My Fake Rockstar Boyfriend (Rock and Rogues, #1)

by Remy, Cate

  His left eyebrow rose. “We’ll see, won’t we? Make sure you’re at Peachtree Records on Tuesday at six PM. We’re going to start recording. I’ll see if Ash can get a pass for you at the front desk.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Talk about quick. Tracy wasn’t keeping track of time, but she didn’t think she was at Deacon’s house longer than a half hour. The valet stood outside waiting with her keys and car.

  “Remember what I said,” Deacon talked as she stepped out of the mansion. “Listen to our music to know what I’m about.”

  “Whatever you say,” she muttered under her breath. Given the arrogance he continued to display, she didn’t think there was much more to him than that.

  TRACY SHOWED UP AT her job at the coffee house three days later for the afternoon shift. Her co-worker Jamar watched her as she clocked in. “Something’s different about you. What is it? Got another hot date tonight?”

  She reached for her apron on one of the pegs on the wall behind the counter. “What makes you think I have a date?”

  “Because you look really happy to be here, and this isn’t exactly an amusement park.”

  She tied the apron around her waist. “I don’t have a hot date. However, you could say I have a cool gig.”

  Jamar maintained his nosy nature. “You got another side hustle for your photography?”

  “Right. I want to turn it into more than a hobby.”

  “You know your work’s good. Stop talking it down.”

  “Thanks for being encouraging. I’m just trying to be ambitious.”

  “Tracy Jordan, the next Irving Penn.” Jamar chuckled as the door to the shop chimed. His smile faded as his eyes enlarged. “Is that who I think it is?”

  She followed the direction of his eyes and was pretty sure her expression mirrored her coworker’s when Deacon entered the coffee shop. A burly security guard followed him inside, blocking the door until he shuffled to the front counter.

  Customers inside looked at him and murmured. He looked tired this afternoon. A couple days’ growth of beard gave his face a rugged look. He covered his mouth to yawn. The action made the short sleeve of his black t-shirt rise up to reveal a dragon tattoo on his bicep. Tracy was closest to the counter. She felt Jamar give her a push towards the register.

  “Hey.” She remembered the proper greeting. “Welcome to Jumpy Java. What can I get for you?”

  Deacon blinked and appeared to recognize her for the first time. He made a wrinkle appear in the middle of his forehead. “You work here?”

  “It appears so.”

  “How many jobs do you have?”

  A cool feeling washed over her. She did her best to bite back a smarty pants reply. “Hustling for a buck is trendy these days.” One came out anyway. She changed the subject. “So, what can I get you?”

  He read the menu behind her before giving it a dismissive wave. “Just give me an almond milk latte with three shots of espresso.”

  “One almond milk latte with three shots of espresso.” She put the order into the cash register. “Just a moment and I’ll have your total.”

  He slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change. I’ll be over in the corner waiting for my drink.” He plodded over to the rear left wall, where a billboard advertised the weekly poetry reading at the coffee shop. His security walked after him.

  Tracy put his money in the register, got change, and placed it in the tip jar. Jamar came up to her and spoke in a hushed tone while she made Deacon’s latte. “Is that really who I think it is?”

  “Probably.” She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him fanboying over the fact Deacon visited the shop. “Can you hand me the almond milk?”

  He pushed it her way across the back counter. “You know, I went to a Deacon Wonder concert during my high school senior year. He didn’t look tired and worn out like he does now. Wonder what’s wrong with him?”

  “Beats me.” Tracy glanced at the rock star seated in the corner. If she had to guess, he was up late last night partying or something. Weren’t rock stars known to live it up while everyone else was asleep? “All I know is he needs a caffeine fix.”

  “You can’t call him up to the counter to get his coffee.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why. He’s famous. The coffee has to be brought to him. I can’t do it.”

  “I guess I have to then.” Tracy finished steaming the almond milk and poured it in the cup already loaded with a triple dose of espresso. “Be right back.”

  Other customers were coming into the store and placing their orders. She went around them with the coffee cup and went to Deacon’s little corner of the shop. His security guard sat at a table beside him playing solitaire on his phone.

  “Here’s your latte,” Tracy announced when she stood over him.

  His head rose at the sound of her voice. He had a notebook with a bunch of music symbols and scribbles on the table. He rubbed his eyes before reaching out to take the cup from her. As he did, his slightly calloused fingertips brushed her hand. “Be prepared for me to order a refill.”

  She shoved her hand in her apron pocket, ignoring the tingly sensation that ran up her arm. “Busy day?”

  “I’m trying to put together guitar chords for a song before we start recording.” He indicated to the notebook on the table.

  “How’s it going?”

  “So far, the chords are winning.”

  “Maybe the latte will get the gears turning for you.”

  He murmured something unintelligible before taking a sip and staring out the window. Tracy left him and returned to the counter. She caught Jamar as he slipped his cell phone into his apron pocket. “Did you just take a picture?”

  Her co-worker wore a little smile on his face. “Maybe.”

  “Who said you could do that?”

  “It’s my phone.”

  “Can I at least see the picture?”

  “You and everyone else can see it in a second. I just uploaded it to Photogram.”

