by J. Sterling
Keri’s cheeks flushed and her voice was higher-pitched than usual as she told Paige, “I love your work. You were incredible in your last movie.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Paige’s head tilted to the side. “Sampson, did you say? Your dad’s not Howard, is it?”
“The one and only.” Keri beamed with pride. She and her dad had a great relationship. He had worked long hours as he made his way up in the movie business, and was away for most of Keri’s childhood, but for whatever reason, she never seemed to mind. Instead of being bitter, she was fascinated by the movie biz and wanted to be a part of his world. She started as an intern at his studio the summer she turned sixteen, refusing to take no for an answer from him.
“Please tell him I said hello. I’ve always wanted to work with him.” Paige smiled and her trademark dimples deepened.
Colin cleared his throat and Paige sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry. Colin, this is Madison. She’s Jayson’s assistant. And this is her roommate, Keri.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said to Colin. He appeared less than impressed, and I felt almost bad for Paige as he fidgeted, avoiding eye contact with anyone other than her.
“Nice to meet you both,” he said absently, then tugged at Paige’s arm. “Babe, we should get to our seats.”
Paige gave me an apologetic look before shrugging her shoulders. “It was good to see you, Madison. I have to come into the office to sign some paperwork, so I’ll see you tomorrow. And Keri, it was very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Keri said to Paige’s retreating back, before turning to me with her eyes shining. “She is so flipping nice.”
“I told you she was,” I said, referring to all the times Keri had asked me for gossip about which celebrities were nice, and which ones were jerks. She claimed she was only being curious, but I knew it was mostly for her dad. If he expressed interest in working with a specific actor or actress, she liked to know the inside scoop on them. It was her way of watching out for him, even though he didn’t need it. Howard Sampson was one scary son of a bitch when he wanted to be. And he garnered enough respect through his tenure in the industry that even drugged-up has-beens knew not to screw with him.
Ear-piercing screams filled the air. Assuming that Walker had appeared, I jerked my head toward the stage in front of me. Nothing moved, so I glanced over at the VIP area where Paige and Colin had stood a few minutes before, and noticed Quinn Johnson and Ryson Miller. This concert seemed to bring out all the local celebrities, although I wasn’t surprised. This was Los Angeles, after all, and everyone who was anyone lived here. More than that, they loved being seen, so local high-profile entertainment events brought the stars out in droves.
Seeing Quinn should have surprised me even less since she was Paige’s best friend. Both Quinn and her boyfriend, Ryson, were actors, although neither of them were represented by my agency. Which was a damn shame, if you asked me, because they were both incredibly talented and we’d have been lucky to have them.
“I absolutely love Quinn and Ryson. They are the cutest couple ever, I swear. They better not ever break up. Ever.” Keri rattled off her opinion at warp speed, and I half smiled as I listened to her. “Are you listening to me? If you have any control over that relationship at all, you will never let it end.” She stomped her foot to emphasize her seriousness.
“How on earth would I have any control over their relationship? We don’t even represent them!” I tossed my hands up in the air and shook my head at her silliness.
“I’m just saying,” Keri huffed. “I think they’re my most favorite young Hollywood couple. I’m invested.”
“You’re insane is what you are,” I said with a snort.
“But I’m fun,” she shot back before sticking out her tongue.
After the warm-up band had finished and a brief intermission had passed, the house lights dimmed and the sound of deep drumbeats thumped, vibrating the floor and drawing excited shouts from the audience. Walker’s voice boomed through the sound system, testing the mic as the white curtain dropped to the floor and disappeared altogether. The screams were deafening as his silhouetted frame appeared to rise from the floor. I found myself shouting along with everyone else without meaning to. It was hard not to get caught up in the moment, especially when you were three rows from the stage.
Slow bass beats continued as Walker sauntered from one side of the stage to the other, the rotating spotlights hitting his tanned face every so often. When the music sped up, I recognized the tune and smiled. I thrust my fist in the air, rocking my head back and forth as he stripped off his long-sleeved jacket to reveal a sleeveless V-neck T-shirt, and a pair of well-toned, muscular arms. I screamed unabashedly along with the crowd as my gaze took in every sculpted muscle, and drank in every inked tattoo. Apparently I was more excited than I realized. He gripped the microphone with one hand, dancing to his own cadence while he sang the lyrics in his signature style.
The rest of the band remained below eye level in the stage design while Walker strutted around on an elevated platform, front and center. Usually lead singers were surrounded by a plethora of backup dancers and background vocalists, as well as several musicians. But Walker had none of those things. It was him, a microphone, and nothing else. There was pure beauty in the simplicity of the staging, and I realized I’d never seen an entertainer be more entertaining with so little before.
“Oh my God, Madison! How fucking hot is he?” Keri yelled while holding her cell phone in the air to record him.
I simply nodded in response and let a wide smile spread across my face. Was it possible that Walker sounded better live than he did on his albums? I started to think he did. Hell, I would have believed anything in this moment. Being this close to him in his element was beyond hot. He was charming, charismatic, and sexy as hell. The way he moved with a rhythm all his own was mesmerizing. I didn’t want to be charmed by him, but I was. It was like being back in junior high, a twelve-year-old girl again, smitten by every expression, every little gesture he made. My gaze followed him around the stage as he crooned into the microphone and cast meaningful glances at individuals in the crowd.
