by Rye Hart
My nonchalance to his celebrity status should also play in my favor.
If I could nail this interview, then I stood a real chance of helping this man.
There was always a trigger for why people delved into substance abuse, yes. But there was also always a personal reason for why they stayed in it. The first step to being able to help someone with a substance problem was getting them to admit they had one in the first place. No one could help those who couldn’t admit they needed it. If I could get Drake Blackthorn to admit he had an issue, it was easy to get him help. Fifty percent of the work of getting sober was admitting there was an issue in the first place, and I could tell by the look in his eyes in those interviews that he knew he had an issue.
I just needed to prepare myself from the anger and backlash that I knew would come my way from Drake. Celebrities had big egos, and they last thing they wanted was anyone telling them what to do – especially a student.
Nothing like jumping in with both feet.
CHAPTER 3
Drake
The sunlight streaming in through the window caught my attention. My body rose to the occasion, alerting me to the ranch life that needed tending to. It was a part of my past life that I stilled struggled to erase.
It brought me peace, so I just kept going back to it. It wasn’t like I couldn't afford to hire help - I could hire a bus load of full-time laborers, but I didn’t feel the need.
Animals needed to be fed and horses needed to be run. Crops needed watered, some picked, and vacant acres needed to be fertilized to replenish their nutrients. Life didn’t stop when I wasn’t on tour. If I wasn’t touring and pleasing the crowds, I was breaking my back on this ranch.
I sprawled out, allowing the sun to graze over the scars on my legs, illuminating the parts of my skin I could still feel and coldly throwing me back to that damn accident.
The accident that almost took my fucking leg off. Drinking and tractors don't mix apparently. Who knew?
Groaning, I rose up in bed. My head was pounding from the birds chirping at my window. If I had a pellet gun, I would’ve shot their asses off the fucking sill. They needed to shut up so I could wake up in peace.
I pulled myself from bed and shuffled into the bathroom. Getting my eyes to open the first day back from a tour was not easy. I’d gotten used to sleeping in, napping whenever I wanted, and performing instead of getting my hands dirty on farm. I splashed some water in my face and felt the stubble growing on my chin.
Luckily, on the ranch, I didn’t have to worry about shaving every damn day.
Dragging on a pair of jeans and my boots, I reached for a shirt I could get mud all over after running circles around the horses. I headed down to the kitchen to find something to eat, praying we had some damn coffee I could lay my hands on. I was looking forward to talking with Paul, catching up with my old school friend and figuring out what all had gone on at the ranch while I’d been off touring.
But Paul was like clockwork, so it shouldn’t have shocked me that he was already out with the cattle.
Grabbing the lukewarm coffee pot, I poured myself a cup and stuck it in the microwave. I watched Paul wrangle up the pregnant heifers as the vet’s truck came rumbling across the field. There were four pregnant ones when I left, but I saw Paul had rounded up seven.
Guess our bull was taking advantage of the prime time.
Grinning, I pulled my coffee out of the microwave. I drank it down, grimacing at the heat as it burned my throat. It was the type of pain I looked forward to every morning. It helped to wake me up until the caffeine could kick in and relieved my head of the pounding ache.
But once I finished slamming it all back, I heard voices coming from the living room. Hank was talking to my sister, Elsie. I didn't want to deal with Hank, but I felt bad for neglecting my sister. I'd been gone for months, finally come home and spend my first day back hungover. Yeah, I felt like a real asshole.
“What was your book about?” Hank asked.
“Human behavior. I’m trying to figure out why people lie,” Elsie said.
“Why would you be interested in something like that?” Hank asked.
“I was told people sometimes lie when the person they are talking to is not trustworthy, but I think I am someone who is easy to talk to. Do you think I’m easy to talk to, Hank?”
“I think you’re very easy to talk to, Elsie. So, what did you come up with?”
“People lie for four main reasons. One is to protect someone, another is to protect themselves. Another reason is to gain a strategic advantage, and the other is to hide.”
“To hide?” Hank asked. “What do you mean?”
“For some people, lying is a personal advantage. It helps them to—”
I hung onto my sister’s every word as she stopped in her tracks. It happened a lot with her. Her autism made some things difficult for her to process. Like wrinkles in her socks. She hated wrinkles in her socks and constantly described it as a feeling of sandpaper against her legs. If there was a wrinkle in her sock at any moment, she would have to stop and fix it, otherwise, she couldn’t focus. As intelligent as she was in some areas, she was absolutely childlike in others. That was the push and pull of autism.
She was like that with a lot of things, and I listened as Hank helped her with her current issue.
Her fingers were sticky from the pastry he had brought her from her favorite bakery.
I set my mug in the kitchen sink as I walked into the room. Elsie’s head was on a swivel, her eyes darting everywhere as Hank wiped off her hands. Elsie was trying to get away from him, pulling and tugging as he tried to clean off her hands.
“You’re replacing one issue with another,” I said.
Hank whipped his head up as he let go of Elsie’s hands.
“It’s wet,” Elsie said.
