I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (2 page)

Another shriek drove Derek to the connecting door of the suite. Once inside, he bolted the lock to keep Ray out. Gen could come in the other door with her key card.

It took him a few seconds to size up the situation. The sea of bodies seemed to be moving toward the balcony.

Derek pushed and shoved, fighting his way through the packed crowd. Once on the balcony, he found Pete greedily sucking on a girl’s tit, then lifting her naked ass and hauling her to the railing. Derek lunged, grabbing the girl around the waist and pulling her out of Pete’s hold.

“Hey.” Pete reeled, completely spaced out. “Give her back.”

Cooper slammed into him from behind, laughing hysterically, completely drunk. “Dude, toss her.”

Disappointment slammed him.
Not Cooper.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Derek glanced over the railing, saw naked women treading water in the turquoise blue pool two stories below. “I told you to shut it down. Jesus, Coop. Look down there.”

It took a moment for Cooper to get it, but Derek saw the moment his friend sobered up. “It was just fun.”

He cuffed the back of his head. “What if one of them cracks her head on the side of the pool? Breaks her neck on the bottom? What’s the matter with you?”

A wash of color spread over his friend’s features. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Help me out, man. We gotta get everyone out of here.”

Cooper sucked in a breath, then made his way through the throng into the hotel room.

Derek set the naked girl down. She reeked of booze. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Eyes glazed, she nodded, reaching for the railing to steady herself.

“Where are your clothes?” He dropped to a crouch, looking on the ground, when a hand squeezed his ass.

“Oh, my God, you’re Derek Valencia,” a girl said.

“Hey, I saw him first.” This one pulled at his hair.

Derek got up, forcing the girls back.

The music shut off, and he heard Cooper shouting for everyone to clear out.

Someone moaned, and Derek swung around to find Ben sitting in the corner, his back against the railing. One girl kneeled between his legs, swallowing his dick; another straddled him, naked, her pussy in his face, his hands clamping her ass.

Jesus Christ.
Derek snatched a T-shirt and some jeans off the ground and handed them to the girl. “These yours? Can you put them on?”

And then he turned to the crowd. “Everyone out. Right now. Party over.” Arms opened wide, he swept them off the balcony. Shooting Pete a hard look, he realized the keyboard player was too far gone to help. With an arm slung around a girl for support, his friend’s legs barely held him upright.

“Ben,” Derek shouted. “Get up and help us clear the room.” When the drummer didn’t immediately move, he snapped. “Get your fucking dick out of her mouth and get dressed. I need your help now.”

Ben jumped to action, wobbling before righting himself and throwing on a T-shirt.

Derek fished his phone out of his back pocket, texting Abe, the bus driver, to bring the bus around to the back of the hotel. He sent another to Vince, their trusted roadie, asking him to make a quick check around the pool to make sure no one was hurt. And a final one to Slater, letting him know the plan.

Finally, he gathered up all the clothing on the balcony and dropped it onto the patio below, so the women could get dressed.

Now, he just had to get the guys packed and on the road before the paparazzi got hold of the story
.
Heading back into the main room, he watched the stream of partiers making their way out the door. Gen stood among them, herding them out. When she saw him, she hustled over. “What the hell’s the matter with these guys?”

“They’re having fun. It was a big night.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “I thought you guys had some deal about how many they could take home with them.”

“How many of them?” Sometimes her detachment creeped the shit out of him. “Jesus, Gen. It’s not a
deal
. We’re just careful about it.”

“Well, obviously not. Can you imagine if Ray had seen what went on in here? Bad enough he heard it. Maybe I should set something up with him in New York—something with you and your dad—to buy his discretion.”

“Not a chance.” She had no idea what she was asking of him, but he didn’t care. At the moment, he had to get the band safely on the road. He checked the bedroom on the other side of the suite, found it cleared. Bathroom, too.

Fortunately, things hadn’t gotten too out of hand. Now, he just had to hope no one had recorded anything with their phones. Irwin wouldn’t stand for this shit.

“Okay, it’s cool.” Cooper met him in the living area. “Everyone’s gone.”

“Great, pack up. We’re heading out.”

“What?” Cooper said. “No. I’m too tired to hit the road. Let’s crash here.”

Ben joined them. “We’re not supposed to leave until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that was before you tossed naked girls off the balcony. Let’s go.”

Pete slumped on the couch, head rolling back. “I didn’t get laid.”

“Guys.” He said it so sharply Pete’s head snapped up.

