CHAPTER 6

ALICIA

“Oh my god! They are only, like, my favorite band. How could you not have told me that you were representing Destitute?” Kelly, my little sister, squealed into my ear. It was so loud that I winced and pulled the phone away from my ear to keep my eardrums from bursting.

Waiting for my little sister to calm down, I pressed the button for two minutes on my microwave and watched my dinner of leftover pizza heat up while spinning around on the revolving glass plate. “I only got the call a couple of days ago, and I just signed my contract earlier this week. I wasn’t hiding it from you. I just didn’t want to say anything until it actually happened.”

“They’re so great. I can’t believe you’ve met them. They are like the hottest guys on the planet.” I could practically hear her swooning over my new clients.

“They’re not that great. They’re only human, you know? Besides, I haven’t actually met them yet.” My brow furrowed. “Well, actually, that’s a lie. I met Jared earlier. I’m meeting the rest of them tomorrow morning.”

I was about to launch into how arrogant the guy was, but Kelly cut me off with a loud screech, which had me yanking the phone away from my ear for the second time in as many minutes. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! You’ve met Jared Larsen? Is he as hot in person as he is in his pictures? Please, tell me he is.”

As much as I hated to admit it, he was actually even hotter. “He is.”

“I’m so jealous of you right now. Working with such legends must be so amazing. You have to tell me everything.” There was no way that I was telling her anything. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my sister, but she was on the exact opposite side of this industry from me.

As an entertainment reporter and small-time blogger, she was obsessed with the who’s who of the industry, and I wasn’t sure that she would be able to help herself from adding at least some of the details that I might learn about these men on her blog.

“You know that there’s a Chinese wall between us when it comes to my job, Kel.”

A heavy sigh met my ear through the phone, just as my microwave beeped, telling me that my dinner was ready. “But this is Destitute that we’re talking about here, sis. You have to, at least, give me something. Just for me. What was he like?”

He was a force of nature. That was what he was like. Jared Larsen was something else entirely. There was no way that his photos did him justice because no lens could capture the force field that seemed to radiate from him.

Well, that was if you could separate the force field from the cocky arrogance that seemed to ooze from his very pores.

The man was insanely beautiful, sinfully sexy, and had the voice of an angel—if angels were in the business of selling sex—but he was also just more. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what that more was yet, but it seemed the only way to describe him.

In the end, I settled for, “I didn’t get to speak to him for very long, but my first impression was that he knows exactly how hot he is, and he doesn’t hesitate to use his looks to get what he wants.”

“If I looked the way he did,” my sister sighed dreamily, “I would use my looks, too. Besides, he’s one of the world’s special people. Why shouldn’t he get everything he wants?”

Her remark sparked a surge of anger in me. She was so caught up in the glamor and bought into the celebrities-are-superheroes crap that so many people believed that she’d put people like the members of Destitute on this impossible pedestal where they were exempt from the rules applicable to us normal people.

“They’re only people. Flesh, bone, and blood, just like you and me. You really need to get over this idea that they’re anything else. Jared Larsen, for example, is arrogant, and just like any other arrogant person would, he annoys me.”

“I don’t mean to defend his arrogance, but don’t you think that he’s at least a little bit entitled to it? As an act, Destitute isn’t exactly known for being particularly sensitive. What they are known for, however, are consistent hits, sold out stadiums, and for being extremely hard workers.”

“I’m a hard worker, too,” I argued. “I’m not saying that they’re not as well. All that I’m saying is that it didn’t turn me into somebody who believes I’m above everyone else.”

“You don’t think that they’re even a little bit above the rest of us? They’re special, Alicia. Their talent sets them apart from us mere mortals.”

I took a gulp of my water to consider my reply before I went off on her. I wondered how many times we’d had this argument. “They’re mere mortals, too, though. Their talent only means that they get paid a hell of a lot more than other people get paid for theirs.”

Cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I grabbed my plate from the microwave and my water and carried my dinner to my living room. My house was small, but had very modern amenities. Thanks to the fact that people like Destitute had so many, as Gerry had called them, messes to clean up, I made a pretty decent living and could afford the upscale area I lived in.

It wasn’t quite the Hills where the rich and famous lived, but it was close enough that I could get there in a flash if the need arose. Which it did. Often. I made a mental note to program all the guys’ addresses into my phone. I might not have met them yet, but I was officially on call if any incident should occur. It wouldn’t do to be fumbling around for an address if one of them called for emergency damage control.

