Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (10 page)

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The control room felt incredibly crowded, even
though it was just the band, Ron, and Jack sitting around in the different
chairs. “So,” Ron said, looking at each of us in turn. “Do we have a working
concept in place? We have a meeting with the A&R people in two days.”

“We’re working through it,” Alex said. “I think
we’re all…” he shrugged.

“It’s going to take longer than we thought it
would, and that’s just the facts of the situation,” I said. “We’re not going to
go over budget, but we might have to opt for a less aggressive marketing plan
for the album.”

“What’s the state of the band?” Ron looked from me
to Mark, and I pressed my lips together.

“We’re figuring it out,” Mark said brusquely.
“That’s all we’re prepared to say.”

“Should I be finding you guys some kind of
therapist or something?” Ron gestured in the air.

“No,” we all said.

“Fuck that shit,” Nick added.

“We just need time to sort through things,” Alex
insisted. “Mark is willing to work with us, and we’re going to get down to
recording the live stuff again, but it’s going to take some fucking time.”

“I just want you all to be prepared for how this is
going to change the label’s perception of you,” Ron told us. “It’s not going to
be low stakes. They’re pushing a bunch of money into this album, and the longer
it takes to come out, the less you’re going to be able to count on momentum
from the last album, the promo tour with Juniper Woolf, and the rest of it to
carry you.”

“It’s going to be a good album,” Alex said firmly.
“I can feel that in my bones. It’s just going to be a situation where we can’t
rush it.”

“Fuck,” Jules said, shaking his head. “We’ve
managed to put out an album, tour it, and come back to work on another album
every fucking two years for the past six. They can afford to let us take a
little longer this time.”

“That’s not the way that labels typically think,”
Ron warned us. “Normally they think that you need to keep grinding as long as
there’s a demand.”

“So they
want
us to burn out? Because
that’s what it sounds like,” Alex said tartly. I snorted.

“They’re interested in making as much money from
us for as long as possible and then when they can’t make money anymore, they
kick us off the roster,” I said. “That’s their whole business model.”

“Let’s not be cynical,” Ron said.

“It’s not cynical, it’s the truth,” Jules
countered. “As long as we’re making money for them, they’re happy to have us.
When we’re spending their money they want to make sure every fucking cent is
accounted for.”

“Can you blame them?” Ron looked at Jules, raising
an eyebrow.

“I’d hope that after a few stellar albums that
made them decent money, they’d trust us,” Nick said. “I’d hope that they’ve
gotten the idea by now that we’re a decent investment.”

“They wouldn’t have given you this budget if they
didn’t think that,” Ron said, shrugging. “But it’s a lot of fucking money. They
want to make sure you’re not pissing it away.”

“We’ve submitted all the accounting they’ve ever
asked for,” Alex protested.

“And you had a full week where the studio was
being paid for and nothing was happening” Ron countered. “They’re worried. It’s
my job to un-worry them. It’s your job to un-worry me.”

“We’re okay,” I said, after a moment where
everyone in the room went quiet. “Mark and I can stand to be in the same room
as each other now. We’re reworking a lot of stuff, which will only make the
album better in the end.”

“I’m going to go on record here and say that while
the album they were building before wasn’t shit, it was maybe two steps above
that,” Jack said. “I’m a lot more interested in the stuff they’re working on
now. It’s stronger material. They’re making it better. That’s all the label
needs to know and that’s all I’m personally going to tell them.” I couldn’t be
sure, but it felt like we all held our breath for a moment or two.

“When do you think you’ll have an album for them
to listen to?” Ron looked at each of us.

“We’re starting over...not from scratch, but from
a way earlier point in the process,” Alex told him. “It may be another month
before we have it nailed down enough to show them anything.”

The meeting went on, but I’d more or less checked
out. No matter what Ron said, the fact of the matter was that we were going to
go over-schedule, even if we didn’t go over the budget. The entire band had met
up about a week after I confronted Mark, and we’d come to the conclusion that
all of us hated the direction the album was going in, and none of us were happy
with the state the band was in. It was going to take however long it was going
to take, but we ended up scrapping 90% of what we’d already recorded, going
back to the demos.