He didn’t need to give them a lecture, didn’t need to chastise. He simply held out his forearm, displaying the tattoo they’d all gotten last year. The Hand of Eris. It was a permanent reminder of the contract, of their promise to one another not to wade too deeply into the chaos of this industry.

When all of them looked away, Derek knew they got it. “Listen, the hotel’s swarming with press from the festival, so we’re getting out now. Pack up your shit.”

He needed to take one more look over the balcony, double-check no one had gotten hurt. But it should be all right. It was all under control.

They’d wake up in a new town, with a fresh slate. He’d talk to the guys, remind them what they were about.

He peered over the railing, and it took a minute to make sense of what he was seeing. The naked women formed a chain in the pool, arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders. Smiling for . . .

Oh, shit.
For Ray Montalbano. Who aimed his phone right at them. Someone noticed Derek, and the girls looked up to the balcony. A minute later Ray swung the phone up, trained it on him.

With a chin nod, the critic said, “Smile.”

So . . . this is awkward.

Standing at the back of the restaurant, Violet Davis watched her former client tap his knife against his wineglass, quieting his friends, family, and colleagues.

He rose, resting a hand on the back of his fiancée’s chair, and addressed the room. “Thank you all for coming tonight.”

In his six-thousand-dollar custom-made Brioni suit, Joe looked nothing like the man she’d known three months ago. Back then, he’d worn soiled clothes, a greasy beard, and bruises. He’d also smelled like a man who’d been locked up in a hotel room with prostitutes on a three-day binge.

Probably because he had been.

This man? The one lifting a champagne flute, smiling with warmth and humility? This man was healthy, clean, and reunited with his former fiancée.

“I can’t begin to express what it means to stand here before all of you and announce my engagement to the love of my life,” he continued. “Yes, for the second time.” Some in the audience laughed. “But this time, I’m not letting her go.”

His future bride, a stunning blonde in a sparkling blue cocktail dress, wiped tears from her eyes. She reached a
hand up to his. He clasped it, brought it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss on her palm.

The dissolute partier had regained his life, his company, and his soul mate. Violet could not have been prouder of him.

And now it was time for her to go and leave him to the people in his life who mattered.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is freakishly awkward?”

At the sound of the familiar male voice, Violet quickly shoved her foot back into the stiletto she’d kicked off.

Breathing in Randall Oppenheimer’s very masculine and expensive scent, she laughed. “Oh, no. Believe me, by the looks I’ve been getting all night, you’re in good company.”

Besides board members and Joe himself, of course, everyone in the room thought she was his ex-girlfriend. They’d “broken up” less than a week ago. All night long people had given her furtive and pitying glances. But she didn’t mind. She’d likely never see any of them again.

Randall tipped his champagne flute back, looking effortlessly sophisticated and cultured. With his khakis and light blue button-down, his short-cropped hair and boyish features, he could’ve been the poster boy for Yale frat life.

“You want to get out of here?”

I’d love to.
Fortunately, she caught the words before they flew out of her mouth. “I’d better not.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t seriously want to hang around your former boyfriend’s engagement party, do you? Come on, we’ll get on my hog and ride like the wind.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “You have a motorcycle?”

He looked away, half his mouth curling. “Nope. But it sounded pretty badass.”

More likely he’d arrived in his family’s limo. With his parents. The Oppenheimers’ law firm did a lot of work for Joe’s company, so she’d run into them often during the course of her “relationship” with Joe.

“Can’t really see myself straddling a hog in this dress anyway.” She’d chosen the sleek Armani sheath to fit in with the wealthy crowd but not stand out. In her line of work, invisibility worked in everyone’s favor.

“Oh, I can.” Still looking away, the other half of his mouth joined the first.

“Someone’s frisky tonight.” The worst part of her job? The lies. “You better go easy on me. I just got my heart broken.” But then, after tonight, she’d never see Randall again. They didn’t exactly move in the same circles.

“Come on.” He leaned in, so close she could see the ghost of his beard. “You don’t really think I’m buying the whole you-and-Joe thing.”

A jolt of fear shot down her spine. Did he know? Nothing mattered more to her business than client confidentiality. Her reputation was her bond. “Now, why would you say that?” She tried to play it cool, but his answer mattered.

“Because he’s old. And you’re . . .” His gaze took a slow ride from her mouth to the stiletto she was glad she’d put back on. “You’re . . .
you
.”

Oh, thank God. He didn’t know anything about her job. He just couldn’t picture her with Joe. Well, he was right about that. At forty-eight, nearly twice her age, Joe Capriano was definitely not her type.

