"Did I seem reluctant to part with my cash last time I made you an offer?"
"You haven't paid me yet."
"You want a check right now?"
"Later." She clears her throat. "Danielle will flip. She's a bitch, yeah, but she's been good to me."
"Has she?"
"In ways." Her voice drops to a serious tone. "I love my job."
"Every part of it?"
"Nothing is perfect. You love every part of your job?"
"Fair point." I study her expression. This isn't about the money for Lacey. Either that or she really is a terrible negotiator.
She wants that stability.
She must, with that barely-moved-into apartment.
Money is all I have to offer her.
But money is still the best security blanket around. It buys safety. It buys respect.
It buys options.
"Throw out a number. I'll make it happen." I'm going to convince her of this. "This is our big video. The label has set aside a huge chunk of change. They're offering the standard ten percent of budget. I can get them to go up to twenty percent."
"You can get suits to double the director's fee?"
"If I can't, I'll pay the difference."
"Why?" She pulls her laptop from her messenger bag, opens it, and boots up the video. "Why pay handsomely for a director with no experience?"
"You really trying to talk yourself out of a job?"
"I want to know."
Because she's the only person who has ever got what a song was about without me explaining it.
And I'm fucking tired of spilling my guts to people who don't get it.
I love what I do.
I love commanding a stage.
There's this feeling of acceptance when I unleash something ugly in a song and people love it. But there's always another side to it.
People think the song means something else.
They don't see me.
They see that brooding bad boy image.
That's what I want them to see.
It's fucking terrifying that Lacey sees more than that.
But it's also irresistible.
Her voice pulls me back to the moment.
"I will do it. For the twenty percent. And two more months of rent for finishing the Hurt Me, Baby video." She folds her arms on the table and stares into my eyes. "But only if you tell me why you want to hire me."
"I checked out your website. Your shit is good. And it's different. That's what I want."
"That's all? My stuff is different?" Her eyes search mine. She's looking for something and she's not going to relent until she finds it. "You're not doing this because you want to get in my pants."
"I'm not?"
"No. I mean, I think it's pretty obvious we want to fuck each other."
I chuckle.
"Yeah, I get it. I'm a little… obvious. I've been out of the flirting game for four years. Give me a break."
"Four years?"
"My ex… we broke up last week. I was with him—"
"For four years?"
"Yeah."
"You leave him or he leave you?"
"I left him, but that's not relevant." Her eyes meet mine. "We were both rolling around that bed. We were both out of breath. You were… ahem." Her cheeks turn bright red. She takes a slow breath and pushes through her words. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"Is it a problem for you?"
"No."
"Tangled is complicated. It needs somebody with a vision. Somebody who would rather lose her job than put out shitty work. It probably shouldn't be a single, but I was outvoted."
"You can be outvoted?"
"Democracy means I only get one vote." I stare back into her eyes. "I wouldn't trust anyone else to get the song."
Slowly, she nods. Her lips curl into a smile. "Okay. I'll direct your video." She offers her hand. "After you pay me for the edit."
I take her hand and shake.
Her eyes stay on mine.
Her cheeks flush.
I'm fucking glad Lacey is taking this offer.
But suddenly I'm more concerned with her question.
It is a problem that I want to fuck her.
A fucking huge problem.
6
Mal
Several hours and three no, we don't want desserts later, Lacey and I have a few concepts for the video.
Written up.
On her laptop.
Complete with sketches done in Paint.
Using the trackpad.
Fuck, I never thought I'd meet anyone who could top Ethan in the energetic, excitable perfectionist clearly meant to do their job category, but Lacey might take that crown.
Her brown eyes are bright. She's tapping her toes against the ground, running her words together at a volume completely inappropriate for a restaurant this nice.
She taps a note onto her keyboard. "I think this concept is it, but I get the whole democracy, we all have to agree thing."
"You should pitch it."
Her eye go wide. "To the band?"
"You are going to work with them when we shoot this video."
"Okay. Yeah. To the band. But after I've put in notice with Danielle. And I'm not doing that until—" She presses her thumb and first two fingers together in the universal symbol for money.
"Sure."
Her eyes go back to her computer. "I think we're actually done sketching this out."
"Good. Restaurant closed fifteen minutes ago."
She blushes as her eyes go to the clock on her monitor. "Shit. Have we really been talking about this for four hours?"
"More like three and a half."
"I should send this to you." Her eyes stay on the screen. "I already have your email in my contacts." She smiles. "Are you always this thorough?"
"What do you think?"
"I think so." She puts away her laptop as I order another round.
Without the excuse of work, the table falls quiet.
Her expression shifts. It's not exactly that she's less excited. It's the same look Ethan gets after he nails a song or steps off stage. She's basking in the satisfaction of a job well done.
I study her. She's gorgeous, smart, talented.
