"Shit, shit, shit. I'm late," I muttered under a ragged breath after barely catching the elevator up to the seventy-ninth floor.
"You're in LA, sweetheart," someone chuckled behind me. "There's no such thing as late."
I raised a brow, noticing an older man, dressed in khaki shorts and a floral shirt. He reminded me of my father's old Beach Boys albums. Hawaiian shirts, happy carefree smile and always on beach time.
Hell, maybe this guy was a Beach Boy.
It was California after all.
California. I said the word to myself, feeling my mouth curve into a small smile.
It was a long way from Columbus, Ohio and I'd worked my ass off to get here and every place in-between. But now I was finally about to make my childhood dream a reality.
All I had to do was find the perfect place.
My fingers tapped against the strap of my handbag, to the tune of something I'd heard on the radio on the way in. My manager said it was a nervous habit, something I did before every performance. My mother would have seriously disagreed, arguing that I'd drove her nuts with this particular skill since the day I emerged from the womb and I hadn't stopped since.
Maybe they were both right. Perhaps it was a little of both.
As the elevator rose, stopping at nearly every floor, letting people in and out, I continued my personal drum solo, doing my best to keep to myself while most chose to do the same. I checked my phone one last time.
Five minutes late.
Great.
This guy wasn't easy to get into. My manager, Corbin had to make several calls, but he'd made it happen. I was what they called a property virgin. Having never owned a home in Columbus or on the west coast, I wanted to make sure I got the best real estate agent money could buy, since I planned on spending a lot of it.
Rylan Rhodes was just that. He sold houses to some of the wealthiest people in Los Angeles including A-list celebrities. But he had a waiting list a mile long and his standards were quite high.
Thankfully, my up and coming name had piqued the interest in the house hunter and he'd agreed to meet with me today.
As in right now.
I let out another frustrated puff of air. I hated being late. As we climbed higher up the building, most everyone vacated, off to appointments or back from lunch. All that remained were two.
Just me and a sexy guy in a suit I'd been eying since the twentieth floor. He'd swaggered onto the elevator, looking like God's gift to women, carrying a large cup of overpriced coffee. Every female cramped within the small space seemed to melt in his presence.
Everyone except me. Spending a good portion of my young adult life on the road with various versions of guys like him had made me immune.
I watched him with a steely observation, recognizing his type almost immediately.
He was known by many names — player, manwhore, sower of oats — okay, maybe not that last one, but really, he was just a dick — the kind of guy who used and abused, who messed around and left others to clean up his mess.
No amount of sexy abs and good looks was worth all that. I had the battle scars of one too many encounters to prove it.
I stared straight ahead, focusing on the floor numbers as they lit up one by one, doing my best to ignore the Suit and his megawatt smile turned toward my direction. Suddenly there was a jolt, and the elevator lurched to a stop.
My breath caught, remembering all those movies where people either got trapped or died in these tiny little boxes hanging in midair. Why had I thought it was safe to use them?
Why didn't I take the stairs?
Stairs were safe. Stairs didn't dangle from the heavens like a freaking fishing line waiting to drop you to your death.
"Easy there sweets, this old thing does this all the time," the Suit called out, a surprising southern drawl on his lips. "She just needs a bit of a rest and then she'll get back to business."
"You and her seem familiar?" I said, straightening a little. I hadn't realized I'd reached for the railing like a life preserver the moment the elevator shook, my knuckles so white, I could nearly see the bones poking through my skin.
"Been working here a while," he smiled, taking a smooth little swagger forward. "She’s fairly reliable. Just a little old."
"I was under the impression that was a taboo word around here."
"What? Old?"
"Yeah, isn't LA constantly on the hunt for the fountain of youth? Always upgrading, adapting, modernizing?"
A sly smile spread across his lips. "I guess, but there's something to be said about the classics, you know? Maybe it's the Georgia boy in me, but I've always had a soft spot for the simpler things."
He checked his watch. "You new to the area?"
I nodded, falling for his charm far more than I expected. I cleared my throat, putting my blinders back in place. I was here for a reason.
One reason only.
And I had zero time in my life for a player in an expensive suit.
None.
