European Tour (Rocking the Pop Star Book 1) Read online

  EUROPEAN

  TOUR

  (Rocking The Pop Star, #1)

  By

  L.V. LEWIS

  European Tour – Rocking The Pop Star – Volume 1/L. V. Lewis — 1st Ed.

  Copyright © 2016 L. V. Lewis

  Vintage Carriage Return © Editorial via Dreamstime.com

  Cover design by Cover Me Creative.com by © Kristy Charbonneau

  Photo Credits:

  Cover Image - © Christopher John - via http://www.cjc-photography.com/

  Cover Models: Miles Saavedra Tann & Tayla Fernandez

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America by Jungle Fever Press

  European Tour/ L.V. Lewis

  First Edition: May 17, 2016

  14 13 12 11 10 / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  European Tour

  Rocking The Pop Star Series #1

  By L.V. Lewis

  This is a HOT story that contains sex, drugs (mostly reference to past use), and rock & roll.

  ___

  Broken. Guilt-ridden. Ready to start over.

  Brody Kent walked away from the pinnacle of rock superstardom and never looked back. Financially, he never has to work again, but takes jobs as a personal assistant to keep his mind—and other things—busy. The women he works for always want something, and he's more than willing to help. But when he's sent to work for a pop princess, Brody will do anything to make her happy—even if it means admitting the ugly truth about his past.

  Smothered. Talented. Ready to start her life.

  Successful pop star, Skylar Samuelson is about to embark upon the turning point of her career—a summer tour in Europe. Her manager mother has promised to pull back and allow her full reign of the overseas tour. When Brody Kent becomes her new assistant, Skylar can't deny the attraction. He's perfect. Everything she’s ever wanted. But Brody's hiding something and the truth may break her. If someone else doesn't break her first...

  Lies. Betrayal. And the truth that could ruin them all.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  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

  Author Bio

  Backlist Titles by LV Lewis

  PROLOGUE

  SAVAGE SABAN RETIRES AMID DRUG ALLEGATIONS RELATED TO KIMBERLY HEART’S DEATH

  LOS ANGELES (AP) - The Savages frontman Savage Saban, 23, will not face drug possession charges related to backup singer Kimberly Heart's death, police confirmed today.

  LA County Deputy Police Chief Sanford Fernandez says they chose not to file charges after "weighing the pros and cons into probing the narcotics charges against Saban."

  The news was first reported by rock music website Grunge Nation, which dubbed The Savages “the reincarnation of Nirvana.” Saban seemingly confirmed their reports today when he also shared the news, albeit prematurely, that he was retiring on Twitter. “Not catching case & not doing this anymore w/o Kim. RIP, Baby,” the tweet read. Ms. Heart was Saban’s girlfriend of four years.

  Saban, who has never revealed his true identity, made the formal announcement via his public relations firm today. Saban hasn’t been seen since Heart’s tragic death.

  Heart, 21, was found dead in the Hollywood condominium the two shared on New Year’s Eve while on hiatus from a world tour with The Savages.

  Saban was arrested on January 2 after detectives alleged that they found a substance "field tested positive as heroin" in the condominium the two musicians shared after a party they hosted together.

  "Narcotics were found in several places in the home, and obviously with several people having been in attendance at the party, a number of people could have potentially possessed those narcotics, so at the end of the day we decided not to pursue charges against Saban," Fernandez reported.

  The LA County Medical Examiner's Office recently reported that Heart died from an accidental overdose and that a mix of heroin, vodka, and methamphetamines led to the rock star's death.

  The singer is survived by her parents Mason and Diana Heart of Downers Grove, Illinois, and two siblings Teresa and Stephen Heart, also of Downers Grove.

  "The outpouring of condolences and prayers offered to our family has been overwhelmingly positive and is very much appreciated," wrote Stephen Heart in an emotional Huffington Post piece touching on Heart and Saban’s romance clouded by addiction issues after the singer’s death. "But the truth is, like so many who struggle with drug abuse and addiction, Kimberly was consumed by it. What we lost on New Year’s Eve was any hope that an intervention might have saved her life."

  Saban’s manager indicated that his star client would be entering a drug rehabilitation program when he said during his interview on Grunge Nation that “Fans can only anticipate that Savage is going away so he can restore The Savages to their former position of rock glory.”

  ONE

  BRODY

  The Interview: A Week Before The Tour Begins

  I’ve barely taken a seat in my agent’s office before he shares the news of an “urgent professional nature” he insisted I be in his office promptly at eight o’clock Monday morning to receive.

  “You said you wanted to travel on your next job, right Brody?” David Rickards is so excited the lisp causing him to whistle when he pronounces certain words is much more distinct.

  “Yes…” I stretch the word out, unsure whether I should answer in the affirmative or not, since he’s being so fucking weird.

