pockets and fishing out an expensive pair of sunglasses to mask his identity. Not that anyone would be likely to recognize him without his grungy stage clothes.

  “By the way,” I said, folding my arms across my chest, “Have you ever considered an acting career? Since we’ve met, I think I’ve seen about five different Jacksons in play. Which one are you today?”

  “The one who wanted to make sure you were still alive after swallowing a bathtub full of booze last night,” he said, not-too-nicely. “You sure do know how to go overboard.”

  I blushed furiously. “Well, I had some egging on, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t blame me,” he said, “You’re going to need to get better about controlling yourself in Europe, or else you’ll end up humping some roadie in the bathroom.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said.

  “No problem,” he replied.

  “Why didn’t you try anything with me last night?” I blurted.

  “What, when you were crawling all over me?” he asked. “I want you to trust me. That’s why I didn’t touch you. That’s why I came over here in my Sunday best to put your folks at ease. I need you to trust me completely if I’m going to trust you enough to write this story.”

  “Oh...” I said. It was impossible to know whether he was telling the truth. For all I knew, this could just be another layer of his deceit. But for the time being, I decided to take my chances.

  “Nice morning for a walk,” he said, “Care to join me?”

  “You can drop the nice guy act,” I said, as we started off down the sidewalk.

  “Oh, thank god,” he said, letting out a huge breath of air, “That shit is absolutely exhausting.”

  I shook my head in wonder at this enigma of a person. As we made our way through the East Village together, my fingers ached to reach for his, but I managed to keep them at bay. Like Jackson had said, I needed to get better about controlling myself, especially around him.

  Chapter Four

  My final days in New York leading up to the trip flew by in a flurry of activity. There was so much to take care of that it didn’t seem like I could possibly prepare myself in time. I’d always been an extremely organized, methodical person. This entire Jackson Brent bonanza was throwing me off my game, big time. Not only had this man managed to get under my skin like no one else ever had, he’d managed to worm into every single aspect of my life.

  My thoughts were never more than a breath away from him. And even when I demanded that we not see each other until takeoff, so that I could get my life in order before running off to Europe, his visage still invaded my dreams whenever I closed my eyes. I’d never had such steamy dreams in my life. Most mornings I woke up blushing from my ears to my toes.

  Kellan had not come down from cloud nine ever since I agreed to take on Jackson’s story. My last day at work, he had actually bought me a cake to celebrate my forthcoming story. He was absolutely giddy that The Beat would be getting the exclusive on Jackson Brent. And though I tried to feign some sort of professional indifference, I was starting to warm up to the idea. Who knew how things would go down in Europe, but whatever happened, I’d be walking away with a jackpot story all my own. This was the kind of thing that journalists dreamed of their entire lives. Finally, I might be considered a real reporter. And the way I saw it, a little romantic frustration was well worth the payoff.

  “Any final words of wisdom?” I’d asked Kellan before I left for my sojourn.

  “Yes,” Kellan said, laying his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t let him get to you.”

  “W-what?” I sputtered.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” Kellan said firmly, “Musical genius or no, Jackson Brent is a monster with women. The only reason I feel secure in sending you is that you’re strong enough not to bend to his will.”

  “Right,” I muttered.

  “Stay strong, be safe,” he said, “Don’t do any coke. Brush your teeth—”

  “I get the picture,” I said, giving Kellan a big hug. In the time we’d known each other
, he’d become like a big brother to me. “I’ll miss you, man,” I said.

  “We’ll miss you here, too,” he said, “No one else knows how to use the coffee machine.”

  And on those fond words we had parted for a long four weeks. As much as I loved my job at The Beat, there was a lightness that came over me when I walked out of the office. I hoped that wasn’t a sign of me outgrowing the magazine. I could never break Kellan’s heart by leaving, no matter how big I got. Thank god Hadley was around to keep my ego in check as I prepared for the trip. With her frank, caring honesty, I’d never forget my place in the world. We spent the night before I was to fly out of New York packing my suitcases. She was lending me half her wardrobe for the trip.

  “If you dress like a yuppie bitch,” she said, “They’re going to treat you like a yuppie bitch.”

  “But I kind of am a yuppie bitch,” I insisted, “And I kind of like it.”

  “Alex,” Hadley said, as she folded up a ripped baby doll tee that would barely clear my boobs, “If you’re going to get a good story out of this thing, you’re going to need to blend in. You’re going to need them to believe that you’re one of them.”

  “You make it sound like I’m headed to Mars, not London,” I said.

  “You may as well be,” she insisted, “Alex, have you ever hung out with people remotely like this?

  “Sure,” I said, “I’m a music writer, Hadley. I’ve interviewed all kinds of musicians.”

  “You interview folk darlings and nerdy synth players,” she said, cocking an eyebrow, “These guys are an entirely different breed. Trust me, I know a thing or two about rock stars. I’ve never had anyone as big as Jackson Brent, but I’ve come mighty close. These guys, Alex, they’re built up by the entire world to be super human. The expectations people have for them are completely unattainable, but that doesn’t stop the guys from trying to meet them. In their minds, they have the entire world resting on their shoulders. They’re like a pack of Atlases, with the muscles, and the great hair, and the enormous burden. Rock stars are tragedies waiting to happen. They have a one hundred percent failure rate, because try as they might, they’ll never live up to what people expect of them. They’ll never be anything but human, no matter how hard they try.”