Walker sucked in a deep breath as the next song started, and he rapped as the entire arena sang along with him. I found myself drawn to the way he closed his eyes and bobbed his head, his body moving against the beat in his own rhythmic time. Not with it, necessarily. It was as if the music moved through him…within him…like every riff of the guitar, beat of the drum, and keystroke of the piano flowed beneath his skin in a way that only he could feel. He was affected by every sound that enveloped him; moved by it. And in turn, he moved me as well.
Girls screamed and he flashed a large smile, surely knowing how that single action would elicit more ear-piercing wails. His all-white jeans and sleeveless shirt cast an even brighter glow in the spotlight as he fell to his knees, clutching the microphone tightly and singing lyrics filled with so much longing and want, it appeared as though he felt every single note in the depths of his soul.
My breathing hitched as his eyes squeezed shut and he delivered the last two lines of the song, his head bowed forward, his chin nearly touching his chest.
If I hadn’t known all the crappy things about Walker, I would have thought he felt things with more intensity than other people, was a better human being. Watching him in these moments was like seeing him completely vulnerable—stripped down, raw, and completely exposed for everyone to dissect and pick apart. The emotions that radiated from him seemed so real, I was certain I could reach into the air and pull them into me.
“This is intense,” I whisper-shouted toward Keri, who still happened to be recording.
“He’s fucking amazing.” She looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “I’m shocked he’s this good,” she added and I silently agreed, my head still moving slowly with the beat.
• • •
Halfway through the show, Walker Rhodes did something I’d never seen any othe
r performer do before. A circular stage lowered from the ceiling and he walked out onto it, slowly and with purpose. He addressed the entire audience in a practiced way, talking to the crowd, mentioning girls and guys by their outfits, waving at and addressing every single fan holding a hand-drawn sign for him. The fans were overjoyed. By the time he got to the floor section where we were seated, I was ecstatic.
That had been one of the coolest things I’d ever seen an entertainer do. Watching him interact with his fans that way was both heartwarming and mind-blowing. I hated to admit I was impressed, but I was. My mind drifted as an elbow greeted one of my ribs.
“Ouch, Keri. Shit. What?” I tried to yell over the music that played in the background of Walker’s salutations.
“He’s staring at you,” she whisper-shouted against my ear.
“What? Who is?” I said absentmindedly before looking up toward the elevated platform. I hadn’t realized my gaze had shifted away from him, I had been so lost in my own thoughts. Walker Rhodes stood directly above me, speaking into his microphone about how he “sees the girl in the black shirt with the sparkles on her head.”
Instinctively, I touched my forehead and was met with the coolness of faceted crystals against my fingertips. I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. I stared back at Walker, but I didn’t smile, move, or even breathe as my heart pounded against my chest.
Then he smiled at me, and I swear part of my heart melted on the spot. I knew if I looked down at the floor, I’d see a small puddle of heart goo mocking me. For fear of looking down and having my suspicions confirmed, I simply stared into Walker’s hazel eyes. At least I thought they were hazel. It was hard to tell for sure in the stadium lighting.
“Yeah you, Sparkles,” he said as he pointed at me. Then he sang, “I’m looking at you. I’m talking to you. I see you,” in the same melody as the background music that played. “I see you.”
The Earth shifted in that moment; it must have. Because there was no other plausible explanation for why I lost my footing and almost fell straight to the floor. He broke eye contact with me and finished his endearing back-and-forth with the crowd, but my mind was reeling.
“What the fuck, Myers?” Keri shouted again, calling me by my last name.
I shrugged. It was all I could muster at the moment because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he said, “I see you.” It wasn’t creepy, like the way a stalker would say it, but it had the same intensity.
Wait.
Not stalker intensity. It was simply intense. I shared an intense personal moment with one of the world’s biggest music gods right now. As much as I wanted to hate everything about it, I reveled in the moment. So what if I worked for a talent agency and saw celebrities every day. This was completely and utterly different.
A tap on my shoulder interrupted my reverie and I turned in that direction, only to be faced with a twenty-something-year-old girl wearing next to nothing. “Do you know him?” she asked, her clearly collagen-plumped lips puckered like she just ate something sour.
“What?” I yelled at her over the screaming surrounding us. Taking in her tiny, barely clothed frame and the ridiculous amount of makeup painted on her face, I stopped myself from rolling my eyes.
“Do you know him? Why was he talking to you? Why does he keep staring at you?” The girl’s voice was irritated and bitchy. Clearly, she hadn’t dressed this way to not be noticed by Walker.
“I don’t know him, sorry,” I answered politely before turning away from her.
Still rattled by my interaction with Walker, I found myself wondering why he had focused so much of his attention on me. Breaking myself out of my own head, I glanced back toward the stage, my eyes searching for him.
Walker sat on one of the stage steps, his chin in his hand as he spoke to the screaming crowd. “I need a volunteer for this next part.” His head raised slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Keri jumped up and down like a crazy person, waving her arms and screaming his name. I laughed at her antics and sat perfectly still, not wanting to bring any more unwanted attention to myself.