  “This gig is perfect, and will put you in a different country every weekend for most of the summer.”

  “Oh really,” I say, my own anticipation building. I’d worked for an East Coast blue blood with a foot fetish on my last temporary assignment. Best toe sucker on the entire Eastern seaboard. It felt good. It just didn’t do much for me sexually. She, on the other hand, got off on that shit. “Who’s my boss this time? European royalty?”

  “How about the closest thing we’ve got in America?” He paused for effect. “Skylar.”

  A cold wave of disappointment washes over me. Looks like I’ll have to turn my third gig for I’m Your Man, Inc. down. The powers that be certainly have a wicked sense of humor. When I’d left the business approximately five years ago and signed on with I.Y.M. about a year ago, I’d made it clear I didn’t want to work for any musicians. David was well aware of this.

  I have to admit, though, it would be nice to start a new gig now so I could cultivate an opportunity for a new hookup. I hadn’t dated in the pure sense of the word since
Kim died, and these gigs with I.Y.M. help me to secure just the kind of entanglements I like—casual and brief. My last assignment ended more than two weeks ago, and it's about time for me to get laid again. Although, sometimes, I feel lonely for true companionship—for a person who gets me on a more intimate level—but then thoughts of Kim invariably quash these notions before they can take root and grow.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You want me to work for who?” I ask as much for clarification as to express my disbelief.

  “Skylar Samuelson, the pop singer,” David says.

  It’s not that I hadn’t heard him the first time. This client is very well known in the music industry. A person would have to live in a third world country with no television not to have heard of her.

  Given how fucked up I was on drugs all the time when I was in the industry, putting myself back in the proximity of a bunch of depraved musicians was a bad fucking idea. While keeping the affairs of the pop princess in order, I’d be hard pressed not to run into a lot of my old “enablers.” I wouldn’t call them friends. That would be a fucking gigantic stretch of the imagination if there ever was one.

  The other reason I’m not eager to take the job is because I’m not particularly fond of pop music in general. Of course, I’d probably make more working for Skylar Samuelson than I did working for three regular clients, but it isn’t about the money for me. My bank account isn’t hurting.

  I’m Your Man, Inc. provides me with varied jobs that keep me doing something. Anything. So I don’t have to think. I work so I don’t have to be idle. Being idle lends itself to me being immersed in my own thoughts. And thinking puts me back in that room with Kim—all the life drained from her normally expressive brown eyes—me playing my fucking axe until my fingers bled. Drugs make you do stupid shit. You don’t respond the way you normally would when your body is free of narcotics.

  David sighs impatiently. “Listen, Brody, I know you said you didn’t want to work for any musicians, but the client—specifically the star’s mother—wants someone who has a musical background, and your application says you used to be in a band.”

  I’m sure he thinks I’d been a part of some amateur garage band that played gigs in local hot spots.

  You have no idea, Mr. Rickards.

  He continues, “I could have another guy take this gig in a heartbeat if you’re not interested. She’s the hottest thing since Britney, Shakira, Rihanna, and Beyonce combined.”

  “I know who she is,” I snap. And that’s about all I know. I don’t listen to her brand of music on purpose, but her songs rule the airwaves on radio, television, and Internet. Much like The Savages did only five short years ago.

  Now I have a choice. I could work, or I could sit around my condo thinking about my former fucked-up life, remembering what happened to Kim, and wondering if I should binge on some illegal substance and join her.

  Work? Or think?

  David sucks his teeth impatiently. “I’ll give the next guy waiting this gig if you’re passing on it.”

  “I’m not turning the job down. I was just trying to remember whether my passport was still good,” I lie. Of course it is.

  He stands. “In that case, come with me.”

  David moves quickly for a guy his size. He is, in a word, portly. Yet he seems to have the energy of someone half his size and age.

  Frowning, I stand up, but stay rooted in my spot. “Where are we going?”

  “To meet the client.” David’s rolling eyes clearly show his exasperation with my delayed movement.

  I’d been a foregone conclusion, apparently.

  “Move your ass, Kent. They’re waiting.” He lumbers through the door and, because I am currently a dutiful employee of I.Y.M., Inc., I follow.

  As we enter the conference room, I note a woman dressed in designer duds and dripping in diamonds with a pretty biracial teenage girl who looks to be a combination of the woman and an East Asian father, probably Japanese.

  Not sure what the girl’s connection is to the epitome of stage mothers, but the girl gawks at me with unabashed abandon while the woman frowns as if I’m not at all what she expected to see.

  The middle-aged woman glares at David. “We were about to leave, Mr. Rickards. You of all people should know you don’t keep potential clients who could make or break your company waiting.”

  The girl snorts a sound of disbelief and rolls her eyes.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Samuelson.” David extends his hand to receive a shake as limp as his own. “I was securing only the most perfect personal assistant for Skylar.” He gestures to me. “Meet Brody Kent, a former musician with exceptional business and people skills, and also the equivalent of a graduate-level music degree.”

