Nick paced back and forth on the deck with a bottle of water. He was desperately trying to get his head together and give his liver a respite, even if it was a short one. According to Marley, he had to hydrate to make up for all the brutal drinking he'd been doing lately.

Lately? Who are you kidding?

Hell, it felt like he'd been drinking this hard forever. But he had to clean up his act. Lose the bloat and the bloodshot eyes. He was going to be on bloody TV in two days. He had to look sharp.

And not like the drunken, bloated fool he’d been lately. Even too much champagne could make a bloke look puffy. He had taken a good hard look in the mirror when he woke up earlier that afternoon.

He did not like what he saw. And he definitely did not want to be that person on national television.

Not a lot of people knew it, but Nick hated doing live TV. Movies were much easier. There was a script involved. And he could do as many takes as it took till he got it right. Usually, it didn’t take too many.

Even filming live concert was easy for him. He loved it. He made sport of messing with the censors, slipping a fair number of F bombs in as he interacted with the crowd.

Fuck, standing in front of fifty-thousand people with only a pair of skin tight leather pants on was fine too. That was a bloody walk in the park. These broadcast bastards wanted him to actually talk!

He had to make sense on top of it. No cursing or blathering on about this or that. And they expected him to be charming for God’s sake!

Funny, even! Nick found himself hilarious most days, but in a ‘hell with it’ sort of cynical way. Not TV funny! He needed anecdotes or some shite.

Lord save him, this was a disaster.

Give him a screaming crowd of thousands, keep a steady stream of drinks in his hands, he could hold forth all night. But just sitting there and talking with all those invisible eyes on him? Now that made him fucking terrified.

Even worse, he had to do it sober.

At first his rock star persona had practically demanded that he misbehave. The ladies wanted a bad boy, and by God, that’s what he gave them. They expected him to party like, well, a rock star.

He’d loved it. He’d never given a toss for convention and now he had license to do whatever he bloody well pleased, and people would accept it.

Not just accept it, either. They ate is up. Called him unique and unconventional and eccentric.

Now things were different. If he was honest with himself, which he rarely was, getting smashed was just a habit to dull the loneliness and boredom. The bloom was most definitely off the rose.

Sometimes Nick thought that having things come too easily had made him permanently discontent. He'd always wanted more more more. More success, more money, more women, more booze.

But sometimes, he wanted less.

Most of it was crap after all wasn't it?

Still, he couldn't complain. He might be trapped in his opulent over the top lifestyle, but the average bloke would trade a body part to have his problems. Which model to sleep with, what fabulous destination to fly to, which house to spend the weekend in. Really, he should be so happy his feet hardly scraped the ground.

But lately it just wasn't the case. He felt… empty. Sparring with that hot little label exec had been the most excitement he'd had in years. The woman was a bloody brilliant adversary, and she knew it.

And now she'd tricked him into doing something he hated. Worse, it was something he feared. What if he looked foolish? Uncool? That would be it. His career would be over. Then he really would be touring second rate houses.

Exclusively.

Even worse, he'd be performing on weekdays. Only. It was fine to do a Thursday now and then, but the really big names mostly performed on Fridays and Saturdays.

He shuddered.

Without all the glittery facade, he really didn't have anything. If he lost his glimmer, he wouldn't be anyone… He’d be a has-been.

Marley walked in with Sandy, his personal trainer. She smiled a brilliantly at him. Sandy was a gorgeous, incredibly fit and tan California girl with golden highlights. He sighed in relief.

Something to get his mind off of all of this… thank God.

As with everything, Nick pushed himself to excess. Even though he partied hard, he’d never let his muscles go to fat. He knew that his physical condition was remarkable, especially considering what he put his body through partying all these years.

Still, he knew how to baby himself. Smoothies, the occasional detox and working out with Sandy. Usually after a session, they worked out a little more.

In the bedroom.

She put him through his paces, using kettlebells and his own body weight for the most part. He did about a hundred squats on a stability board. Then two hundred pushups on the damn, wobbly thing. Then they took a quick run on the beach to really get the burn.

They were walking back up the steep stairs to his house when Sandy raised her eyebrows at him. He shook his head at the unspoken invitation.

"Sorry love. I'm a bit distracted."

"I noticed that. Everything alright?"

He forced a smile.

"Absolutely. Just working out the details of a new tour and… lots of other tedious things that I won't bother you with."

She smiled, not offended. Sandy was like a man in that way. To her, sex was just sex.

"Okay, Nick. I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure you hydrate."

He toasted her with a chilled bottle of mineral water.

She pecked his cheek and was off. The woman charged an arm and a leg but she was the best personal trainer around. She'd also turned into a friend, on top of the mind boggling sex you could have with a woman who used to be a gymnast. Besides, he could afford her rates so why not?

Nick sighed and guzzled his water. At least working out had cleared his head a bit. He would be fine on the TV show. Far greater idiots did this shite every day and came off smelling like roses.

He could manage to sound somewhat intelligent for ten bloody minutes! He was Nick Falcon for God’s sake!

Marley chose to interrupt that brief moment of bliss.

Why he had allowed his cousin/assistant/manager to live here was beyond comprehension. They were attached at the bloody hip. At the very least he should have tucked the bugger away in a guesthouse.

He scratched his chin.

Did he even have a guesthouse? Then he shook his head. It didn’t matter. He knew why he wanted Marley close, even if he was a pain in the bollocks half the time.

Marley was his best friend, that's why. Christ, who was he kidding? Marley was his only friend.

Everyone else was just hired help or a hanger-on. All he had was family. His mum and Marley.

Thank God for them. Otherwise, he expected he’d have gone off the deep end long ago. He’d be washed up, stuck in the rehab merry-go-round. Or dead.

Marley was holding a piece of paper.

"This came for you."

"What is it?"

"It's from her."

He didn't have to specify who he was talking about. Blast it if he didn't know instantly.

Little Miss Sabrina Newton.

Damn but the woman was becoming a thorn in his side. He couldn't help but smile when he thought of her though. She was like a sexy school teacher. A strict one. He felt his body respond to the thought of her instructing him.

In the bedroom, of course.

First she could boss him around, tell him what to do. He’d like that. And then he'd teach her a whole new bag of tricks.

She looked like a virgin, come to think of it. Why else would she have cried when he came on to her? Unless it was like Marley said and he’d made it hard for her to do her job.

A career woman. How fascinating. He’d never had one before.

He sighed in exasperation, though it was all an act. He couldn’t bloody wait to hear what she had to say.

"Oh bloody hell, what does she want now?"

"Uh… it says 'talking points.' It looks like it's for the interview."

"Great just what I need. As if I needed help coming up with things to fucking chat about. Anything else?"

"Yeah- the last page has a note."

"Well what does it say?"

"It says… 'Don't show up drunk'."

He snorted a laugh. The woman had a lot of gall telling him what to do. She worked for him, didn't she? Or at least for the label that he'd single-handedly kept afloat for the past decade. But she needn't have worried on that point regardless.

Nick was far too nervous to drink.