by Cora Kenborn
Fame and Obsession
Lords of Lyre, Book 1
Cora Kenborn
Fame and Obsession
Copyright © 2016 by Cora Kenborn.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: October 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-845-3
ISBN-10: 1-68058-845-1
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to little girls everywhere who had a dream and grew up to find that life got in the way of it. You may be wondering now if your time has passed.
It hasn’t. Close your eyes and leap.
To those who said I’d never push past the first few chapters and that I’d have an easier time being struck by lightning than being published.
I’d take cover if I were you.
Finally, to those who’ve read my articles, social media posts, texts, or emails and giggled with repeated responses of, “When are you going to write a book, girl?”
You’re holding it.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
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Prologue
Wings of Hope Bereavement Chat Room
February 2014
AngelMia: You’ve been gone lately. Missed you in chat room, Jag.
Jaggulyre4: Busy with my job. Things are nuts; we have to hire someone new.
AngelMia: How’s the hunt going?
Jaggulyre4: Not good, no one fits the bill. No one will fill his shoes.
AngelMia: You will find a fit. Have faith. I do.
Jaggulyre4: Hate to say that I won’t be in chat much for a while. My friends are pissed that work is suffering from computer time. I’ll try to check in when I can.
AngelMia: NO!
Jaggulyre4: Sorry, Mia. Thanks for helping me the past few months. It’s still hard, but I’ve got to start figuring things out. I’ll log on whenever I can to check on you.
AngelMia: I need you.
Jaggulyre4: You’ll be fine, Mia. You’ve done amazing since your brother’s accident and made great progress. I won’t be too far away, I promise.
AngelMia: Things aren’t so simplistic. Everything must fit perfectly, step by step. This is my step, Jag. It’s my beginning and your end.
Jaggulyre4: Don’t think of it as an ending. I’m really proud of you, Mia. Take care of yourself, okay?
Jaggulyre4 has logged off
AngelMia: I’ll be with you, watching and waiting. When the time is right, you’ll come back to me, or I’ll find you. Your Angel, Mia
Chapter One
Phoebe
“Belvedere on the rocks with two limes!” I screamed over the techno beat vibrating from every corner.
He held up two fingers in question. “Belvedere on the rocks two times?”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Hoisting myself up onto the wooden bar, I crooked my finger and motioned the bartender closer. His ear hovered inches above my mouth as I screamed loudly over the pounding music. “Limes!”
Jerking his head back and rolling his eyes, he focused on fulfilling a mountain of table-service drink tickets. Irritated, I checked my phone for a third time, verifying that Heath Vaughn was late. Just perfect. I never wanted to interview the has-been boy-band asshole in the first place, so the fact he chose to make some grand entrance grated on my last nerve.
A sudden clink of glass diverted my attention, and I offered an apologetic smile to the bartender as he handed me my drink. I imagined it would probably end up being the crooning come-back kid’s only saving grace with me. My patience had run its course.
Scanning the perimeter, I silently cursed the dim lighting while lifting a toast to what would hopefully be a brief interview.
Giving up, I leaned a hip against the bar and sighed. The man could have a spotlight on him and I probably wouldn’t give him a second glance. The drink rested against my curved lips as they smirked against the glass. I had to be the shittiest entertainment reporter in the city.
Downing the drink, I took in a sweeping view of Club Vanquish. Unofficially dubbed the trendiest new local hotspot, it sat tucked away in an unassuming building that lacked all of the glitz and glamour of a normal New York City nightclub. While the plain brick exterior implied simplicity, inside, strobe lights illuminated a hardwood dance floor, and rows of velvet furniture lined the walls.
Squinting through the darkness, my eyes landed on an upper level complete with its own bar and seating area. Only a few silhouettes lined the area—unlike the herd of cattle that meandered around me. The forbidden Narnia intrigued me as it sat nestled high above the action.
Contemplating a closer look, I leaned higher onto the wooden bar and gasped when a pair of strong hands wrapped around my waist from behind. As my pulse raced, I reminded myself I wasn’t helpless anymore and came prepared for unwanted attention. Slowly, I reached for my purse.
A pair of lips reeking of booze grazed my ear. “What goes up, must come down.”
I shifted my nose away from the offending mouth and resisted the urge to waste volts on its owner. Instead, my self-defense training kicked in and I shoved an elbow in his chest to avoid the eighty-proof breath wafting over me.
“Interesting.” I rested my chin on my shoulder and glared at him. “Did you learn that line in physics class, or was it written on the inside of a Snapple cap?”
