by Vivian Wood
“I discussed it with my lawyer and our manager this morning, they both think it’ll work. I don’t know anyone more perfect for the part. It’ll be a purely business arrangement, my lawyer can draw up the necessary contracts immediately. I’ll pay you, of course, whatever you want - we’ve done really well for a couple of rejects.”
“You’ll pay me for what, exactly?” she asked, cautious now. This was seriously starting to sound dangerous and a little illegal maybe.
“No, no. Not that. Got a bit ahead of myself there. What I'm asking, Serena,” he got down on one knee next to her, took her hands in his and smiled that internationally heart-shattering smile at her before he asked, “Will you do me the eternal honor of being my fake girlfriend?”
She nearly slid off her own chair from shock. Her mind had hit a complete blank. It seemed she had been robbed of her voice, her common sense, and her free will, all at once. “Wh-why?” she stammered, a million thoughts rushing through her head, but she stopped at the protests of the two loudest ones. “Why me? And why do you need a fake girlfriend?”
He remained down on one knee, his strong and callused hands in hers. “Told you why already. Told you why I need this. We need something to take some of the heat off the band. The other guys, they don't see it yet. Some because they're not capable right now, and others 'cause they don't want to. I need them to at least try to fucking focus. This will be the perfect distraction for the paparazzi. I've never come right out and admitted I was in a relationship. The press will eat that shit up. We'll create the narrative, and people will believe it. It'll give the guys a break from all the attention, and I'll have a totally hot girlfriend for a couple of months.”
“So just to be clear, you’re asking me to lie to the world to give your band a break from the me?”
“Not my band, my brothers… and yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I’m asking. There’ll be lots of perks, though. I’ll personally make sure that you get introductions to whomever you choose, I’ll pay for design school. Whatever else you want.”
He was still on one knee, and it was really starting to feel bizarre to her now, looking down at him like that.
As if he could read her mind, his voice was quieter now as he looked up at her, his piercing green eyes bright and burning a hole into her soul. “Come on, what do you say? I've never gone down on my knee for a woman before. Never fucking figured I'd have to beg once I did.”
“I'm...” she struggled to find the right words. “Well, one, you're not on your knee for real, and two, this is a huge lie you're asking me to tell. Could I at least have some time to think about it?”
“Look, fuck, you're right.” He pulled one of his tattooed hands from hers, running it through his hair and dislodging the frightfully expensive sunglasses that sat on his head. He didn't move when they thunked lightly on the floor.
“Okay, how about this? How about you just give it a try? Go on a date with me tonight? One date before you make up your mind?”
She took a deep breath. Hadn't she disappointed enough people recently? He seemed like he really needed her help though, so without really thinking too much and knowing she could never just outright say no to him, she barely heard herself say, “Okay, one date. Then I'll think about it and let you know.” Her mind swirled; could she really do this?
He stayed down on his knee, holding her hand and staring into her eyes for just one more second, making it feel like something completely different before he shook his head almost imperceptibly and got back up to his feet.
He arched his eyebrows at her as he headed to the door. “Prepare to be wowed, Serena. I don't take no for an answer.” With that, he was out the door and off to do whatever rock stars did with their days.
Her knees felt completely wobbly as she headed back to her bedroom. Her head felt swollen with disbelief. On the bright side, at least she already had one job offer for today. As she didn't see any other exciting jobs coming her way, she decided to get ready for what she now viewed as her interview tonight. She grabbed all the nail polish she would need for a classic French mani/pedi and started pampering herself.
At around three in the afternoon, there was another unexpected knock on her door. She'd just started rummaging through her bulging closet to decide on what might be appropriate attire for a date with a rock star.
She had fired off a quick text to Mary after Rhys had left, letting her know she was sorry for bolting and that she was safe, so she doubted it would be Mary at the door. Still, she opened the door more cautiously this time and found herself face to face with a delivery guy who looked like he had enough boxes and garment bags to be moving a new tenant in.
“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong apartment.”
“Miss Woods?” he inquired, looking a little less bored after having seemingly spotted the modest cleavage revealed by the shirt she was wearing.
“Uh, yes. I’m her. I mean, that’s me.”
“Delivery for you then, would you sign here please?”
He thrust a clipboard into her face and tapped the line at the bottom he clearly wanted her to sign.
“I'm sorry, but I haven't ordered anything?” Upon closer inspection, the items all seemed to be from fancy boutique stores she hadn't been able to shop at even before her parents had cut her off.
“Ma’am, I just get told who and where to deliver stuff. You’re Miss Serena Woods and you live at the address on that piece of paper, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then this is for you. If you’d please just sign, ma’am, I’ll be on my way.”
Completely confused, she signed his stupid piece of paper and he immediately issued a command to someone out of sight, “Let's bring it in!” A man appeared from somewhere down the hallway and the two men had all the packages sitting in Josh's living room within seconds. Shit, now he really was going to kill her.
She started opening the garment bags as soon as the delivery men were gone. At first she moved tentatively, but as she discovered the absolute treasures they held, she felt her excitement building for each new one.
