Manipulated: a Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 3) (8 page)

“The gorgeous type?”

“No. I’m absolutely allergic to those. If I was looking for a man—which I’m not—I’d want a nice, mild-mannered, non-threatening kind. My height, maybe with a little bit of a beer belly. Someone relatable. No abs of steel. Buns, on the other hand…” I sighed. “No. None of them either.”

She laughed and turned down yet another hall. “We’ll see if we can set something up. Come on. My office is down here.”

We’d made it halfway down the hall when I heard a husky male voice singing more than a little off-key. Cooing, really. The voice seemed to be coming from the open door Lila had indicated we were aiming toward. While we watched, a guy with messy blond hair and wiry arms covered in tattoos popped out of the door, a baby under his arm like a blanket-encased football.

I grabbed Lila’s arm as he disappeared around the corner. The message on the back of his T-shirt had momentarily silenced my tongue. “Did that man just steal your baby?”

Lila’s lips twitched. “Yes, but she’s his, so he’s allowed. He’s the only one who can make her stop wailing. Daddy’s girl.”

“Wait.” I came to a stop. “I didn’t get a good look at him, but his T-shirt said Fuck you. And his jeans were ripped all down the sides, and the tats, and the crazy hair…really?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? Opposites attract and all that.”

“I guess so. He’s a rock star. I mean, he’s gotta be a rock star.”

“Oh, he is. Have you heard of Oblivion?”

I sorted through my mental data banks. “Nineties cover band, maybe?”

Her completely unladylike snort made my eyebrows lift. “He’d love that one. Sorry, gotta tell him.” She whipped out her phone and had sent a text and motioned me into her office before I’d realized that yet again, I’d left my dignity on the floor.

Must be a permanent condition.

When I entered her office, Lila was bent over a pink bassinette filled with a peacefully sleeping baby with approximately one tuft of white blond hair. “See? Avery is perfectly behaved. Charlie? Tiny menace.” Lila pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead and moved back as her phone trilled. She pulled it out, smiled at whatever the text was, and tapped out a response. Just as soon as she’d sent one message, another came through.

“Donovan is off his conference call and would like to see you now. His office is two flights up.”

“Oh goodie.” I clasped my portfolio to my chest. “Penthouse?”

“No. Donovan’s not like that, in spite of how it may seem.”

I glanced at the baby she kept touching even while she spoke to me. “Yeah, I guess he’s gotta be pretty cool if he lets you bring the twins to work.”

“Yes. And it works out, because Nick is here when I’m in a meeting if they need something. He’s recording down the hall. Special five song EP for the next—”

“Cover band special?”

That smoke-tinged low voice made me bite my lip and turn around. Said rock star was looming in the doorway, arms stretched above his head to show off his tattoos and the slice of skin that peeked above his waistband. More ink there too. But at least he was smiling, which lessened my mortification.

Slightly.

“Sorry. My decades are the eighties and nineties. I’m not up on current bands.” Much to Owen’s disgust, I was sure, had he been there to weigh in.

“Seriously? You mean that euro pop trash?”

“No. I mean like hair bands, and yes, some pop. New Kids on the Block.”

At his groan, Lila gripped my arm. “Stop harassing her, Nicholas. Where is Charlotte?”

“Simon’s giving her a bottle and she’s pulling on his false eyelashes. New Kids? Really? How can you even say those words?”

I frowned. “Very easily. It was the music I listened to as a baby.”

“Dear God, your parents had no taste. At least tell me you like GnR.”

“Is that a Goo Goo Dolls abbreviation or something?”

Lila’s husband shook his head in disgust and left.

“Sorry about that. He’s a little snarky about his music.”

“I can tell.” Gripping my portfolio in one hand, I rubbed the back of my neck. It was clammy. Today was a series of tests, and I seemed to be failing more than I passed.

I tended to spew the more I got nervous, and my default was snark. That it was merely a protective measure more often than not didn’t keep the unsuspecting people I met from being jabbed from my usually unintentional barbs.

Lila didn’t reply, and I hurried to fill the silence. “Are they all like that?” I asked, proving that my nerves-based spewfest had not ended.

“All who?”

“Rock stars. Do they all have that chip on their shoulder? I met another one who did too.” Though to be fair, Owen had taken most of my remarks with good humor.