“Well, thank you. But Joe’s a great guy, and I enjoyed my time with him very much.” Once he’d stopped fighting her anyway.

“You
enjoyed your time
with the guy? Doesn’t sound like he got anywhere near your heart.” He said it with a cute smile, but she couldn’t tell if he knew the truth or not.

He was a lawyer and worked closely with the board of Joe’s company. He could have found out. “Your point?”

“Date me.”

“Date
you
?”

He nearly spit out his champagne. “So you’ll date a man twice your age with a comb-over, but not me?”

What did she say to that? She couldn’t date anyone she met through clients. “That’s not a
comb-over
. That’s a side part. Just ask Donald Trump.” She smiled, hoping he’d drop it. Because he certainly wouldn’t be asking her out if he knew her real identity.

But then his gaze sharpened, the teasing tone gone. “I really would like to date you. I’ve watched you for three months, waiting for this moment.”

Her heart skipped, sending her pulse skittering. She almost lost her composure.
Randall Oppenheimer
had waited three months for
her
?

Well, of course, he didn’t know the real her. Her pulse settled down. He thought she was a twenty-five-year-old “consultant” who’d graduated from Williams, came from an “important” family, wore designer clothes, and had tamed major partier Joe Capriano back into a polished and sober CEO of a billion-dollar company.

That
was the woman he’d waited three months to ask out. Not her.

“Well, thank you, Randall. That’s lovely of you to say, but I’m not really looking to date at the moment.” No way could she start a relationship based on a lie.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” He shoved a hand deep into his pocket, his cheeks turning rosy, and she could not believe how vulnerable this sophisticated, confident man had become. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that . . .” He blew out a breath. “Well, that you were special. And that I wanted to go out with you. And, come on, anyone could see there’s no fire between you and Joe. So I’m not going to give up.”

Her inner teenage girl gave a little sigh. That was about the sweetest thing a guy had ever said to her.

And he wasn’t just some guy. He was a really good one. Not just his education, but his family. Sure, his dad ran the biggest law firm in the city and they had unbelievable wealth, but they were known for their down-to-earth kindness and generosity.

Okay, just stop it
.

“Remember that night I dropped you at your apartment?”

She barely nodded. Of course she remembered that night. Seated in the back of a town car jockeying along Sixth Avenue with a gorgeous man she couldn’t have—sure, she remembered.

“I wanted to kiss you.”

She did
not
need to hear this. She couldn’t date a guy like Randall. And not just because of client confidentiality, but because everything he knew about her was a lie.

First off, he knew her as Scarlet. Not Violet Davis. But
worse? She didn’t live in a Fifth Avenue penthouse. She lived on a farm. And this outfit? All the others he’d seen her in? Purchased for jobs, thanks to a lucrative salary.

If he saw her on the farm, dressed in her shorts and tank top, wearing no makeup, would he still get all shy about asking her out? She didn’t think so. “I should get going.”

His look turned intense. “Let me give you a ride home. Please?”

Gazing into those intelligent blue eyes, she allowed herself just a moment to imagine going with him. Tossing aside everything—her job, her responsibilities, her history, and just letting herself be a
woman
. A reckless, fun-loving woman who threw herself into passionate relationships.

But then the memory of the social worker’s words jarred her.

She’ll likely never be able to trust or fully experience love.

Well, hell. So much for giving her imagination the run of the place. She simply wasn’t that woman.

And yet . . . a tiny ember glowed deep inside her, the hint of hope that the worker could’ve been wrong. What if she
could
love? She’d had her grandma for four years, so maybe a seed had been planted. No, she hadn’t loved anyone yet, but maybe she hadn’t met the right man. She got that she’d never love like a normal person. But maybe she could feel
something
.

She’d never know unless she gave someone a chance. She looked at Randall. What if she gave him a chance?

Her phone chimed in her clutch. “I’m so sorry. It’s my work phone.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s the nature of my business.” Well, no, it wasn’t, but she needed a reprieve from considering what she couldn’t have.

“Sure.” He gave her a warm smile.

Pulling out her cell, she saw Emmie Valencia’s name on the caller ID. “Please excuse me, I have to take this.” She strode around the periphery of the room, looking for the bathrooms. “Emmie?”

“Hey, V, how’s it going?”

“I’m all right.” Finding a long corridor, she made her way down it. “How about you?”

“Not so great. I’ve got a problem.”

Seeing that no one was waiting for the bathroom, she stepped inside and locked the door. “What’s up?”