An inebriated chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Sass. I like that.” Raking lust-filled eyes over me, he winked at the bartender. “Chuck, put this one’s drinks on
my tab.”
I laughed in his face. The guy stood at an average height with average thinning brown hair, and average shit-brown eyes. He’d had way too much to drink, and I sure as hell wasn’t a defenseless victim anymore. Sass was about to go down a couple of notches on his desired attribute list.
“Actually, Chuck, I’ll pay for my own drink as soon as your friend takes his hands off me,” I corrected.
He let go of my waist and held both hands up in surrender. Seizing the reprieve, I grabbed two bills out of my purse, hesitating when my fingers skimmed the stun gun cleverly disguised as a digital camera tucked inside a hidden pocket. Rejecting the thought, I quickly closed the clasp. A bar was no place to deploy a stunner. Especially since civilian stun gun possession was illegal in New York.
And they called the South backward.
As I handed over the cash, he grabbed my elbow and swung me around. “S’not polite to turn down a drink, baby.”
Jerking my arm out of his grasp, my inner bitch exploded. “Fuck off.”
I’d had a lifetime of proper etiquette reprimands—I didn’t need any from him. Keeping my eyes on him, I slipped my hand back into my purse and released the stunner’s power button with a flick of my thumb.
One. Press. Down.
His grin twisted, and he grabbed a handful of hair resting low on my back. “You’ve got a real smart mouth.” Raising his fist to his face, he inhaled, and flashbacks hit me from all angles. I didn’t register balling up my fingers or pulling my wrist back.
From out of nowhere, a hand caught my clenched fist mid-swing and steadied it.
“Is there a problem? I believe the lady said fuck off,” a voice said behind me.
“Who the hell are you?” My aggressor sneered, clearly annoyed.
Before I could turn around, arms hooked possessively around my waist and pulled me tightly against a hard chest. Hands snapped around the wrist that held my hair, dislodging it and throwing it into the owner’s chest.
“I’m the guy giving you until the count of three to get your bitch-ass hands off my girl.” The first notes of his voice rolled over me smoothly with just enough gravel to weaken my knees. My involuntary reaction to the simple rasp of his tone shocked me.
My aggressor wasn’t intimidated. “What’s up your ass, limp dick?”
The coiled body behind me tensed, ready to detonate. Whoever defended me could hold his own, but I could still take everybody out with one flick of the wrist. Chivalry felt warm and fuzzy but I learned a long time ago that one hundred and fifty volts felt electric and twitchy.
Turning my chin to the side, I whispered on an exhale, “It’s fine, I’ve got this.”
A low laugh against my neck curled my toes. “You so don’t got this.” His chest rumbled as a strong hand ran skilled fingers around my hair. I tilted my chin, watching his eyes harden. “You’re up my ass, shit-for-brains. Don’t ever touch what’s mine.” He shifted his lips against my ear. “Right, baby?”
One suitor tested my patience, but two pushed my limit. I opened my mouth to tell him off when he stole the moment and pressed his lips against mine. Resisting, I murmured veiled threats as he pulled me toward him. The impromptu kiss dissolved into failed waves of aggression, and I inexplicably responded to him. Before I knew it, I’d wrapped my arms around his neck.
After a few heartbeats of kissing a complete stranger, I finally regained what dignity I had left, shoved his chest, and faced him with fire blazing in my eyes. He snickered and waved as my aggressor stalked off. Shooting him a death glare, I reached for my drink. After scanning for witnesses, I brought it to my lips and drained it.
“Thirsty?” He smirked.
“What the hell was that?”
He snatched the drink out of my hands, giving me a wink before tipping it back for the last drop. “You weren’t exactly pushing me away. Besides, I just saved your ass. Heath Vaughn was inches from having a hand up that thing you call a dress.”
“I didn’t ask for your help!” I bit back. “I don’t even know who the hell you—wait, who?”
“Somebody had to step in or you’d have spent the night in jail with that concealed, illegal shit in your purse. You’re telling me you didn’t know that was Vaughn? Maybe because we haven’t time-warped back to his 1995 five minutes of fame.” He walked past me with a smirk plastered across his face.
Struggling to catch up with him, I grabbed his shoulder in disbelief. “That’s a joke, right?”
“Afraid not. Vaughn in the flesh, and apparently in the sauce too. Why do you care so much what he thinks?” He eyed me curiously, his jade-green eyes knocking me breathless.
