by Jenna Jacob
Turning my attention to the wide patio doors, I saw flames dancing in the wind from a tall, narrow firepit on the spacious terrace. I wanted to fling the door open and curl up on the inviting padded chaise next to the flickering flames.
“Would you like me to put your suitcases in the bedroom?” Quinn asked, slicing through my stupor.
“Yes, thank you.”
As he turned and disappeared down the hall, I was almost afraid to follow him…afraid that if the bedroom and bathroom were equally lavish, I’d never want to leave. Compared to my little Airstream trailer in the woods, this was paradise.
Taking a brave step forward, I trailed behind him, and as I suspected, the other two rooms were equally mind-blowing. A part of me wanted to ask him to leave so I could stand beneath the numerous jets in the humongous shower, then wrap up in the plush robe hanging beside the marble vanity, before spending the whole night on the terrace drinking in the lights and sounds of the city.
You’re here to do a job, a little voice in my head reminded.
“Do you want to unpack before we talk?” Quinn asked with a knowing smile. Clearly, my astonishment was written all over my face.
“It can wait.”
“Okay. Let’s move to the terrace. I’ll ask room service to set up your dinner outside if that’s all right with you.”
All right? It would be fantastic. I smiled and gave him a demure nod.
When we stepped onto the patio, I expected Quinn to tell me more about my job. Instead, he started pointing out landmarks and telling me the history of Times Square, including where the ball dropped each New Year’s Eve. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we didn’t have television back home. Though I’d seen them before, in the tiny hotel rooms Dad and I’d shared while searching for my mom.
After room service delivered my dinner, arranged it on the table outside for me, and left, Quinn turned eerily quiet. Wordlessly watching as I cut into my steak, he steepled his fingers and tapped them to his lips.
I didn’t need to unfurl my inner empath to know something weighed heavily on his mind. An aura of foreboding clung to the air around him. If he’d changed his mind about hiring me, the rippling consequences would destroy Gaia Garden. For purely selfish reasons, I didn’t want to leave without getting the chance to meet Ross. Mentally lining up a litany of reasons I should stay, I lowered my silverware, gathered my courage, and lifted my chin.
“I sense something is wrong.”
“We’ll discuss business when you’re through eating.”
His commanding tone made me bristle. I wasn’t used to anyone telling me what to do. At home on the mountain, we all worked together, equally, for the greater good. But I wasn’t back home, and Quinn and I weren’t equals. He might very well be my boss before the night was through. There was far too much riding on the goals I needed to achieve for me to blow it by acting like a petulant child.
“All right.” I plucked up my fork and bit the piece of steak off the end.
As the smoky char and savory juices hit my tongue, all thoughts of Quinn’s overbearing attitude and worries that he’d changed his mind, vanished. A moan of sheer delight slid from the back of my throat. The beef was delicious. It was buttery and mild compared to the distinct flavor of venison.
While I devoured the succulent steak, roasted asparagus, and creamy whipped potatoes and sipped my iced tea, Quinn offered up brief bios of the band members.
I was grateful for the insight into their individual personalities but shocked to learn that Ross and Syd were the only ones who weren’t in a committed relationship.
“Sofia, Tori, and Mia are the best things to happen to Burk, Darren, and Ozzy…far better than any platinum album or Grammy,” Quinn said with a satisfied smile. “Did you research Licks of Leather much before leaving Kentucky?”
“Not really. I searched up some photos of Ross.” Okay, so I’d drooled over photos of him. Because, yeah. The man was seriously panty-melting. “I did read an article about his past drug addiction, but…”
“Rule number one,” Quinn began as I placed my napkin on my plate and leaned back in my chair. “Do not believe a single word that the tabloids print. They lie. And while some rock stars live a life of wild parties, sex, and drugs, the guys of Licks have outgrown the party stage. None of them do drugs. And as far as their sex lives go? I don’t ask. It’s none of my business.”
“Or mine.” I smiled.
“Exactly.”
“I’m curious… What made you choose me for this job?”
“Because you don’t have a bunch of degrees and initials behind your name. Because you have a fresh, pure, unjaded view of life and nature.”
“You know where I live…what Gaia Garden is, right?”
“Yes. I did my homework on you.”
Clearly, he had expected me to have delved deeper into Ross’s past. Though it was hard, I’d purposely resisted the urge. I didn’t want anything influencing my perceptions once I finally met the man face-to-face.
“Then you know I’m not exactly tailored for the rock star world.”
“Another reason I chose you. You’re not star-struck or in awe of the guys in the band.”
“That hardly qualifies me—”
“You also think outside the box. I need that…Ross needs that. You’ll be able to achieve far more success with him than I can.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know how to reach him.” Quinn’s scowl was teemed with sorrow. “My job is promoting the band and the talent they possess. And trust me. Those five men are some of the most gifted musicians on the planet. I’m also responsible for keeping their image clean, which is a hell of a lot harder than any other aspect of my job.
