Savage: A Rockstar Romance (The Rock Legend Series Book 1) Read online

  I begin to think that sexy Sky might just live up to the hype surrounding her bombshell alter ego—minus the bruised voice box, of course. I had been afraid that Sky was like so many other silly vocalists who refuse to speak so many hours before a performance. Thankfully she’s not vapid like that.

  I speak up, “I have a remedy for your vocal cords.”

  Skylar doesn’t verbally respond but her sparkling green eyes beam with gratefulness.

  “If you can work that miracle, you’re hired,” Mama Samuelson says through her laughter. Who knew my suggestion would soften the old broad up a bit?

  Sky winks and gives me two thumbs up.

  “Mr. Kent, I always tour with my daughter but this time she asked me to give her…” Mrs. Samuelson trails off, obviously hurt. She searches for the proper word to explain how Sky doesn’t want her around. Sky’s grin fades away. “…space.” She spits out the word “space” as if it is burning her tongue. She then raises her voice and points to me as if I’m an errant schoolboy. “But don’t you think for one minute, Mr. Kent that it is okay for you and Malik to screw things up because, if you do, I will make your lives a living hell.” An icy smile appears on her aged but still pretty face.

  I ignore her mini tirade. “Please call me Brody, and who is Malik?”

  “Sky’s Security Chief,” Mama Samuelson says matter-of-factly. “I’m sure you two will get along fabulously.” She eyes my hair with a shudder. Whether or not it’s feigned, I can’t really tell. She coughs and smiles one of those syrupy sweet smiles. “I trust you will dress the part of a professional, Mr. Kent? … Although there’s not much we can do about the… hair.”

  “Mother!” Sky squawks.

  I contemplate giving Mama Samuelson the finger under the table but clear my throat instead. “I’ll have my barber tidy it up a bit. Does that sound good?”

  Mama Samuelson nods and then looks away. Bitch.

  Sky writes on her pad furiously. She holds it up first for her mother to see then David and I.

  NO! HE’LL FIT IN JUST FINE THE WAY HE IS.

  I shrug. “I don’t mind dressing business casual.” The possibility I could be without a much-needed job this summer is my only driving force to please this ridiculously picky woman.

  David chimes in, “Brody cleans up well—he looks great in a suit. In fact, he wears them all the time.”

  I glare at him. I’m trying to be easy-going but I’m not willing to go to the lengths he’s proposing. I only dress up when I escort my clients to formal functions—and David knows that. I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear a monkey suit every damn working day for a pop star…or her snobby mother.

  HE SHOULD DRESS TO BE COMFORTABLE… AND FASHION-FORWARD, OF COURSE. Sky writes.

  I grin. I think I’m going to like working for this girl. Take that David and Mama Samuelson! “Then it’s settled.”

  Sky nods. She has the most beautiful eyes.

  “If you don’t have plans for this afternoon, you can ride with us to Sky’s home. You’ll be able to meet her current P.A., Amber. Oh, and be prepared to begin training immediately. Amber’s in her last trimester of pregnancy and has been advised against traveling abroad. Hmm… I must say, Mr. Kent, none of the other applicants from the other agencies were a good fit, which is why we came to yours.”

  “You won’t be disappointed,” I say.

  Hallelujah, the deal is done and I won’t have to be idle all summer. Perhaps working for a pop star won’t be so bad after all. Sky’s mother keeps her on a short leash, which means I won’t have to deal with a lot of reckless behaviors and potential drug use. Heaven knows I can’t be around that shit anymore.

  DAY ONE

  “Here.” I hand Sky a steaming mug of my special tea. I swallow hard, my breath heavy in my chest.

  My first official act as her new P.A. is to offer the new boss what Kim always called our “miracle throat remedy.” Oddly enough, I feel somewhat guilty serving it up to a girl I barely know. It seems too intimate somehow.

  “Drink it,” I encourage her. “It should have your throat feeling better in no time.”

  She wears a dubious frown but accepts the mug anyway. Sky takes a quick sip and frowns again. She then grabs her pad-and-pen.

  YOU’RE EVIL, BRODY!

