Fame & Obsession (Lords Of Lyre Book 1)

by Cora Kenborn

  “You have thirty seconds. If you aren’t out there kicking ass, you’d better believe the label will rip up your contract. If that happens, you can count me out as well.”

  “I know.” When her eyes narrowed, he gave her a heavy sigh. “I know, Helena.”

  “Yeah, you know all right. You know I’m always here to clean up your messes.” Shaking her head, she took a step back. “You owe me big for this…if I’m still around.” Resigned, she gave me one last glare before huffing down the hallway. The venue manager trailed hot on her heels, mumbling about legal matters and arrogant artists.

  “What the fuck?” Visibly irritated by the encounter, Julian moved in closer. “I told you before, I never ask a third time, but let’s try this again. Who the hell did you come here to see?”

  “I’m here to cover your band’s album release for my magazine.” His smug face had me ready to spit nails. “I said your band, not you. I had no clue who you were before tonight. In fact, I’m technically not supposed to be the one doing the damn piece. Our music features editor is gonna have my ass on Monday for this, thank you very much.”

  Julian rolled his eyes at my assumption. “Eric Lafontaine is an incompetent asshole who couldn’t interview his own dick if it jumped into his hand.”

  I laughed until the implications of his words set in. “I never mentioned I worked for Vinyl. And I never said Eric Lafontaine’s name.”

  “I’m sure you said something.”

  “Nope,” I cut him off. “I’m pretty damn sure I didn’t.” I leaned my head into the wall. “Oh my god, you’re stalking me at work too, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, stop with the dramatic bullshit, Phoebe.” he said, slightly irritated. “If I was stalking you, I’ve had you alone in a dark hallway with plenty of time to do whatever fucked-up shit I wanted.”

  I pointed a finger at him. “That’s not funny. Besides, I’m here with my roommate.”

  Staying on the offensive with him proved to be a relentless battle of wills. The heated tension between us started to unravel me. Resisting him was hard, but his pompous attitude and ridiculous stalking were way beyond my threshold. Leaned against the wall, I could hear the crowd grow louder with confusion as to why their star was missing.

  “Why did you send me flowers? I mean, it was nice, I guess, but completely—”

  “Out of the blue?” he interjected.

  “Insane,” I finished. Recalling the card, I hastily added, “Interesting poem. You have a freakish memory, Julian.”

  “Say that again.”

  “That you have a freakish memory?”

  He took a step forward, forcing our bodies flush once more. “My name.”

  His close proximity mixed up everything in my head. I could barely breathe. “I have to go.”

  He snapped out of his lustful trance and flooded me with explanation. “I sent them for three reasons. One,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers, “Mom always said beautiful women need flowers. Two, it’s my way of apologizing for doubting your FEDS skills and stun gun authority. Three, how else was I going to find out who you were? You weren’t exactly a fountain of information. You said you were Teen Miss Iris Festival 2007, so I went with it.”

  “So you are stalking me.”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?” He waited for a hostile nod before continuing. “I put two and two, a couple of threes, and a really drunk one together and called the festival coordinator for the names of past title holders.”

  That was impossible. The name the festival had didn’t match mine.

  I refused to back down on this. “And they just willingly gave you all my personal info?”

  He paused, his voice holding a twinge of agitation. “I may have had to promise to headline next year’s festival.”

  I exhaled, suddenly fatigued. “Why are you doing this?”

  He didn’t answer as he took my hands in his and pinned me to the wall. He held both arms extended above my head. The air became heavy and tension between us pinged every nerve ending.

  Shit, focus!

  “What do you want from me, Julian?” Our lips hovered inches apart. “Publicity? Arrange it through Vinyl and leave me alone. Obviously, you know that address as well.”

  Impatience wore on him and he released my arms. “That won’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer.” A scowl cast over his rugged features.