Finally allowing myself a full look at him, I quickly averted my eyes before he could see my racing pulse reflected in them. Chaotic chocolate spiked hair pointed in every direction and hinted at a carefully constructed morning-after look. A small silver earring caught flashes of light in the darkness and tattoos decorated each uncovered arm. Remembering to breathe became a chore.
“Because I’m screwed!” I shouted, frantically waving my phone. “My boss is already pissed at me, and I was supposed to meet Vaughn here for an interview, and—why am I telling you this?”
“Calm down.” He grinned, revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek. “Look, the dude’s so far tanked he won’t remember he was here, much less you were. Give me your phone.”
“I’m not giving you my phone. I don’t even know you.”
Rolling his eyes, he snatched my phone out of my hands. “Didn’t stop you from making out with me, did it?” He scanned the email I’d been checking all night. Typing furiously, his lips curved upward and he handed it back. “All fixed.”
“What did you do?” Thankfully, previous defense training taught me to never label emails with personal information. In the darkness, he’d never scroll back far enough to know my name.
“Why must you question brilliance?” he countered with a sigh. “You sent him an email concerned for his safety since he never showed for your interview. You waited but had to leave because you actually work for a living. You’d love to reschedule since you’re such a huge fan and were disappointed at the missed opportunity to hear all about his crap-ass reality show, since I assume that’s all he would’ve wanted to talk about.”
I could’ve kissed him—if I hadn’t already. “You’re an evil genius.”
“So I’ve been told.”
With the realization of our awkward meeting hitting us, we both opened our mouths to speak when a familiar, yet inebriated, voice rang out.
“Baby doll, I’ve been looking for you. You promised me a drink.”
Gage Harlow had impeccably inconvenient timing. We’d been living together only five months but he’d situated himself into my life and home like he owned them both. He’d quickly become my rock, and I clung to him. But right now, I needed to get rid of my rock so I could return to the sex god behind me. I held up one finger to him, indicating I’d just be a moment, then turned my focus toward my roommate.
Gage faced a table of cat-calling men and tapped his foot. “I’m not getting any younger, here.”
I narrowed accusing eyes. “Wanna tell me why you ditched me for the last hour?”
“Because it’s not my job to interview lyrical douche bags in the social mecca of the free world. I’m allowed to have fun, Pheebs.”
Chewing on my lower lip, I leaned against him. “I’m fighting off octopus-hands because you talked me into wearing hooker heels.”
“The New York club scene’s not sensible shoe domain.” He smirked as floppy chin-length blond hair escaped from behind his ear and dusted over his right eye. “Besides, you could use a few testicles in your life.”
“That’s tentacles, Gage.” I stifled a laugh and gestured to my dress. “I look like I should be in Times Square passing out hotel keys.” The outfit he’d dressed me in earlier had a hem somewhere between flirtatious and gynecological exam.
He raised an eyebrow in annoyance. “For
the love of God, Pheebs, you need to loosen the hell up. You’re so tight-assed, if you don’t chill, you’re gonna crap a diamond by the end of the night.”
Uncontrollable laughter overtook me, and I gave him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. “Fine, Club Whore Barbie stays.”
Hooking his arm through mine, he nodded toward the table of guys who’d been watching our entire conversation. “There might be one for you, but most are for me.”
I pinched his side. “You’re such a slut.” Out of the corner of my eye, a gathering line of females caught my attention. I nodded in their direction, anxious to get rid of him and continue the conversation he’d interrupted. “You go ahead. I wanna check my makeup.”
Gage squeezed my hand, oblivious to the sinfully gorgeous man standing behind us. “You okay, Phoebe?”
“Yeah.” I managed a laugh while nodding toward the table of watchful eyes. “Go get ’em, killer.” Once Gage had made his way toward his fan club, I took a steady breath and turned my attention back to my rescuer, only to be met with a vacant space.
My heart plummeted, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Dejected, I wandered toward the columns. The night had proved to be a smashing success. I’d gotten manhandled by a drunk pop star, made out with a gorgeous stranger who took off the moment my back was turned, and now I stood a mile deep in line for a three-stalled bathroom.
Yep, the night is one big ‘up yours.’
Inconspicuously, I scanned the club for another bathroom. My gaze came to rest on a tiny iron spiral staircase. Whatever was up there had to have shorter lines.
Fluffing the back of my hair, I took the first tentative step. My lips tingled, and inexplicably my heart sped up.
I could feel eyes on me.