  I laugh. “I know… it is rather disgusting, but once your throat starts feeling better, you’ll want to drink this horrid concoction before and after every practice and performance.”

  Kim and I used to drink this stuff like water, before weekly and sometimes daily performances. It really worked. If only we’d stuck to just this organic remedy, instead of moving on to harder things.

  Sky shudders and sets the cup on the edge of my desk. Then, she peruses the set list I printed for her. It has all of the songs she plans to sing at her European tour kick-off birthday concert.

  She makes notes on the copy—rearranges a few songs, strikes out two and adds replacements—then, hands it back to me. She slowly sips tea, while I make the necessary changes.

  Amber, on the other hand, only spent an hour or so with me reviewing my most pressing tasks before jetting off to a doctor’s appointment. I suppose she’ll be back in the morning. That means I have one week to grasp the ins-and-outs of my new job before we take to the skies. Sky’s entourage is twice the size of The Savages’ but then again, rock bands don’t need the extra fluff. Come to think of it, I still need to take care of the concert staging.

  I announce, “Amber says we need to send a team over to set up the Staples Center in a couple of days. I know it’s a birthday theme, but I’ll need a few additional details. What is this, your eighteenth birthday?”

  Sky collapses into a fit of giggles. But, I can’t, for the life of me, decipher what I said that is so damn funny.

  Wiping away her tears of laughter, she grabs her pad and scribbles another message.

  GUESS AGAIN! I’LL BE 21.

  Fuck! I’m either bad at guessing ages or she’s the youngest-looking soon-to-be-twenty-one-year-old, I’ve ever seen. Wow! I don’t even want to think about how many groupies I’ve slept with who may have lied about their ages.

  She writes more:

  I SUPPOSE PEOPLE DON’T REALIZE I GREW UP IN THIS BUSINESS. I WORKED ON BROADWAY AND “SAVVY TEEN,” A POPULAR TEEN VARIETY SHOW UNTIL I WAS 13, AND I CUT MY FIRST ALBUM AT 15.

  “Oh… I remember that show. A lot of young Hollywood insiders got their start on it, am I right?”

  Sky nods vigorously.

  With some quick mental math, I determine that Skylar was just starting out when The Savages were at their zenith. Kim and I were already strung out and, shortly after she died, I bottomed out.

  I try to concentrate on my beautiful young boss, who is riding high in her career right now, rather than dwell on my sordid past.

  I would have Googled her or some shit, but David sprung this gig on me without any warning. I don’t really know who she is. All I know is what the world knows—which is virtually nothing. What I do know is that without her “war paint” on she is wholesome and laid-back. That’s why it is so easy to forget how much she’s accomplished in her short life. She’s an EGOT, for goodness sake, a holder of the four most significant awards in a musician’s career.

  I also know what young fame feels like. In eight short years, my bandmates and I grew The Savages into a billion-dollar brand. And, this influx of money caused me and Kim to almost squander our shares several times. We loved to throw lavish parties, sponsor mooching friends who never paid for shit, and do drugs—lots and lots of them. Shortly after she died, however, I had an epiphany.

  Kim and I had always wanted to ensure that our families were taken care of—my grandfather despite his disdain for the music I loved, and Kim’s family who didn’t deserve to lose her the way they did. Sadly, our brains had become so fucking clouded by drug use, we’d forgotten the early promises we’d made to our families and the things we wanted to do to help others.

  I wanted t
o make sure that Kim’s death was not in vain, and to remind those fans who cared deeply about her that she was special and loved. So, I honored the love we shared in the brief time we had together by setting up a charity for her in Downers Grove. Then I presented her parents and my grandfather with a monthly stipend from Kim’s and my royalties. My grandfather’s portion was used to put him in the best nursing home in LA. One that catered to Alzheimer’s patients. Then I entered rehab. I had to or I would have died the same way Kim did.

  Thankfully, the royalties are still pouring in because radio stations continue to play our songs. The fans don’t know where the fuck I am but they keep buying our shit. The band wrote enough songs that we’ve been able to release a new album once a year for the past five years — even after I disappeared from the limelight. Fans are still clamoring for another tour, and my bandmates are pissed at me because I won’t budge. Yeah, my rock career is the gift that just keeps on giving.

