Fame & Obsession (Lords Of Lyre Book 1)

by Cora Kenborn

  “Excuse me, sir?” I blinked at his interruption.

  “The buzz from this gala will target the young adult male demographic for MetroGroup’s non-fiction sector. That market devours rock music bios. Keith Richards’s book sold over one million copies, justifying the seven million advance he was given. Your publicity with Mr. Bale bolsters our…” He turned to Julian. “I’m sorry, what did you call it?”

  Julian smirked. “Street cred.”

  “Oh yes, it bolsters our street cred with enthusiasts of his type of music, therefore increasing book sales.”

  “Sir, I don’t need to be seen with Mr. Bale to reach your demographic. I can guarantee results.” I clenched my jaw and stared at him. They’d pulled the rug out from under me, but it all made sense now. If Julian thought I’d go along with his bullshit because he went above my head, he’d underestimated me.

  “You can guarantee nothing, Miss Ryan,” he said sternly. “I’ve been in this industry almost thirty years. The plan is a good one and it’s not up for discussion.” Grabbing his coffee mug, he stood up and gestured toward Ellison. “Ms. Young, give Miss Ryan your company credit card. I’d like her to take Mr. Bale to lunch and get started.”

  I sat in shock as Ellison handed me a gold Ralston Media American Express card and winked. “And people say they’re jealous of my job. Have fun, Dixie.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Julian

  “Penny for your thoughts?” I asked, swirling a french fry through a glob of ketchup.

  Phoebe lifted her head and smirked. “How about seven million of them, Keith?”

  She was pissed, but she still wasn’t giving me the reaction I wanted. I fucked with her a little, just to see how far I could push her. “Technically, we’re talking pennies, not dollars. To be a proper smart-ass, the correct response should’ve been seven hundred million of them. Since your profession is more literature based than mathematics, I’ll just assume it’s not your strong point.”

  She stopped chewing her hamburger and narrowed her eyes in hostility. “You’re very antagonistic for a guy who’s not paying for his own meal.”

  “Are you always this surly to your dates? I thought you Southern girls were all about hospitality?” I squinted an eye at her and delivered a groupie-swooning smile.

  “You’re not my date, Julian,” she muttered, shaking the salt with extreme force.

  “Are we eating a meal together?” I countered.

  “Yes.”

  “Am I paying?”

  “Well, no.”

  Popping a fry in my mouth, I stared at her and grinned. “It’s a date.”

  My reluctant new ghostwriter leaned in for emphasis. “It’s a business lunch.”

  I stole a fry from her plate and waved a hand. “Semantics.” I waited for a response, thoroughly enjoying the verbal volleyball.

  Phoebe folded her arms on the table. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not when there’s something I want,” I admitted.

  “What if it doesn’t want you?” She tried to be assertive but her voice softened.

  “Then it’s wrong.” Damn this woman. Why couldn’t she accept the professional gift and get over it? I’d practically sold my soul to Helena to get her the job.

  We sat in silence until she cursed under her breath and slammed her palm onto the table. “Just admit you had me called in to Ellison’s office!” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “You arranged this publicity escort shit!”

  I just smiled. There was no use denying it now. “I like to cover all my bases.”

  “Your stalking is out of control, Julian.”

  Un-fucking-believable. I handed her a multi-million-dollar contract and she insulted me.

  “I can be a real shit when I don’t get when I want, Phoebe.” It was my turn to glare. “So either you play my game, or I’ll keep showing up at your office and arranging these little meetings.”

  Before she could launch into a tirade, her phone vibrated on the table and distracted her. Cursing, I snatched the phone off of the table before she had a chance. Hitting the message icon, I read the incoming text out loud.

  “Your friend, Rosa, wants to know where you are. Somebody named Ass Cactus has been looking for you for over an hour. She says to come back before he explodes.” Who the hell was Ass Cactus?