"Well, I'd be happy to show you some of those simpler things I'm referring to — the classic charms of Los Angeles if you have time." He held his hand out for a friendly handshake. I took it, feeling all sorts of uncomfortable under his steady gaze. "Ryan Rhodes, nice to meet you."
All the warm and fuzzies I was starting to feel about the guy vanished.
My mouth fell open. "The realtor Ryan Rhodes?"
He gave me a lazy smile, still holding my hand. I snatched it back causing a bit of a disturbance to that perfect, stupid smile on his face.
"You've heard of me."
My arms wrapped around my waist as I took a step back, needing some space. "Yeah I've heard of you. I have an appointment with you," I said, before adding. "Right now."
Without missing a beat, he took a causal sip from his coffee, probably something overly complicated with zero carbs, as he leaned against his old friend, the elevator. "Well, you shouldn't have a problem then. As soon as Glenda gets going, so can we. You like Thai food? I know the perfect place."
My mouth was still hanging open as I tried to keep up. "Wait a minute. Five seconds ago, you were asking me out—"
"I'm still asking you out."
"Yes, but five seconds ago you didn't know my name. So, what were you planning to do about your appointment — the one you're currently late for? The one that is with me?"
He shrugged. "My assistant would cancel or reschedule it, or depending on who it was, maybe give it to someone else in the office."
The nonchalance of his words, the laid-back demeanor he had about the whole thing.
It made me mad.
No, it fucking pissed me off.
"I've waited weeks for this appointment with you. It took several favors and a call from my manager to make this meeting even possible and yet, you see a pretty girl in an elevator and just like that, it's canceled?"
He took another sip of coffee from his cup, like he had all the damn time in the world.
"Look—" he paused. "What's your name?"
I huffed. "Kennedy Kade."
A wicked smile spread across his face. "The rock star?"
"I don't really like that word, but yes."
The smile only widened. "Oh? And what would you prefer? Crazy Kennedy? Or maybe something more professional like Lead vocalist to Black Tie Affair? First all-female band to earn a Grammy nomination since—"
"That's just speculation. We haven't been nominated for anything," I countered back. "And I'm only called Crazy Kennedy on stage. You sure seem to know a lot about me for a man who was so eager to cancel our appointment."
"Well that was before I saw you."
I rolled my eyes. "Pig."
I straightened a bit, as I tried not to notice the curve of his ass as he moved. It was a nice ass.
Even if the owner of the ass was well… an ass.
"I make it my business to know your business. Every client I take on gets a thorough vetting before I agree to a meeting."
"Even Academy Award winning actresses?" I sneered.
He didn't miss a beat. "Even them. I like to know who I'm up against, so I do research of my own and I usually have a few others in the office do the same."
"So, you spy on us," I said, not bothering to phrase it as a question. Since stepping into the spot light over two years ago, I'd gotten used to the lack of privacy and blatant disregard of my personal space. I was public property now and for the most part, I was okay with it. There were days when the fans got a bit too zealous or the men a little too handsy, but most of the time I dealt with it just fine.
After all, I was living the dream.
"It's not spying," he replied. "It's simply learning."
"It's spying and you know it. So, what did you learn about me? Apparently, nothing since you didn't even recognize me."
He let out a sort of laugh. "You got me there. You were a hard nut to crack. When you're on stage, you're well—"
"I'm what?"
"You're sexy and you sort of suck all the attention from the room. It's hard to look away when you're covered in fish net stockings and wearing those tiny shorts. And the blonde pigtails." He was nearly drooling.
"You literally just described Harley Quinn," I deadpanned, folding my arms over my chest.
He shrugged. "Call ‘em like I see ‘em."
Looking down at the floor, feeling all sorts of weird hearing him talk about me on stage, I became infatuated with the floor tiles while I mustered up the courage to speak again. "You've been to one of our concerts?"
I caught a slight shake of his head from my position and for some reason, I felt a twinge of sadness over it. Why did I care if this douchebag came to our shows?
"I've watched online. You're electric."
Leaving the boring tile alone, I met his gaze once more. "So, you're saying what? I'm boring in real life."