  I tune back into my convo with Sky. “Sorry,” I say. “I guess the girl-next-door-without-makeup look fools a lot of people, huh?”

  Her pretty pink lips form into a dreamy smile. She lowers her head to write a response:

  I LOVE THAT I CAN DISAPPEAR AND BE MYSELF WHEN I WANT. ONLY MY CLOSEST FRIENDS KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE WHEN I’M NOT “SKYLAR THE POP STAR.” I’D LIKE TO KEEP IT THAT WAY FOR AS LONG AS I CAN.

  I can identify with that.

  As Savage Saban, I was a dread wearing, bearded wild man who earned that moniker. I allowed my body to be ravaged by heroin until my muscle mass was almost zero. After five years of staying clean, training with my MMA coach, and eating healthy food, I was transformed. I have no doubt that Kim would’ve been quite amused by this “new me.” I cut my hair to shoulder-length and shaved off my woolly beard. Most days, I wear a five o’clock shadow. My hair is closely shaved at the back and on the sides, and is usually pulled up in an elastic band.

  Sky’s soulful eyes and sexy smile lure me in like a beacon. I could get lost in them but seven years is a big age gap to overcome, especially given her innocence and my baggage. I’m going to have to establish clear boundaries with her, because if she or her mother were to find out about my checkered past, they might not be benevolent enough to ignore it.

  Right then and there, I make a solemn vow to keep our relationship strictly professional. Done with my inner drama, I drum my pen atop her pad to make her grin.

  “Then I’ll do everything in my power to help you stay incognito,” I say. And me too, I think.

  DAY TWO

  “Skylar the Pop Star” emerges as Amber and I are going over the instructions for the upkeep of her fan website.

  She enters the room in full regalia. Flawless makeup replaces her girl-next-door fresh face, and I, even with my copious experience with women, am somewhat intimidated by her star persona. I know it’s ridiculous given my own star status for eight years, but most stars don’t believe their own press—unless they’re narcissistic—and a good many of them are.

  “Good morning, Sky,” Amber says.

  I practically swallow my tongue as my eyes take in Sky’s form. The woman before me drips sex appeal like she alone manufactured it. With no sign of the freckles from yesterday, her Japanese features are played up with the deft handling of a makeup brush. Slanted green eyes peek out of long lashes darkened with black mascara, and her plump lips are no longer schoolgirl pink. These lips are those of a woman—candy apple red and begging to be kissed.

  “Good morning, Amber.” She pauses, either letting me know that she can finally speak without her vocal cords rasping like sandpaper or to acknowledge the fact that she’s rendered me speechless. “Brody.”

  “Good morning,” I say blandly. What I’m really thinking is “Whoa! Wow! Or some equally superlative “W” word, and my dick is as piqued as my brain.

  I roll my eyes, feeling like an idiot. Smooth move, Mr. Former Rock Star. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good-looking woman before? Jesus!

  Hell, I’ve seen plenty of them but, believe me, the old cliché that some people look better in person than in pictures is very true, especially if the vision standing before me is any indication.

  Sky’s wearing a soft cotton halter in bright summer colors and low-riding jeans, which have been tailored to fit her body perfectly. I can’t imagine any other woman wearing those jeans the way she’s wearing them right now.

  The revelation that she’ll be twenty-one in a few days seems to have given my body permission to lust after her, because it’s gone officially into overdrive. I pray I’m not forced to stand anytime soon, if you know what I mean.

  Sky looks to Amber. “I think I’ll have Brody ride along with me to my interview at KTLA. No time like the present for him to jump in with both feet.” She shuffles through the files on the desk and uncovers the one containing the interview questions, and her previously vetted answers.

  “Okay, you’re the boss,” Amber says with a shrug.

  Sky looks at me expectantly, and I mentally shake myself free of the lascivious stupor I’m in because of her.

  “Um, yeah. Sure.” Verbal much, Brody? What is wrong with me?

  She turns and walks away, and I can’t decide which view I like better.