  “Shit!” She looked frantically around the busy restaurant. Not finding what she was looking for, she pulled a couple of bills out of her purse and tucked them under her plate. “I’m leaving,” she announced. “I’ve got an ass-chewing to attend, thanks to you.”

  She stood and I grabbed both her hands, holding them steady. “Agree to my terms and I won’t bother you at work again.”

  Grunting in disgust, she jerked away from me and walked briskly out of the cheap diner she’d taken me to. I would’ve preferred to dine alone with her somewhere dark and intimate, but I didn’t dare complain. If she had her way, I’d probably be standing by a hot dog stand with a bag of chips and a Yoo-hoo.

  Running after her, I caught her arm as she stepped outside. I turned her to face me. “Why are you so against this?”

  “Why is it so important to you?” She glared with a challenging stare.

  I closed my eyes, letting my chin drop against my chest in exhaustion. “Why do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “Why do you?”

  “Why do I want to kiss you?” I shot back at her. She started to argue but I effectively shut down her denial. “And why do I know you want me to kiss you?”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, averting her eyes.

  Liar.

  “Am I?” I closed the distance between us. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I settled a hand at the small of her back. A soft moan escaped before she could rein it in. “That’s what I thought.” I indulged my fingers in a quick dip into the base of her spine. “Your body contradicts everything that comes out of that beautiful mouth, princess.”

  “I…I…” She trembled, making me groan.

  I fisted her long hair and tugged her head back slightly. Her hands balled tightly by her side. With her lips inches away from mine, I broke the hold she had on her resistance.

  “Phoebe,” I commanded, in a low tone, “put your hands on me.”

  She blinked at me. “In the middle of the street? We’ll get arrested!”

  Her shock made me chuckle. “Well, I wasn’t referring to that, but I’m glad to see you thinking ahead.” Without waiting, I uncurled her fisted fingers and wrapped them around my neck.

  Her breath hitched. She glanced around, realizing we stood three hundred feet away from her office building, and began to pull back. “Julian…”

  I quickly dipped my head in a commanding kiss. The movement startled her, and her eyes widened in shock. Tracing the seam of her lips, I took my entry fast, tasting every inch of her mouth. Her body relaxed, and she embraced me so fiercely, I could barely breathe.

  Hell if I cared. She could do whatever she wanted as long as she kept making those soft moans. She whimpered as we kissed like we were the only two people on the street. I demanded and took without asking. It was physically painful how much I wanted her.

  “Jesus, do you have to go back?” Everything ached for more. The kiss had been so intense people had stopped on the street to either gawk at us or snort in disgust. None of them mattered to me anyway. I had no power to stop it.

  A discreet but purposeful cough caught my attention. A guy pushing unkempt blond hair out of his eyes raised his hand beside us in a nervous wave. An annoying blush crept up his neck.

  “Um, hi, Phoebe.”

  I created a mental picture of us, making out like horny teenagers on a public street. Any other time, I would’ve laughed. However, I didn’t find this interruptive asshole amusing, nor did I like the way he eyed Phoebe up like she was his dessert.

  Pulling a hand from my neck, she dangled her fingers at him. “Hi, Nate. How are you?”

  “Fine, bu
sy,” he said, grinning a stupid grin I wanted to smack off his face.

  Phoebe peeled herself out of my grasp, smoothing the back of her hair where my fingers had been. “Julian, this is Nate Jacobs. Nate was the photographer who worked the album release with me.” She motioned to him. “Nate, this is Julian Bale, he’s—”

  “Lords of Lyre. We met at the press conference. My cousin’s a huge fan.” Nate’s eyes darkened as he finished her sentence and rigidly stuck out his hand.

  I shook his hand firmly, wanting him to know she was with me. “Always a pleasure to meet a fan.” I smiled, but my stare told him to back the fuck off.

  “I never said I was a fan,” he said coolly.

  Oh, so we’re playing this game, are we, dickhead?

  Phoebe was mine, and he could go fuck himself.

  “I’ll see you in the staff meeting, Nate.” She turned back to me but was interrupted when Nate’s voice rang out again.