“What would you like to use to wipe your hands off, sis?” I asked, my voice calm. I already knew the answer, but I tried to give my sister some sense of independence, to allow her to voice her own thoughts and opinions without making choices for her. She was perfectly capable of doing so, even if so many people, Hank included, treated her like she didn't.
“The towel in the closet. It’s red and yellow. Not the one with the polka dots, but the one with the stripes. It has to be the one with the stripes. The one with the polka dots—”
“Is for your shower,” we both said in unison.
Elsie shot me an appreciative grin, nodding her head. I smiled back. My sister needed some help with day-to-day things, it's why she moved in with me, but she wasn't dependent on me. Not entirely. Besides, I liked having her around. I was one of the few people who got her and didn't treat her like she was broken.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Hank?”
“Yep?”
“She’s not a fucking child. She can clean off her own damn hands,” I said.
Hank followed me as I made my way to the hallway closet. I shoved towels aside and reached toward the back of the closet. Elsie always put her things far out of sight, so scared of anyone else touching them. If she thought for one second someone had used her stuff, it had to be thrown away, and a new one had to be purchased. So, she tried to minimize the effects by pushing her things to the back.
“When you’re done, you need to get dressed,” Hank said.
“A step ahead of you, since you’re not staring at my bare ass right now,” I said.
“Into something nice. You’re coming with me this morning.”
“Gotta help Paul,” I said, as I found Elsie’s rag.
I shut the closet door and handed off the towel to my sister.
“Thank you, Hank. I am going to go finish my book now. I’m about to start the chapter on human behavior entitled, ‘Love.’”
“When you master that concept, I’ll make us a pot of coffee, and you can explain it to me,” I said. “I'm sure you have some fascinating insights.”
“I will definitely let you know when I’m done,�
�� Elsie said.
She sat down at her desk but waited until we left to begin typing. She didn't like to write with people around, it distracted her. I motioned for Hank to follow me out of the room, and said, “Love you, sis,” before closing the door behind her.
When we reached the hall, I turned back to Hank, a scowl on my face.
“So, where are we headed that requires me to dress nicely?” I asked.
“We’re going into town. It’s a surprise,” Hank said.
“Meaning if you tell me now, I probably wouldn’t agree to it.”
“Yep. Now get a move on it. I want you in one of those fancy hats of yours, a nicer pair of boots, and a button-down.”
“Am I performing somewhere?” I asked.
“Nope. Now go get dressed.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were heading into town. I was driving my truck, and Hank was grumbling about it in the back. I told him he wasn’t gonna sit up front and bitch in my ear the entire ride, and he didn’t believe I’d put him in the backseat.
Now, he was grumbling because I held up my end of the bargain.
“Take a left here.”
“Right. Right-right-right!”
“You missed it. Turn around. It was that street by the church.”
“You’re not worth a shit at giving directions,” I said.
“Payback for making me sit back here,” Hank said.
We pulled into a building that said P.A. or P.R. or some shit like that. I groaned as my head fell back, my truck rolling into a space. Fucking Hank. Of course, he would drag me to this bullshit. I didn’t think he was actually serious about hiring someone like this for me. I was fine. I was back at the farm. What the fuck did I need someone like this for?
“I’m not going inside,” I said.
“Yes, you are. We’re interviewing some people today,” Hank said.
“No, you’re interviewing people today. I’m going and getting breakfast.”
“You already had breakfast.”
“I had microwaved coffee. Hardly a breakfast,” I said.
“Your fault for sleeping in late.”
“Late? I woke up at nine, asshole.”
“Paul was out the fucking door by seven this morning,” he said.
“How the fuck would you know that?” I asked.
“Because I know Paul. He’s always out the damn door by seven in the morning. The man thrives on routine. Now get your ass inside, or I’ll drag you in by your ear. I’m sure someone would love a picture of that.”
“Asshole.”
“Come on,” he said.
I climbed out of the truck and made my way into the building, making sure Hank knew exactly how unhappy I was with the whole thing. Hank responded by opening doors for me like some kind of a big-dicked asshole, making me look like some sort of diva. We walked through the main lobby of this sprawling office space and stepped into an elevator. Hank pressed the button marked seven and away we went, rising up the massive metal encasing to meet whoever the hell Hank was gonna hire to fix me.
“So—what’s this person supposed to be doing for me?” I asked.
“I’m hiring you a P.A. today. An assistant, of sorts. They’re gonna help you get your schedule together, help you balance your touring and your farm. Help you manage time and get your shit together so you can be a presentable person to society.”
“I’m pretty presentable,” I said.
“You drink too much, and you can carry a tune in a bucket. Good for you. But it’s time that nice country man persona actually became the real deal. Your facade is cracking, and the tabloids are starting to notice. You can only use your wife as an excuse for so long, Drake. You need to get your shit together, for real.”
“Don't you fucking bring Shannon into this--” I growled.
Hank dug something out of his bag and slammed it against my chest. There was an article about me sprawled across the front page. ‘Daddy Needs More Beer,’ the headline read, and it had a picture of me tipping up a beer to my lips at the last concert I did.
