Three Years Later
“Miss Emerson, I’d like to see you in my office,” Nate sounded through my newly installed phone in my newly gifted office. I pushed his extension as I searched my notes on my laptop. “Nate, everyone here knows we have sex on the regular. You can call me Stella,” I said with a tone that matched his.
“Miss Emerson, I have Roger Morris in my office for a meeting,” Nate snapped as laughter echoed out beside him.
I leapt from my desk and stared at the phone.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
We would be fighting over this one later. Face flaming, my tail between my legs, I walked into his office, failing to meet Nate’s eyes and apologizing profusely to Roger Morris, who was one of the biggest agents in the music industry. He had a stellar reputation and carried some of the most sought-after talent under his management company. It took all my Latina courage to shoot an apologetic glance at Nate.
The scold, colored deep blue, told me it may be a nasty fight. Still, I couldn’t help the little high I got from knowing he still wanted to be inside me while simultaneously strangling me. I gave him a sly Love you, honey smile.
“I’m truly sorry,” I went on to Mr. Morris, a tall man with a New York complexion and red carpet attire. He had sharp eyes that let you know he held the secrets of many but a genuine smile that made him more approachable. “That was highly unprofessional, and it’s definitely not—”
“Stella, may I call you, Stella, though we’re not having sex on the regular?” He coughed out a laugh as Nate drilled holes into my skull. We were at that comfortable stage of our relationship where we bared all and had no issue arguing, and it wasn’t detrimental to our relationship. We lived together, worked together. In every aspect of our lives, we were together. And it was bliss, well, for the most part. Except for when I played my music too loud while he was writing, or that time I ran over his expensive golf clubs, or sometimes spoke—case in point, the situation I was attempting to charm my way out of. At twenty-four, I had finished my bachelor’s degree and enrolled for my master’s. I had a future at Austin Speak, not to mention a semi-successful podcast, something I started for myself despite my focus on the growing paper and the man who owned it.
Life was good, better than good.
“Of course, yes, call me Stella.”
“Truth be told,” he said, addressing Nate, probably to offset my upcoming ass lashing, “That’s probably the mildest thing I’ve ever heard as a rock ‘n’ roll manager.”
I nodded as Nate’s jawed ticked, probably in contemplation of his words and my punishment when he got me alone. I was almost giddy with anticipation. Fighting always lead to epic fucking. Nate and I legitimately had the best sex on earth. We competed with ourselves. It was our thing. I mouthed a quick “I love you” which granted me soft eyes as Nate cleared his throat. “Stella,” he said, laced with a hint of prejudice, because we did have that epic sex on the regular. “Roger manages that band Dead Sergeants. It was one of the first articles you published.”
All traces of humor vanished from my face, replaced by a plastic smile.
“I remember. They’ve done well for themselves,” I added, waiting for the punchline. I’d never told Nate about Reid. And I never had a single reason to feel guilty about it until that moment. Since the minute Reid left my apartment three years ago, I never had a reason to tell him. I hadn’t spoken to Reid. The Sergeants had recorded their first album when they landed in California and that went double platinum. That success led them on a yearlong US tour. Speculation that they were recording last fall had already been confirmed in the press but no release date had been announced. Fans were chomping at the bit.
“Indeed, they have,” Mr. Morris agreed. “The group would like to give you an exclusive for both your podcast and for the paper. Both stories could launch at once, of course.”
“We can make that work,” Nate agreed with a nod. I could practically see him salivating. Dead Sergeants were well on their way to being the next stadium rock band.
“Mr. Morris, I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I have no time. My sister is getting married this weekend.”
“What?” Nate snapped as Roger looked at me with a smirk and quick rebuttal.
“The band is willing to work around your schedule due to the fact that it was your article that got them signed with Sony.”
“I didn’t know that,” Nate said with probing eyes in my direction.
Hello, guilt, it’s been a while.
I shrugged. “That’s because it’s not true.” I stood, grabbing a cup of water from Nate’s cooler and resumed my seat across from him sipping slowly.