This time, his laugh was real. "No, not boring at all. If that were true, I wouldn't have given up my meeting to meet—"
"Me? You wouldn't have given up your meeting to meet me to meet me? Is that what you're trying to say?"
I tried to keep a straight face, I really did. But his straight face cracked and I wasn't far behind. We both exploded into a fit of laughter, over the ridiculousness of our situation.
"Can't say I've ever tried to cancel an appointment with someone just to accidently ask her out on a date."
Before I had the chance to say anything more, the elevator finally came back on board. The lights flickered and soon we were rising back up the building. The moment between us seemed lost as I returned to my normal routine of staring at the floor numbers. He quietly did the same.
Once we reached the seventy-ninth floor and the doors parted, I realized how hot it had gotten in the small space. A gust of clean, fresh air swooped in and I took a deep breath as people pushed their way around me, annoyed over the five minute delay to their normal routine.
Ryan seemed just the opposite, as if the derailment suited him just fine. He continued to sip his coffee, making a gesture in my direction to follow his lead.
With a sigh, I did as I was told, walking next to him, rather than behind like some besotted young school girl.
"So how does someone like you become the highest grossing realtor in the Los Angeles area?" I asked, enjoying the unhurried pace we were taking through the building. It gave me time to check everything out, including the stunning view.
We were in downtown LA, but high enough that we sort of towered over everything. The smog was light enough today I could almost see out to the coast. Knowing I was so close to having a view like that of my very own made my heart lighten a little.
Maybe even enough to forgive the rat bastard realtor next to me for trying to cancel our appointment. I'd almost wrapped my mind around the idea before I noticed the fact that he'd stopped almost a cubicle and a half ago. Looking back, I was instantly fixated on his gaze — those steel blue eyes staring into me, reeling me in. They were like a tractor beam pulling me back to him.
And God help me, I went.
Reaching him in a matter of seconds, I stood tall next to him, while trying not to be overwhelmed by those magnetic eyes of his.
"Someone like me?" he finally said, referring to my earlier statement as he casually draped over a random person’s cubicle. The guy, didn't seem to notice or pay much attention to his boss and continued to type fanatically on his keyboard. "What exactly does that mean?"
I copied his posture, placing one foot over the other as I leaned against the nameless dude's cubicle. "Look around Ryan," I said. "Everyone around here is working and you? You're hitting on women in the elevator and taking thirty minute trips to the coffee shop on the bottom floor. You just strike me as well…"
"Lazy?"
My lips pursed together, as I tried not to grin. "You said it. I didn't."
Luckily his face broke out into a wide smile. "I'm just enjoying the many fruits of my labor," he explained, readjusting his posture to face the cubicle. Mr. Go-getter was still typing, with a little less intensity now, his attention now split between Ryan and the email program up on his screen.
"When you look out onto this floor, you see a bunch of people working their asses off, right?"
I nodded in agreement.
"When I look out, I see thirty employees that are all mine. I started with nothing, just me and a realtor’s license. I had no contacts, no idea what the hell I was doing, except for the fact that I wanted to make money. And I did it. When I look at Dan here, sending out email after email to potential clients, I remember myself doing the same damn thing in my parents’ garage less than ten years ago. This is the definition of hard work, and what kind of person would I be if I didn't enjoy it from time to time."
I stared for a moment into his eyes, trying to determine how much of that grand speech was real and what was just complete bullshit. I decided in the end to give him the benefit of the doubt, because honestly, who cared?
I was just here for the houses anyway, right?
And the sooner we got to looking at some, the closer I'd be to another dream of mine coming true.
"Okay, so why don't you show me just how good you are," I said, realizing at once how crude my words sounded. An evil grin spread across his face as I felt my face go red in embarrassment.
Just what this guy needed, extra encouragement.
"I thought you'd never ask," he said, "Follow me."
I did as I was told, deciding against any snide remarks this time since my last one failed so badly. His pace was brisk, a definite change to the laid-back stroll he'd had earlier. I think the idea of getting out of the office had invigorated him.
Maybe Ryan "the suit" Rhodes wasn't much of an office guy after all.