  “If you change your mind, call Eric. I’m sure you could use the positive buzz considering what this stunt will cost you.” I gave him the gratuitous smirk he’d earned. “Unless you’re gonna be too busy chasing down my transcripts from junior high.” He caught my arm as I turned to leave, but footsteps focused our attention down the hallway.

  “Jag?” a smoky voice called out from the darkness. “Man, where are you? Fans are gonna draw blood if we don’t get our asses back on stage.”

  “Guess that’s my cue.” He ran his fingers across his bottom lip, collecting the lip gloss my kisses had left. “It’s been a most…intriguing night, Phoebe Ryan. I’ll see you at the press conference.”

  “Yeah, about that—I’m not gonna make it. I’m not feeling well.” I erupted into a self-imposed coughing fit.

  His stare screamed bullshit. “Sounds deadly.”

  “It is,” I lied.

  “I know I’m new to the biz, but I’ve been around the scene long enough to know your boss might have an aneurysm if you show up at work on Monday without your featured article—again.”

  “You’re really gonna do this, aren’t you?” I stared at him in shock, my thinly held self-control starting to crack.

  “What? Would I offer a copy of the press conference video, along with answers to poignant, intelligent, and thought-provoking questions delivered to Vinyl magazine on Monday? Absolutely.” He smirked as he crossed his arms in in a victory stance. “In exchange for some compliant, non-hostile, one-on-one time of course.”

  I gaped at him. “That’s blackmail.”

  “I prefer to think of it as loaded incentive.”

  His condescension pissed me off, but I weighed my options. I could stay and make an ass out of myself at a press conference, or I could save my reputation and prepare for a few hours alone with him in exchange for a kick-ass article that made me sound like a fucking genius.

  It was a no-brainer.

  “Fine,” I agreed. “But just as friends.”

  A wicked grin crept along his lips. “Oh, princess, you didn’t think I’d go to all the trouble of digging up the ghosts of flower queens past just to be your wingman, did you? You think I want to take you shopping or some platonic shit like that?”

  “I could be non-hostile learning to shoot a gun. How does that fit into your agenda?” I attempted sarcasm, but his charm threw me off-balance.

  “Maybe some one-on-one time to teach you how to handle heavy artillery?” He smirked at the loaded innuendo.

  He enjoyed this entirely too much. “I’d hate for you to be embarrassed and have your ass handed to you by a flower queen.”

  His grin widened as the voices down the hall closed in. “So it’s a date.”

  “Wait, Julian, I never agreed to…” The protest died on my lips as he sprinted down the hall toward a crowd that chanted his name.

  I’d somehow just agreed to a date with my stalker.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julian

  Helena’s taste in office décor mirrored her management style—efficient and bullshit-free. But since she’d called me in on a Sunday, the air was about to become anything but calm. Helena had a few bones to pick, and I had no clue which ones she’d go for first.

  My manager was punctual to a fault, but today she played an offensive strategy I knew by heart. She kept me waiting—on edge and unable to read her face. She wanted me to squirm.

  I could still see the eat-shit, pissed look on her face that lasted the rest of the album release party. We’d even done a three-song encore to appease her and the suits. She’d still looked l
ike she wanted to tie my balls into balloon animals.

  The header of one of the magazines caught my eye. Vinyl was a fairly important entertainment magazine and I’d done a few interviews for them. It was no Rock World, but the exposure was worth its weight. Vinyl may have a smaller circulation, but it had something Rock World and Entertainment Monthly never would—the sharp wit and amazing curves of Phoebe Ryan.

  Well, not for long if everything went as planned with Helena today. Miss Ryan was in for a rude awakening if she thought she’d seen the last of me. I was already three steps ahead of her.

  “Are we adding kleptomaniac to our list of offenses, Julian?”

  I glanced up to see Helena standing beside the chairs, one hand on her hip, the other resting on the wooden backing. Her mouth pursed into a tightened line as she raked her eyes over me.

  “You need a little lawlessness in your life, Helena.” I swiped the stapler from her desk and tossed it in the air. “It keeps you young.”