  Rickards can really lay it on thick, I’ll give him that. Despite my chagrin at his embellishment of my credentials, I smile, take Mrs. Samuelson’s hand, and shake it firmly.

  She doesn’t return my smile, and I’m not surprised. She strikes me as the kind of old broad whose default setting is wary.

  I don’t react to the displeasure. She’s likely worn the sour expression for so long it’s gotten stuck that way. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Samuelson.” I turn to the girl. Her green eyes, a considerably lighter shade of her mother’s, have been giving me a frank appraisal, but she hasn’t spoken. “And who do we have here?” I ask.

  The girl smirks and raises a delicate brow.

  David laughs through what is either an elaborate clearing of his throat or an attempt not to swallow his tongue. “Brody’s also our resident jokester. This is only the Grammy-, Emmy-, and Oscar-winning Skylar Samuelson.”

  My mouth falls open. This can’t be the same hot chick I’ve seen plastered all over LA that I’ve had a random sex dream or two about. No fucking way.

  She takes a pad and pen from her bag, scratches some words onto the paper, and then holds them up for me to read. “Nice to meet you brody. my friends call me sky.”

  Had I met her on the street, I wouldn’t have pegged this girl as the artist known to the world as Skylar. She’s fresh-faced with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and wears no makeup except a generous slather of gloss on ruby lips. Without The Skylar Face, she could be the girl next door. Her signature Skylar look was a full face of makeup accentuating dramatic eyes with darkened eyebrows and her accompanying dark lipstick. It was iconic: the face that launched a billion boners.

  The girl before me is barely legal. If that.

  “Close your mouth before a fly lands on your tongue, Brody,” David says under his breath, then takes a seat next to Sky at the head of the table.

  I close my gaping mouth and take my own chair across from the ladies.

  Damn. Talk about putting a foot in it.

  David begins his schmoozing spiel and I look at Sky. Too bad she’s such a youngster, because I had fleeting visions of seducing the pop princess as I had my previous clients. At twenty-eight, I’m likely a good decade older than her.

  I take another look at her mother. The woman has me by at least twenty years. It isn’t beyond me to seduce a cougar, but Mama Samuelson is a little too severe for my tastes. If the tabloids could be believed, she runs Skylar’s career with an iron fist, and from what I know about the music world, I don’t blame her.

  I tune back in as David says, “I’m Your Man prides itself in providing men of excellent work ethic who also have the ability to represent and/or escort the client in any social situation. They are also trained in self-defense. Brody has trained in mixed martial arts for the past four years and can step right into your former P.A.’s shoes and take care of everything she was handling. He’ll hit the ground running. Just give him a few days to acclimate.”

  Mrs. Samuelson eyes me with distrust. “Amber is more like an assistant manager, because she handles many of the engagements, the contracts, and public relations for Skylar. Sort of like my right hand.”

  “Brody is more than capable of all of that,” David sa
ys.

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Samuelson’s skepticism shows through her mirthless smile. “You’ve been talking so much, he hasn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. I’d like to hear from Mr. Kent.”

  This woman acts as if she believes I’m as nonverbal as her eccentric daughter is right now. My first inclination is to tell her where she can get off, but I don’t want to end up sitting on my ass watching re-runs all summer. I’ll take the polite tactic.

  “I’m intimately familiar with many concert venues and their managements. I know my way around the paperwork, social media, and public relations for musicians.” If I have to be honest, what I know about the business side of the industry pales in comparison to my music knowledge, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  What most of the contractors of I.Y.M. have in common is the ability to bullshit our way through any given situation. A little paperwork doesn’t scare me.

  “We were hoping for a female companion,” Mrs. Samuelson begins.

  Sky opens her mouth for the first time and interjects, “That might be your hope, Mother, but I think Mr. Kent will do nicely.” Her voice is raspy as if it’s been strained from singing. Sexy as hell, regardless.

  Sky might live up to the hype around her sexy alter ego, minus the bruised voice box. I’d been thinking she was doing that ridiculous thing some vocalists do where they don’t speak to anyone so many hours before a performance.

  “I also have a remedy for what ails your vocal cords,” I say.

  Although she doesn’t speak her interest, her green eyes spark with gratefulness.

  “If you can work that miracle, you’re hired,” Mrs. Samuelson says.

  Sky grins and displays two thumbs up.

  “I’m always available to tour with my daughter, but she’s asked me to give her…” Mrs. Samuelson trails off as if searching for the proper word, and Sky’s grin falls away. “…space.” She’d said “space” as if the word soured her tongue. She raises her voice, pointing at me as if I’m an errant schoolboy. “Don’t think for one minute if you and Malik don’t keep things straight I won’t make your lives a living hell.”