At least we had that in common. Being around all these computers and cubicles was giving me serious flashbacks to the dozen or so temp jobs I'd done to keep the band afloat several years back when our gigs were few and far between and the money was nonexistent.
Now the girls and I had cash coming out of our ears. It was an odd experience — going from dirt poor to filthy rich. Some of the girls, like our drummer Candace, went crazy, buying designer clothes and handbags just for the hell of it while traveling all over the world like she was running out of time. Others, like me, hoarded most of it, fearing I'd eventually wake up and this whole thing would be one massive dream.
But it didn't mean I couldn't allow myself this one extravagance. If I was going to eventually wake up, at least I'd have the memories.
Reaching his office, I waited as he unlocked the door and turned on the lights. Clearly he'd planned on being away a while when he'd ventured out for coffee. Even his assistant was away from her desk.
I was feeling really important on his list on priorities at the moment.
Slightly angered once again, I brushed past him in search of a place to sit. It didn't take long. Right in front of his desk were two impressive leather chairs. Running my hands across the soft leather, I took a seat without bothering to ask.
I'd had it with niceties with this man. He'd obviously planned on bailing on me. The least I could do was return the favor with my poor behavior.
After all, I was a rock star. This is what we did, right? Acted completely inappropriate in social situations?
He seemed unaffected by my lack of manners and followed my lead, taking a seat behind the desk, turning his attention to a small, unassuming file that sat between us.
"What is that?" I asked, continuing my mission to ruffle his perfectly manicured feathers. It didn't work as I watched him lean back slowly, grabbing the object in question as he slid it between his fingers, letting my annoyance grow with every passing second.
"I told you I'd done my research."
"No, you said you had someone else do your research."
That devilish smile I'd seen more than a dozen times since stepping on the elevator grew wide across his face.
"I said I occasionally had someone else help. Pay attention Kade. Anyhow. Inside this file is everything that was collected," he answered, before adding, "and the list of houses I plan on taking you to."
My breath caught. It was finally happening. My dream house. I no longer cared about the invasion of my privacy or what he'd discovered in his research. All I wanted to see were the properties.
The possibilities.
I could almost hear the waves crashing against the sand. I could nearly taste the salty sea air against my tongue. This was everything I'd worked for.
Everything I'd waited for.
"When do we leave?" I asked, not caring whether my excitement showed or not.
His smile turned into something closer to a sly grin. "Hold on there sweetheart. We still have a few things to go over."
"Like what?" I asked, feeling the anticipation doubling with every passing moment.
"Well, for starters, I need you to sign some paperwork. And secondly, we need to discuss your budget. I've pulled houses all over the map and I'd rather not waste my time showing you something you can't afford."
"I thought that was what all the research was for, Mr. Rhodes? I thought you had me all figured out by now?"
His attitude changed just then. The casual lean in the chair ended as he suddenly leaned forward, the slap of the file against the desk giving me a quick jolt.
"I know how much you're worth Kennedy. But there's a stark difference between what someone’s worth and what they can afford… especially when you're dealing with a rock star." He paused a moment. "Sorry, a musician."
I rolled my eyes. He just continued.
"Your kind aren't exactly…" he paused, obviously searching for the right word.
"We aren't exactly what? Reliable?"
"The word I was looking for was smart actually. The majority of superstar musicians I've worked with tends to be fairly dumb when it comes to money and how to spend it."
My arms wove tightly around my waist. I hated being compared to everyone else — like I suddenly had no identity of my own because of the profession I'd chose.
"I'm not like that," I insisted. "I'm not like them."
"No, I guess you aren't," he said, giving me a once over that made my skin prickle with awareness. I didn't know if the words were given as a compliment or something else but the way his eyes lingered over every inch of me had me guessing it was definitely in my favor. "Well, why don't you take a look at this one. It just went on the market. Gorgeous view with private access to the beach."
He handed me a glossy flyer. My hands trembled as I looked over the few photos that were included.
Breathtaking.
There was no other word for it.
Crystal clear blue water. Panoramic views from every room.
And then I looked at the price and my heart sunk.
"I can't afford this," I said, shoving the paper back toward him.
"Something tells me you can."
I shook my head. "I need to stay around two million. No more."
