"Maybe I should listen to more of your songs," he said sarcastically. "It's not fair that you get to root around in my brain but I can't root around in yours."
"You've heard my stuff?" I asked, surprised.
"The professor who recommended you sent me some samples from your end of year performances."
I shuddered inwardly, suddenly embarrassed. "My stuff isn't worth listening to." Not for someone like Noah Hart.
"I thought your professor called you a genius."
"She was exaggerating."
"So modest."
"No. I just know that I'm nothing special."
Noah gave me a probing look, something almost like curiosity on his face. "You shouldn't say things like that out loud."
"Why not?"
"Don't let other people know you doubt yourself. It makes them doubt you."
"Is that why you don't want to the other guys to know about us working together?"
He grumbled. "I told you. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me."
"It's okay if you don't want the other guys to think less of you."
"I want you to stay out of my head." The words were quiet. Noah's eyes were almost dead inside, other than the slight frustration I could see simmering underneath.
"And I told you. I'm here to do a job. I can't compose a song for you until I've gotten to know the real you. This has to sound authentic. Otherwise it won't ring true to the fans."
"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? You're a fangirl."
"You say that like it's a bad thing. Of course I'm a fan. Your music touches me."
"I don't write music for people to get all weepy."
"Don't you want people to feel something when they listen your songs? Isn't that the whole point of creating music?"
"I don't care if anyone feels anything. I write it because it's marketable. Because it sells."
I was appalled at the words coming out of his mouth. Noah Hart, talking about how marketable his songs were. It was baffling.
"Are you serious? You don't care how your music makes people feel? You just want money?"
"That's right."
"I don't believe that. You said the music came from your heart. From your soul. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be having so much trouble with this one song. You want it to be good. You don't want to let your fans down."
"You've got me all figured out, haven't you?"
Underneath the tension and frustration, I could hear a hint of helplessness. Noah was having trouble. He didn't want anyone to know. But he knew he needed help. He just couldn't bring himself to ask for it.
"I don't have you figured out." I gnawed at my lip. "But I'd like to."
Noah stood from the piano bench and approached me slowly, slinking almost like a jungle cat. The look in his eyes threatening to burn me up from the inside.
"You want to know more about me?"
He got closer, forcing me to take steps back until I hit the wall with a thud. I couldn't move any further away, and yet Noah didn't stop advancing. He stalked toward me until he was mere inches away. He inclined his head down. We were practically nose to nose.
"I can think of a few ways to get to know each other." His lips tilted in a dark smirk.
My inner muscles clenched as I contemplated all the different meanings of those words. Was he serious? Or was he teasing me? Making fun of my so-called fangirl crush? Noah kept on making these comments and innuendoes. How much of it was him needling me?
His eyes were on my lips. My breath caught in my throat. I made an aborted motion, stopping myself before I could reach out and touch him.
If Noah didn't feel the same sexual tension between us that I felt, if it was all just a sick game to him, I'd end up making a fool of myself.
I let out a shallow breath and shifted to the side, putting a few feet between us.
"I'm… gonna go get a coffee," I said weakly before stumbling out the door on shaky legs.
I had to get out of there before I did something I'd regret.
Chapter Six
I made my way to a small kitchenette down the hall. There was a complicated looking chrome coffee machine on the counter. It took me about five tries before I figured out how to make a latte. I could have simply poured myself a regular cup of coffee, but working for one of the most established entertainment companies in the world had to have its perks. Besides, if I was going to be dealing with Noah all day, I deserved a goddamn latte.
The machine was complicated enough to make it slightly frustrating, but I was glad for the distraction. If I kept on thinking about the tension growing between me and Noah I was going to explode.
Or melt. Either one seemed likely at this point.
I must have drifted off, lost in my thoughts for longer than I'd realized because I hadn't heard someone entering the room until he spoke. I recognized the voice.
"Hey there gorgeous. You new?"
I nearly dropped my coffee cup as I saw Cameron Thorne, bassist of Darkest Days, standing in the doorway.
I knew when I took the job at Etude Entertainment I'd probably run into the rest of the band, but it honestly hadn't occurred to me that it might be under such mundane circumstances. Wasn't I supposed to run into them backstage at a concert while they were all dressed up in their rock star best?
There were no leather pants and no eyeliner, just jeans and a t-shirt. Of course, Cameron Thorne's t-shirt was tight and thin enough to show off every muscled ab and his bright, fire engine red hair was tousled in a careless manner that clearly took more effort than it looked.
I stood frozen, mouth gaping open for I don't know how long. Cameron gave me a carnal smirk. I shook myself, fighting down a flush. My latte spilled over the rim of the cup, splashing my hand. I hissed at the burning sensation and laid it down on the counter with a shaky clink.
"Sorry. Yes. I'm new. Hi," I said dumbly.