“Unfortunately, a few weeks ago…right after the Grammys, it was brought to my attention that Ross’s name was popping up in the tabloids and on social media. Ava, my wife and company VP, has been working hard to put a halt to some of the rumblings while I’ve kept Ross and the others sequestered in Texas, working on a new album. I’ve been in this business long enough to know it won’t be long before one of the big vultures plucks up one of those obscure bread crumbs and turns Ross’s life into a living hell.”
“What are the rumors about?”
“We attended several parties after the Grammys. Ozzy and Ross got into a physical altercation at one with a guy who was trying to take certain liberties with Mia. It was hot news for a hot minute. But while the tabloids were focused on the brawl, they missed the near-death drug overdose at one of the parties we’d been to earlier that night. A party where drug use was plentiful and out in the open. Where tons of guests were getting high as kites.
“It wasn’t the kind of party the guys like to attend. We didn’t stay long, but as we were leaving, some freelance hack snapped a photo of Ross coming out of the hotel. When news broke about the overdose, rumors of Ross using again started popping up here and there. Now that their tour is about to start, we will be launching a huge publicity push. I fear the vultures are going to find that bread crumb. It’s just the ammo they need to try and take him down or give the fans serious reasons to question his sobriety. He’s worked too long and too hard for those pricks to start trying to chip away at his success.”
“So, Ross didn’t relapse at that party?”
“No. He wasn’t even in the room with the drugs. He was sitting out by the pool, looking at the sky. I need you to be with him on the tour so if or when the shit hits the fan, he doesn’t try to lock everything down inside him. He has a propensity for doing that ever since…”
“Ever since what?” I pressed after Quinn’s words trailed off.
“That’s another reason you’re here. To persuade him to unlock the past, face his ghosts, and put them to rest once and for all.”
“You’re talking about cocaine, right?”
“No. I’m talking about the reason he turned to cocaine.”
“And the reason is…?”
“
Your job to find out. I’ll warn you now. Ross isn’t going to make this easy on you. He’ll fight you every step of the way. Do whatever you have to, bribe him, trick him, hell, sleep with him if—”
“What? I am not a prostitute,” I bit out as anger spiked.
“I-I’m sorry, I know that. You’re a sweet, wholesome young woman. I wasn’t trying to insult you, simply stress the importance of opening him up and bringing back our old Ross.”
“So basically, you want me to convince a man who doesn’t want to dissect his past…to dissect his past.”
“Yeah.” Quinn exhaled heavily.
Mercy. This was getting more complex by the second.
“You took down your blog before you came here, correct?”
“Yes, though I don’t know why you insisted I needed to do it.”
“Because I don’t want the press tracking you down. I don’t want them revealing that you’re Ross’s emotional support person.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need you to work your magic with Ross without him knowing what you do.”
“How on earth am I supposed to help him if I can’t tell him why I’m here?”
“Because you’ll be posing as his girlfriend.”
Chapter Three
Ross
Dragged from a sound sleep by the blaring foghorn alarm on my phone, I bit out a curse, snagged the device off the nightstand, and silenced the annoying thing. I collapsed onto the mattress as the lure of rolling over to catch more z’s tugged my brain. Instead, I stretched and yawned like a bear out of hibernation, rolled out of bed, and hit the head.
After tugging on a pair of nylon shorts, I opened the trunk of weights I hauled with me on every tour, spread out my mat, and grabbed some barbells to warm up. Fifteen minutes later, I switched to the heavier rubber-gripped circular weights and lifted them until my muscles screamed and endorphins sailed.
After wiping the sweat from my face, I downed a protein drink, took a hot shower, then dressed and strolled to the living room of my suite. When I spied the carafe of coffee that I’d ordered from room service last night, sitting on the glass-topped table in front of the couch, a grateful hum rolled from my throat.
I filled a mug to the rim and took a big sip, moaning in gratification as the caffeine hit my system. Two gulps later, I refilled the cup before swiping open the calendar app on my phone. When the reminder that it was my turn to post something on the band’s social media page popped up, I snarled a curse and tossed the device down beside me.
Quinn MacKinnon hired people to put shit up on our page, but after a spark of genius hit him, he’d decided that at the start of every tour, each of us should take a turn posting something. Because it was more personal.
“Shit. I need more coffee for this,” I groused out loud.
After draining and refilling the cup again, I snatched up my phone and launched the social media app. Syd’s stunning photo of me sleeping had been altered, stamped with big bold letters that read: IS ROSS WALKER DEAD?
“What the fuck?”
Brows slashed in confusion, I scrolled through the fan page. There were thousands of posts from people mourning my death.
“You gotta be shittin’ me. Christ, people. I fell asleep. What the actual fuck?”
Through my spiking anger, common sense told me the rumors had originated from someplace else. And I knew just where to look. Launching the website for Celebrity Access—the sleeziest tabloid on earth—I bit out a curse. On their home page was the same photo Syd had posted, but the accompanying headline had me clenching my jaw so tight my teeth nearly cracked.
After numerous suicide attempts, Ross Walker is presumed DEAD!
“You cock-sucking, lying motherfuckers…I’m not dead. I’m right the fuck here,” I barked at my phone.
Blood pressure spiking, I scanned the article to see if I could determine how the trash-spewing bastards could have twisted Syd’s photo into something so idiotic and slanderous.