A grin spread across his face once more, probably because he and I both knew I was worth way more than that.
"Are you sure? Because this beauty hasn't been shown to anyone else. I was saving it for you."
I swallowed nervously as my eyes went back down toward the flyer in his hands.
"It's seven and a half million," I pressed. "That's insane and way more than I wanted to spend."
He shrugged, waving the piece of paper a little. I felt like a dog begging for a treat. A really expensive treat. "What do you expect for Malibu beachfront. Look, you and I both know you can afford much more than this. This isn't financial suicide."
Pursing my lips together, I made the decision quickly. "Fine. But if I say no, you can't force me, okay? And you'll take me to something more affordable right afterward."
"Yes ma'am."
"Don't call me ma'am."
His chuckle followed me all the way out the door as we both made our way back toward the elevator. It didn't take long this time to get down to the bottom floor and from there Ryan took the lead, escorting me to his fancy car parked in the small reserved parking lot outside.
"Just one of the perks of being the boss," he said, clearly trying to show off.
"Wow, your own parking spot. Fancy," I said, not impressed in the least. "When I make it big like Kanye, I hope they give me one of those too. Do you think they could paint my name on it?"
He shook his head, tiny crinkles forming around his eyes as he opened the passenger side door. "You're funny. Ever consider being a stand-up comedian?"
Giving him one last look before I got in his ridiculously small car, I replied. "Yes, but they wouldn't let me wear the fishnet stockings you're so obsessed with so I had to pass."
I gave him a sweet smile as he tried not to laugh. From that moment on, we did our best to ignore each other as he ventured out of downtown toward Malibu. It was a lengthy drive but a scenic one once we got out of the city.
I felt my body and my mood begin to lift the instant I saw the calming blue water of the ocean. Ever since I was little, I'd had a strong connection to the ocean. Almost as strong as my obsession with music.
"So where do you live?" I asked, only giving him half my attention. The rest was reserved for the water.
"I rent an apartment not too far from the office," he answered very matter of factly.
His reply shocked me and I momentarily forgot about what was out of my window. "You sell multi-million dollar houses for a living and you rent an apartment?"
He simply nodded.
"Why?"
A shrug lifted his shoulders. "I don't know. I guess it's never been that important to me. I see couples fight over countertops and square footages day in and day out. Is it really worth it?" He must have realized who he was speaking to because suddenly he sat up straighter. "I mean, of course it is. Yay team house!"
I was the one to laugh this time. "Maybe you just haven't found the right house yet," I suggested.
"Maybe," he replied wistfully. "But enough about me. We're here."
"What?" I nearly shrieked. I'd been so preoccupied with him, I'd barely noticed we'd turned into a driveway. A pretty damn nice one too.
"Holy shit," I whispered, completely stunned by the view in front of me. "The pictures don't do it justice."
"They never do."
"Can we go in?" I asked, feeling like a little kid on Christmas day.
"Of course."
It didn't take long for him to get us into the place. For a girl from Ohio, stepping foot in a nearly eight million dollar house was nothing short of a dream come true. If I'd envisioned this day as a child, it would have involved a castle with an actual moat and probably a few dozen knights. But here in Malibu, where house prices could tip fifty million dollars or more, this was nothing close to a palace. Or a castle.
But it didn't mean it was a shack either.
"Are you kidding me?" I said immediately, catching my first glimpse of the impressive view. It was hard to miss considering nearly the entire back half of the house was covered in floor to ceiling windows.
"Take a look around Crazy Kennedy."
"You aren't going to come with me?" I asked, feeling all sorts of weird about snooping around someone else’s house by myself.
"I can if you'd like? This is a full-service appointment," he said with an evil grin.
"Cute," I laughed. "But the tour is all I'm requiring. For now."
We started in the kitchen. It was stunning. Sleek lines and modern appliances.
"Do you cook much?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No. I've been on the road for so long, I never really had the opportunity to learn." He watched as my fingers brushed along the top of the marble countertops. "But maybe I'll have to."
Ryan didn't have any quick comeback as per our usual banter and instead took me on toward the living room. It was decorated in much the same fashion.