Cameron eyed me up and down, his gaze lingering on my legs. I flushed and resisted the urge to pull my skirt down, even though it already reached the tops of my knees. It was well known among fans that Cameron Thorne was a shameless ladies man — which was a more polite way of saying manwhore. I got the feeling he was picturing me naked. I didn't know if I should be flattered or appalled.
"What do you do here, gorgeous?" he asked. "Are you the new intern?"
"I was hired to…" Oh no, what was the cover story again? "I'm one of the new consultants helping produce your album. I've been working with Noah."
Cameron let out a choked laugh. "Who'd you piss off to get that job?"
"Um. No one?"
"Good luck. You're gonna need it."
"He's not that bad," I lied.
Cameron wrapped an arm around my waist and stoked my back. "You poor thing. If you get tired of that asshole snarling at you, you can always come work with me." He leaned close, putting his lips near my ear. "I know how to treat a girl right."
I stepped back, shocked. I'd heard about Cameron's reputation, but coming on to the new girl at work within minutes of meeting her was something else.
Almost as bad as commenting on her pussy and nipples.
Cameron walked with me as I headed back to Noah's piano room, latte in hand. Between the wicked grin Cameron Thorne threw in my direction and the knowledge that Noah was going to be waiting for me, my nerves were almost shot.
"See you later, gorgeous." Cameron gave me a smirk and left as I walked into piano room. Noah looked up from his music sheets, his expression turning panicked.
"Was that Cameron?"
"Yeah."
He cursed and stood from the piano bench. "We're not doing this here."
"Where are you going? We're still not done."
"I don't want you in this building. We'll work at my place."
"Your place?" Me and Noah. Alone. Just the two of us. Would I survive?
"Got a problem?"
"Nope."
"Good." He cursed again and ran his hands through his hair. "What did you tell h
im?"
"Nothing. Just that I'm working with you."
Noah whipped his head around, glaring.
"That I'm just a consultant," I clarified. "No one knows I'm actually writing the song for you."
"Quiet!" He darted his eyes back and forth, as if making sure there was no one else in the hallway who might overhear.
"Why don't you just tell the others?"
He ignored me. "Come on. We're leaving."
"If I was in a band and had friends to rely on, I'd ask them for help."
"Friends. Right."
"Are the other guys not your friends?"
"More like overbearing siblings," he muttered.
"Is that such a bad thing? Don't you like having people who look out for you?"
"I can look out for myself."
"There's nothing wrong with relying on people."
"The only person I can rely on is me." He started gathering up all the music sheets he'd been scribbling on. "We're done for the day. I'll text you the address to my place. Be there tomorrow."
He strode out without another glance, leaving me wondering what I had said to make him leave in such a hurry.
Chapter Seven
I listened to more Darkest Days songs on my way to Noah's place. I couldn't have imagined the pain I heard in his voice. The words he'd written had to mean something more than what he told me they meant. It had to be more than just marketability.
There was no way Noah Hart could have written such heartfelt lyrics simply because he knew they would sell. Those words must have come from somewhere deep inside of him. I needed to find out what kind of person Noah was when he wasn't throwing up all those guards and putting barriers between himself and others.
I needed to get to know the real Noah Hart. That was the only way I'd be able to write a song that not only resonated with the audience but that also reflected something of the man himself.
It was going to be an impossible task. Noah was so prickly. He never seemed to let anybody in, even his own bandmates. I wondered what had happened to him to make him like that. Was he always that way? Was he like that as a kid?
I didn't know anything about Noah. Not his family, or where he grew up. Nothing. For all the information available online, there didn't seem to be much people knew about Noah Hart. There were rumors of trouble with his family, and people talked of a younger sister, but no one had seen his family or heard from them. It was as if he had appeared on the music scene like a ghost with no past.
If I tried to analyze the words in his lyrics maybe I would find a way to get inside that head of his. I wanted my first real music job to go well. If I wasn't able to work with Noah to write a song, or if I wrote a song and it wasn't up to his standards, or even worse, if we wrote a song and his fans hated it, that would be the end of my professional reputation. I didn't want my first impression in the music industry to be a failed one.
Noah's building was a high rise condominium right in the middle of downtown. It must have cost millions. When I walked in the concierge greeted me by name and gave me directions to head up to the penthouse floor. Noah must have told them to expect me.
He was already working when I opened the front door of his apartment. He'd kept it unlocked for me. The music was similar to what I'd heard him composing that first day, but it sounded sadder, more mournful.
I stood inside the doorway, not wanting to walk into the room and disturb him. A grand piano sat in the corner of a huge living room, with plush carpets and dark hardwood. The decor was warm and homey — unlike anything I would have expected from someone as abrasive and closed off as Noah. I half expected to find an austere living space with minimal furniture in a modern style. Instead, his living room was warm and inviting. It was at odds with everything I'd come to know about him.
