You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (2 page)

Oh, and hang on. She’d spent last night
packing
for her boss. Yes, that meant handling his black silk boxers.

Not only that, but this trip meant more than assisting Irwin. She’d gotten him to agree to let her go off and discover some bands of her own. So she could finally get that promotion. But now, the day before departure, he was telling her she couldn’t go. Because . . .

“Wait a minute. You want me to
babysit
?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. You’re not changing nappies. You just need to look after her.”

“You want me to babysit your daughter.” She said it dully, lowering herself onto the plush leather couch. “I’m twenty-five years old, I’ve worked for you for eight years—” She flashed him a look. “Even as a high school intern I did more for you than your own secretary. And your best use for me is babysitting.”

“You make it sound so trivial. This is my daughter we’re talking about. And you’re more like a mother to her than her own mother.”

“I’m four years older than her. I’m not like her mother.”

“No, you’re better than her mother. And something’s off with her.”

Emmie narrowed her gaze.

“More so than usual. You heard her. She’s all screechy.” His phone buzzed, and he quickly answered it.

Coward.

She needed to get a handle on this situation. Heading to the window, she glanced out, pressing close to look down to the street twenty-seven floors below. If she focused on the steady stream of pedestrian traffic, the yellow cabs, the exhaust-spewing buses, she could tell herself he really was just looking out for his daughter. But she knew better. It was so much more than that.

Oh, hell, she couldn’t hold it back. The unbearable pain of being shut out again rolled in and threatened to just
crush
her. God, it hurt.

She wanted in so badly. Why was it so elusive? All these feelings . . . God, it was her childhood all over again. Being shut out of her dad’s world for not being creative enough, for not really
getting
him, had made her too sensitive to these slights. Because, truthfully? Artists didn’t have a lock on creativity. She had it, too, just in other ways. The whole reason Irwin valued her as his assistant was for her ability to think outside the box. She’d proven herself an Amoeba a hundred times over. So why did he hold her back? Sure, he needed her in this role as his assistant. But she could do so much more.

She knew she was lucky to work for the top A&R guy in the business. At the best record company in the world. She didn’t take it for granted, but she also knew it was time for more. If she actually stayed behind and babysat Caroline, she’d never break out of this role. At some point, she had to take the initiative and actually say no to one of his demands. She had to force him to see her in a more creative role, or she’d never have the chance to explore that side of herself. To unleash it.

Besides—
hello
?—he couldn’t function without her, so how could he get through the next six weeks on the other side of the world?

She spun around, pointing a finger at him. “What are you going to do without me?”

He looked alert then. Most of the time he had a dozen very important ideas going on in his head all at once, so it was nearly impossible to gain his full attention.

Those sharp blue eyes pierced her, and she knew she had it then.

“Right,” he said to the caller. “Emmie will get back to you later.” He stowed his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m taking Bax with me.”

Had she been standing on a trap door? Because the floor gave way, and she was in free fall. Baxter Reynolds had started as an intern five years ago. When Irwin hadn’t shown any interest in promoting him, he’d attached himself to Bob, one of the other A&R guys.

And
now
Irwin was showing an interest in him? Instead of Emmie?

She didn’t know what to say. “Bax?” How was
Bax
better than her?

His phone buzzed, but he ignored it as he came right up to her, close enough that she could smell the Christian Dior cologne she kept stocked for him. He brushed his hand down her arm. “I’m sorry, Em. As much as I need you with me, I can’t leave Caroline alone.”

“Where’s her mother?”

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? I can’t really count on Claire. But I
can
count on you.”

See? When he did that, she caved. Irwin loved his daughter, and who else could he trust to look out for her? His entire family lived in England. Flighty, gorgeous, sexy Claire Murphy flitted around the world on a whim, barely touching down long enough to take care of anything but her most immediate and impulsive needs.

But Emmie needed more. She needed
in
. She couldn’t stay his personal assistant forever. So what should she do? Of course, if Caroline were in any danger, Emmie would have to help. But the girl was twenty-one. And, sorry, but Emmie simply wasn’t her mother or her big sister.