Not like Lila’s dude.

Even so, it was just more proof that I fit as well with a rockstar as peanut butter went with chili peppers. Unless that rockstar was one of the members of New Kids, then we’d probably get on just fine.

“He takes his art seriously. As do you. If I told you my favorite photographer was Ansel Adams, I bet you’d have plenty to say.”

“Ansel Adams is fine. Just a bit too commercial for my taste.”

“Then you understand. Hard not to take it personally when you’re an artist too.”

“Yeah, but they’re all cocky bastards.” Yep, I was babbling. Still letting it all hang out. “Think the world revolves around them.”

Or so I kept telling myself when thoughts of Owen and what might have been tried to intrude.

It had just been one hot night. Nothing more would’ve come of it. If I’d had sex with him, come morning—or hell, the middle of the night—he probably would’ve rolled off me and bounced on to the next. Wasn’t that usually how it went? He was a charmer. Everything from the lilt in his voice to his choice of words to how he touched me had been part of a skillful seduction, and I’d been willing prey.

Until self-preservation snapped in, almost too late.

Too late for what? So what if he’d cruised on to the next? You would’ve had awesome memories and a string of Os, and you haven’t had nearly enough of either.

“You’re not cocky about your talent? Down deep, underneath all the bullshit caused by your ex. You can’t tell me there’s not a part of you that’s damned confident in what you’re bringing to the table and expects to be compensated for it. It’s just hidden under the after-effects from recent events, not gone completely.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. Nick’s an asshole, but his talent is in equal measure. You’re a snob, but I don’t doubt yours is as well. Just be careful about keeping the balance, Callie. It’s easy to get out of whack and lose a chance at something great. I should know. I was just like you once, until I pulled my head out of my ass.”

“Wait a second—”

“Donovan’s expecting you.” Lila glanced at the slim gold bangle encircling her wrist. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

I nodded, feeling more than a little chastised. There was truth in her words, no matter how forcefully they’d been delivered.

I walked to the doorway, then turned back. “You’re his champion. Nick’s. But you weren’t always.”

“God, no. We hated each other on sight. I thought he was a cocky jerk. And he is, but he’s my cocky jerk now.”

Despite the churning emotions in my gut, I managed to smile. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s fact. And Callie? Trust me when I say this—I wish nothing more for you than to get a cocky jerk of your own just like him. He’s obnoxious about his own abilities, and positively rabid about mine.” She smiled warmly enough that I knew our momentary tiff had been set aside. “Good luck with Donovan. But I think you’ve got it hammered.”

The word made me grip the doorframe. Holy fuck, what if I did? What if somehow I’d nailed this job interview, and I ended up trapped on a bus with the man who’d dominated my thoughts for months?

I could still say no. Run out the door and go back to work. Pretend none of this had ever happened.

Love life advice about dating rockstars from a rockstar’s wife. I mean, come on. This was me, Callie Mae Templeton, queen of Batman underwear when I was just dressing for myself. Which was always. Because I was single, and I liked it.

At least I had until I’d begun to wonder what I was missing. Meeting someone like Owen could do that to a girl.

I nodded. “Thanks, Lila. I appreciate everything. And I’m sorry about a minute ago. No disrespect meant.”

She waved it off. “No apologies needed, except for mine. I’m afraid Nick’s blunt speech is rubbing off on me. Let me know what happens, okay?”

I frowned. “Donovan will tell you, right?”

“Yes, but you can tell me too.” Quickly, she scrawled her number on a piece of paper and passed it to me. “Text me. I want the true deets, not Lord Lewis sanctioned ones,” she added with a wink.

“Oh. Okay. All right then. Um, bye.”

I fled before anything else could happen to throw me off balance. At this point, an errant ray of sunshine through open blinds might do the trick.

Instead of taking the elevator, I searched for the stairs. Once I found them, I took them two at a time until I made it upstairs to the floor Lila had mentioned. Dammit, she hadn’t told me which office was his.

The instant I stepped into the hallway, I realized why not.

Lord Lew—ahh, fuck it, I didn’t have to censor myself in my own head—Lord Lewis was standing in the doorway at the end of the hall, backlit by sunshine. I walked toward him slowly, wondering if he had a scythe hidden behind his back.