Noah played the song we'd been working on slower, in a lower key, and with more cautious movements. It made the whole thing sound more forlorn than what I'd originally envisioned. It wasn't a bad sound. In fact, I thought it was even better than the way we had worked on it the day before. I hadn't realized how happy the previous song had sounded until hearing Noah play it slower. This song fit Darkest Days' style much better. Noah could never be considered an upbeat or cheery person. The slow, deliberate notes were emotionally devastating, just the way his lyrics were. He was somehow able to take the feeling of his lyrics and put them into music.
I wondered why he was having so much trouble finishing a song if this was the kind of stuff he was able to compose. The song he was playing on his piano right now was good. All he needed was some help fleshing it out and it would be perfect for their new album.
With a thundering crash Noah slammed his hands on the keyboard. I jumped back, heart pounding. He dragged his hands over his face, staring at the floor. His eyes looked blank and unseeing, as if he were struggling with some invisible inner demon.
"Noah…"
He whipped his head around, looking unsettled. "What are you doing here?"
"You said you wanted to start work at eleven."
He flicked his eyes to a clock on the wall. "Oh. Right."
"You seemed frustrated," I said tentatively. "Is there something wrong with the song?"
"Everything."
"I liked it."
"Of course you liked it."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means it sounds like every other piece of drivel anyone else has ever written."
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I have no taste?"
He stared me for a few moments, before slumping his shoulders, looking almost exhausted.
"No," he said grudgingly. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying you like it because it's marketable."
"Isn't that what you want?"
He looked down at the piano, playing a few quiet notes. "Maybe."
"Just maybe?"
He buried one hand in the hair at the back of his neck. "The others are going to write songs that sound like them. I don't want mine to just be another Darkest Days song. I want it to sound…" he trailed off, the words barely audible.
For all that Noah talked a good game, he obviously wanted this song to be different from his usual work.
I was resolved. I was going to get to know this man, no matter what. Even if he tried to shut me out, I was going to crash my way through those guarded walls and find out what he was truly like.
"You want it to sound like a Noah Hart song. I can help with that."
"How?"
I sat next to him on the piano seat. He didn't shuffle over to make room for me. We ended up pressed hip to hip. My inner muscles clenched and throbbed as our thighs brushed together. The rough scratch of his jeans against my leg nearly had me reeling. I could smell him, leather and spice. It was intoxicating.
I snuck a glance at Noah to see if he was as affected by our closeness as I was. His gaze was turned in the other direction, not looking at me. His lips were pressed together firmly.
I took a moment to breathe deeply and compose myself. I only succeed in breathing in more of his scent. I felt myself flushing. I scooted away as far as I could on the piano bench, putting distance between us.
"We want your song to sound unique," I told him, proud that my voice was smooth, not giving away my inner struggle to contain myself. "So why don't you tell me about yourself?"
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Why would I want to do that?"
Despite his bad-tempered personality and penchant for needling me, there was something about the way Noah Hart looked at me that made me want to swoon. Those rare moments of curiosity, like he was trying to figure me out. Those heated moments when he would zero in on my lips.
I inhaled and exhaled deeply to calm myself. I couldn't get so worked up. Yes, I wanted Noah Hart to tear off my dress and take me on the piano right then and there. No, I wasn't going to let that fact affect my work. I could be professional.
I picked up the sheets of music notes he'd been working on, avoi
ding his gaze before I did something stupid.
"If we're going to be working on a song together, then I'm going to need to get to know the real you. If we want this song to sound authentic to your fans, it needs to sound like something you wrote. I've listened to your lyrics millions of times—"
"I knew you were a fan, but millions?"
I ignored him. "I feel like I know the Noah Hart who wrote those words, but that's not the Noah Hart I'm sitting next to right now, is it? You're a different person."
"You mean I'm an asshole."
"No."
He snorted.
"Okay. Yes. You're an asshole sometimes. But that just makes me want to get to know the real you even more. You're not an asshole around everyone, right? What about your bandmates? Your friends?"
He stiffened. "Friends? You mean the people who come out of the woodwork once you get famous, trying to sponge off you and use you? Yeah. Some friends."
"What about your family?"
He shot me an almost panicked look, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. The look was soon replaced with a scowl. "We're not talking about this."
His family must have been a sore spot. I filed it away as something to explore later.
"We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. But I think it would be good if I got to know you."
"And what about me? Don't I get to know you?"
I shrugged. "There's not much to know."
Noah 's dark eyes held that same spark of interest I'd seen before, as if I were a puzzle to be solved. What was it about me that made him so curious?
"And what exactly do you want me to talk about?" he asked.
If I'd known as a teenager I'd have the chance to ask Noah Hart anything I wanted, I would have been ready with a list of questions. Now that I was actually in front of him, I was at a loss.
"Maybe you can tell me how you first got into music?"
He thought for a moment. "It wasn't the music so much," he murmured. "It was an English teacher who—" he cut himself off, looking almost embarrassed.
"What about your English teacher?" I prompted.
Hard Rock Tease: A Rock Star Romance (Darkest Days Book 1) Page 4
