COPYRIGHT
Mr. October
Published by Nicole S. Goodin
Digital edition
ISBN: 978-0-9951276-2-3
Copyright 2019 by Nicole S. Goodin
All rights reserved. ©
This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Mr. October
First published October 2019
All rights reserved. ©
Cover design by Nicole Goodin
Images purchased from Shutterstock
Editing by Spell Bound
DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, places, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges all song titles, song lyrics, film titles, film characters, trademarked statuses and brands mentioned in this book are the property of, and belong to, their respective owners.
Nicole S. Goodin is in no way affiliated with any of the brands, songs, musicians or artists mentioned in this book.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
THANK YOU!
MR. SEPTEMBER
OTHER TITLES
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PLAYLIST
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
UPCOMING TITLES
DEDICATION
For all the babes born in October.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book has been written using UK English and may contain euphemisms and slang words that form part of the New Zealand spoken word.
Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday, New Zealand vernacular.
I.e: I’m from New Zealand and sometimes we say weird things down here… please try and be cool about it.
CHAPTER ONE
Masen
“Are you even listening to me, Masen?”
I catch my name at the end of the sentence and roll my head lazily in the direction of Ange, my PR chick.
She really needs to get laid; the woman’s always bitching about something.
“Well?” she demands as our eyes meet.
I shrug. I don’t know what the hell she’s going on about. I don’t really care either.
“He’s not even listening to me,” she hisses, turning her attention to Chuck, my manager. “I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long with him.”
I yawn. A barely concealed threat to quit, again.
I debate telling her to just go, but then I’d have to hire someone else, and that sounds like a lot of work.
Chuck shoots me a look that tells me he needs me to help him the fuck out.
If it were anyone else, I’d probably ignore them, but I’ve got a soft spot for Chuck. He’s the only person in this building that still sees me as a person and not just someone they can make a shit load of money from.
“I’m listening,” I drawl. “Talk.”
She scowls at me, straightens her already perfectly put together folder and starts talking.
“We need to sort out your image; going to rehab has really hit your sales hard.”
I interject, “I don’t think the rehab was the problem.”
She clicks her tongue. Nothing gets a PR chick riled up faster than referring to a PR nightmare situation, and shit, do I have a few of those under my belt.
“Regardless,” she replies tightly, “your sales are down, and your reputation has gone to the dogs.”
I snort out a bitter laugh. To the dogs. She talks like she’s old as fuck when I doubt she’s much more than ten years older than me. I’ve slept with women older than her.
“I’m the prick of the year, I get it. What do you want me to do about it?”
“Clean up your act,” she replies swiftly.
I raise a brow at her. “I thought that’s what I was doing in rehab.”
Her eyes soften, but only a fraction. I know deep down she’s thankful as hell that I’ve kicked the bottle, but I’ve made her life a living hell for the past two years, aged her at least ten years I reckon; it’s going to take more than a thirty-day programme to get in her good graces.
“It’s going to take a bit more effort than that I’m afraid.”
I rake my hand over my face. Of course it is. Nothing is ever enough – it’s always more. “What are you thinking?”
I’m not sure I care what it is, and I’m in no way indicating I’m about to actually follow through with any of it, I just want to get out of here so I can light up a smoke already. It’s the only bad habit I was allowed to keep.
“We’re going to start booking you in for public appearances again… events, red carpets, that kind of thing. We need the media and your peers to see Masen Lennox, sober.”
“Whatever.” I wave my hand at her. “Is that it?”
She shakes her head. “No. Chuck and I think it would benefit you greatly, publicly and privately, if you had a woman in your life.”
I smirk at her. “What makes you think there aren’t women in my life?”
“Woman.” she snaps at me. “Singular. A girlfriend, not a bunch of bed-hopping hoes.”
My mouth twitches in amusement. I’ve never heard her say the word ‘hoes’.
“I don’t do girlfriends.”
She looks to Chuck for help and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pinning me with his stare. “Look, I’m going to level with you, kid, the label still wants to drop you.”
Well shit.
My expression remains the same – static, unflinching, but he nods, knowing that I understand how serious this is.
I thought rehab would have placated them, apparently, I was wrong.
“Either you clean up your act, or you’re gone.”
“When we mentioned that you’d settled down with a nice girl, it really seemed to go a long way,” Ange cuts in.