  The driver is waiting at the curb, as expected. Amber is such a fucking multi-tasker that she never misses a beat. Damn overachiever. I have some huge ballet flats to fill, which are Amber’s mainstay during this period of her pregnancy. She’s assured me that I’ll know everything I need to know before we fly to London on Monday, so I try not to worry about failing Sky.

  Malik Thompson, the beefy bodyguard Mama Samuelson referred to yesterday, speaks to Sky but only gives me a tight nod as he holds the limo door open.

  I can tell he’s a man of few words. Malik then hops in beside the driver and we take off.

  As we drive off from Sky’s property, I open Amber’s email. It contains contact information and instructions for when we enter the television station. I review the information while Sky reads over her interview questions.

  On the 101, Sky puts the file aside. I can tell she wants to talk, so I put my phone down.

  She cocks her head to the side and stares at me. “You know, I’m not sure if it was my steroid prescription or your miracle tea, but I’m so thankful that I won’t be croaking like a frog at this interview today.” She smiles warmly at me.

  I laugh. “I’d put my money on the tea.” Obviously, I’ve regained my verbal swagger since her stunning earlier entrance. I wonder if I’ll ever tire of hearing her smoky, natural speaking voice. I don’t think so. Sky has a sexy noir film star timbre that, along with her scent, keeps me on the verge of near-erection. I also love the warm and sensual fragrance with jasmine undertones that she wears. Together it’s enough to drive any self-respecting man insane.

  She grins seductively at me and teases, “You would say that, because it’s your recipe.”

  I flirt back. “Well, yes, that and… it’s never failed me.”

  She jokingly places her fists just above her hips, arms akimbo She has some sexy ass hips. “Hmm… David said you have a music background. Do you also sing?”

  “I do…um…well, I did anyway.” I clear my throat. “Ancient history…”

  “How ancient, Old Man? You can’t be more than a few years older than me.”

  I shrug. “Try eight years. I’ll be twenty-nine in October.”

  She presses her lips together as if she’s thinking about something. “So, you were a musician when you were a toddler?”

  I scratch my head and grin. “Funny, actually, like you, I began as a teen. I was in a rock band but I didn’t win any Emmys, Oscars, or Tonys.” I decided to stick as close as possible to the truth—without revealing my GRAMMYs, American Music Awards, and Billboard Music Awards.

  “Why did you give it up to do this?” She cocks her head to one side in that adorable way she does when she’s talking to me. “Mind you, I’m happy to have you on-board. But I
can’t imagine ever giving up my singing career.”

  “There’s a seamy side to the music business that I hope you never experience.” I look out the window at the cars zooming by. “The truth is, Sky, I lost someone very dear to me, and the music ceased to matter at that point.”

  She frowns, concern present in her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Brody.”

  Cue awkward silence. There’s nothing like the subject of death to kill the mood.

  “A significant other?” Sky asks after a few seconds.

  I look down at my feet and shrug. “Yeah.”

  She nods, picks up the folder again, taps the edge of it on the leather seat, and straightens the papers inside it again. Veering inadvertently into personal territory is making her uncomfortable. Once she is finished, she places the file on the seat between us.

  “So…what’s in that concoction you gave me, anyway?” she asks, not allowing the awkward segue to stop her cold.

  I’m grateful for the change of subject.

  “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” I tease. “Just kidding, it’s a caffeine-free tea with ginger root, honey, lemon, and a couple other secret ingredients.”

  She flashes me a playful smile. “It’s like that, huh?”

  I nod flirtatiously. “Yep. I figure I’m “one-up” over Amber because of my miracle tea remedy. If I reveal all of my secrets, you won’t need me anymore.”

  She laughs like a schoolgirl. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep you around for your tea.”

  “…At least during the European tour, anyway.”

  Sky’s eyes light up. “Speaking of the tour, have you been to any of these cities before?”

  I bite my lip—a nervous habit. “Yeah, but you know how it is when you’re on tour—you fly in, do your gig, party, and fly out.” You know—lather, rinse, and repeat. I’m hoping that with this tour I’ll get to see some of what I missed the first time, but I don’t tell her that. I don’t want to invite her along out of some fucked up sense of obligation, and I really don’t want her to think I’m hitting on her.