Work is her priority.
But then she's also crushing on Malcolm Strong, stoic celebrity bad boy.
That might be bad news.
And I'm not letting my cock talk me out of my concerns. I'm not breaking another heart. Not if I can help it.
"Your place looked new," I say.
She nods. "Moved in last week."
"And out of your ex's place?"
"It was our place, technically."
"But?"
"But nothing. We lived together for the last two years. Then I moved into my own place."
I nod.
She downs another long sip. "I'm not going to share anything about my breakup unless you ask. Even if you ask. It's really none of your business."
"If you want to tell me why you left your boyfriend of four years to move into a shitty apartment in Long Beach, go ahead."
Her brow furrows. "Maybe we should talk about the video."
"You have more to say about it?"
"I… well, I. You really want me to polish the video with me in it?"
"You're perfect as the nice girl who broke my heart, Lacey. But I get it if you don't want that kind of attention."
She presses her lips together, thinking. "I want what's best for the video."
"It's your call then. We can reshoot with another actress."
"If we don't… you think people will recognize me?"
"With me half-naked?" I cock a brow, teasing. "People won't notice shit."
She laughs. "True. But you half-naked means extra views, which means more eyes on the video."
"You want to stay out of the public eye?"
"I want to edit it more than I want to stay behind the camera. I will do it, Mal. I'll finish cutting it together with
this footage."
But there's something stopping her. "But you don't want your ex to see it?"
"No… he won't."
"You sure? It will be a hit with me rolling around bed shirtless."
She lets out a full-blown belly laugh. "Give me a second." She presses her hand over her face, trying to stifle her giggles. "You're just… you're so matter of fact about it."
"You get used to that shit when you're famous."
She nods. "You're not you. You're Mal, the Dangerous Noise singer."
I nod.
"The unavailable, brooding bad boy."
"I'm unavailable?"
"Dangerous Noise doesn't have any love songs."
"True." I've never really thought about it that way.
"Is that because you've never loved someone or because you've never wanted to share it?"
"No comment."
"But you have your harem."
"You're still going with harem?"
She nods. "You have a better word?"
"Women I call for a good time."
"Okay." She stares back at me. "Is it enough satisfaction, the women you call for a good time?"
"It was. But I'm done with it."
"Why?"
"It gets too messy. Why'd you leave your ex?"
Her gaze shifts to the wall. She trips over her words. "Adam, he… he was a good guy. Still is. Just not my guy. He couldn't… We didn't… We didn't prioritize the same things."
Her expression fills with something I haven't seen on her face.
Shame.
She feels this somewhere deep.
Because of what she wanted?
Or because of something else?
It's hard to say. Either way, I'm not going to push her. Not right now.
Her eyes meet mine. "I don't want to do anything to hurt him. The video… I don't know. If he does see it… Well, most guys would be jealous to see their ex with Malcolm Strong. Especially with your reputation."
"Which part?"
She makes a whip motion.
"Nobody uses whips. They're too hard to control."
Her pupils dilate but she plays cool. "What do they use?"
"I mostly use my hand. Or a riding crop if I need something stronger."
Fuck, her entire face lights up. A flush spreads over her cheeks and chest. She presses her knees together.
She wants to be tied to my bed.
She wants to be under me, screaming my name.
I force myself to stare into her eyes. "I like to play, but I'm not trying to build a relationship with someone. I don't want to be a master. Or a Dom. BDSM relationships are more complicated, not less. And I'm not looking for complicated."
"Just the riding crop and the handcuffs?"
Fuck yeah. It's a thrill being in charge of someone's pleasure. Or pain. Of feeling like a woman needs me more than she needs anything. I barely manage to nod.
She leans back and finishes the last sip of her drink. "Do you want to tie me up?"
"Are you offering?"
"Hypothetically?"
"Hypothetically, I would tie you to my headboard, pin your legs to my bed and lick you until begged me to stop."
She swallows hard.
"Then I'd pin you to the bed and fuck you until you were screaming my name loudly enough to wake up the entire city."
"Once… or an ongoing thing?"
"I don't know. The more you fuck someone, the messier it is when it ends."
"What if you're on the same page?"
I used to think that way. But now… I don't know. "That helps."
"What if she doesn't want to fall in love either?"
"We don't always get what we want."
"But if you believed her?"
"Her or you?"
"Hypothetically."
"If I thought you knew what you were getting into. Yeah." God knows I want to fuck her. "Hypothetically, I'd fuck you again and again."
Lacey doesn't fight me about paying.
She slides out of the booth and slings her bag around her shoulder. "We should probably hustle." She motions to the nearly empty restaurant between us and the exit. "Or is that another celebrity perk?"
"Only way to find out is to stay." I slide my wallet into my back pocket. With the way the host and server have been treating us all night, I'm sure I could get away with raising hell here.