“Ms. Templeton,” he murmured as I approached. “Mrs. Crandall just sent me her opinion of your interview.”

“Already? It was just like three seconds ago I left her office.”

“Yes. It was a rather short text.” He waited until I reached him then showed me his iPhone. Only two words were in the bubble on the screen.

Hire her.

I glanced up at him, certain it couldn’t be that easy. “And?”

He held out a hand and smiled. “Let me tell you about what we’re looking for, and then we’ll go from there. Come in and sit down, please.”

Had he offered me the job? When I didn’t even fully know what it entailed?

Forget fully. I knew nada, except I’d probably be sharing a shower with a man who made me want to bend over for the soap.

Excuse the euphemism.

He shut the door behind me and I took the seat he indicated in front of his desk, then forced down the rock in my throat. “What if it turns out that it’s not a good fit? I mean me and whatever you’re interested in. I mean looking for. As far as a photographer, not anything else, Mr. Lo—Lewis.”

Jesus. I could shut up anytime now. I didn’t even know why he elicited such verbal diarrhea with me. He was attractive, but no more than Owen. And he didn’t have the Irish lilt to his voice, or those deadly blue eyes, or those hands…

Owen won in every category.

“We want intimate photographs of the band Hammered for their upcoming coffee table book. When I say intimate, I mean the kind that can only be obtained by someone spending time with them in close quarters. Total immersion. Your work fits the bill. You have a gift for capturing the inner essence of a person. That’s what we want, and we’re prepared to compensate you handsomely.”

He named a figure that made me blink. Twice.

Okay then. Guess I’d just have to deal with Owen and his hands.

I spread mine over my portfolio and took a deep breath. “Tell me more.”

W
hat do
you think I consider my favorite thing to do three nights after New Year’s?

Sit in a band meeting, you say?

Fuck, no
.

I scrunched down in one of the dozen plastic chairs that littered the back of the venue’s green room. Well, they liked to call it that—more like a shit brown most of the time, to be honest. Along with a lumpy couch of indeterminate color. Most of the time I didn’t care. Once you spent your summers under a car getting God knows what dripped on you, not much bothered you.

As a matter of fact, rebuilding a car engine was number two under my special skills thanks to my da.

Add refrigerators, air conditioning units and, as of this last trip, motorcycles to that résumé and I could find a decent job if this musician gig didn’t work out. At least that was my father’s plan. I was an apt pupil. More to have something to talk to my father about, than the learning of it. Eric Blackwell was a gruff man who only understood hard work, grease under his nails, and the love of a good woman.

We couldn’t be more different save for the black hair and laser blue eyes.

I tipped my head back. Fuck, I was in a pisser of a mood. Three weeks with my folks had been just a touch too long. My father’s voice was still a booming echo in my brain. His less than supportive stance on my music career didn’t help, but it was more the love of a good woman part of his mantra that had me snarling. They both wanted me settled down with Blackwell babies on the way. I was thirty-three years old for fuck’s sake. Plenty of time to practice making babies before I took the plunge thanks.

And now Keys and Kennedy were squealing over honeymoon pictures. It was bad enough that I’d been in the wedding party last month, and had to stand directly across from Faith as she bawled her way through her wedding vows to Warden Cranky Pants. Now I got a firsthand account of the perfection of her honeymoon.

Oh, and it had been someone’s fucking idea to go old school for this leg of the nostalgic-fucking-tenth-anniversary-tour and use a bus instead of hotel rooms. Okay, the bus was tricked out to the nines, but it was still a bus. And still a lot of bodies close together.

Did I mention fuck me?

The perfect capper to my long day of traveling.

Everyone else seemed rested and relaxed. Beachy rested people brimming with laughter and excitement gathered in little groups around the room. Hell, even the ginger beastie had a bit of a tan to go with the freckles—all save me.

No beach for me.

Three weeks in the damp Pacific Northwest had been my lot in life. Oh, and sitting through a parade of good Irish girls from the neighborhood. All of which either had designs on my swimmers or my money.

So, yeah…band meeting three days after the New Year was the last thing I wanted to deal with.

The heavy click of cowboy boots preceded our estimable manager. Indiana West came through the door with her straw hat pulled low over her eyes, a clipboard in hand—no iPad interface for our girl—and for once, her everyday clothing fit in with our surroundings.

