Managing The Rock Star (Not So Bad Boys Book 1)

by Emma St Clair

  Morgan laughed again. Reese envied the casual way she seemed to take all of this in stride. The souped-up tour bus. Sterling’s hotness. The weird situation with Reese.

  “You seem so chill. I know Kevin said you’re Sterling’s new manager, but it doesn’t seem that new. Did you ever have a fan girl moment? With him?”

  Morgan’s blue eyes widened and she looked like she was about to laugh again. “Sterling? No way. We’ve been best friends since we were kids. He’s amazing, but I don’t see him as the superstar. He’s just my James—er, Sterling. The fame stuff is my job, but I don’t think about him as different because he’s famous.”

  Reese didn’t miss the way Morgan’s tone shifted when she said “my,” or the way she glanced back where he had disappeared to the front of the bus.

  If her heart had fractured earlier, it split completely and fell to pieces now. To sum up, Reese wasn’t Sterling’s type. He didn’t want to get married ever. He basically seemed to barely tolerate her. And his manager slash BFF—who was gorgeous and looked like a rock star herself—had the hots for him.

  This was a good thing. The cocktail of reasons she shouldn’t care about Sterling should be enough to shut down her crush permanently. Reese would be much better once her body stopped reacting like a schoolgirl every time she saw Sterling. Or talked to him. Or thought about him.

  This was good. Get over him as soon as possible and be completely professional.

  But as she and Morgan sat planning, Reese couldn’t escape thinking about the way her stomach had dropped into some cavernous pit of despair. This tour might be the best thing that happened to her career, but it also might kill her a little bit at a time over the next two months.

  Chapter Four

  Sterling stomped off the bus and into the parking lot, trying to calm down after his conversation with Reese. How did this happen? He almost lost it when he recognized her on the tour bus. The interaction with her at the meet-and-greet had been the low point in his weekend. The way she hung on him and talked about getting married and the smell of booze coming off her skin. Even if he hadn’t been unaffected by her looks.

  He didn’t know if he believed her explanation. One glass of wine—really? Reese did seem totally different just now. Calm, professional, even contrite. Gorgeous.

  He almost choked when that last thought flashed through his mind. No way was he going to think about Reese like that, even if he agreed to keep her on. She already had several strikes against her. Normally he kept his support team to guys, just to avoid cat fights and crushes. Morgan was an exception since they had grown up together and he saw her like his little sister. The social media manager was supposed to be a guy.

  He trusted Morgan implicitly and if she didn’t feel like Reese was good for him, she would be up front about it. If she didn’t make an impact quickly, he would fire her. Until then, he would keep his distance. Maybe make sure that Morgan was hard on her. It was probably best for him to keep his distance from Reese as much as possible.

  She may have been professional in their conversation, but he could see the way her breath caught when he stepped closer. Her eyes had gotten that heavy, glazed look that he knew too well from the women in his past. It was the kind of look he had been avoiding for a long time now.

  It had been a rush at first, seeing how women responded to him. Or, rather, as he realized, how they responded to his fame. After his first few years as a legitimate star, Sterling realized that while it might be true some rock stars used women, it went both ways. Some of the women took trophies: a pair of underwear or a photo of him while sleeping that got posted to social media. One took a whole page of song lyrics he’d been working on. Sterling’s relationships—if he could actually call them that—left him feeling scraped out and hollow. It didn’t take him long to realize that. He was actually pretty tame as far as rock stars went.

  What he had told Reese was also true: he didn’t want to get married.

  At one time, long before fame, maybe he could have imagined it. But now he doubted he could find someone who loved him and wanted a life with him. While this was the life he wanted and the one he chose, it tended to hurt the people around him. He thought again of May and his mother. He hadn’t seen his little sister in four years and his mother seemed disappointed every time he talked to her, so he talked to her less and less. That’s how he felt: like a disappointment.

  Sterling didn’t want a fling. He couldn’t imagine getting married. This left him in a constant state of isolation, even when some nights he stood on stage in front of thousands of people.

  Maybe if he left this life, things could be different. For the past year, Sterling had seriously considered quitting altogether, or pulling back and reinventing his sound and coming back with a more acoustic-indie vibe. But he had insecurities with this too. Would someone still want him if he was Sterling James, former rock star? Or Sterling James, homebody and hermit?

  Most of the time, he shoved all these thoughts to the back of his mind. But Reese had brought them all back to the forefront. Knowing that she had talked—even if she was joking—about getting married when he first met her, and seeing the attraction so evident in her eyes … he wasn’t sure that having her on this tour was a smart idea.

  Especially considering the way his own body had reacted when he stepped close to her. He hadn’t anticipated his racing heart or how hard it was not to let his gaze fall to her lips as he told her that she wasn’t his type.

  He winced, thinking of that comment. It had been a little harsh. Maybe necessary to keep the distance, but he could have softened it a little. Or just left it at the fact that he didn’t want to get married. He hadn’t missed the way hurt flashed across her eyes or how she tried so hard to hide it.

  Before that, though, he had to hold back laughter a few times in their conversation. Reese was cute and funny. Quirky. There was something endearing about the way she couldn’t seem to help the words that fell out of her mouth.