“For the record,” Ron said, in a tone of voice
that called me out of my thoughts, “the label isn’t going to like it. They’ll
live with it, because they’ve already committed the money and because they’re
bound by contract, but they’re not going to like it. This had better be the
best fucking album you guys have ever turned in.”

“It’ll go platinum,” Alex said dryly, and we all
laughed.

“At this point, that would be a saving grace for
you all,” Ron said more seriously. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ll meet
with the label, and give them the news. Keep me posted.”

He left the control room, and the rest of the guys
started to wander off as well; we were planning on getting to work in a couple
of hours, but they’d all want to catch their girlfriends up on current events.
Eventually, it was just Mark and me in the control room, and I felt the
lingering tension between us. It was getting better, but it wasn’t like one
conversation, or even a few, were going to make everything the way it had been
before.

“Hey--Dan,” Mark said after a few moments’ silence
stretched out between us.

“Yeah?” Mark met my gaze and looked down and then
looked at me again.

“You planning on going to Respects tonight?” I
felt my throat tighten, but I didn’t lie.

“Yeah, I was going to hang out, since Sophie’s
on.” Mark took a deep breath.

“I’ll buy a couple of drinks, if you want the
company,” he said, not quite looking at me.

“Awesome,” I said, smiling as best as I could.
“When Soph’s busy it gets super boring. I’d love to have some company.” I
paused for a moment, watching Mark; we were getting better, but I’d seen him
taking a breath when I’d mentioned Sophie. “Are we okay about the Sophie thing?
I mean if you’re still pissed about it…”

“It’s whatever,” Mark said with a shrug. “See if
she’s got any cute friends I can chat up and I’ll consider us even.” I laughed.

“You know, I don’t get to talk about her to
anyone, really,” I told Mark, looking down at my hands.

“Why not? Fucking Alex bitches and complains and
talks up Mary, and you’d think from what Nick says that Olivia’s got some kind
of fucking beer tap installed in her boobs, he’s so into her.” I shrugged.

“I just don’t really talk to them the way I used
to with you before everything went to shit.” I’d gotten closer to Nick since
Mark had thrown his tantrum, but I still didn’t feel comfortable enough with
him to talk about Sophie.

“So talk to me, man,” Mark said.

“You sure about that?” Mark didn’t hesitate. He
nodded and sat back in his chair.

“I just don’t know,” I told him. I plucked a
cigarette out of my pack and lit it. “Obviously I’m into her, you know?” Mark
snorted.

“Obvious is one word for it,” he said.

“And like, she’s into me, but the thing is,
assuming we get this album done in time, we’re going to be touring in a while.
That’s not easy on relationships.”

“She dealt with me chewing you out and being an
asshole about her taking up with you,” Mark pointed out. “Hell--she fucking
texted me almost every day after I stopped talking to you.” I felt my eyes
widened.

“She did?” Mark nodded.

“She said if I wanted to be mad at her that she would
take her lumps for making a bad choice, but that she knew the band made you too
happy for her not to fight for you,” Mark told me. “Gotta say, she did a better
job of trying to convince me than any of you assholes did.” I chuckled at that.

“So you really think it’s going to work out?” Mark
rolled his eyes.

“Brother, if it doesn’t work out, that shit is
going to be 100% on you, and I’m going to be the first one laughing in your
face about it.” He paused and licked his lips. “I’ll refrain from trying to snipe
her if you fuck up though.”

“You’d better,” I told him. “I don’t intend to
fuck this up.”

“Just saying, if the thing ends, it’ll be your
fault. She’s into you.” I smiled and tried to remember if Sophie had mentioned
liking flowers; I thought I should get her some. “Now if only I could have half
the luck you do…”

“You’ll get there,” I told Mark. “There’s some
girl out there that doesn’t even know it yet, but she’s going to be all head
over heels for you and shit.” Mark laughed.

“Maybe I’ll meet her tonight,” he suggested. I
smirked.

“Only one way to find out,” I pointed out. “And
you’re friends with the bartender’s boyfriend. You can totally get all the
details and impress the fuck out of whoever it is.” Mark laughed and shook his
head.