I groan. “You’ve already told them I’ve got a chick.”
I’m fucked. They’ve fucked me over with this. They’ve backed me into a corner, and they know it.
I don’t do girlfriends and I’m not about to start now, so if I want to keep my career intact, it looks like I’m going to have to pretend.
Chuck glares at her before turning back to me, his mind already in line with mine.
“We can hire a pro – an escort or something, string it out for a few months, maybe even a year and pay her well enough that she doesn’t breathe a word to anyone,” he offers.
“And what happens when one of her previous clients recognises her? Takes it public? That might be worse than getting shitfaced and sp
ewing on the red carpet.”
He grimaces.
He’s right, it probably wouldn’t be worse, but whatever.
“We’ll bring someone in from out of town, hell, out of country if we have to.”
“Just stop,” I tell him. “Let me think for a god damn minute.”
My gaze wanders for the first time, through the huge glass walls and out into the offices surrounding us.
They’re really doing a great job of making me feel closed in; people from my label are literally all around us.
Producers, assistants, secretaries, interns… they’re all here, and they’re probably all judging me too.
Not that I give a shit. As long as I can make music, I don’t give a shit about any of that.
I linger on a girl with long brown hair; she’s delivering coffee to some record label douche.
He waves her away with his hand after she sits the cup down in front of him, and I don’t miss the ‘fuck you’ look plastered across her face. I definitely don’t miss when she raises her middle finger at the back of his head before rushing away, her fine ass swaying.
“If I’m going to do this, I want to choose the girl,” I bargain.
“Within reason,” Ange replies. “She can’t look like you found her on the street corner.”
“We do this my way,” I say, ignoring her insult to my taste in women.
“We’ll see.”
That’s the best I’m going to get out of this uptight bitch.
I nod my head slowly as I consider it. I can pretend. I can play make believe for a few months to save my career – the only thing I still care about.
“Alright,” I reply, my eyes still watching the brunette. “I’ll do it.”
“Excellent. I’ll start compiling a list of possible candidates,” Ange says, her relieved voice coming from up above me as she gets to her feet. Always so efficient.
“No need,” I say, twisting back to face the two of them.
Chuck frowns and Ange’s brows knit together. “But you said…”
“I said, I’ll choose the girl.”
“Okay…” Ange replies, still confused. “Well then, where is she?”
I turn my shoulder and point to the harmless looking brunette who appears to come with a side of sass. “Right there. I want her.”
CHAPTER TWO
Billie
“Billie, Ms. Steel wants to see you in the conference room.”
“Who does?” I reply, panicked.
I’ve done my best to remember all the names and faces of every person that works in this building, but the name Steel is drawing a total blank.
Christina peers back at me like I’m a moron. “The blonde chick in there with Masen Lennox.” She tips her head towards the glass-walled room in the centre of this floor.
I swallow slowly. “She wants me to go in the same room as Masen Lennox?”
She pops her gum and chews it noisily – quite possibly the most annoying trait she possesses. “Yip. Sure does.”
I wring my hands together nervously. “Do they want coffee?”
“How the hell should I know, I’m just passing on a message.”
“Do you think I should take coffee?”
“Just go in the room, Jesus, you need to chill,” she snaps.
I gape after her as she stalks away, off to be a bitch to someone else, no doubt.
She’s just told me to go into a room containing one of the most famous singers in the entire world, and she expects me to swan on in like it’s no big deal at all.
Knowing he was in the building this morning is the reason I nearly dropped a tray of coffees on the floor.
It’s also the reason I’ve not once looked in the direction of that conference room.
They’ve failed to use the privacy screens the whole time they’ve been in there, which only makes it more unnerving. It’s easier to forget him if I can’t see him.
I step around the corner, away from the copier I’ve been hiding out at and glance nervously at my destination.
Three sets of eyes are on me, waiting.
The tall blonde woman waves at me, indicating for me to come over. She looks both impatient and unimpressed.
Great.
I nod once at her, avoiding the two men at all costs.
I walk on shaky legs towards the door.
The other man in the room is Chuck Brown – Masen Lennox’s manager. He’s been with him since before his sudden rise to fame. Whispers around the office are that he’s the only person Masen really gives a shit about disappointing, and I bet he’s been doing a lot of that this past year.