“Oh, whatever. They’re just pissed because I’m raking in the dough,” I said.
“No one’s pissed in this article, Drake. But the way the media labels you will affect your career. You think you got it good now, just wait until you fall from whatever heaven you think this is. You’ll be the broke ranch owner trying to scrape together two dollars for your sister’s chewing gum habit if you don’t watch it.”
“You leave my fucking sister out of this, old man,” I said. “I’ll take care of her no matter what.”
“Yeah, but you won’t be able to afford Tammy if you play your cards wrong. That woman has helped your sister more than any of the rest of us combined. Including you. You wanna keep your sister’s caretaker around? Then you’ll fucking put on your best smile and sit through these damn interviews with me.”
The elevator doors opened onto a quiet level as heads turned our way. People were already gawking and snapping pictures, with women chattering while their cheeks blushed. I tipped my hat to them, and they smiled big for me.
I grinned at all of them as I followed Hank through the aisles. Always had to play my part in this little charade.
“Sit down right here. I’m gonna go talk to someone,” Hank said.
“Yes, Momma. I’ll be here when you get back,” I said.
Hank shot me a look before he walked off, trying to find whoever the hell was in charge of this gaggle of girls. Even though there was a crowd of them forming at the corner of the hallway, there was one girl that seemed wholly unimpressed
I turned my head and took her in as she sat at her desk. Her hands were on her knees, and her back was straight. She was scanning something on the screen as she tapped her long, slim fingers on her thigh. She was so prim and proper.
She also didn't seem to be tripping over herself to catch my attention, which I had to say, was unusual considering the circumstances.
My cock tightened in my pants, and I mentally cursed myself for it. Still, she was a stunner, I had to give her that. Her honey blonde hair was pulled back in a side-braid, resting over her shoulder. Her legs were long, and her frame was small, but with just a hint of feminine curves.
“All right, Drake. There are a few girls here who accepted the job posting. I’m going to sit down with them while you stay here, and when I come back, we’ll have you a P.A.”
“Who’s she?” I asked.
The girl in the chair turned and looked at me, her beautiful green eyes connecting with mine as she cocked her head. She was studying me, her eyes running up and down my body. I was waiting for her cheeks to blush, for that goofy smile to spread across her face under my gaze like I was used to. She gave me nothing, and my interest deepened. Hank’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“Delia Jakobson? She was one of the more qualified applicants, and the one I was planning to interview first.” Hank said.
“Then the only way I’m agreeing to any of this is if you hire her.”
The woman turned back to her computer screen, going back to studying whatever it was she was looking at before I had caught her attention.
I had a plan. Hank was determined to get me a personal assistant. Fine by me. That didn’t mean I couldn’t make the girl quite after I gave her hell. The reason I wanted her was because she didn’t appear interested in me. I could trust that she wouldn't do everything in her power to get in my pants.
This Delia didn't look like the type to fuck around, which was good because I wouldn’t feel bad about giving her hell. We were going to be spending lots of time together, and all I wanted to do was have her decide in no uncertain terms that she couldn’t work for a man like me. That was my plan.
“Fine. I’ll go tell her boss that she’s our pick,” he said.
CHAPTER 4
Delia
I had all of my paperwork ready for the interview as the elevator doors dinged open. I could hear the other women in the office squealing and giggling amongs
t themselves as they gathered at the corner of the hallway. I wanted to make it a point not to bombard him, not to act like his fame altered me in any way. I knew it would set me apart.
I sat at my desk with my hands in my lap, reading the latest article on Drake Blackthorn. It was a review of his latest concert, where he had apparently climbed onto a giant speaker and picked a woman out of the crowd. That woman was pulled aside for an interview, and the things she was saying were interesting, to say the least. Tour busses and naked women, dicks hanging out and booze flowing freely, drugs being snorted, food being devoured, and the guys kicking most of the girls off the bus in the middle of nowhere.
It was a terrible article, and it made me wonder if he had read it yet.
As I lifted my eyes to take a breath from the article, I could hear the gaggle of women growing closer. I felt someone’s gaze on me and turned my eyes, finding none other than Drake Blackthorn himself staring at me. The miniature crowd of women surrounding him didn’t pull his attention in the slightest.
His eyes were hooked onto mine, and I shifted in my seat. I briefly wondered what he was thinking, but from the look in his eyes, I could tell he was puzzling over why I wasn’t fawning all over him.
I turned my eyes back to the article, picking up where I left off as I tried to clear my mind.
I had to admit, he was sexy, in an off-limits kind of way. He was nowhere near my type and way too cocky for his own good, but he had a pull about him that was unmistakable. I could see why women went crazy for him. He was tall and strong. His legs were spread wide, showing off the girth that pressed against his jeans. Even un-erect, it still hung past the middle seam of his pants
I side-glanced him, taking him in as he got to his feet. He began signing autographs as the women crowded around him.
I was here for a job and nothing more, but he was going to be hard to work with. A job like this would most certainly pay for the rest of my college degree. It might even leave enough to set me up with a nice savings account to go into the real world with, but would the aggravation be worth it?