Sinking into my bright red couch, I pulled one of my quirky throw pillows onto my lap, this one reading “Real, Not Perfect,” and I balanced my plate on it. The screen of my television, hanging directly across from me, was dark, and I wondered again why I’d even bought the thing. When I wasn’t working, which was really not often, I far preferred to read than to watch TV.

My living room was decorated in bright colors and bold patterns and was my happy space. It was a good thing that I was in said happy space, since a part of me wanted to reach into my phone and strangle my sister as she kept arguing why performers were different from us. Special.

“You’ve only let yourself buy into the industry-created idea that they’re special because you haven’t actually worked with them. Trust me. If you worked as closely with these performers as I did, you would realize that there’s nothing special about them. Well, except that a whole lot of them are entitled, whiny brats who forgot how to make their own coffee and stopped eating anything but kale about ten minutes after they first got recognized.”

The last band I’d worked with were all vegans. Going on tour with them had honestly nearly killed me. And not a single one of them could tell me why they’d chosen to become vegan in the first place.

While I expected Destitute to be full of it when it came to their food and coffee orders, I only hoped that they at least had the good sense not to have given up all animal by-products. I wasn’t going to survive another tour of wheatgrass smoothies, vegetables, and soy.

I respected people’s choices when it came to what they put in their bodies, but I expected the same courtesy in return, and that had been off the table with my last clients. I was a good old steak and potatoes, pepperoni on pizza, and bacon for breakfast kind of girl. I worked hard to keep my body trim and tried to eat healthy most of the time, but eating nothing but soy for months had nearly killed me.

“If they aren’t special, then why do I get thousands of tips each day about where they are, comments by the hundreds on my articles and my blog, and why don’t I have twenty million followers on Twitter like Jared does?”

“I’m not saying people can’t be fans. I’m a fan of the music, too. You know that. I also watch movies and get excited sometimes about meeting people. All that I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be fooled by the glamor of the industry.”

We went back and forth for at least ten more minutes before the argument became too heated for my tastes. My sister happened to be my best friend, and while I had no problem arguing with people, fighting with Kelly wasn’t fun.

“Let’s agree to disagree on this, shall we? I don’t want to fight with you, Kel. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

After a brief minute of silence, my sister was back, sounding calmer already. “I can agree to disagree. Aside from that development, then, how’s your week going?”

“I’ve been busy. You know how it is each time I start with a new client. I have to figure out where, and from whom, I’m picking up the reins. I haven’t even met with the rest of the members of Destitute, but I have to start working on a campaign to promote their new album, even though I haven’t heard it. I’m just praying that they keep their noses clean until I’m settled in.”

“Fat chance of that happening.” She giggled. “But if it means that much to you, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

“Anything new on your side?” I asked her, finally taking a bite of my cooling pizza. I didn’t mind that it had gone a little bit cold. At least that would mean that I wouldn’t get the annoying pizza burn on the gums behind my front teeth.

“Not much. The blog hit seven hundred subscribers today, so there’s that. It’s not nearly as exciting as landing a job with Destitute, but it’s the best I can do.”

I giggled, still chewing, but happy that the unpleasantness of the conversation earlier had faded almost completely and that we were back to teasing and talking about normal things.

“Seven hundred subscribers is great, though. I’m proud of you.” Considering that she had a full-time job and did freelance writing part-time, I was impressed that she remained dedicated and kept making time for her blog.

“Thanks, Alleycat.” I hated that damn nickname, but if nothing else, it was an indicator that our earlier argument was completely forgiven. “I’d better go. I haven’t eaten anything today, and my stomach is screaming at me.”

“Same, I warmed up some pizza while we were talking. Want to go grab dinner sometime next week?” I asked, chewing on my next slice.

“You got yourself a date. You know, unless of course, you get a hotter one with one of those gorgeous new clients of yours.” She was joking, or at least. I hoped she was.

“That’s not happening, but thanks for giving me an out,” I teased, but she and I both knew I didn’t want or need one.

“I’m awesome like that. Let’s talk about it next week?”

“You got it,” I told her. “Good luck for the rest of this one. Talk to you later.”

“Laters,” she chirped and clicked off.

Finally alone with only my thoughts, I was kind of annoyed with myself that the only person on them was Jared freaking Larsen. Our encounter earlier had been brief, but that didn’t mean that I’d gotten through it unscathed.

The man was sex on a stick, and I wasn’t immune to him. There was also something in his eyes that drew me in and made me believe that there might just be more to him than the cocky arrogance that he exuded.

There was no doubt that for the first time in my life, I was attracted to one of my performers. