Cover Me: A Rock Star Romance
Carrie Elliott
Copyright © 2014 Carrie Elliot
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Disclaimer:
The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.
Derek
“Y
ou’ve got to
be fucking kidding me.” I threw The Scene down onto the marble table in front of my band manager, Kurt Detrick. “She’s hated me since high school. That’s what this shit review is about. Revenge.”
Kurt sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I don’t know, D. I mean, it
is
a shit review, but every time I’ve dealt with Bess Halprin she’s been nothing but professional. I’m not sure she’d risk the reputation of her magazine for revenge.”
“Whatever the case,” Joe Schmidt, my record producer said, his voice echoing from the conference phone in the middle of the table, “she makes some good points. We need to rethink the tracks we have recorded, maybe ditch them altogether and find something else.”
“Good points? Ditch them?”
Was he fucking insane? I snatched the magazine off the table and read, “Unholy Union is a quintessential band name for the mind-numbing melding of indie-to-corporate singer/song-writer, Derek Bast, and teen pop sensation, Adrian. In no known universe should the music of these two collide.”
I whacked Adrian on the arm with The Scene—Adrian who used no last name, like Prince or Madonna. “Hey. Pretty boy. You got anything you want to add to this conversation?”
Adrian shook his head, his hair whipping around his face. “Nah. Not really.”
I clenched my teeth. My jaw twitched. “Joe. We’ll call you back.” I reached over and jabbed the off button on the phone.
Kurt flew forward. “What the—”
“Kurt.” My chest constricted, tight as stone. My nostrils flared with the effort to inhale, exhale and not rip someone’s face off. “Fuck you.” I pointed to Adrian. “And fuck you.” I pushed away from the table and stood so fast, my chair fell over. “Since I’m the only one who gives a shit about Joe trashing the tracks we recorded, I’ll go fix this.” I gave them a mock bow. “You’re both fucking welcome.”
I couldn’t say I remembered the drive across town. There were flashes from the paparazzi when my tires squealed out of the parking garage, but then I was lost in a blind rage until pulling up in front of the ugly glass building where The Scene’s offices were located.
A scruffy guy in filthy clothes sat on the ground beside a palm tree. This wasn’t the best part of L.A. if there even was such a thing. “Hey. Do me a favor.” I pulled a hundred dollar bill out of my pocket and held it out to him. He scrambled to his feet. “Don’t let anyone near my car.” He nodded, shoving the cash in his pocket.
The reception area was bright and modern with purple furniture, Wi-Fi stations and flavored coffee set up on a cart with a striped awning, like we were outside. It reminded me of Willy Wonka’s factory.
“Can I help you?” A blond with big blue eyes looked up from behind the rounded desk. “Oh! Derek Bast.” Her throat rippled as she swallowed hard. It put an image in my mind that made me look away.
“I need to see Bess Halprin.”
“I’m not sure she’s in the office. Did you have an appointment?” She clicked on her computer screen, quickly searching Bess’s appointments.
“No. It’s urgent. Do you know where she is?”
“Behind you,” said a deep female voice that clawed its way up my back.
I turned to see Bess standing a few feet from me. The realization hit that after all the years we spent living beside each other growing up in Santa Cruz, that this was the first time I’d seen her in about nine years, since high school.
This Bess Halprin wasn’t the skinny girl with baggy jeans and glasses who used to knock on my door every Friday after school to try and get me to go to her youth group roller skating party with her. She didn’t even look like the girl who was voted most likely to become first female President of The United States in high school. This girl—woman—was someone I didn’t know.
Bess Halprin grew up.
And filled in.
Nicely.
“Stop starting at my boobs, Bast.” She tugged the strap of her black leather bag up higher on her shoulder. “Did you want something?”
I tried to recall the anger that fueled me all the way here, but couldn’t find more than irritation. “Yeah. What was with that review you wrote?”
She crossed her arms, making her cleavage more prominent. I couldn’t help but cop a look. Jesus when did she get this body? And kill me now, Bess Halprin was wearing crazy high, bright red fuck me heels with fishnet thigh highs. Her skirt was so short, I could see a red ribbon woven through the top of the band keeping her stockings around her firm thighs. Guess seeing it was the point.
The only thing familiar about this Bess was that her black skirt had the face of the evil queen from some Disney movie repeated like giant dots all over it. High school Bess always had a thing for clothes with animated characters on them. Fortunately, new Bess liked low-cut, V-neck t-shirts.
“Eyes up here, Bast. What do you mean what was with my review?” A black brow arched over the top of the rims of her black, hipster glasses and disappeared into a line of black bangs. Her thick hair hung straight and curved under her jaw. I caught a shimmer of dark blue in a few strands as she tucked one side behind her ear.
“Maybe we should talk about this over drinks? Are you free now?” Did I just ask Bess Halprin out for drinks? Was that the Earth shifting on its axis? High school Derek would never ask Bess Halprin out. High school Derek would be shitting himself if he was standing here staring at her now.
“Drinks?” She shifted back and forth on her heels. Was she nervous?
I was nervous. What the fuck?
I was Derek fucking Bast and Bess “The Biggest Nerd In High School” Halprin had me asking her for drinks?
I should’ve stayed in bed this morning. I wondered if Bess would go with me if I went back to bed.
“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath. Her chest expanded and I wanted to stick my face in the deep cleft between her tits. “I just got back from my last appointment for the day, so I guess we could go across the street—”
“I know a place,” I said, taking her hand and steering her toward the doors. “My car’s out front.”
She pulled her hand away, but tried to make it casual. “That shiny black affront to the environment is yours?”
I glanced at my car. The filthy man was still guarding it. “That’s an Aston Martin Rapide S.”
She tilted her head, frowning. “How many miles-per-gallon does it get?”
“Yeah, not many.” I clicked the remote entry button and gestured to Filthy Man. He opened the passenger door. “At least we’ll get there fast.”
She lowered into the car. Her skirt rose even higher, giving me a fan-freaking-tastic view of her tan thighs. “Get in and drive, Bast,” she said, catching me and slamming her door.
Derek Bast drove
like a maniac. “Here’s an idea—slow down!”
“Critiquing my driving now, Halprin?” He cocked an eyebrow and swerved to avoid hitting a bus. I gasped and put a hand on the dash.
“Listen,” I said, feeling the need to clear the air before he killed us both over the review I wrote. “I know you’re pissed at me, but I’d love to make it alive to wherever you’re taking us.”
He chuckled. It was deep and melodic, just like I’d remembered. It struck a chord inside my chest and made my temperature rise about ten degrees.
How was it that after all these years, being this close to Derek Bast still made me into a love struck idiot?
Not that every woman in the free world didn’t feel the same now a days. But back when he was just Derek My Neighbor and I’d open my bedroom window and listen to him singing in his own room across the side yard…that’s when it started. It wasn’t about his dark hair that somehow was always the perfect amount messy yet styled. It wasn’t his penetrating green-eyed gaze, and it wasn’t his tan, tall, very masculine body. It was his voice. The passion I heard in every word. The way I’d close my eyes and let him paint me a picture.
Then he took those carefully crafted mental pictures and set them on fire. The worst part was, he didn’t even realize it. It might have been easier to forgive him and let it go if he’d at least realized how he cheated me. But he didn’t even acknowledge my feelings.
Bess Halprin was never someone Derek Bast considered for a second. I was the girl who got straight A’s in my AP classes. The one whose idea of fun was hanging out with my church youth group. The one who never turned him down when he asked for a favor, even if he never said thank you.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling up in front of the valet stand at the Roosevelt Hotel.
“Of course you would bring me to a hotel,” I said. Who did he think he was? Dumb question. He knew who he was, that’s why he thought he could get away with bringing me here.
“Relax, Halprin. We’re only going to the bar. Right now I’d rather strangle you than screw you, so your virginity’s safe with me.” He got out as the valet opened my door.
Virginity? Not likely. Even us nerdy girls found a man every once in a while.
I waited while he tipped the valet, then stepped inside the lobby when the doorman opened the door for us. With the arches, soaring ceiling, tile floor and center fountain, I might have time travelled to the Spanish colonial era.
“When you’re done gawking…” Bast said, waiting for me to follow him into The Library bar.
Honestly, I wasn’t done gawking. I’d never been inside the Hollywood Roosevelt before. It was stunning. The bar actually did look like a library with leather chairs and banquettes, bookshelves along the walls and diamond-shaped window panes. Bast took my hand and helped me up into a chair at the bar before sitting beside me. “Thanks,” I said, somewhat shocked that he knew how to be a gentleman.
“What would you like?” he asked, waving to the bartender. There were only a handful of other people around us.
“Jameson on the rocks.”
The bartender heard me and nodded. “Make it two,” Bast said.
“So, the review.” I settled right down to business. Better to not pretend this meeting was personal. It wouldn’t do me any good when I didn’t see him for another decade…or ever again.
He pressed his lips together. His eyes narrowed. “The review.”
“I don’t imagine you enjoyed reading what I had to say, but I write reviews for my readers, not to kiss entertainer’s asses. Not even yours.”
The bartender sat my drink down. Perfect timing. I picked it up and took a healthy drink, relishing the feel of it burning all the way down to my stomach.
Bast gripped the edge of the bar and very slowly lowered his forehead down onto the polished wood. “I’m trying really hard here to not flip out on you. You should appreciate that, because it’s taking more self-control that I thought I possessed.”