“I do have a suggestion, Drew,” I begin, because this one has been percolating in the back of my mind for a while. “How would you feel about recording your concerts?”
“Already do. I like to be able to go back to listen for issues. Helps me improve the sound.”
“No, I don’t mean simple sound check recordings, but real studio quality stuff.” I’m pretty sure my enthusiasm leaks through in spite of my efforts to keep my tone even, but I’ve seen a few bands make this move and it’s always a good one. It gives fans that feeling of access, of inclusion, and the profits all go directly to the band so it’s lucrative. This is the type of initiative that’ll help me make a name for myself, so I’m really hoping Drew will get on board.
“To what end?” He leans back, face blank. He sounds skeptical.
“We put them up on your site for fans to buy at a reasonable cost. We provide studio grade recordings of each concert, bring in a team to record tracks for all the instruments and vocals and do some minimal editing for quality. Fans love it, and the profit margin is exceptional.” Talking business is helping to cool me off between my thighs, thank fucking goodness.
“I’m not worried about the margin.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I make enough on the shows. But you think it’s something fans are looking for?”
“Absolutely. It’s good for fan morale, good for your image. Win all around.”
“Alright.” His nod is slow and speculative. “Alright, yeah, set it up, we’ll try it. If it doesn’t fly in a few shows, we can always nix it.”
“Exactly,” I respond, stifling the urge to smile. “But trust me, that won’t happen.”
“That a bet?” He winks at me, and it resets the heat in my belly. “Because I can think of a few things to ask for.”
“It’s a promise,” I respond around my dry mouth. If I can’t match his confidence, this is over before it really began. “I think you’ll find that I'm capable of managing all aspects of your affairs.”
“All aspects?” His smirk widens, eyebrows rising. I don’t want it to ruffle me, but what can I say? I have a thing for talented sex machines. Who doesn't?
“I can handle anything,” I say flatly.
“You should be careful with that kind of claim,” he says airily, smile never wavering. “You can’t plan for everything. Gotta be able to handle the huge things, even when you aren’t expecting them."
There’s no mistaking what he’s insinuating. It takes everything I have not to drop my eyes and see if he's still sporting a heart-stopping hard-on. I switch gears. “I think I should get going. You've got a show to finish prepping for.”
He hooks his fingers in his belt. "I hope you enjoy watching it as much as you enjoyed seeing me at sound check."
My lungs seize. On heavy legs I stand and walk towards the exit of his dressing room. The entire time I know he's watching me, smiling at me, thinking about me . . .
But worst of all?
He's sensed a weakness in me that I never expected. Drew saw it in my face, how I was eating him up. Fantasizing about him.
I wanted our first interaction to set the tone of our relationship. I think it did.
Just not the way I wanted it to.
Chapter 3
Lucy
We’re in Dallas, and I've set up an interview with a local morning show. It's a call in, standard for a tour, but Drew's supposed to be in contact by 7:30 for the 8 AM slot and he's not picking up his phone. Not even the hotel landline. Usually, he’s relatively punctual whatever first impression I may have had about his tardiness our first meeting, and he's pretty good about responding to texts if nothing else.
Color me genuinely concerned.
I knock on the suite door a few times without response, so with a slight sigh, I use the extra key card that has been gifted to me for emergencies. It's 7:40 and the producer at the radio station is frantic. Seems like an emergency to me.
The suite living room is dead quiet so I make my way to the bedroom, knocking on the door softly. When there's no answer, I knock again, and this time there's a light groan.
Drew doesn't have a reputation for drugs and I haven't seen him partake, so maybe he's hung over?
Well, we don't have time for coddling. I fling open the door with a loud crash and look for my absentee client, and oh yes, there he is.
The man is stark naked, sprawled on the massive bed alone fast asleep. From the eyeful I've just gotten, he looks as good out of clothes as in them, information I was definitely better off not knowing. And he’s huge, exactly where it counts.
That’s going to haunt my dreams later. We really, really don't have time for this.
Knocking on the wall next to me loudly, eyes pointedly turned to the window, I call out, “Wake up already!”
Another groan. I check my phone. 7:45 and four missed calls from the station. Crap.
A manager’s gotta do what a manager’s gotta do.
I turn around and march to the bed, eyes scanning up his body as I go. He's got a lean, tattooed body that has women around the world swooning. He's shifted from when I caught a glimpse a minute ago—a sliver of blanket covers his hard cock. Barely.
My eyes eventually find his face, and while I'm expecting, at worst, his head to have shifted under his pillow, what I find has my hands flying to my mouth to stifle a gasp of horror.
Drew is awake and smirking at me, the bastard. He’s watching me check him out.
“Like what you see?” His smirk widens and I grab the pillow from under his head roughly to toss at his crotch before looking pointedly at the wall behind him.
"Of course not," I snap. It comes out a little shaky and I hope he doesn't notice. The bed springs squeak behind me. I'm facing a wall and I think that's better than seeing him naked, but at the same time, I'm trapped.
There's a hot, totally exposed rock star behind me. Before I can decide if it's better to stand my ground or make a run for the door, his voice brushes over my ear. It's low and hot and it promises so many things just in its tone. "Liar."
Shivering, I scrunch my eyes shut. Calm down. Don't play his games. "We don't have time for this."
"Time for what?" he chuckles. "Because I know for a fact I could bend your tight little ass over right here and make you come in three minutes or less."
His cockiness pisses me off, but I'm more angry with how my stomach tightens—my pussy giving a sympathetic throb. His shadow touches my shoulder seconds before his hand does. He whispers, "We'd get along better if you let me help you relax. I can tell when someone needs a good fucking."
Two things happen; my clit swells, and I spin around, determined to stand my ground. Drew is grinning at me, so close I can see the heat deep in his eyes. There's nothing but air between me and his bare, thick and delicious looking cock.
Don't look at it, I beg myself.
But I do.
And he sees.
His nostrils flare, like he's realized I want him. That this might happen.
“No,” I say firmly, embarrassment coming out as anger. In this case, No means a few things: No, we can't fuck. No, I'm not going to suck you off, either, even if you probably taste amazing.
I focus hard, leveling my glare onto his face and pushing forward with the main reason I'm here, a No that makes sense. I need something to make sense, because lusting after Drew sure doesn't. “You need to call the station. They've been trying to get in touch for half an hour.”
Scratching at his hair, the chemistry evaporates between us. “I told you I wasn’t doing it.”
I want to scream as my eyes scan the room and I notice he's unplugged the hotel phone from the wall.
“What's your problem?” My voice is even, but only just.
“You're my problem.” He says it so sharply that I step backwards. He's acting like this is about more than just me being his manager. Again, I peek at his naked body. It's a relief—and it hurts—when he snatches up some clothes and begins to change.