She was practically swooning by the time she opened the last garment bag. She had never really been a fan of sci-fi, but she imagined this was how certain fans of the genre felt when they received new memorabilia.
Inside the bags were some of the most beautiful dresses she'd ever seen, from designers she could never in her wildest dreams have imagined wearing. Yet, here they were, carefully displayed on Josh's random assortment of couches.
She moved on to the boxes next and nearly started weeping with glee while hugging the shoes they held close to her chest. She opened another box, shaped slightly differently, but seriously eager to see more gorgeous shoes, only to discover it didn't hold shoes at all.
Instead, it and the three boxes after it, held some of the finest lingerie she had ever seen – even in the catalogs she was too embarrassed to admit to have paged through. She checked the tags on each set, and each was exactly her size. Sure, it was a little creepy, but she couldn't stop the shiver that ran up her spine.
The next box was again shaped differently. Not knowing what to expect anymore, she opened this one more slowly again. The first thing she noticed was soft white tissue paper with a note nestled inside.
Have fun. Hope you love all of it.
See you at 8.
-R
She set the note aside carefully, wondering if he had written it himself. It smelled faintly of him, but if she was honest, she thought she was just high on designer spoils.
She lifted the tissue paper to find a bottle of perfume she had been eyeing for ages, but had never bought, though she always made sure to spray some of the test bottles on her neck and cleavage when she walked past a shop that stocked it. Next to the perfume she found some of the best cosmetics in the industry.
She smiled. For a man she had known for less than twenty-four hours, he sure as shit knew her style.
It took her the rest of the day, but she fina
lly picked out what she thought was the perfect outfit for unknown circumstances, and she was ready just in time.
At 8 p.m. sharp, there was a light tap at her door. Josh still wasn't home, so she opened the door herself.
She was starting to feel like she should carry a damn oxygen tank around this man. The way being around him had a tendency to make her breathing hitch, if not disappear completely. He was dressed in dark jeans, and a matching dark and tight button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking out. Her fingers itched to trace the outline of those tattoos, to inspect them and learn the story behind each one...
“Ready to be wowed?” he asked by way of greeting, cutting off that particular line of thought.
“Born ready!” she lied. She was willing to bet nothing made him nervous, so she was trying desperately not to show her own nervousness and lack of confidence.
It must have worked, because at that, he grabbed her by the hand and led her down the stairs to his motorcycle. Not what she was expecting. She'd never been on a motorcycle before, but she'd also never been on a date with a rock star. First time for everything, she supposed.
She accepted the helmet he held up for her, infinitely happy she had selected a simple messy ponytail as opposed to a more complicated hairstyle. She slid it on, and shrugged into the dark leather jacket he held open for her, then she clung to him as he sped through the cool night air. Clearly the speed limit didn't apply to rock stars. She nestled her face in his back and held on for dear life.
She wasn't cold, exactly, but she was grateful when he finally slowed down. Only, now that the roar of his engine had subsided and she finally had the courage to look up, a cold feeling settled in her stomach. They were at an outdoor rave. Lights were flashing, and the music pulsed its way into her bones. This was definitely not her scene.
Without thinking, she mumbled, “I, uh, don't do drugs. Never have, never want to.” She'd seen more than her fair share of fellow high school students sucked in by the poisonous stuff, and she had no intention of that happening to her. She didn't even like drinking all that much, Josh's wine being a minor exception.
“No worries, it's okay. We're drug-free tonight.” He grabbed her hand again and led her through the crowd to a roped-off area guarded by huge, hulking men in dark suits. VIP, she realized. Her whole body felt lit up by his touch. It had been a full thirty minutes of constant physical contact between them, and her body seemed to be wound to the breaking point.
She had decided after his visit and her quick Google search to stop invading his privacy like every other fangirl and to just let him tell her what he wanted her to know, when he wanted her to know.
Rhys strode past the guards, barely pausing to tip his chin to them in thanks. They remained unperturbed, clicking the rope back in place as soon as they passed into the VIP area.
Clearly, rock gods and their flavors of the week didn't affect them too much. The VIP area was much more spacious and chill than the crowds they had braved to get to it. How Rhys hadn't been recognized before was beyond her, until it occurred to her that no one would expect their guitar prince to be dragging a girl like her through the crowds.
Rhys scanned the room and quickly found the blond intruder from last night relaxing at a booth in the corner. She had learned this was Milo, high school bestie to Rhys, and the man behind the keyboards to Misery.
According to the articles she had read before she'd decided to stop stalking them online, Milo was as much a rock god as Rhys, adding a unique sound to Misery, and was very popular with the fans.
While she didn't know anything about keyboards, she did know that Milo was gorgeous. As tall and confident as his bandmate, he had light blue eyes, and short, slightly curly hair. He leapt to his feet as he spotted them making their way toward him.
He and Rhys gave one another that awkward one-handed hug that defined male intimacy. Only this one wasn't awkward at all, as they seemed genuinely happy to be together.
Odd, she thought. They lived together from what she had seen last night, and worked together, yet they seemed really happy to see one another.