She shakes her head. "It's late and some of us have work tomorrow."
"Early call time?"
She pulls out her cell and taps the screen a few times. Her nose scrunches with distaste. "Too early." She takes a step towards the entrance.
I follow.
Her hips sway as she walks. Fuck, the way those shorts are hugging her ass is incredibly tempting.
I let her lead me out of the restaurant and to our parking spot down the street.
It's a beautiful night. The sky is clear. The air is warm. That cool breeze is blowing over our skin, sending her dark hair in every direction.
She pulls her arms over her chest as she stops in front of the passenger side door. Her eyes pass over the view in front of her—we're parked on some street overlooking the beach. She looks up at the stars shining in the sky. Then at the dark, calm ocean.
She says nothing.
I stand next to her. Close enough I can feel the heat of her body. I let the back of my hand brush against her arm as I open the door for her.
She looks up at me, her eyes incredulous. "Am I supposed to buy you as a gentleman?"
Maybe. I'm not sure what I want her thinking of me. Not yet. I take a step towards the driver's side door. "After you."
"Thank you." She slides into the seat and pulls the seatbelt tight.
I closer her door, move around the hood, slide into the driver's seat.
Lacey's eyes go to me. Then to the steering wheel. To her shoes.
She presses her palms into the tops of her thighs. "This is a Nissan."
"Yeah." I secure my seat belt and turn the car on.
"It's such a normal car."
"And?"
Her eyes meet mine. "It's not what I would have expected you to drive."
I check traffic then pull onto the street. I know people expect me to show up in a fancy luxury sedan or a flashy sports car. But, so far, Lacey has known better than to buy into all that shit.
She leans back in her seat and plays with her seatbelt. "I, um… I would expect you to drive something with a bigger backseat."
"A bigger backseat?"
Her voice brightens. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never had sex in this car."
"I'm not going to lie to you."
She tabs the seat beneath her. "Right here?"
I nod.
She motions to the backseat. "There?"
Again, I nod.
"You're so tall."
"I don't mind discomfort." I force myself to look back to the road. I'm getting all sorts of ideas about dragging Lacey to the backseat. And that shit can't happen yet.
She leans forward to turn on the radio. She goes right to KROQ, 106.7. The station is in the middle of a Red Hot Chili Peppers song.
She laughs. "They've been playing the same songs since I was old enough to listen to the radio."
"You're from California?"
She nods. "Riverside."
"The 909."
"No one calls it that anymore."
"You don't outgrow a reputation for meth houses."
"We're meth free."
"You sure?"
She shakes her head. "We're significantly meth reduced. We're no Orange County, but we do okay."
I nod.
"Nothing? I thought we had a rivalry?"
"Riverside dreams of competing with Orange County."
"At least some people think we're cool. Everyone knows you move to Orange County when you've decided it's time for fun to die."
"Do they?"
She nods.
I can't really argue. "I live in Huntington
."
Her eyes go wide. "Of course the millionaire rock star lives by the beach."
"My parents' place."
She presses her lips together. "So, technically, I'm doing better than you. Since you still live with your parents?"
I nod. "Technically."
"I'm more successful than Malcolm Strong. Fuck, I really want to put this on Facebook." Her eyes meet mine. "But I won't. Well, I have to text Carrie."
"Carrie?"
"My best friend." She bites her lip. "Don't worry. She's discreet. And she doesn't care about you. At all. She likes country."
"Nothing wrong with that."
She sticks her tongue out. "You haven't listened to much country."
"I listen to everything."
"I guess it suits you how all the songs about your dog dying or your pickup truck busting or your girl running off on you."
"Does it?"
"Yeah. It's all tragedy. That's Dangerous Noise—tragedy, tragedy, tragedy."
"You're gonna hurt my feelings typecasting me like that."
"It's more complicated, yeah, but there's a clear lack of positivity in the lyrics."
I can't argue with that either.
"It's interesting. Most pop songs fall into a few categories, but a lot of yours defy classification."
I stop at a red light. "Something tells me you have a lot more detail to that theory."
"You know, when normal people have conversations, they say stuff like go on, Lacey. That sounds interesting. Please tell me more."
"You know about normal people's conversations?"
Her lips crinkle into a smile. "You're teasing me." She looks up at me.
She's right. I'm teasing her. I fucking like her. In that high school I like you way. I enjoy the company of my fuck buddies, I enjoy my female friends, but I don't fucking like anyone.
I haven't had a semblance of a crush in a long fucking time.
The light turns green. I press on the gas pedal. It's only a few more minutes until we're back at her place.
If I invite myself in, she'll say yes.
But that's not the smart move.
I take in her expression for a moment. She's interested. Nervous. Excited.
She wants me.
She likes me.
I'm not sure she's really going to understand no strings attached. "Your theory?"
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 5