She didn’t want to let Irwin down. But she was continuing to let herself down if she never took the next step—which meant taking charge of her own career.

She needed the promotion. “I’m not going to babysit Caroline, Irwin. You need me in Australia, and I need to go to Australia to see the bands I’ve been researching.”

He let out a deep sigh. “Truth is, you’ve set everything up perfectly, as you always do. You’ve got my every moment organized and arranged to the point that I
don’t
need you there.”

“But you need Bax?”

“You’ve given me the list of bands to check out, along with the scheduled times to meet them. So, yes, I need Bax.”

“I researched those bands.”

“From the privacy of your office. Bax
lives
it, Emmie.”

“You’re saying I’m not good enough to be promoted?” She felt the sting of it, like he’d doused alcohol on a blister.
No, no, no.
That was bullcrap. She
was
good enough.

“I’m saying that I need you right where you are.”

“And I need a career. Not just a job.”

His phone buzzed again, and this time he checked the caller ID. “I have to take this.”

“No. Please, Irwin. Not until we settle this.”

“It
is
settled, Em.” He said it gently. “I’m taking Bax.” He punched the button on his phone. “Yes?”

“Then I quit.”

Irwin’s eyes flared. His features burned crimson.

She stood there, letting the words settle around her. The only sound was her own breathing, the only movement the wild and erratic beating of her heart.

Had she actually done it? Quit her coveted job?

“Wait, wait, hang on a moment,” he said into the phone.

“I’m sorry, Irwin. I can’t keep doing this. You have no intention of promoting me.”
Standing on the periphery hurts too much.

“You can’t quit.” He turned back to the phone. “Let me get back to you.” Without waiting for a response, he hung up. “You can’t quit.” He looked utterly lost and baffled. “Why would you quit?”

“I’ll find my replacement.” She turned to go.

“Good God, Emmie. You cannot leave me.”

“You’ve given me no choice.”

“All right, just stop this. Stop it right now. I can’t function without you, and you know that. You’re threatening me. That’s not a good way to get a promotion.”

“It’s not a threat. I told you I needed a career, and you told me you needed me right where I am. Fetching your Americanos and cajoling your landlord into letting you keep amphibians in your penthouse apartment isn’t a career. I can’t be your personal assistant the rest of my life. You get that, right? I’ve loved working for you, but it’s supposed to be a stepping stone. You’ve just shown me it’s a cage. I deserve more.”

He had a strange expression, like he was listening to an incoming message from an ethereal source. “It’s not right for you.”

“What isn’t?” He’d punched the accelerator on her pulse, making it rev so fast she went light-headed.
This is not happening.
He was
not
shutting her out of this world.

“A&R.”

“I . . .” She found it hard to take a full breath. But he was wrong. Of course it was right for her. She pretty much did the job anyway. Maybe not discovering the bands, but . . . oh, God. She needed to breathe.
Deep breaths
. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve been doing it for eight years.”

“Em, look, I have to get to the studio. You simply can’t quit. I won’t allow it. We’ll find a way to compromise, right? I want you to be happy.”

“I’m not happy babysitting your daughter.”

He winced. “Loud and clear.”

“I need to know there’s a place for me here other than going through your laundry room and drawers looking for a missing cashmere night sock.”

Looking pained, he touched her arm, ignoring his buzzing phone. “Let’s both think on it. Come up with a solution.”

“Am I going to Australia with you tomorrow?”

“No.”

She bit down hard on fear. It was scary as hell, but she had to do this.

“Emmie . . .”

She turned and walked out of the room.

It’s not like Slater Vaughn didn’t like lingerie. Hell, the only thing he liked better was peeling it off a woman’s body. So, when the panties started flying, he tried to convince himself that catching just one single pair and meeting their manager’s expectations was a no-brainer.

Clutching the microphone, taking in the screaming crowd as Ben doubled his beats on the high hat, he knew if he didn’t do it this time—if he didn’t snatch the underwear midair and pretend to breathe them in—the manager would bail.

And it’d be Slater’s fault. He’d drive off yet another one. Which, he was pretty sure, would mean the end of the band. How many could they go through? They were getting too old for this shit.