Mr. Morris went on, ignoring the building animosity. “The band disagrees, Miss Emerson. And they have an announcement of an upcoming overseas tour for their album releasing next month. In addition, one of the members has recently gotten engaged,” Roger said while I began to choke. I cleared my throat.
“Which one?”
“Rye,” Roger said with a smile. “Typically, we don’t like to delve too deep into the relationship status for fear it may hurt the band’s relationship with the fairer sex, but it seems like more and more the media is seeking just those kinds of stories to draw readers in.”
That was the truth and one of the reasons my podcast was getting weekly views. When I was lucky enough to get an exclusive, I asked the most intrusive questions, and the audience ate it up. With the success of reality TV, things were getting far more personal in media. And Dead Sergeants were the last band I wanted to get personal with.
I felt Nate’s expectant and enthusiastic yes across his desk and kept my eyes on the same expectant gaze of Roger Morris. “It’s appreciated, but I must regretfully decline. I have last minute fittings and a rehearsal dinner a few hours away. I’m sure you can understand how daunting these things can be.”
“Stella,” Nate hissed. I snapped my gaze to his in warning.
“I’m sure JJ can cover it,” I chimed in with a smile between them, a quick solution.
“They are insistent that you conduct the interview. The band is at the hotel now and have freed up their evening for you, so this shouldn’t interfere with any of your weekend plans.”
“Wonderful,” I said as Roger stood. “I can squeeze it in around five.”
“She’ll be there within the hour,” Nate grit out as he tried to decide what to do with my body.
Roger’s eyes told me he knew exactly why I was hesitating and he’d been well prepped.
Ben. I’m going to kill him.
Lexi still wasn’t over their inevitable break up. Though true to his word, Ben hadn’t been the one to stray. Lexi had. Ben was crushed by it, but the way he went about his backlash was cruel punishment, not to mention national news. Some pictures can never be erased, especially with the newest it girl, a Hollywood starlet half-naked in his lap. Those pictures circulated for months, slowly stripping the life away from Lexi. Ben was too blind to see she was too wrapped up in him, too desperate, too lonely. I, in no way, agreed with her actions, but saw she was human in her love and her insecurity when it came to him, and their relationship made her sick. I understood it all too well. Neither one of us got our rock ‘n’ rock fairytale.
I was content.
And proud of Lexi. She was doing her best to bounce back, and it had nothing to do with men. She’d enrolled in her first year of college. “Better late than never,” she’d said, and I agreed. She’d also gotten a job on the set as a stylist for a DIY show that was filmed locally. Lexi had put up videos on YouTube when it launched and gained a lot of attention. It inspired me to start my podcasts. I’d run the marathon in Austin as far as the paper was concerned. I knew every step of city pavement. I no longer served beers at Maggie Mae’s due to the newly thriving budget of Speak, but it never kept me from doing the work. I knew every club manager and often got tipped off when some of the bigger names rolled into town. And in doing that, I scored exclusives by my reputation. Austin Speak had the most followed entertainment segments in the city and was getting national recognition with some of my freelance publications. And this all happened within the time that Dead Sergeants hit the rock ‘n’ roll lottery with three, number one billboard singles with their self-titled first album. I watched the guys take the stage after winning two Grammys for Best New Artist and Song of the Year. On stage, Reid stood in the back, mute, while the rest of the guys rambled on. Even with their success, Reid remained tight-lipped and out of the spotlight. As Roger Morris shut the door after a brief handshake with Nate and I, I decided I would light Reid Crowne’s ass on fire with questions if he were the one responsible for dragging me into their hotel.
My plans for revenge were cut short by the sight of Nate, hunched over his desk, his thick fingers splayed on the top of it. “What in the hell were you thinking?”
“Be more specific,” I said, sinking back into my seat with a sigh. “And you know I already regret the phone thing.”
“The phone thing? Oh, you mean when you announced to the entire building that you and I have sex on the regular?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I buzzed your office.”
Shit. “Didn’t I?
“You didn’t hear the applause?”
Shit.