  Tracy whipped out her own phone and brought up the app. Sure enough, when she found Jamar’s page, she discovered the new photo of herself and Deacon. Jamar had taken it right as she passed the latte cup to Deacon and their hands were touching. Jamar captioned the shot The Barista and the Reclining Rock Star. He went so far as to tag her name, the band Deacon Wonder, and hashtag #jumpyjavacoffee. The picture had already received one hundred likes and twenty shares.

  “Cool, isn’t it? I’m going to go viral.” Jamar stuck out his chest.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. It’s an invasion of privacy.”

  “He came to a public place and got his picture taken. What did he expect?”

  Tracy watched Deacon sip his latte, oblivious to the conversation taking place about him. “Probably to have a cup of coffee in peace.”

  Jamar laughed. “Then he should have stayed home and had one of his assistants run out to get him coffee.”

  Shaking her head, Tracy glanced at the picture again. “I’m removing my name where you tagged me.”

  “People are still going to know it’s you. You work here.”

  She couldn’t argue about that. Even if Jamar did take the photo down, the internet lasted forever. Other people had the picture now.

  “Hey, can a guy get some coffee around here?”

  She didn’t notice another customer came to the front counter. Disgruntled, he folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve been standing here for the past six minutes.”

  She took his order while Jamar went to fill it. As she swiped the customer’s credit card, she stole a peek at Deacon. He was still in the corner drinking his coffee, in his own little world with his notebook of scribbles and guitar chords. She hoped he stayed in his own world for a little while. If he thought the Photogram picture was her idea, it could cost her the new gig.

  Chapter Three

  By the time the next evening rolled
around, the picture of Tracy handing coffee to a sad, hangdog-looking Deacon had been shared all over Photogram. She winced when she saw her image and his had gone viral. She hated being in front of the camera, especially a candid one.

  Before she left to drive to Peachtree Records for the first night of her new job, she read some of the comments Photogram users had posted below the picture. Some were cute. Looks like Jumpy Java has a new sponsor.

  Others were snarky times ten. Deacon is thirty-two going on one hundred and thirty-two, one user quipped. Old man can’t party late anymore. Someone else left a laugh emoji and replied, He’s staying up late crying over his ex Rita Rox.

  Tracy only knew a little about Rita Rox, a punk rocker, and that was only because she was supposed to be one of the headliners for a Rocky’s Live event this past spring. Rita ended up cancelling at the last minute when she got the flu. Then she signed to go on tour with another band. But Tracy didn’t know the woman and Deacon were once together. It she was the reason why Deacon seemed so down, it must’ve been one heck of a heartbreak.

  As she drove into a parking garage a block down from Peachtree Records, she got a notification on her phone. She found an empty space and parked before looking to see who messaged her. Jamar. He sent a link to a celebrity article along with a short message. Remember this?

  Tracy almost tossed the phone into her bag without reading the article, but the headline caught her eye. Dumped Rock Singer Belly Flops From Hotel Window. Deacon’s picture appeared next to it.

  Curiosity ate away at her. With a sigh, she skimmed the short article and learned how Deacon apparently got tipsy and jumped from the fourth floor of a luxury hotel into a swimming pool on New Year’s Eve. He frightened guests partying by the pool and doused the wife of a French diplomat. That got kicked him out of the hotel at the drop of midnight.

  The article went on to speculate why he did it. The article hinted that he and Rita broke up the previous week on Christmas Day after being exclusive for years.

  Tracy snorted. She couldn’t help it. She never understood why rich people, especially rock stars, liked to air their dirty laundry in the craziest ways just to get attention. Well, it looked like this move backfired, or, belly flopped, for Deacon. The article was written a year ago and people were talking about it again on the internet.

  She put her phone away and got out of the car. She wasn’t getting paid to dig up the dirt on Deacon’s personal life. Tracy slung her backpack of camera equipment on and jogged up the block to get to Peachtree Records.

  The skyscraper building loomed over her, the company’s label affixed to the very top of the building for all to see. People filed in past her, dressed in expensive suits while others had on jeans with the designer labels.

  She looked to see if the people going past were musicians she recognized. One woman with short blue hair and a nose ring glanced at her before turning her nose up and moving on. The nose ring flashed in the sunlight. Tracy held on to the chrome rail as she climbed the broad flat steps to go into the main entrance. She got stopped in front of a metal detector by a security guard.

  “Miss, I need you to step through.”

  She complied, setting her backpack on the conveyor belt. At the security guard’s signal, she went through the metal detector. It beeped, resulting in an echo throughout the spacious lobby.

  “It’s been sensitive today.” The first security guard motioned for her to come forward. He picked up a wand next to the conveyor belt while a second guard unzipped her backpack and took out her camera equipment. She kept her facial expression neutral, hoping they didn’t see her irritation at having expensive equipment set casually on the hard table.

  The first security guard moved the wand over her. “All clear. He’s going to finish checking your bag and then you can go through. Do you have a clearance pass?”

  “No, I wasn’t told I needed one. I’m here to take pictures for the band Deacon Wonder.”