But hell. Sniffing random underwear?

Fuck it
. He couldn’t do it. The panties landed like confetti around his feet. He looked toward the bar, across a sea of ecstatic faces, where John, the manager, yanked a bill out of his wallet and tossed it on the counter. He got up to go—just when Slater should’ve launched into the first verse of the song—and looked him dead in the eye. John shook his head with a bitter frown and strode out of the club.

Shit.

He didn’t want to see his bandmates’ reactions. He especially didn’t want to see Derek’s. The guys kept playing, and Slater tried to pick up the beat, find his way back to the opening, but he couldn’t. He had to know if he’d just put a bullet through the brains of the band. The other guys would probably forgive him, but while he loved them like brothers, they were just instrumentation. Snatch could carry on without them. Derek, though? He was the CEO of the band. If he’d had enough, if Slater had finally pushed him too far . . .

Derek would walk. He’d have to. He’d kept up his end of things—the bookings, publicity, social media. Christ, he was
Eddie Valencia’s
son—success in this industry was his legacy. What the hell was Derek doing with Slater anyway? Whose only legacy was failure?

The melody kept looping back, and each time Slater let it pass. Because he
knew
. It was different tonight—he’d sensed a change in Derek. A growing impatience. Was tonight the breaking point?

Time to find out. Slater turned—just as he sang the opening line, just as the crowd started screaming—and found Derek . . . jamming.

That’s it. Head lowered, fully concentrating on the bass. Not a care in the world.

What the hell?

*   *   *

After the set ended, the guys gathered around their usual table near the stage. Slater headed for the bar, grabbed the beer that always waited for him, and let the girls swoop in. Sure, he’d have to face it. But, hey, he could stall a few minutes while the girls rubbed his dick or pressed their tits on him. It’s not like the guys expected anything different.

Yeah, okay, no stalling. Not tonight. He hoisted his beer and nodded his thanks to the bartender, pushing a bill his way. As Slater disentangled himself from the girls, one of them slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and cupped his ass, giving it a lusty squeeze. He turned to see which one and wasn’t disappointed. The blonde with the huge tits and juicy lips. Perfect. He leaned down, licked the shell of her ear, and said, “Twenty minutes.”

“Mmmkay.” She breathed it like she was two seconds away from a climax, bringing her other hand to his cock and rubbing it with the heel of her hand.

As Slater approached the table, he watched Derek clear out the groupies. They scattered—all of them except one. Only she didn’t look like a groupie. She looked . . . well, Slater didn’t know what she looked like, other than maybe a teacher. A kindergarten teacher. She wore her dark hair long and straight—no particular style—and he could actually see her complexion, uncovered as it was by makeup. What was she doing at their table? She glanced up at him and smiled. All sweet and innocent, like he was her date at the movie theater, bringing the popcorn and soda.

Like she didn’t want anything from him at all.

It felt like Slater stopped moving. Even though his legs continued toward the table and cold beer slid down his throat, it felt like time just . . . stopped. But it hadn’t, because he wound up at the table, standing behind an empty chair. He took her in—the shiny hair that ended in a slight bounce. She was pure, innocent, clean . . . and yet she had a mischievous look in her eyes that made him wonder. She turned back to Ben, the drummer, giving him her attention like she actually cared what he had to say—not like she was trying to get with him.

Slater set his beer bottle down. It was go time. “Come at me, bitches.”

Derek tilted his head. “You didn’t catch the panties, man.”

Slater returned Derek’s challenging look.

“John told you if you ignored one more thing he wanted you to do, he’d quit. And you know what?”

“Yeah. I know. He quit.” Feigning nonchalance, Slater glanced over his shoulder to the bar, found the blonde watching. He gave her a slow smile, and she nodded with a deliberate lick of her glossy lips.

“The guy was a douche.” Cooper drained his beer.

“The
guy
was our fifth manager.” Derek scraped his chair back and stood, folding his arms over his chest. “And last.”

Get to the fucking point.

“You want to know why I’m not losing my shit right now?” Derek asked.