  Though he could have done without hearing that her co-worker said his music was derivative. Sterling didn’t disagree, but it was hard to hear. One more reason to consider a re-brand. Maybe if Reese was that good at her job, she could help him with that. If not, he could send her home. Win win.

  Spring in Nashville meant that the sun was fierce. Sterling pulled on his aviators as he paced the parking lot. No matter how much money he made, he continued buying sunglasses at the Dollar Tree. He had something like twenty different pairs stashed on the tour bus, in his house, and in his car. He even had a pair in his guitar case along with his picks. They had a calming effect and he paced around the bus, letting his heartbeat steady.

  “Yo, Sterling!”

  He turned to see Moby, his lead guitarist crossing the lot, pulling his suitcase behind. Sterling smiled. “I see you decided on a change in style for this leg of the tour. Nice hair.”

  Moby rubbed a hand over his short afro, tattoos visible on his lean forearms. “Got tired of the dreads. Too heavy, man. Trying the natural look, but our stylist may kill me. You look stressed. We haven’t even started moving yet. What’s up?”

  Without thinking about it, Sterling had pulled the pick from his pocket and spun it in his fingers. “You’ll see when you get on the bus.”

  Moby grinned. “Does this have anything to do with your new lady manager?”

  “It’s not Morgan I’m worried about. Unless you’re trying to date her. Then we might have a problem.”

  “You staking a claim?”

  “Hardly. She’s like my sister. You can date her, but if you hurt her …”

  “Okay, okay. Got it. So, what’s the problem?”

  “She’s not the only woman on the bus.”

  Moby laughed and rubbed his palms together. “That can only spell drama. What about the other one? Is she single? Hot? Are you going to tell me to back off there, too? You may be the star, but you can’t call dibs on all the women.”

  The question shouldn’t have irritated St
erling as much as it did. He wanted to say yes—she was single, very attractive, and Moby shouldn’t even look at her.

  “Nope. She’s free. Though she may not be on the tour long. Already on very thin ice with me. She’s doing my social media and if she can’t help fast with my image and stuff, she’s out.”

  “That’s cold. Well, I best be getting in there so I can get to know her before you kick her to the curb. Are you sure, though? You look a little …”

  “What?” Sterling snapped.

  “Nothing. I’ll tell you later,” Moby said, smiling again. His good humor was one of the reasons Sterling had kept the guitarist on his band for the last three years. But today, Moby’s happy mood irritated him. “Hope you work through whatever this is before we get rolling. Don’t want to start the tour with Night Sterling.”

  “Shut up!”

  Sterling looked for something to throw as Moby walked away laughing, but there was just empty parking lot. Whatever mess was in his head, he needed to move past it. And fast.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. His mother. He should probably answer this now rather than trying to find a quiet spot to talk while on tour. Frankly, he was surprised that she was calling him at all. He had a voicemail from her earlier that he hadn’t listened to yet. To him, family was synonymous with guilt.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “James! I’m so glad to hear your voice. Did you listen to your messages?” Her voice had an extra edge of desperation, which usually meant that she needed money.

  She wasn’t the kind of parent who used him like so many parents of celebrities seemed to. But lately, it seemed they only talked when she needed something. His dad had left when Sterling was eight after being fired from his pastor job. Churches didn’t look fondly on alcoholic pastors cheating on their wives. He left the pulpit, left their family, and they hadn’t heard from him since. His mom had managed to hold things together and keep their house, but Sterling’s income had made things a lot easier on her.

  “No,” he admitted.

  There was a brief pause. “It’s May.”

  Sterling began to pace, following the white lines in the parking lot, like that straight, clean edge could somehow ground him for whatever came next in the conversation. When it came to May, Sterling couldn’t seem to control his emotions. He loved his little sister so much, but it was like he couldn’t do anything to actually show her that.

  When he got signed, she was eleven. By the time May was thirteen, she was being incessantly bullied in school for being his sister. They pulled her out of her public school and Sterling paid for private school, which was a huge financial drain. He had money, but not that much money. Music didn’t make as much as people would imagine, even when you were big time. Not unless you constantly toured. Sterling was trying to be smart about his money, not throwing it away.

  This helped, but gave them a host of other problems, including a drinking and prescription drug problem for May. Seeing May go down the same path as his father was crushing. And though she didn’t say it, he felt like his mother blamed him for May’s issues and she had grown increasingly colder. It had been years since he had gone home.

  “What’s going on?” Sterling asked.

  “We need to get her into rehab.”

  Sterling stopped. He stood looking out over the parking lot toward a strip mall. It was such a bright, ordinary day. Yet hearing these words made him feel like the normal things were just a covering for the darkness underneath. He closed his eyes.

  “Is it to that point? I mean, what are we talking?”

  His mother’s voice shook. “Alcohol. And I don’t know what kind of drugs exactly. Pills? Or cocaine? That prep school crowd is really something else. I thought public schools were bad. These kids are no better, but have more money.”

  Sterling’s jaw ached from clenching so hard. “How did she … I can’t even find the words. I’m sorry, Mom. I can pay for rehab. Is that what you need? Is she okay?”