We were starting this leg of the tour in Austin’s Frank Erwin Center. Last I heard we’d officially hit sold out status for the two nights in residence. Damn impressive when the median age on the nearby campus was twenty. We were positively ancient in some of their eyes.

“Hey guys. I know you want to get settled. We’re in hotels tonight, the bus is officially in Texas, but it won’t be here until late tonight.”

Hunter dropped into the seat beside me and crossed his feet at the ankles. “All of us on two busses? Cozy.”

“It was your idea, dickwad,” Wyatt muttered.

Hunter craned his neck to where Wyatt was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Did you see the schematics on this thing? Talk about tricked out. It’ll be awesome.”

Wyatt raised one ginger brow. “Yeah, awesome.”

“Aww, not enough room for all your suits?”

“Fuck off.”

Hunter snickered.

Indie rolled her eyes. “If you’re finished?”

Hunter laced his fingers behind his head. “All right, Indie. What’s so important?”

Keys curled into a chair in front of me. Tonight was white jeans and a lime vest and matching Chucks. She’d added bright green strips in her pale blonde hair.

I leaned forward and tapped her shoulder. “I appreciate the Irish in your hair, love, but St. Pat’s isn’t for a few months.”

She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “It’s leftover from Christmas. My mother’s still not talking to me for ruining Christmas pictures.”

I snorted and leaned back into my chair again when Indie gave me the evil eye. I suppose I should be paying attention.

“…a head’s up from Donovan that we’re going to try something different this leg of the tour.”

I resisted the urge to groan. Something different, really meant “we’re going to fuck with your schedule and change everything, enjoy” with a middle finger for emphasis.

Indie turned and waved to a blond standing inside the doorway. She was in a dark dress that made me think about watching
Grease
for the thousandth time with Keys.

It hugged her upper body and swirled from the hip. Jolly Rancher-red shoes and a little matching bit of silk in her hair made her stand out. Fistable curls tumbled around her shoulders, soft and light as cornsilk.

I sat up. Well, maybe today wasn’t going to be so bad after all. “And who might you be, love?”

Indie crossed her arms, hugging her clipboard to her chest. “I guess we’ll introduce Owen Blackwell first. He’s harmless. Mostly.”

“Don’t give away all my secrets, Indie.”

She rolled her eyes and moved on. “The one in lime is Faith Keystone, Hunter Jordan, Zach Kane, Hudson Wyatt is there against the wall, and finally, Reed Mason will be here in a few minutes. He’s on a call. Our head of security, Quinn Alexander, is over there and head of our PR department—who isn’t usually on tour with us, she’s just here for the first show tomorrow night—Kennedy Jordan.” She took a deep breath. “Donovan’s hired Calliope Templeton here to shadow us for a project for Hammered’s tenth anniversary. I’ll let her explain it a little better.”

The lush bit of perfection nibbled on her lower lip. Her white teeth flashed against her merlot colored lips. “Hi, everyone. You can call me Callie.” Her eyes tripped over everyone in the room except me. In fact, she completely avoided looking at me. “You won’t even know I’m here. I don’t want to get into anyone’s way. I just want to steal a few shots of everyone in their natural habitat.” She smiled winningly. Completely fake of course, but she was going for the gold with it regardless. “The road.”

Zach linked his fingers behind his head. “Why the hell do we have to have someone following us around all the time? Don’t we have enough of that with the meet and greets and press crap.”

Keys tossed her empty Solo cup at Zach. “Rude.”

“What? I don’t mean it…well, okay, maybe a little rude. But seriously, I’ve got enough cameras in my face all the damn time.” Zach sat forward in his chair. “Soul-sucking paparazzi parasites are getting tipped off where we are all the fucking time.”

“I won’t be in your face like that, I promise.”

“What if we don’t mind?” I asked.

Again, she ignored me, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “My job is to observe and record. Honestly, you’ll barely know I’m here.”

Indie clapped her hands. “All right, you guys can go do your warmups.” Indie turned to our new photographer, and lead her over to the Warden. “Callie, we’ll get Quinn to set you up with your security passes, all right?”

I watched her and Indie move across the room. There was something about her…Did I know her? She was a photographer, so maybe I’d seen her around. I’d been to enough Hollywood parties over the years to have a rolodex of people in my brain.