“Are you interested in a job?”

“I am, actually.” Violet took in the dark red wallpaper, crystal faucet handles, and gold accents of the spacious bathroom. The rich scent of roses made her wonder at the source, and she noticed the bowl of potpourri on the counter. Ah—potpourri. What a great idea for her wildflowers. As soon as she got off the phone, she’d text herself a reminder.

“Oh, good. You did such an amazing job with Caroline, you’re the first person I thought of.”

Uh-oh. “Go on.” Emmie managed a rock band. Violet hoped very much she wasn’t offering her a job in
that
industry.

“Yeah, so this one’s pretty important to me. It involves my brother.”

“Isn’t your brother in a band?”

She hesitated. “He is.”

Now she understood why Emmie seemed wary. Violet had made it clear she didn’t work with rock stars. Businessmen could be decadent enough, but people in the music industry? She’d gotten only a glimpse of that world when she’d worked with Irwin Ledger’s daughter, Caroline, but it had been enough for her to tell Emmie to lose her number when it came to rockers.

“You still there?” Emmie asked.

What should she do? “Yes. I hate to disappoint you, but I think you know I don’t want to work with musicians.”

“My brother’s not a bad guy. He’s not an addict or anything.”

“Okay, but he
is
in that world. And it’s just not for me.” Although she shouldn’t be so dismissive. She
did
need a job now that this one had ended.

“I know, I know. Believe me, no one knows better than I do. But my brother’s not like that.” She exhaled. “Okay, bottom line. The guys are partying too hard, getting too much attention in the media for their behavior and not their music, so Irwin’s losing interest. They’re good, V. And I’m not saying that because of my boyfriend and brother.”

“Then again it
is
your boyfriend and your brother.” She kept her tone light.

Fortunately, Emmie laughed. “I know. I know how it sounds. Look, this is so important. And I know I can find someone else, obviously, but I saw what you did with Caroline. It’s the way you do it, you know? My brother’s really stubborn.” She sighed. “That’s not the right word. God, I’m so worried you won’t take the job that I can’t even think. Okay, listen, our dad’s always been really hard on him. Always putting him down and criticizing him. So Derek has a hard time taking suggestions. It has to be delivered in just the right way and, V, you do it just right.”

“I want to help you out. I do. But I really don’t want to work in the music industry.” Did she need the money? Of course. Who didn’t? But not at the cost of her sanity. Besides, she’d looked forward to spending some time this summer on the farm, developing new products. She closed her eyes, picturing acres of brightly colored flowers set against the stunning backdrop of ocean and clear blue sky. She lived on the most beautiful parcel of land in the world. And she rarely got to be there.

“I’m touring with them right now,” Emmie said. “So you know if I can handle it, you can, too. Derek keeps the groupies off the bus. He’s really respectful of me being there.”

Leaning against the wall, she kicked off her shoe and rubbed her foot. “If Derek doesn’t have a substance abuse problem, what exactly do you need me to do?”

“I need you to do just what you did with Caroline—give the guys something to do other than partying.”

“So I’m working with four guys?”

Emmie hesitated. “Yes. But, of course, Amoeba will pay you for all four.”

Holy cow
. Four times her usual pay per month. “How long would you need me?”

“It’s a summer tour, so they’ll be on the road for three months. Well, two and a half now. Are you free?”

“Yes.” She’d hoped to put off choosing the next job for a little while, but she couldn’t turn down this kind of money. She had to at least consider it.

But four rockers . . . oh, boy.

“V, I know this is last minute, and I know you said no musicians, but I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t really important. Please. I’ll be here the whole time to help you.”

“Why don’t you give me some information, and I’ll do the research. Get back to you in a few days.” When Emmie didn’t respond immediately, she said, “Okay?”

“I kind of need you sooner than later.”

“Which means?”

“Tonight.”

•   •   •

Violet
wheeled her suitcase to the elevator, listening as Francesca filled her in on the day’s events.

“Cutlers says they can’t keep the ice cubes in stock,” Francesca said in her husky voice. “Customers are raving about them.”

A gush of satisfaction flowed through her. Luckily for her, tea had become trendy, and people loved the idea of loose leaf. But the leaves lost their flavor pretty quickly, and some people didn’t like the messiness of an infuser, so she’d had the idea to freeze the leaves—wrapped in pretty pink mesh—in ice cubes. Dropping one ice cube in six ounces of boiling water made a perfect cup of tea. They sold like crazy in the gourmet shops on Long Island.