It’s reported that Ross Walker, bad-boy drummer of famed rock group Licks of Leather, was so despondent over the recent couplings of his bandmates and fears the group might be breaking up that he fell into a chasm of depression.
“What the hell are you guys smoking?” A brittle laugh tore off my lips.
Sources close to the drummer say Walker’s past cocaine addiction left him with alexithymia disorder, coupled with his anti-social behavior, and he’d feared that he’d been unable to love and would thus spend his life alone. Sources also report that Jennings, Ash, Page, and Wilson had been maintaining a twenty-four-seven suicide vigil in an attempt to keep Walker alive. Sadly, they failed and all fear that Walker is DEAD.
“Sources, my ass. Your sources are a couple of monkeys playing with a Magic 8 Ball.”
Unable to stomach the lies, I closed the app and pinched the bridge of my nose to stave off the headache climbing my skull. I counted to ten, then reached for more coffee when my attention was snagged by a bottle of Jack at the bar. Yeah, I needed something stronger than caffeine, but it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
“Yeah, but it’s five thirty in Nepal,” I mumbled bitterly.
As I stood to pour a strong one, my cell phone pinged. I reached for the device, hoping a reporter hadn’t managed to get my number. If so, I’d need a new phone, because this one would be embedded in the drywall across the fucking room. My rage ebbed slightly when I glanced at the text from Angie, asking if I was all right. Sinking back onto the couch, I shook my head. Instead of texting her back, I punched in her number.
“Oh, thank god. You’re alive,” she exhaled in relief.
“And ready to kick some tabloid ass. Yes, I am.”
“I knew in my gut, but I had to make sure.”
“Why the fuck are you reading that trash anyway? You know better.”
“I do, but I turned on the television while folding clothes and—”
“You did laundry before I left yesterday. What are you washing now?”
“Your sheets.”
Alarm bells began clanging in my head. Angie never washed the sheets until I’d been gone for a week. She liked sleeping in my bed and smelling my scent. Coupled with the fact that she’d gone totally silent on me, it made the ominous gonging grow even louder.
I’m not going to be here forever…
The words she’d uttered yesterday morning made my stomach twist. She’d been trying to tell me something, but I hadn’t wanted to listen. I was listening now…to a silence that said way too much.
“What’s his name?” Forcing the question off my tongue, I scrubbed a hand over my head and struggled to tamp down my panic.
“Ross…”
“What’s his name?” I barked.
“Thomas Iverson.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as the bottom of my world fell out from under me.
“What does he do?”
“He’s an investment banker.”
He can take care of her.
“How old is he?”
“Fifty-three.”
He can take her to dinner, dancing, and the movies without judgmental stares.
“Have you fucked him?”
“No,” she bit out tersely.
But she’s planning on it…soon.
“Don’t fuck him in my bed.”
Why the hell did I say that?
“That’s not why I’m washing your sheets, Ross.”
“I know.” She’d washed them to symbolically free herself from my ghost.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No. Don’t you dare apologize. Understood?” I growled.
“I meant it when I said it’s time you started living again. Not because of me and Thomas…but for you. You deserve happ—”
“Does Thomas make you happy?” I purposely cut her off. I was the last bastard who deserved any fragments of joy.
“So far. It’s still new.”
“How long?”
“A cou
ple of months.”
“Do you plan to be there when I get back?”
Why am I being such a selfish asshole? Angie deserves much more than this…than me.
“Of course.”
“If you’re with him when I come home, I don’t expect you to fuck me anymore.”
“I know. That’s why it’s so important for you to learn how to—”
“Sorry, babe. I gotta go. I’m meeting Quinn and the guys in the restaurant for breakfast and I’m late. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Ross.”
“You go live and have fun. I’m going to be just fine.” Liar.
“You will, because I’ll always be in your corner, cheering you on, no matter what.”
“Thanks, Ang. You’re amazing. I’ll touch base with you in a couple days.”
I ended the call completely gutted. A part of me felt as if Angie had just been plucked up by a rescue boat, leaving me alone on my isolated island.
I let out an angry growl. Self-pity wasn’t my style.
Besides, I couldn’t fault her for wanting more from life than coexisting with a fucked-up asshole like me. She was a warm, caring, giving woman who deserved a shit-ton of happiness. If push came to shove, there was always Club Genesis. Mika LeBrache would happily find me a switch who’d sate my sexual needs…with her fist. It’d be a miracle to find one willing to fuck me just for the sake of a fuck. But that was a worry for another day. Right now, sex was the last thing I needed or wanted to deal with.
Shoving my selfish disappointment down with the debris of regret, shame, and guilt I didn’t have the balls to dissect or compartmentalize, I headed downstairs to join the others for breakfast.
Darren was already seated at the big round table, scowling at his cell phone when I arrived. As I pulled out a chair and sat down beside him, he quickly closed the link to our fan page.
“Do me a favor. Post something for me. Tell those fucking idiots I’m still alive. I’ve read all I can stomach about that bullshit.”
“You saw it then. I swear, it’s the craziest shit the tabloids have come up with in a long time.”