I reach for the handle and will the tremor in my fingers to go away.
I’m just an intern. I’ve only been here a few months. I knew I’d see famous musicians from time to time, but I don’t have a clue what one of the biggest names in music could possibly want with me.
I pull the door open, the whoosh of air making me even more nervous.
“Billie, please come in,” the woman says.
Christina said her name was Ms. Steel – I hope like hell she was right.
“Of course, Ms. Steel,” I reply as I rush into the room, still avoiding the other sets of eyes I can feel on my face.
She looks at me curiously. “Call me Ange.” She points to a seat for me to sit in.
“Ange,” I say quietly as I sit down.
“This is Chuck Brown.” She points to the man sitting opposite me, and I finally lift my eyes to his.
He’s seriously hot for an older dude. “Hi,” I breathe.
He nods once at me, his expression tight. I get the impression he doesn’t like whatever it is that I’m here for any more than Ange does.
“And I’m sure you’ve heard of Masen,” Ange offers.
I swallow deeply and shift my gaze from the handsome older man to the scorching hot younger one next to him.
“Hello, Billie,” he says, his voice throaty and delicious.
I suck in a breath. Masen Lennox just said my name. Holy shit.
“Hey… hi… I’m a big fan.”
Chuck groans. “This is never going to work.”
“Shut up,” Masen hisses.
Ange looks sceptical.
I suddenly feel like an animal in a zoo as they take turns appraising me.
“Ummm… sorry, but why am I here?” I shift my stare between Chuck and Ange, being careful not to extend it to Masen.
“I’ve got a… proposition for you.” It’s Masen who replies, and I’m forced to look at him again.
God, he’s gorgeous in that ‘I don’t give a shit’ kind of way; mussed dark hair, faded black t-shirt with a tear in the neckline, and ripped black jeans. His shoes are scuffed-up black chucks that he rocks in a way only a superstar can.
His brown eyes roam over my face and just the action alone makes my skin break out in goosebumps.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Masen’s recent stint in rehab,” Ange cuts in, taking over the explanation.
I nod. The whole world heard about his alcohol addiction.
“Ninety days sober,” Masen drawls, and I get the impression he’s not all that happy about it.
Ange shoots him a glare.
“Now, I’m not sure what it is you do here…”
“I’m an intern,” I provide.
“Right… well, you’re probably not aware of the impact Masen’s past indiscretions have had on his career.”
“I’m hardly surprised.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I curse myself internally. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.
My eyes flicker to Masen and he smirks, seemingly unfazed by my comment.
Ange narrows her eyes for a moment, before launching back into her explanation.
“Long story short, Billie, Masen needs to clean up his act, get some of his wholesome image back.”
I almost laugh. There is nothing much wholesome about Masen Lennox – he’s a bad boy through and through. I do
ubt there’s anything or anyone in the world that could change that.
“And we think the best way forward is for Masen to have a young woman in his life.”
“Okay…” I reply, confused by where this conversation is going.
“But the problem is –”
“The problem is, I don’t do girlfriends,” Masen interjects.
I nod. “Okay… noted?” I still have no idea why I’m in here, involved in this obviously personal chat.
“So, we’re looking to hire someone, Billie, do you understand?”
I nod slowly, I still can’t quite believe this is happening. “So… you want me to make a list or something? I can do that.”
“We were thinking more along the lines of –”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, stop beating around the bush,” Masen interrupts her. “I want you to be my girlfriend.”
I feel my jaw fall lax. “I’m sorry, what?” I point at myself. “Me?”
He leans forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, lean muscles bulging against the confines of his shirt.
“Be my girl?”
I blink slowly, totally transfixed by his beautiful face, his sexy mouth speaking words I never in a million years thought I’d hear directed at me.
“But… but… you don’t even know me,” I stutter.
He shrugs one of his shoulders. “Not important.”
“But…”
He cuts me off before I have the chance to speak again.
“You’re hot as fuck, you seem sweet, what more do I need to know?”
Masen Lennox just said I was ‘hot as fuck’.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“I don’t think I’m the right girl for the job. I’m shy. I’m boring.”
“Trust me, sugar, there’s nothing boring about you.”
Another shiver passes over my skin. He just called me sugar, and I’m practically putty in his hands.
Mr. October: A Rock Star Romance (Calendar Boys Book 10) Page 1