  “I wanted to suggest that we go to the Ralston Gala together, Phoebe. You know, since we both have to be there. We might as well go together.” He laughed nervously.

  Before she could react, I grabbed her hand. “That won’t be necessary. Phoebe already has a date.” My jaw twitched in anger.

  We stared holes into each other. Phoebe’s eyes darted between us, obviously feeling the tension. Finally, Nate broke the standoff, softening his stupid gaze as he turned it toward her.

  “I see. Well, I’ll see you in a few, Pheebs.” Walking up the stairs, he disappeared into the building.

  Phoebe hardened a stare at me. “Are you finished comparing dick sizes?”

  A smirk planted itself on my face. Her Southern accent took center stage when she was mad.

  “Ah, there’s my Iris Queen. Beauty, charm, and a little Jersey Shore attitude thrown in.” I was about to tease her again when my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I looked down, furrowing my brow. It was from Tanna—and it wasn’t good news. I responded quickly.

  Tanna: One Circa Chatter poster is a ghoster. The rest of the accounts check out.

  Me: Ghoster?

  Tanna: Think of it as identity theft. Did a little digging. Account originated as some lady in Bakersfield. Password was reported hacked, account stolen and put up for sale on the black market.

  Me: People actually do that?

  Tanna: You’d be surprised. You can link credit cards to pay to boost visibility. Your thief changed the screen name and maxed out the card, but it’s the same account.

  Me: You’re positive on this?

  Tanna: Seriously?

  Me: Thanks. Maybe I should let Helena track down this lady. It can’t hurt.

  Tanna: One problem.

  Me: Don’t tell me, she’s in jail? For cyber stalking? Lol

  Tanna: No. She’s dead. For five years.

  All the breath left my chest in a one-line text.

  “Julian, I need to get back to work.” Phoebe sighed, motioning toward the building.

  “Yeah, sure.” I nodded in agreement, my mind elsewhere.

  Raising an eyebrow, she turned to walk away. Watching her leave, I had an irrational fear for her safety. For every step she took, I took two, ending up beside her at the door.

  Stopping cold, she whipped around with hands on her hips in a fighting stance. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “With you,” I told her matter-of-factly.

  “The hell you are!”

  I placed a hand against the door and leaned forward. “If you insist on arguing with me, let’s at least do some background calls for the book. Make your bosses happy, all right? Can you manage that?

  Phoebe balled her fists, digging her nails into her palms. “Fine.”

  “Now, agree to go to the gala with me and I’ll leave you alone for now.” I planned on having a Circa security guard tail her, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “And if I don’t?” she challenged.

  “A cubicle for two could be fun.”

  “This is not take your stalker to work day, Julian. Plus, the gala is in two weeks, so why make plans now?”

  “Because you’re a flight risk.” I caged her against the door with the other arm to express my impatience. “Now stop arguing and I’ll be on my merry fucking way.”

  “I told you before that this is extortion.”

  “Get used to it. We have a long working relationship ahead of us.”

  “I hate you,” she pouted, sticking out that irresistible bottom lip of hers.

  Another text vibrated my phone. I cursed technology until I realized it wasn’t mine. I’d shoved her phone in my pants pocket when she’d stormed out of the restaurant. Reading the text, I gave her a look. “Rosa says Ass Cactus is gonna blow a fuse.”

  I really need to have a chat with this Ass Cactus guy.

  Screaming, she stomped her foot like a toddler. “Fine! Call me tomorrow. Jesus Christ, you’re such a child.”

  Irony at its finest.

  With a satisfied grin, I ran the pad of my thumb across her lip. Letting it drop, I trailed it down the length of her neck, coaxing a sigh from her throat. Satisfied that I’d affected her again, I held her phone out, and she snatched it out of my hands.

  “We’ll continue this tomorrow.” I turned to leave, but then stopped and winked. “Oh, and, Phoebe? For the gala, make sure to look the part, princess.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Phoebe

  I’d kill him.