The woman looked between them, completely unfazed, like she didn’t notice the crackling tension. Slater just cocked his head, pretending like he cared. Well, he did care. He cared a lot. But he wasn’t going to let Derek know that.

“Because I have a solution to our problem.”

Slater held Derek’s gaze, curious but not giving anything away.

“We’re done with them. Managers, agents, fuck ’em. We obviously don’t play well with others. So why don’t we manage ourselves—”

“You mean,
you
manage us,” Slater said.

“Are
you
gonna do it?”

“Fuck no.”

“Let him finish,” Ben said, his arm stretched across the back of the woman’s chair. Man, she sat so primly, and yet, there was something about her. Like she had a naughty secret. Who the hell
was
she?

“I’m twenty-seven years old,” Derek said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not fucking around. We’ve got one chance to make a go of this band. I’m too old to start another one. Look, I can manage us, right?” He looked around the table, and everyone nodded in agreement.

He continued. “We don’t need anyone telling us what we should look like, how we should act. What kind of music to play. I mean, the hell with John, right? Telling Slater to capitalize on his ‘man whore’ image? How’s that going to get us a record contract?”

“Totally agree,” Ben said. “What’s that got to do with the music, man?”

“
Snatch
ing panties out of the air?” Cooper snorted. “Fuckin’ lame.”

Derek got energized. “Exactly. Dude was an idiot. Anyhow, we’ve already got a following. We just need someone to get us bigger gigs, get us some publicity.” Derek waited for a response. Pete’s gaze roamed the room, barely hanging on to the conversation. Ben nodded warily, and Cooper rubbed the label off his bottle.

“Slater?” Derek said.

“I guess.” To be perfectly honest, Slater was like a lizard, wanting nothing more than to sun himself on a rock. With a good book in one hand and a spectacular pair of tits in the other. He liked singing and writing—well, he
needed
to write. Couldn’t stop the lyrics and tunes from coming. But the rest of it? Couldn’t give a shit.

Not that he didn’t want to be famous. Huge. A mega
–
rock star. Sure. But Derek would take care of that end of things.

And who was this woman sitting with them? She didn’t look like a publicist or someone in the music industry. Plain hair, plain clothes, not much makeup . . .

And why did his brain reject the word
plain
when he took her in?

“Bottom line,” Derek continued, “we don’t need someone to mold us into some kind of fake image. We don’t need anyone
building
us into rock stars. What we need is someone to get us to that next level. Because, guys? We’ve done all we can here. We might be the biggest college band in Texas, but that’s all we are. And we’ve been that for too long. If we don’t take it to the next level, we become just another sad wedding band. I’m not down for that.”

Hell, no.
“And how do we find this person?” Slater kept his tone snarky.

Derek motioned to the woman, looking pleased with himself. “Emmie.”

Slater’s gaze slid to her. She smiled sweetly.
Her?
Turning back to Derek, Slater gave him a look that said,
What the fuck?

Derek scowled. “I told you she was coming out. I’ve been talking about it for the past couple of days. Haven’t you been listening?”

Slater’d been working the last two nights. What had he missed? Cooper tossed a damp, wadded-up napkin at him. “His sister, asswipe.”

The woman stood up, and he couldn’t help noticing her plain V-neck T-shirt and floral skirt. Shouldn’t she be going to class or something? Working at Gap?

“Hi, I’m Emmie.”

Did she live on a prairie? Seriously, she looked like she churned her own butter.

Oh. Oh, shit.
Emmie
. Of course. “You work for Irwin Ledger.” Biggest A&R guy in the business. Shouldn’t she look a little more rock ’n’ roll? He’d always had an image in his head of what Derek’s sister—not just an A&R chick from New York City, but the daughter of Eddie Valencia, a fucking jazz legend—would look like, and this wasn’t it.

“I do,” she said. “But I’m taking a leave of absence.”

“Here’s the deal,” Derek said. “Irwin’s in Australia right now, so we’ve got Emmie for six weeks. She’s in Austin to check out some bands. So, we give her room and board, and in exchange she’ll get us gigs and promote us. Emmie’s the shit. Believe me, if anyone can get us to that next level, it’s her. So, what do you think?”