“Yeah, I’ll come out tonight,” he said. “We’ll see
how long I can milk this ‘most eligible bachelor in the scene’ thing before
some chick comes and sweeps me off my feet.” I finished my cigarette and got up
to leave; I needed to see if there were any florist shops open on my way home.

THE END

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~Bonus Stories From Red Lily Publishing~

“You want me to pass
up Donna Karan, Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang, and Mathieu Mirano? All to spend a week
in the company of cows and chickens?!?” Ava exclaimed.

“And horses...” her best
friend Christie interjected, as if that should adequately justify passing up a
trip to the fashion houses of New York in exchange for a week-long “life on a
ranch” experience.

It wasn't that Ava
had anything against farm animals, she just made a rule of keeping them as far
away from her Gucci stilettos and her Jimmy Choo pumps as possible. OK, up
until now, there had been no rule on the subject, but given her friend's
ludicrous request, it was about time the rule be made.

“You know I could
never afford the trip on my own, and admit it, you can't possibly think your
meager savings is going to get you through those houses' front doors, never
mind walking out with bags of irresistible clothing.”

Christie may have a
point, but Ava wasn't ready to back down just yet. Besides, she'd be perfectly
happy sitting outside of Michael Kors, watching the wealthiest of society
prance in and out. She'd be content to dream of the day women would prance in
and out of her shop, adorning themselves in her fabulous creations—just not at
the same ridiculous price tags. It was her driving force; Ava loved everything
about the fashion industry, except for the astronomical cost that came with
being fashionable. It was what had kept her dressed in thrift shop finds as a
kid, instead of in the beautiful clothing that only the rich girls could
afford. She wanted to learn every couture secret out there and use her
knowledge to make the art of fashion accessible to the next generation of
less-than-filthy-rich teens and young women.

“Then why don't we
pool our money and you come with me to New York?” she posited, thinking it to
be a far more reasonable request, even as Christie's eyes seemed to bulge out
of her head at the suggestion.

“You can throw on a
pair of overalls and look just fine on a ranch. What do you think it's going to
take to get me prepped for a fashion house?” Christie asked dryly, surveying
her generic brand leggings and oversized T-shirt.

“Besides, you're at
the top of your class. We both know you're destined for a glamorous internship
and a star-studded career in the fashion industry. What need is a ranch going
to have for a mediocre paralegal when I'm finished school? So, it's only fair
that you come with me before your career takes off and you no longer have time for
us little people,” Christie cajoled, with puppy dog eyes and a devilish grin.

Ava had no doubt that
Christie knew she was about to win. It was one of Ava's greatest gifts and her
biggest flaw at the same time. She was too kind-hearted. Not in the way that
made her a good person, but in the way that made her a perpetual doormat.
Throughout her childhood and high school years, she was a habitual
people-pleaser, and it had interfered with every facet of her life, from her
social life to her academic performance.

However, from the day
she was accepted into the Bachelor of Fine Arts in Apparel Design at the Rhode
Island School of Design, her life changed. She had found something she was good
at, something she could take pride in. Ava was happy, and her confidence
soared. When it came to Christie, her spine seemed to turn to Jello. Christie
was right; Sarah would likely be spending the last year of her degree in
fashion hot spots like New York, Milan and Paris. Meanwhile, she knew Christie
had dreamed of learning to work with horses since she was a little girl—and
even less well-off than Ava—and who knew how long it would be before she had
another opportunity like this one.

Ava exhaled heavily,
rolling her eyes. Christie's grin transformed into an enormous smile,
recognizing the resignation and knowing she'd accomplished her goal. She threw
her arms around her friend, hugging her tightly for a moment before standing
upright, a frantic look on her face.

“OK, so that means we
have exactly two weeks until we leave. I'll take care of all the arrangements.
You just make sure you pack something that the cows and chickens can't ruin,”
Christie teased.

Ava nodded, trying to
mentally envision the contents of her closet and cringing at the thought of
manure-soaked
crepe de chine pants or mud-splattered
silk tunics. It wasn't that her clothing was the most expensive stuff out
there—most of her wardrobe was actually comprised of her own designs—but she'd
hate to ruin so many one-of-a-kind creations. Deciding not to think about the
impending defilement of her attire, she glanced at her watch, realizing she'd
been dallying at lunch for too long.