  “You make me age well before my years. Have a seat.” She pointed to the chair she leaned against. “On this side of my desk, please. I believe I’ll be the manager today, and you can be the habitual pain in my ass.”

  I couldn’t make it easy for her. “I prefer to stand.”

  She stalked past me in a blaze of copper hair. “And I prefer not to be made to look like an ass. Now, park it.”

  Conceding, I placed the stapler back on her desk and sat in my appointed chair. “Helena…”

  “What the fuck, Julian?” She flopped down into her large wingback chair.

  “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “I’m about to,” she said with an accusatory stare. “Never, in fifteen years of management, has an artist pulled a stunt like you did.”

  “The improvised cover of Enter Sandman was fucking phenomenal, wasn’t it?” In truth, I had no idea why I was pushing the issue. The stage antics were a little over the top.

  She shoved her finger in my face. “You don’t get to be cute, Julian. Do you know what kind of tap dance I had to perform to smooth things over with that venue guy? He wanted your balls on a skewer.” She fell back into her chair. “I should have handed them over on a dinner plate if I had half a brain.”

  What I did was risky. I knew shit would hit the fan by walking off the stage, even with the vignette playing. I had half a second to make a decision and I made it. I knew she recognized me, and I thought she knew why she was really there. Apparently, her boss hadn’t dropped the news on her.

  “It won’t happen again,” I offered.

  Helena pounded her fist on the desk, raising her voice. “You’re damn right it won’t happen again. Know why?” Extending her arms onto the desk, she leaned in for emphasis. “Because if you pull that shit again, I’m gone. It’s not just your ass on the line.”

  “I wouldn’t have done it without good reason,” I muttered, tightening my jaw.

  “Mmmhmmm.” She smirked. “Did that ‘good reason’ have anything to do with the girl in the hallway? I assume this was the reason I had to sell my soul to James Castellano at Vinyl?”

  My chest warmed as I recalled kissing her in the hallway. We were like a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place. That woman was a drug. One fix would never be enough.

  “You don’t get it, Helena.”

  Her mouth curved into a smile. “Well, explain it, then. This should be fascinating.”

  “She’s a good writer.” I couldn’t help the defensive tone that crept into my voice, and then braced for her reaction.

  “According to Castellano, she’s a fresh-off-the-vine, entry-level, copy-gopher on her way to getting canned.”

  I’ll break that fucker’s nose too.

  I tried to seem indifferent. “His loss.” She was fishing, but hell if I’d bite.

  Leaning on her elbows, Helena dramatically dropped her chin into her palm. “First you tell me some fluff-rag editorialist is your reason for diva-diving, then you act like you don’t give a shit if she gets fired? Which is it?”

  “Look, I need a favor, okay?” Diversion tactic deployed.

  “I’m not in a favor-giving mood.” She smiled tightly. “The label owns your ass and it’s my job to protect it. What if CBB got video of you? It could happen. People have phones, Julian. It’s not just the paparazzi you have to worry about now. One wrong move and boom.” She flung her arms out wide. “Your career implodes.”

  “If Celebrities Behaving Badly had video, it’d be viral by now,” I said defiantly.

  Helena softened her features. “Julian, how long have we worked together?”

  “Four years.” I’d had enough of the riot act.

  “In that time, have you known me to threaten you? Interfere in your personal life?”

  “Are these rhetorical questions?”

  She pushed out of her seat and walked to the front of the desk. Leaning against it, she looked down and held her tongue.

  “No,” I admitted.

  Never taking her eyes off of me, she picked up a white piece of paper and pushed it toward me. “Here.”

  “What is this?” Picking up the paper, I skimmed it, my heart falling to my stomach. “Shit.”

  Helena sighed. “Yep, that about covers it.”

  The paper consisted of a printout feed of Circa’s Chatter page notifications. It was social media’s cornucopia of cyber crazy.