“Fucking great.” Pete pushed his chair back. “Now, I’m gonna go get laid.”

“Wait,” Derek said.

“Are you gonna get us a record deal?” Ben asked.

“Hey, hey, that’s not what she’s here for.” Derek sounded a little too protective. If his sister needed protecting from a simple question, how the hell was she going to
live
with them?

“Isn’t that the next level?” Cooper asked.

“No,” Derek said. “The next level is getting exposure beyond Texas college towns—”

Emmie cut her brother off. “I did play Irwin your demo a while back, but he wasn’t interested.”

“Why not?” The way her head snapped toward Slater told him he’d sounded too harsh. Well, it was a damn good demo.

“Don’t put her on the spot,” Derek said. “Let her just get us some gigs, okay?”

“You worried I’m going to drive off your little sister?”

“You’ve driven everyone else off.” Derek gave Slater a hard look.

“Okay, jeez.” Emmie touched her brother’s arm, giving it a gentle rub. It was a soothing gesture, and Slater felt it on his own skin.

“
Jeez?”
He waited for a wounded look, but she just kept her serene smile. “Really? Is that how they talk in New York City?”

“What’s your problem, Vaughn?” Derek said. “Do you want this or not? Because we don’t have a lot of options left.”

Slater couldn’t help filling in the omitted part of the sentence,
because of you.
“I need another beer.” He waved the empty bottle to his blonde, and she immediately spun around, flagging down the bartender.

“She says
jeez
, Derek. How the hell is she supposed to live with us?”

The guys all looked to Derek. Legit question.

Slater scrubbed a hand over his chin. “And live where, exactly? The
five
of us can’t fit in the house. How do we add a sixth?” He gave Derek a meaningful look, hoping he got the message. Not just another person, but a woman. With all the debauchery that went on, adding a Girl Scout would never work.

“Ben and I are moving into the garage,” Derek said. “She can have our room. It’s only temporary.”

Across the hall from
Slater’s
bedroom?

“Why would you want your sister living with us?” If he had a sister, he wouldn’t expose her to guys scratching their balls and belching as they stumbled around the house hungover and sporting hard-ons.

Warm fingers clasped around his upper arm, and the blonde thrust a beer bottle at him. “Thanks, babe,” he said.

Derek shot a look to his sister and smiled. “What do you think, Em? Think you can handle us?”

“Oh, come on. I’ve been around musicians all my life. And you have no idea what I’ve seen as Irwin’s assistant.”

“The bigger issue,” Ben said, “is, you know, hooking up.”

Pete spat out a mouthful of beer. “
Hooking up?
What the fuck? I’m not banging Derek’s sister.”

“Thank you, Pete,” Emmie said, like he’d just defended her honor.

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” Ben turned to Slater. In fact, all the guys looked at him.

Me?
Like he’d get it on with an American Girl doll, prairie edition? She probably wore waist-high cotton underpants. If she’d ever even had sex, which seemed unlikely, she’d been flat on her back looking up at the ceiling, waiting for the guy to finish.

Not sure why he was thinking about her having sex.

Must be that saucy look in her eye. Underneath that wholesome exterior, he suspected she had a whole sideshow going on in there. She had
something
going on. He just couldn’t figure out what.

“Slater won’t touch my sister,” Derek said. “That’s a deal breaker. He wouldn’t end our friendship or the band over it.”

“He fucked the manager before John,” Cooper said.

Actually, he
hadn’t
fucked her. That had been the problem. But the why never mattered, did it? Just the results.

“Okay, hang on,” Emmie said. “I’m here for six weeks. No one’s getting naked. Guys, seriously, I’m here to work.”

“You’d be surprised what Slater can accomplish in six weeks,” Cooper said.

Emmie sighed. “Yeah, yeah, he’s hot. I get it. Sorry, just . . . not my thing.” She glanced at his blonde, who pressed against him. “Seriously, you guys have nothing to worry about. I don’t party. I don’t drink, do drugs, or sleep around, and I don’t get involved with musicians. Period. So, see? I don’t want you, and you certainly don’t want me. Perfect match.”