“Get it done, man?” Milo asked, eyeing her.
“Sure did, bud. I think, anyway. Time will tell.” Rhys nodded toward her.
Ah, that's what the happiness was about then. Milo obviously thought she had irrevocably agreed to Rhys' “arrangement.”
“Serena, meet Milo. My oldest and best friend, and my favorite brother.”
8
“So you’re the famous Serena then, yeah?”
“And you must be the actually famous Milo, right?”
“You’re right, Rhy, she is something!” Milo replied, more to Rhys than to her.
“Rhysie here tells me you didn’t know who we were ‘til last night. He lying?”
“I’d heard of Misery, of course.” She didn't bother telling him how briefly she might have heard of their band. “I’m just not a panty-dropping fangirl… that’s all…”
Milo fist bumped Rhys and howled with laughter.
“Not yet, you mean,” he countered. Milo had been attractive the night before in the quick exchange she'd had with him, but now she realized he was much more than the blond-haired hottie she'd thought he was. Boyish, fun-loving charm oozed from him.
“Maybe, but I’ve had the chance to hear your lead guitarist unplugged, I think is what you guys call it, and he’s no Beethoven.”
“You wound me, princess.” Rhys laughed, his eyes crinkling with easy amusement as he held one hand to his heart.
Her heart skipped the tiniest of beats at hearing him call her “princess,” but she tried to ignore it.
“So, no drugs tonight huh, is that why the rest aren't here?” she asked neither of them in particular.
“Nah, they're around,” Milo said briefly before being effectively shut up by Rhys' glare.
The waitress came around with a tumbler of bourbon for each of the guys, and politely asked her what she wanted to drink, although her eyes implied she was really asking Serena how she would like to die. To his credit, though the waitress was definitely a looker, Rhys paid no attention to her.
“Just a glass of white wine, please.”
Rhys intervened, grabbing the wine list from her hand and surveying it carefully.
“We can do better than that.”
Milo looked over Rhys’s shoulder briefly, and they seemed to agree on one. “A bottle of that, please.”
Rhys pointed to something and handed the menu to the waitress without Serena's input. The waitress came back seconds later with a bottle of wine and three glasses. The guys declined their glasses and took swigs from their bourbon as the waitress poured a glass for Serena and settled the bottle into a silver ice bucket.
Lucky for me she hadn't known they wouldn't actually drink it just yet, or else she would most definitely have spit in the bottle judging from the daggers her eyes kept hurling at me, Serena thought.
Much to her surprise, Milo and Rhys were actually fun and easy to talk to. Neither seemed to long for the drugs being used all around them, and both seemed to be enjoying the company, content with nothing more than the conversation and the constant flow of bourbon.
Appropriately lubricated by almost half a bottle of wine for her, and a ton of bourbon for the guys, Milo had taken to calling her Sese.
She had crawled under Rhys' arm at some point, and he seemed happy to be cuddling her in public. It was Milo's turn to look surprised as Rhys nipped at her neck and ears, planting a small kiss on the top of her head as he laughed every now and then at things she said.
“So, I take it Rhysie here has told you of our predicament then?” Milo said, turning serious all of a sudden. Rhys said nothing, but he shot Milo a warning glance.
“We've just come off our second world tour, and the powers that be are on our asses to start belting out new shit. Except that Rhysie here seems dry. And Jett... well... he's not helping, and neither is Luc. In the old days, there'd be a concept, you
know?” She didn't really, but she nodded anyway. “We'd all agree on the concept and then go off in different directions to write the songs. Bring it all back and find the magic together. Nowadays, that's just not happening so much.”
Again, she nodded like she understood, but she didn't. Though in the back of her mind, she thought she might be starting to.
“We need the magic back, fast, and until we do, someone needs to distract the vultures.” Milo stared at her like he was giving her a challenge.
“And you need me to be the prey?” she asked, her eyes focused on Rhys.
“Yeah, princess, I told you, you’re perfect.”
Okay then, she could play, at least she thought she could. She drew a deep breath. She needed to be more herself if she was going to at least try. “This DJ is awful. A proper Misery girl would ensure he honors the guests of honor while they're here.” They howled with laughter again.
“Actually princess, they've played about three remixes of our songs so far. And we're not the guests of honor tonight, just regular ol' partygoers.” She could feel the tips of her ears go pink, but hopefully they were sufficiently hidden by her ponytail.
“He's also playing songs of people we don't like, though,” Milo piped up. “So she might actually have a point. Isn't this that bitch who lied about you fucking her over last year?”
“You're both right.” Rhys laughed as he stood up and took her hand. “Come on, Sese,” he said, apparently adopting Milo's nickname for her. “Let's go show the DJ how it's done.”
Milo hollered with laughter behind them, but Rhys paid him no attention as he walked confidently into the DJ booth, no one stopping their crowned guitar prince.
The DJ stammered at Rhys, but it wasn't like he was going to say no to modern-day rock royalty, and he quickly let Rhys take over.
Rhys cued a song and led her down to the dance floor. She'd had far more wine than usual and her head was swimming a bit, but her body was attuned to his every move.