  Glancing at the tiny tablet screen again, I verified the ugly truth. Right in front of me gleamed a picture of Julian and me in front of the Ralston Media building. It was the day he kissed me outside of the deli. His arms were tightly wrapped around my waist, and my hands were threaded through his unruly hair. We were frozen in lip-lock for eternity

  The article was a week old. It’d been two weeks since the ill-fated meeting in the MetroGroup Publishing offices, but I tended to avoid gossip blogs. Apparently, I should’ve taken special note of this one.

  Under the picture was an entertainment blog that was a regular staple around New York and boasted subscription numbers from around the country…hell, around the world for that matter. Blogosphere Daily was gossipy and bordering on intrusive.

  And apparently I had a starring role.

  Lordess of the Lyre

  Has Bale Bailed on Females Everywhere?

  Well, it appears that way, so, ladies, get your best black mourning gear on and start the processional. From what BD witnessed outside of the Ralston Media building in Manhattan last week, it seems to be a done deal that Julian Bale, smoking-hot lead singer of hard rock band Lords of Lyre, is off the market. Just who is this lucky lady, you ask? Good question. We here at BD are working overtime for our readers to uncover the identity of our mystery woman but have no answers as of publication date. We have a sneaking suspicion that she works inside the building, so that’s where our detective work shall start, kids!

  Is it serious, or did our favorite front man get an intense booty call? Our sources haven’t confirmed anything yet, but stay tuned. Has the rock god found his goddess?

  You’d better believe we’re watching. Everything.

  “Intense booty call? Can they seriously publish that crap?” I stared at the screen. The harder I glared, the more light-headed I became as the colors swirled together.

  I’d purposely avoided all social media and gossip mags for the past two weeks. Julian and I had talked every night on the phone as we worked on a rough outline for the book. Each call lasted over two hours and our conversations ranged from the merits of hard rock music, to his inspirations, to what I ate for lunch that day. We never stayed on topic, and more often than not we had each other in tears from laughing by the end of the call.

  I had to admit, when he wasn’t pushing me against walls, or mauling me in public, he wasn’t such a bad guy. But I knew the minute I saw him I’d want to jump him like one of his slutty groupies. If I could telecommunicate our entire business relationship, I
’d be safe.

  Now that I’d made the mistake of pulling up Blogosphere Daily, I saw the evidence for myself. Being around him physically, I’d turned myself into a media joke. Worse yet, I’d turned myself into a locatable target.

  I reminded myself that the gala was a business meeting, not a date. I planned on walking the red carpet, taking a few pictures, and interviewing the band members on the backstory of their rise to stardom. It was purely professional. Unfortunately, with the way I sat by the phone every night waiting for his call, professional wasn’t what was brewing between us.

  “Oh, and, Phoebe? For the gala, make sure to look the part, princess.”

  I wished I’d read the damn column before I bought the dress.

  Sighing, I dropped the tablet with the offending blog and chewed the inside of my cheek. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. The dress didn’t scream princess as much as it did mistress. A fire engine-red gown stared back at me with a neckline so low it made J. Lo’s Grammy dress look like a chastity wrap. Sex kitten makeup and mattress-tousled hair completed the look and I gave myself props for accomplishing all of it without Gage’s help.

  Alive with anxiety, I walked out of the bedroom to a chorus of catcalls and whistles. Blushing, I waved a hand for them to stop. Gage grabbed me by the waist and swung me around.

  “Hot damn, baby doll! You said you had a work thing, you didn’t say it was a date!”

  My face burned with embarrassment. “Put me down, Gage! It is a work thing!” I wrenched my body out of his hands and hit him with my clutch. I could’ve hit him with the toaster oven and it wouldn’t have wiped the smirk off his face.

  “Oh please, Lady in Red. That dress screams, ‘Bend me over from here to Brooklyn.’”

  Looking across the room, I raised my arms in defeat. “Help me out here?”