“I gotta go!” she
announced, rising from the diner's booth. “I've got a heavy schedule all week,
so give me a call this weekend and we'll finalize the details.” “...and see if
I can't figure out how to weasel my way out of this rustic excuse for a
vacation,” she mumbled under her breath.

Unfortunately, the
week passed by too quickly, and by the time the weekend arrived, she hadn't
even a pitiful excuse in sight. Worse, Christie had investigated the itinerary
for the vacation, and as she recited it over the phone, Ava fought valiantly
against the urge to back out. Early mornings, horse grooming, ranch
maintenance—which she could only imagine meant cleaning out stalls and other
ungodly tasks. But at the end of the long list of indescribable horrors sat the
reason Ava stood strong against the innate desire to flee. Horseback riding,
training sessions, sunset trail riding and other stuff that she knew meant the
world to Christie. She committed the trip—and its wretched itinerary—to the
back of her mind for her remaining week in civilization, and did her best to
make every moment pass by as slowly as possible. Unfortunately, the fates were
unkind to Ava, speeding her through the week at an exorbitant speed and before
she knew it, their day of departure was upon her.

She awoke early to
squeeze in a shower and prep time before their flight. Slipping on a pair of
form-fitting, bootcut jeans and a simple viscose tank top that had a
deceptively demure neckline in the front but plunged all the way to the waist
of her jeans in the back. She checked her reflection in the mirror, sliding her
hands along the outline of her curvy figure. At first, studying in the fashion
industry, she'd been terribly self-conscious about her curves, but as time went
by and she saw one skinny model after the next, she realized something. Those
women, while beautiful, were cookie cutters, exact replicas of one another. Even
worse, from studying behind the scenes she had come to see their many flaws;
sunken faces, bony thinness, Botox and volume injections and a steady calendar
of plastic surgery to keep up with the latest body trend.

In contrast, Ava saw
herself as absolutely unique, with a curvy, one-of-a-kind frame, long, golden
blonde hair and crystal blue eyes that captured the attention and admiration of
men and women alike. Satisfied with the woman staring back at her in the
mirror, Ava nodded, heading out into the small, common living room of her
shared apartment. She grabbed her luggage from next to the front door and
forced her feet to usher her downstairs to the lobby where Christie was, no
doubt, already waiting anxiously. She did her best to plaster a smile on her face,
seeing no point in making this a miserable experience for both of them, and
made small talk all the way to the airport and throughout the plane ride from
Rhode Island to Colorado. Ava loved to fly, though her tight budget didn't
allow for air travel very often.

The four-hour flight
flew by quickly, and Ava took a deep breath as she stepped off the plane. This
was it; there was no turning back. She wasn't entirely certain what she had
against ranch life so much—aside from the obvious muck and mud issues, of
course. She supposed it must have something to do with the unfamiliarity of the
situation. In truth, the only pet Ava had ever had was a goldfish, her parents
both allergic to most domestic animals. She felt very out of her comfort zone
when she thought about spending time on a ranch, surrounded by large, strange
animals and burly farmworkers. So much land somehow seemed unnatural, too,
having grown up in a two-bedroom apartment before moving into the apartment she
shared with two other fashion students.

Perhaps it was about
time she opened her mind and gave ranch life an honest try—at least for the
week—she thought as she spotted a man holding up a sign with their names.
Walking over to him, he greeted them both kindly, offering to take their bags and
escort them to the vehicle waiting outside, which turned out to be a luxury
sedan, pleasing Ava immensely. She had imagined having to ride in the back of a
rusty old pickup truck all the way from the airport to the ranch, and was
pleasantly surprised by the unexpected luxury ride. Traveling at least thirty
minutes to the ranch, the car pulled into a long, winding driveway that lead to
a well-kept, moderate-size ranch house.

Ava stepped out of
the car, turning to take in the view around her. She had never seen so much
open space, and it was...breathtaking. Beyond the open expanse was lush, green
forest in every direction and the mountain range beyond drew the eye upward,
making it seem like the land went on indefinitely. She had expected to be
greeted by the noxious smell of animal and manure, but instead the air
smelled...clean.