“Stella,” he said with his hands in his pockets. “Come on, baby, you know better. Where is your head lately?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m tired, okay? I’m working my ass off here, school, and my sister is driving me ape-shit about the difference between two types of green pastels. I don’t have time for an interview of this proportion. I’m not prepared.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re always ready,” he said, his arms crossed. He looked down at me. Nate Butler got better looking with age. It wasn’t a biased opinion. It was a fact. I still pinched myself mentally every day that he was mine.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll send out an apology email.” Nate nodded, and I looked at him, and my breath hitched. “I love you.”
He walked around and pulled me to stand and into his arms. “Hang in there, baby. Once we get this issue out, I’ll get us out of here. Anywhere you want to go.”
“Bed,” I said with a lifted brow.
“Deal.”
He frowned down at me. “This weekend will be over before you know it, and I’m having a hard time with the interview issue. You live for opportunities like this.”
“Please, Nate, let JJ take it. I’m exhausted.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “You know we’re only as good as our last story, Stella. This will boost circulation.”
I looked at the man who had literally done everything in his power to prove his love and brushed my lips against his. “I’ll do it.”
He chased my lips and kissed me breathless. When he pulled away, his voice was hoarse.
“I need you to pull down your panties,” he said tightly.
“What?” Nate had never initiated sex at work since the night I roller-skated my way into his right side. “Give them to me. If I remember correctly from this morning, they are red lace.”
“Yes,” I said, my body drawing tight at the command of his voice.
“Take them off,” he barked.
Happily meeting his demand, I pulled up my favorite black pencil skirt, took them off, and swung them in front of his face with my index finger.
“Stella, you helped build this paper. Raise your skirt,” he matter-of-factly said, as if the words he’d just said didn’t have my pulse racing. I pulled it up to my waist as he leaned in, intent on keeping my attention above while he worked me down below. “It wouldn’t be half as successful without you,” he whispered as my breathing escalated. “I wouldn’t be half as successful without you,” he said, kneeling down in front of me as he shed his navy blue blazer. “Hold on, baby,” he whispered to my clit as he flicked his eyes to mine before he darted his tongue out in one smooth lick. “I love you.” Lick. Lick. Lick. He added a finger as my breath left my body and thrust upward as he sucked me greedily. “I think about you coming into my office, in that fucking T-shirt,” he breathed out as he added another finger and thrust up while I sank against his door and onto his hungry mouth. “I wanted to claim you then, and God, if I would have only known what we would become,” he said as he jackhammered his tongue against me, “I would have taken you hostage that day.” I burst in his mouth as he thrust his fingers faster, drawing it out and making it last. “You became mine the minute you walked in that door, beautiful. I’m so proud you’re mine. I’m never letting go.”
I had no idea where this confession was coming from. I felt it from him every day, but to hear the words coming from his mouth as he worshipped me was another level sort of thing. I never pressed Nate for more than what he gave. But I did wonder every once in a while, if he still loved me the same. If his feelings had been dulled by some of our fights or faded slightly with our ability to reach out and touch whenever we wanted. I knew longing and I knew comfort. I had and felt both from and with Nate, consistently. Still, his words, they reached deep. If he would have asked me in that moment to be his wife, I would have said yes without hesitation.
He leaned in and soaked his face in my arousal then pulled away, licking his lips clean. “And I love this sweet pussy so much.”
“God, please, Nate,” I asked as he stood and nailed me to the door, his forearm on my neck, pressing slightly while his fingers ran through my sex.
“I’ll give your panties back when you’ve earned them, and this,” he said, putting my hand on his bulging cock, “when you get home from rehearsal tonight.”
“You aren’t coming?”
“I can’t,” he said slowly, releasing me before the guilt surfaced on his features. “I have a conference call.”
Shoulders slumping, I narrowed my gaze. “Did you just get me off so I wouldn’t gripe at you about that?”
“Yes. But I meant every word.”
We shared a smile. “It worked.”
He kissed me deeply and didn’t stop until Sierra knocked on the door.