Stripped (17 page)

When a tear came to her eye, Emily wiped it away, unsure why she was so emotional.

He was just some rockstar, nothing else.  And falling in love with him wasn’t an option...

14.

“He wants you to do the interview?”

Emily nodded.  “That’s what he said.  Oh, by the way, he kept your recorder.  He doesn’t believe in recorders.  He said anything that needs to be written will be remembered, or something like that.”

“My recorder is in a limo with Gunnar from Down Silent.  That’s the closest I’ll probably ever get to him.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Emily snapped.  She stiffened and reached for her coffee.  “Sorry.  I’m just... annoyed.”

“Or horny.”

Emily sipped her coffee and ignored the comment.

“Do you know how to interview someone?” Ann asked.

“I ask questions, he answers.”

“It’s not that easy,” Ann said.  “You’re not in control.  He doesn’t want a thing from you.  You want something from him. It’s not like a job interview where you have to answer questions to prove your worth.  You need to converse with him, slowly work your way into opening him and slip questions in...”

“Ann, I don’t even know...”  Emily paused and prepared for what had been on her mind since she stepped back into the apartment.  The truth.  Her feelings as they felt at that very moment.  She wasn’t used to exploring her raw feelings. 

“You don’t know what?”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to do this.  Okay?”

“What?  Are you kidding me?”

“He’s not going to say anything.  And he’s not going to allow it to be published under your name.”

“Like hell he will,” Ann said.  “He won’t do a thing if it’s under my name.”

“What about me?” Emily asked.

“I already told you... I’ll open the article with you.  You talking to him.  You’re the one who talked to him, so essentially I’ll just interview you for the information and then the article becomes mine.”

Emily nodded.  Ann was good.  Quick thinking.  But it didn’t change Emily’s mind. 

“He won’t talk,” Emily said.  “He’s playing games.  Trying to get to me.”

“Then confront him about it.  No tape recorder, right?  I’d show up tomorrow and confront him.  Tell him what you said to me...”

“You’re selling this to me,” Emily said.  She had to admire Ann’s determination.

“Please, Em.  If he says anything worth writing, I need to know.  It’s so important to me.”

“I know it is,” Emily said.  “But I don’t know if I want to even be near him again.”

“Are you serious?” Ann asked.

Emily stood from the table.  She looked at her roommate and knew no matter what was said, Ann would never understand it.  She hadn’t been there.  Not in the stairwell.  Not handcuffed to the bed.  And not there to hear the destructive sounds as Gunnar took his pain out on the dressing room. 

“I have to get some work done today,” Emily said. 

“Em... please...”

Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  She walked away from her friend, fighting the urge to feel guilty. 

In her room, at her computer, it should have felt like home.  Sitting in front of a new book.  Creating characters, stories, and worlds, was the only thing that made Emily feel alive.  Not to mention she earned a living from it.  She had both books open - the one with a deadline and the one inspired by Gunnar.  She read what she had written.  Gunnar was named Race in the book.  She wrote about the intense details of his eyes - dark in the book - and the strength of his touch.  Reading it didn’t just turn Emily on, it pained her.  She pictured Gunnar’s strong grip on her wrists.  How his fingers locked to her tender nipple.  How he played with the chains of the handcuffs, bringing the small but powerful surges of pain through Emily’s body.

He was so deep.

He stood on stage multiple times a week, telling stories and spilling emotions, but that didn’t mean he bared everything to those crowds.  The power of Gunnar was immense.  He could give a crowd enough to bring them back.  To change them.  To send them home with hope. 

But what did he have?

Did he change himself through music?  Did he find hope in singing to people?

Something told Emily he didn’t.  Something told Emily that behind the facade of being hidden, stubborn, and successful, there was a man like she had never met before.  And there was a man that nobody would guess Bryce Gunnar to be.

That’s why he refused interviews.

That’s why he refused stadium tours.

He liked the complete control of it all.

Emily’s fingers tap danced on the keyboard as inspiration came and went in small waves.  She wrote three sentences and quickly erased them.  She switched to the romance novel, the document titled with the deadline date to keep her writing.  At this rate, she’d need a few really good weeks to get caught up. 

She started typing, and like an old gear working into a rhythm, she warmed up, and started going faster.  Soon the motion became an old habit to Emily.  She pictured the clean cut hero who rescues a woman from something.  Anything.  Any ideas that came were put to paper.  An hour went by, then two.  Her stomach gurgled, asking for breakfast, but Emily ignored it.  A small voice inside her body convinced her that by working as she would normally, everything else would go away.

But it didn’t happen.

At the three hour mark, Emily’s arms and wrists were achy.  She stretched her fingers and twisted her wrists.  She winced when she felt the pain. 