  @lisagurrrl88: Any1 see Bale last nite? Why wuz he running after sum skank?

  @JenniForRealz: Lyre killed! Except for JB’s weird magician act. #refund

  @blondbarbiedollNY: Some chic passed out and Julian BAILED! Nice. I’m next! ;)

  @BronxBenDude: WTF was THAT fuckery about? #craycray

  @ JOelJRockR: Bale’s a cocksucker! Paid 4 show! Owes me $300. Lyre sucks.

  @AngElmie: Bitch took him from concert! Shld b hung by hair & taught manners.

  It went on until the page was just irate screaming. One name in particular glared at me, though, jumping off the pages in a blinding spotlight, but I couldn’t determine why.

  “Helena, does Circa have a community chat room?”

  She shrugged. “I guess, why?”

  “Can you get me a printout of the same night’s chat with screen names?” I asked, still staring at the paper. It was a long shot, but I had to at least try.

  She slouched forward. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.” I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Just something I need to check.”

  “Look, Julian, you piss the label off and your career can be taken away, just like that.” She snapped her fingers in quick succession. “Wake up. You don’t have the longevity to burn bridges. You play by my rules or get off my team.”

  I never blinked. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Stating facts, Julian. Starting right now, no more fucked-up performances. You step one pinkie toe off of that stage before the last fifteen seconds of your set, and I’m out.” Pushing off of the desk, she dropped down into the chair beside me. “You disappear down some hallway again, I’m out. You disrespect me like you did last night, I’m out.”

  “So, basically, what you’re saying is you’re out.”

  Helena laughed, earlier anger diffused. “You’re a pompous ass, Julian, but you’re not stupid.” A long pause hung in the air before she faced me. “So, am I going to meet the near cause of my demise?”

  My mouth lifted in an unwanted smile. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “She’s pretty.” Helena propped her feet up on her desk. “This one seems smart, despite contrary, blowhard, editorial opinion.” She eyed me carefully. “She’s different.”

  “She is different,” I answered honestly, shifting in my seat. What I had to say next might blow everything to hell again, but I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. “Which reminds me…”

  “Sweet Jesus, boy, what now?”

  “The favor I mentioned…” My skin vibrated with anticipation, and I forged ahead. “I’ll stop bitch
ing about doing the autobiography.”

  “Oh?” She cocked an eyebrow. “At what cost?”

  “I need you to arrange for her to be the ghostwriter. No big deal.” I couldn’t handle her stare, so I got up and paced.

  “No big deal? Julian, this is a massive deal. I can’t, in good conscience, push for a toddler to paint the Sistine Chapel.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a Pulitzer piece, Helena, it’s a rock table tent book. These are my terms—take it or leave it.”

  Her body stiffened. “Am I not the manager here?”

  “You’re the boss.” I glanced at my watch, and my stomach tightened. “But I write the checks. Shit, I have to go. Call me when it’s done. It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

  “It’s never fine with you. Be careful, Julian. There’s only so much damage control,” she conceded quietly.

  “Trust me.”

  “Never have, never will. It’s why I’m still in business.” Helena paused as if deep in thought, then regarded me intently. “Was she worth a stage-jump?”

  I caught her stare and held it. “Have you ever known me to stage-jump before?”

  She seemed to mull over my answer. “What’s her name again?” Her lips thinned into a straight line.

  “Phoebe Ryan,” I answered softly.

  She mouthed her name slowly as if testing out the feel.

  “I see your wheels turning, Helena. What is it?”

  “Does Phoebe Ryan know you have a mentally unbalanced stalker you refuse to take seriously?”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Ty needs to mind his own business.”

  “Not that it matters, but Ty has nothing to do with this. You must think I’m some kind of moron if you believed I wouldn’t find out about the letters. I’ve known for a while now.” She stood and watched me intently. “You’re playing with fire, Julian. I hope to god you know what you’re doing.”

  “Zane?” I asked. Somebody sold me out, and I wanted to know whose ass to kick.