  Guilt always rested just below the surface. These phone calls with his mother and every thought of May brought it bubbling up and running over. Sterling felt his skin heating with it. No matter what he accomplished—records sold, awards won, money made on tour, tickets sold—Sterling couldn’t make up for the negative impact on his family, particularly May.

  He remembered her face when he first got the call that Arista wanted to sign him. She had been practically glowing with excitement, throwing her gangly pre-teen arms around his neck. Before he left for Nashville, he took May and a few of her girlfriends bowling. He had a massive headache by the end from all the squealing and screaming and giggling, but May told him it was the best night of her life.

  Fast forward two years and May had to delete all of her social media accounts and start counseling to deal with panic attacks caused from bullying. His mother said she didn’t want to worry him, so she simply didn’t tell Sterling. Which translated to May as Sterling deserting her. The next time he came home, May wouldn’t even speak to him. She had dyed her blonde hair black and stayed locked in her room. Except for when she climbed out of her window to meet her boyfriend.

  She had been thirteen.

  “The problem isn’t paying for rehab, though I appreciate the offer and will take you up on it. The problem is that we may not be able to get her into rehab at all.”

  “Wait—she doesn’t want to go?”

  “I don’t even know where she is right now. She doesn’t come home every night. When she does, she won’t talk to me. Or she just screams at me, asks for money. She got kicked out of school.”

  “Mom. Why haven’t you called before now?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you. And I don’t think she wanted you to know.”

  Sterling put a palm over his face. “What’s the plan? What can I do?”

  “We’re planning an intervention.”

  “Just tell me when. I’ll be there. I’m on tour, but this is a priority. Do you already have a date, or—”

  “I don’t think you should be there.”

  The words soaked through him like icy water. Sterling’s legs shook and he crouched down, tracing a fingertip over the rough pavement. He wanted nothing more than to be there for his baby sister. The idea of her falling down this path, the one his father went down, killed him. May, who had been so sweet and shy and innocent. If he had only been there for her, instead of on tour or living in Nashville. Maybe then he could have been there for her through this. Or she might not have needed this intervention at all.

  A piece of glass pricked against his finger, not quite breaking the skin. For a moment, he hovered there, thinking about pressing down on the sharp edge. He could handle that kind of pain: a sharp cut, easily treated and bandaged.

  “James?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry. I just think it would be best if—”

  “You don’t need to explain. Let me know how much rehab is. If you can get her to go, I mean. Can’t you make her? I mean, she isn’t eighteen yet.”

  His mother sighed into the phone. “I can force her. I will if I have to, but rehab tends to be more effective when people go willingly. I don’t want you to spend all that money and have her come right back out and start using again.” There was a pause. “You could pray for the intervention to work.”

  “You want me to pray? Do you still believe in that?”

  “I’m trying to. It isn’t always easy, but I don’t think prayer is about making it easy or giving us what we want.”

  “Then why pray? What’s the point?”

  Sterling had stopped going to church with his mom around middle school, a few years after his dad left. It no longer meant anything to him and felt like a big lie. When he was younger, he believed in it all: a big God who created everything and ran the world. Jesus, who was the perfect sacrifice for people who couldn’t be perfect. Maybe that was the problem, though—people who believed in all that, like his Dad had claimed to, they weren’t perfect or even good.
So what did it matter if you believed? People still did what they felt like doing, even if they believed in all that stuff. He just didn’t see a difference in people inside the church or outside.

  His childhood faith turned into a snide disbelief that anyone could believe in God when things were so messed up.

  Even across the phone line, Sterling recognized a desperation he had never heard in his mother’s voice before. “I believe that God cares about May. The Holy Spirit intercedes for us, so praying makes my prayers join with his prayers for her. So I will continue to pray even if I don’t see changes. The same way I pray for you.”

  Sterling was startled by this. It shouldn’t surprise him that she prayed for him, but the thought made him uncomfortable. “Mom, you don’t need to pray for me. I don’t need fixing. Save your prayers for May. Or just stop saying them at all.”

  “I need something to work. I’ll do anything. I feel like I’m losing my baby.” There was a choked sob. “I have to go.”

  Sterling palmed the phone, still crouched in the parking lot, his thigh muscles burning. When she had said that she felt like she was losing her baby, he got the distinct impression that she didn’t just mean May. It had been years since she had tried to talk to him about God and the conversation left him reeling, both because of that and because of what was going on with May. He knew it was bad, but not how bad. Again, he felt like a failure for deserting them. Sterling didn’t drink, but was he really any better than his father?

  The sound of her voice left him unsettled. He had never heard his mother cry. His mom was not a particularly emotional person. In fact, he suspected that his inability to express his own feelings well came directly from her.

  Before he could think it through, Sterling punched the asphalt. The pain shot through his knuckles and flared up through his arm. The skin had broken on several of his knuckles, but not badly. Which was good since he needed them to play guitar tomorrow night in Atlanta.

  Sterling sighed and made his way back to the bus. He really hoped that Morgan and Reese would be able to work miracles on his image. Because he didn’t know how he could possibly hide the darkness that he felt descending over him.