“Damn,” she whispered, coming to terms that Gunnar would be everywhere.

Her wrists would heal, sure.  But when she licked her lips, she tasted him.  His mouth, his body.  When she swallowed, she could feel his warmth rushing into her.  She couldn’t take back what happened.

And even if she resisted it all, there was no avoiding Down Silent.  They were on the radio, television, cell phone apps, everywhere.  For a band that didn’t want a huge tour, they cashed in everywhere else.  Emily couldn’t remember the last time a day had gone by that she didn’t hear at least three different Down Silent songs.  If they were staying local, the media buzz would only grow. 

Not to mention Ann.

Emily looked to her partially opened door.  She hadn’t heard a peep from Ann since leaving the table.  Everything Ann had worked for was in the balance and somehow Emily had been pulled into the middle of it.

She slapped her desk and cried in pain.  If she had just stayed in front of her computer...

Then what?

Emily rubbed her eyes and went back to the keyboard.  She wasn’t convinced typing would take Gunnar away, but she knew that writing something down had to feel better.  She closed her deadline romance project and went back to the story based on Gunnar.  Now her fingers moved faster than ever, pouring her side of the story to the page. 

By the time Emily quit for good, the afternoon had come and gone.  She found herself crying but without sound.  Tears would randomly collect and stream down her cheeks when she thought about Gunnar with other women, when she thought about Gunnar being in silent pain, and when she thought about the band name itself...
Down Silent
. 
What the hell did that actually mean? 

She saved the story, refusing to read it, and shut her laptop. 

From the inside out, she felt uncomfortable.  She touched her sides, moving along her curves, wondering how Gunnar could enjoy it.  She saw the honesty in Gunnar’s eyes when he commanded her sexually.  It wasn’t just sex.  It wasn’t just fucking.  It was something so much greater... so much more liberating...

Emily knew it.  Emily felt it.  Emily wanted it again.

And maybe that’s why Gunnar chose her.  Because she could feel.

When Emily finally left her bedroom, she opened Ann’s door to find magazines and papers sprawled on her bed.  Another tape recorder on her desk, and her roommate pacing, obviously working on a new angle for the Gunnar cover story.

Ann looked at Emily.

The silence consumed them both.

Emily blinked, fighting the urge to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Ann finally said.  “I don’t understand what happened with you and him... and it’s not my place...”

“I’m going tomorrow,” Emily said.  “To talk to him.  Alone.  Just me and him.”

“Em...”

“I’m going to meet him tomorrow.  One last time.  And I need your help.”

“Of course,” Ann said, her left side already pulling into a small smile.  “Anything you need, Em.”

“First off, don’t call me Em,” Emily said.

“Sorry,” Ann replied.  She smiled big and said.  “Anything you need... Ex.”

15.

The hotel had a group of people lingering out front, most of them wearing Down Silent memorabilia.  Some of the women had signs, confessing their love for Gunnar.  They ranged from
Marry me Gunnar!
all the way to the extreme
Fuck me Gunnar!
.
 

Emily smiled at that sign as a warmth came over her, knowing that out of all the women holding signs, wearing t-shirts, and fantasizing, Emily could be the one that Gunnar would actually fuck. 

Emily was alone and paused at the front of the hotel.  She looked up, knowing that Gunnar would take the top floor.  He’d take the biggest room, probably an expensive suit, the size of two or three average sized hotel rooms.  Knowing what she knew about Gunnar, she turned and walked to the side of the hotel, searching for the backdoor.  There was no way she’d be able to walk into a hotel and ask to see Gunnar. 

There was a method behind everything he did.

And that much was proven when she saw a familiar face standing at the back door.  The monster of a man, nothing but thick muscle and a pissed off face, standing with his arms folded, looking straight ahead.

“I’m here,” Emily said.

The bodyguard looked at Emily and raised an eyebrow.  “Bringing one back, huh?”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’ve never seen Gunnar bring someone back a second time.  You must have something he likes.”

“Maybe I do.”  Emily liked the thought of that.  She thought for a second and asked, “Any other women come and go today?”

“What do you think?  They just sit up there, waiting for their show?”

“I’m talking about Gunnar.”

“I open the door when told to, that’s all I’m going to say.”

The bodyguard smiled a sarcastic smile, knowing his answer would stab Emily through the heart.

“Then open the fucking door,” Emily said, digging deep to find
Ex
, the woman Gunnar needed right now.

Emily walked the stairs, listening to her shoes clicking and echoing.  She didn’t question the logic because nothing about Gunnar was logical.  At the end of what felt the longest stair climb of her life, Emily saw another bodyguard blocking the door to the hallway.  She didn’t recognize this one, but he certainly recognized her.