“I told you it
wouldn't be so bad,” Christie whispered, obviously recognizing the awed
expression on Ava's face.

“I'm willing to
concede that the place doesn't smell like an outhouse,” Ava teased quietly.

A man came out of the
house to greet them then. He must have been nearly seventy-maybe older-and as
wrinkled as a prune, but he wore a kind expression that made him seem
immediately likable.

“Hello ladies. My
name's William Winchester—just call me Will, but not Bill. I managed to avoid
the name all these years and I don't want to pick it up now. I'm the owner of
the ranch,” he welcomed them, extending his hand in greeting. “I'll take you
over to your cabin so you can get settled, and then what do you say you join me
at the house for lunch? Don't worry, I'm not the one doing the cooking. We have
an in-house chef for that, or else all our guests would be stuck with my
specialty night after night.” “It's hot dog spaghetti, in case you were
wondering,” he whispered conspiratorially, and Ava couldn't help but laugh.

“It sounds like your
specialty might rival mine—macaroni and cheese whiz...a la Ava,” she teased
back.

“That sounds
wonderful,” Christie replied, beaming brightly. “Um, the cabin, not the
spaghetti...or the macaroni,” she smiled apologetically.

The three laughed and
the two women followed Will beyond the house to a grouping of cabins about
twenty yards behind and to the right. The cabins were quaint, but immaculately
maintained with a small, wooden front porch on each one. Inside the “grand”
one-bedroom cabin—the largest unit the ranch had—was a cozy living room with a
fireplace and a kitchenette off to one side. The bedroom was a decent size with
two double beds and a large curtain that could be pulled to separate the space.
The bathroom was painted and decorated in the same style as the rest of the
cabin, but beyond the stand-up shower and small pedestal sink was a deep,
luxurious-looking hot tub—a welcome sight but it looked a little out of place
in the rustic cabin.

Their luggage was
deposited by the front door by the man who had picked them up at the airport,
who nodded goodbye and waited for Will on the grass beyond the front porch.

“If you need
anything, just mention it to anyone you see working around here,” Will
explained. “They all know that, outside of taking proper care of our animals,
making sure the guests are comfortable is our number one priority. Now, lunch
will be ready in about half an hour, so you just go ahead and take your time
getting settled. I'll see you up at the house shortly.”

Will turned and left
the cabin then, and Christie turned to look out the back window, overlooking
the vast fields and forests.

“Tell you what,
Christie,” Ava started, making her way in the opposite direction. “You go ahead
and shovel manure and rub down cows...or whatever it is you do here, and I'll
spend the week right here in the hot tub. Deal?”

“Ava,” her friend
complained good-naturedly.

“OK, fine. You can
join me in the hot tub, but keep to your side, and you're the one who has to
tell Will that we've opted for a week of luxurious relaxation instead of rustic
farm work,” Ava teased.

She turned into the
bedroom instead, depositing her luggage there and then reemerged into the
living room. Wandering out onto the front porch, she intended to take another
look at the scenic forest and mountain range but was greeted by another sight
instead. There, not thirty feet in front of her was an impressive, four-legged
creature. It's long, chestnut mane and tail glittered in the sunlight, and its
eyes met Ava's, surprising her with the alertness she saw there. Next to the
horse stood a young man, he couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen
years old, rubbing the animal while he spoke to it in quiet tones before taking
hold of its reins and slowly stepping backward. The young man's movements were
deliberate, as if he were reciting a set of instructions in his mind. Although
Ava hadn't seen a horse or its trainer once in her life, she could easily tell
he wasn't very experienced. It was interesting to watch; the horse more
accustomed to the movements than the young man.

From the corner of
her eye, she caught sight of another figure moving into view from the direction
of the ranch house. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad chested. Wearing
a simple, white T-shirt, she could decipher the outline of every sinewy muscle.
His five-o-clock shadow did nothing to hide the rugged outline of his jaw, and
he wore a cowboy hat, shielding his face from the sun, but drawing attention to
his dark, vivid, sapphire blue eyes. He walked over to the boy who was
stiltedly leading the horse around the pen. He spoke to him for a moment and
then stood back, observing. Suddenly, the boy moved more confidently; his steps
were more fluid and his eyes were focused on the task at hand.