Another tap on my shoulder caused my irritation to bubble as I turned to what was sure to be that annoying overly made-up stupid girl again.
It wasn’t. I came face-to-face with a giant of a man wearing all black and holding a walkie-talkie. Intimidated, I took a half step back and looked around for Keri.
“Come with me.” His tone implied a demand, not a request, and I suddenly wondered what I’d done wrong.
Who the hell was this guy? He’s not the boss of me. He’s not going to tell me to come with him and think I’ll just obey. I frowned and said quickly, “Uh. No, thanks.”
He flashed his VIP backstage pass in my face as if it were the only credential he needed. “Miss. It’s part of the show. Can you come with me, please? You’ll be onstage with Mr. Rhodes.”
Oh.
Well, shit.
I guess he could be the boss of me, after all.
I shot Keri a surprised look before I was quickly hauled off in the direction of an almost completely darkened backstage area. We walked through a black curtain before we were hit with lights and blaring music.
“I’m going to bring you onstage.”
“And then what?” I asked, suddenly nervous. Not to be around Walker Rhodes, but nervous at the thought of standing in front of thousands of screaming people with cell phones ready to record my every move.
I started to tremble. Afraid my legs wouldn’t hold me up any longer, I begged the security guy to help me out there. He smiled at me and gave me a little shove.
Thanks, you dick.
Next thing I knew, I was standing onstage, my face mere inches from Walker’s. Walker no-human-being-should-be-anywhere-near-this-gorgeous-in-real-life Rhodes. His jet-black hair was clipped short against his tanned skin. The coloring only set off his light hazel eyes even more. The contrast was stunning, and triggered a tingle of awareness in me. I felt lost in that moment as I stared into his eyes, something in them calling to me. The way he stared back at me was almost expectant, like he was willing me to move, think, connect…or something.
His stare intensified and all I could think about was how I had never noticed his eyes before. Then I wondered how on earth that was even possible? Had I been blind my whole life up until this moment? The color of his eyes could stop wars from waging, or calm the roughest seas. Nothing and no one could be immune from the look in Walker’s eyes. I was suddenly hit with a sense of familiarity, but quickly tossed it aside, remembering his celebrity status. He felt familiar because he was; his face was constantly in the news and on plenty of magazine covers. Everyone knew everything about Walker Rhodes.
His mouth curved and my gaze reluctantly moved from his dreamy eyes down to a pair of deliciously full lips. My brain suddenly kicked into gear, reminding me where I currently was—onstage in front of a sold-out arena. I glanced out at the rowdy crowd as nervousness shot through me. Walker’s lips moved quickly, but I couldn’t hear anything because I was too busy freaking out. Although I could see Keri bouncing up and down in the audience with her cell phone in the air, which only made me freak out more.
When he leaned forward, his face almost touching mine, I could feel the electricity sparking between us. But I convinced myself it was all in my head, because really? Who wouldn’t feel something between themselves and a celebrity in this moment of insanity? Walker reached out his hand and placed it under my chin to gently raise my head. And he shocked me.
Literally.
He pulled his hand away abruptly. “Sorry about that, Sparkles,” he said into the microphone with a smirk before turning to address the audience. “I shocked her. We’re so electric together that we spark. Just like her headband.”
Then he ran his fingers gently across the crystals in a slow and deliberate motion.
What the hell is going on right now?
I forced a nervous smile as he continued talking.
; “This is one of my favorite parts of the show. I love you guys so much!” The crowd roared in response as he continued speaking over them toward me. “So, Sparkles, what’s your real name?” He pushed his microphone at my mouth.
“Madison,” I said weakly before he pulled the mic back.
His eyebrows lifted. “Madison. I like it. You look like a Madison, all cute and sweet. I bet you were a cute kid.”
That’s a weird thing for him to say.
“Where are you from?”
I pulled my head back slightly at the question. “Here.”
“Here? You’re from the Staples Center?” He laughed and I smacked his shoulder.
“No. I meant here, as in LA.” I shrugged.
“Well, I figured that much.” He turned toward the crowd and said, “Didn’t you, Los Angeles?” and the crowd screamed in response.
“So, what do you do?”
The stupid microphone appeared in my face again. “For work?” I mumbled, not really understanding why he would ask such a personal question anyway.
I felt like a complete idiot. The pit of my stomach tumbled like it was filled with rocks. Celebrities didn’t normally unnerve me. I couldn’t be fazed by them in my line of work, but this was something else entirely. I was coming unglued at whatever seams pretended to hold me together.
And then there was the way Walker kept looking at me. Deliberately, like he was trying to tell me something without words, but I wasn’t getting the message. Maybe he was expecting me to do something, like flirt with him for the audience? All I could think about was the damn rocks in my stomach, and I felt like an idiot.
“Yeah, Sparkles, what do you do for work?” His voice boomed with confidence.
I hesitated. Should I really tell an entire arena filled with rabid fans my name and where I worked? That might not be the best idea. You never knew what people were truly capable of.