  He was unimpressed with her name dropping. “New CEO, new policy. Everyone needs a clearance pass now.”

  “The band’s manager said if I went to the front desk and let them know I was here, they would be able to help me.”

  “Give me your ID and I’ll check with them.”

  “It’s in my backpack.”

  The second security guard found her wallet and handed it to her. She fished out her driver’s license and gave it to the first guard, whose slow walk made it seem like thousands of feet resided between him and the front counter. Meanwhile, the second security guard finished inspecting her backpack. “You can put your stuff away now.” He sat back in his chair, leaving her camera equipment sprawled at the end of the conveyor belt.

  Great. He took everything apart that Tracy had neatly arranged. By the time she got most of her things into her backpack, the first guard came back. He handed her the driver’s license and a laminated card attached to a lanyard.

  “You can have a guest pass for today, but make sure you tell the band’s manager that if they want you to come back, they need to get you security clearance.”

  She put the lanyard around her neck. “I will. Do you know where the recording studio is?”

  “There’s four of them. Go down the hall and take the elevator to the third floor.”

  Tracy hauled her backpack off of the conveyor belt. She walked down the hall as he indicated and glanced up at a large clock on the wall. It told the different times of the world. The security check made her ten minutes late. Not good. She hoped Deacon would understand.

  One minute later, the elevator opened to the third floor. Signs indicating recording studios one through four were labeled on the wall. Which studio were Deacon and the band in?

  She peered through the large rectangular windows of each studio and saw various people seated in front of sprawling tables of recording equipment. Before them were glass panels where musicians were singing into mics or playing instruments. A solo guitarist occupied Studio One. A trio of women were in Studio Two. Tracy kept going and saw a heavy-set man seated before the table and another man standing in the third studio.

  The man who was standing had his back to her. He pushed his hand through dark wavy hair. She squinted through the glass and waited for him to turn. Then she recognized Deacon’s profile and arm tattoos. She knocked on the door. Deacon didn’t turn her way. She tried again and got nothing.

  Of course. The room must be soundproof.

  She tried to get Deacon’s attention by waving. She did this until he did a double-take and spotted her. He said something to the guy at the table and then signaled for the rest of the band behind the window to stop recording. He let Tracy inside.

  “You’re late.”

  “Sorry. Security had to check my backpack.”

  He closed the door behind her. “We’re almost ready for pictures. Luka and Nick are getting the bass and drum solo down for this song.” He made an abrupt turn on his heel and hit one of the thousands of buttons on the table. “Hey, guys, one more time. Let’s get it right on this try.”

  The men heard him through the intercom on the other side of the window. Deacon held up his hand and counted down to three on his fingers. The men launched into a powerful guitar riff and strong drum beat.

  Tracy thought they sounded good. The acoustics seemed great as music filled the space. The guy at the table motioned his head to the beat. Deacon, though, shook his head furiously right to left. He tapped on the intercom button. “Stop. Just stop. It’s all wrong.”

  Nick lifted the strap of his guitar and pulled it off his shoulders. He spoke into the mic. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It sounds like garbage. You’re behind the beat.”

  “I’m playing exactly as you wrote it.”

  “Then I need to make some changes. Take five.” Deacon huffed as he stepped away from the table. “I’ll be in the break room.”

  The man at the table raised his hand to signal that he understood. He looked unperturbed as he whipped out
his phone and went on some social media app.

  Tracy thought Deacon was going to address her next. Instead, he walked right past her to get to the door. She called after him. “Is there a place where you want me to set up?”

  “I don’t know. We’re not doing recording yet.”

  “I can set up while you’re finishing your music. Is there a particular spot in the building where you wanted to take a picture?” She phrased her question deliberately so he would give her a constructive answer.

  Deacon shrugged. “There’s a lounge on this floor where they have band mementos on display. I guess we can take a few pictures there.”

  He guessed. No direction, no planning. These were photo sessions Tracy did not like. She was tempted to ask him where his manager was so she could get a more definitive answer, but she saw his mood and didn’t want to push it. “I’ll see if I can find the lounge.” Then she realized she was talking to the wall because Deacon had already left the studio.

  “WHY CAN’T I GET THIS guitar and drum solo down?” Deacon grumbled to himself as he went into the break room. There, he found Ash seated at the table with his laptop open, typing away at a legal document.

  Ash looked up from the computer screen. “Done already?”

  “I wish. We stink tonight playing. Luka and Nick can’t get their solo down and I gotta tweak the song.”

  “Is the photographer here yet?”

  “Tracy just stopped by, but I told her to wait in the lounge. We’re not ready to take pictures.”

  “You might want to rethink that.”

  “Why?” Deacon didn’t hide his irritation. Ash frequently spoke in cryptic ways. It was annoying.

  “Did you see the photo that went viral on Photogram yesterday?” Ash turned his computer around and showed him.

  Deacon studied the picture of him and Tracy where she handed him his latte. “How many times do I have to look at that?”

  “So you have seen it.”

  “Yep, and I read the internet trolls’ comments about why I looked tired. They can’t cut a guy a break for not wearing a freshly ironed t-shirt or something.”