I was pretty good at figuring them out.

I’d figure her out too.

Keys nudged me. “So, what do you think?”

I shrugged. “I’m not wild about worrying about a camera over my shoulder, but not enough to get pissy about it.”

“No, I mean she’s pretty, right?”

“I have eyes, so that’s a yes. Fucking stunning if you want to get particular about it.”

“You should go for her.”

I frowned at her. This was a fucked-up conversation. Six months ago, it wouldn’t have been, but now…just weird. “Just because you’re all blissfully married doesn’t mean you have to play matchmaker, darling.”

“I know, but she’s totally your type.”

“Breathing?”

“You’re a bit more discerning than that, no matter what Bats says.”

“Bats has no room to talk.”

Keys sighed. “No, he certainly does not.” She scanned the room. “Where the hell did he get to? Zach is ready to kick his ass today.”

“He’d best get in line. I’m the one that has the room next to him tonight. If he has another screaming match with that—”

“Owen.”

I swallowed a snarl. “I’ll change our room assignments and then you can come talk to me about having a kind word for that she-devil.”

She laid her hand on my arm. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good luck finding him. Or better yet, that he’ll stand still long enough for you to actually talk to him.”

“Are you okay? It’s not like you to be so…angry.”

I blew out a breath. She was right. I was definitely overreacting about the Bats thing. Yes, it bugged the shit out of me, but not to this degree. Evidently my family Christmas was following me around even more than I thought. “Nothing you need to worry about, love.”

“Don’t ‘love’ me. I can tell something’s up.”

I shrugged. Not like I could tell her what my problem was.

Oh, sorry, as far as I’m concerned you picked the wrong man. Now I have to get over you. Oh, and my family reminded me just how alone I am every single day.

Other than that, no issues at all.

“Just a little family hangover.”

“Oh, yeah. I kinda skipped that dramedy this Christmas. Warden and I only had to do Eve and Christmas Day. And everyone was too happy for me actually being married to give me any crap about the usual subjects.”

“As if ten years wasn’t a clue that this wasn’t ending.”

Her blue eyes sparkled. “Ten. Holy crap, that’s just crazy.” She looked over her shoulder at our new photog. “Could be kinda fun to document it. Maybe she can do some crazy head shots for us—you know ridiculous ones. We’re almost at three million followers on Instagram.” She hooked her arm through mine and hauled me across the room. “Best to throw her in the deep end right away.”

“Might want to let her breathe for just a second, yeah?”

Nope, guess not. We headed right toward her.

“Hey.”

Callie turned with a hesitant smile. Her gaze skipped over me, barely landing.

“Hi, I’m Keys. Irish here is harmless. We wanted to welcome you to the tour.”

Callie glanced at me with narrowed eyes before focusing resolutely on Keys.

I frowned. What the hell? I understood if she didn’t want me to get all up in her business, but to treat me as if I were a piece of glass in her shoe was something else.

I slung my arm around Keys shoulder. “We’re the easy ones for pictures. And generally run the social media things. And she’s right, mostly harmless.”

I
was
charming, dammit.

Calliope was utterly blank-faced. Up close, I got a better look at her heart-shaped face.

She kept averting her eyes. There was something there.

Keys nailed me in the ribs. “We’d love to talk to you about doing a few things for our Instagram. We just hit a milestone. Thought we could do a crazy picture before the show?”

She nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Get everyone together and let me know.” She looked over her shoulder to Quinn. “I should probably get my credentials taken care of. And rescue my equipment from the big…really big guy—Patrick? Was he a fullback in a former life or something? Anyway, he had to make sure there was no weapons of mass destruction in my gear.” She blew out a breath. “I’ll dismember him if he damages my equipment,” she mumbled as she walked away.

I detangled myself from Keys. No way.

I knew that babble and threat.

I’d heard that voice every damn night since the Halloween party. I sprinted after her and circled her upper arm. “Hold on, love.”

She turned to me. “Want to lose a hand, Black—well.”

“Don’t you mean Blackbeard?”

She pulled away, already prepared to flee.

That was her usual MO.

“Hold up, Bettie,” I said in a voice just shy of a whisper.

She scrunched up her shoulders.

“Or should I just stick with bunny?”