"Is there a chance I could ask for the furnishings? There is no possible way I could do this house justice with the crap furniture I have in my rental."
"I can ask, but if not, I know some incredible designers," he replied, leading us into the bedroom.
I already felt overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed by how much I loved the house.
Overwhelmed by the price.
The responsibility.
The commitment.
Walking over to the gigantic four poster bed, I collapsed, needing a moment to collect my thoughts.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Is buying a house always this overwhelming?" I asked, before adding. "Oh wait, you wouldn't know."
I felt the bed dip as he sat down beside me. I continued to stare up at the ceiling.
"No, I do. I bought a house once," he admitted, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.
Sitting up to face him, I found a different man entirely. This Ryan was softer.
Vulnerable.
It's like he'd removed a protective shell from his body.
"When?" I asked.
"A long time ago. My wife and I did. It was right after I'd gotten my first few paychecks. When I said I'd started this business in my parents’ basement, I forgot to mention it wasn't just me living there, but my wife and me. We were so poor, we had to move in with them."
"I thought you were a Southern boy?"
"I am. Born and raised until high school when my father had a job transfer. Worst summer of my life, or so I thought until I met Stacy. We were high school sweethearts. Married after two years of community college."
"Is that why you ended up back with your parents?"
He nodded. "We both lost our jobs. Thankfully Stacy found another one right away. But not me. So I decided to use my unemployment time wisely and work toward a realtor license. Nothing like being barely twenty-one years old, unemployed, married and shacked up with your parents.
"But it didn't last?" I reminded him.
He gave a soft smile. "No, I was able to get us out after a year of so — once the money started to come in."
"I'm sensing a but here," I said, trying not to pry but failing miserably.
"A big one," he answered. "She left me and married her boss."
My jaw fell to the floor. "Her boss?"
"Yep. Have you ever heard of a little thing called irony? Well, it just so happened that job she took was at local realty agency. Nothing fancy, but she helped out with administrative stuff. It was a branch to a much larger company and the majority of them in the area are owned by one guy."
"No."
"Oh yes. I don't know how and when they met or if she even loves him. But I do know that I'm now worth ten times more than that old geezer and couldn't be happier."
I gently put my hand on his thigh. "In your rented apartment downtown?"
"You better believe it."
Our eyes met just then. The realtor with no home and the rock star obsessed with them.
"You and I are more alike than I think we realize," I said.
"Oh, how’s that?" he asked, placing his own hand atop mine.
"We're both trying to be someone we're not," I explained. "You're just a hurt man selling happily ever afters to everyone but himself. And me? I'm a musician trying to be anything but. I walk around trying to convince myself I'm not like the rest of my bandmates, that when I'm on stage, I'm just performing."
"But you're not?"
I shook my head. "I love it," I answered honestly. "The freedom, the fire, the frenzy. It's a rush I'll never get anywhere else?"
His hand, still firmly atop mine, moved slightly upward toward his inner thigh. "Are you sure?"
My breath caught in my throat as my heart kicked into gear. "I don't sleep with men on the first date, much less before. Besides, we're in someone else's house!"
His gaze roamed around the room, an idea forming as his smile broadened. "What if I promise to take you on two dates immediately following this?"
"Two dates, back to back? How is that possible?"
"Dinner and breakfast."
I bit my upper lip. God, it was tempting. But I'd sworn off players long ago. Looking into his eyes though, I wondered if I'd misjudged the sexy man in the elevator, just as he'd misjudged me.
"And the owners? What happens when they find us romping in their sheets?"
He leaned forward, his lips inches from my ear. "This is a winter house. They're in Europe for the season. Are you finished with excuses now?"
I bit my lip, seriously considering the idea. I was Crazy Kennedy after all.
"Almost," I answered. "I have one last question. What did you do with the house? The one you bought for your wife?"
"I bulldozed it," he answered frankly.
"What?"
He grinned mischievously, pushing me back down on the bed. "Kidding. I sold it and bought that ridiculously overpriced car outside."
"Now that's the best thing I've heard all day," I laughed, feeling his tongue against my neck.
"Really?" he purred, his hand finding the hem of my jeans. "You better hold on then. The day isn't over yet."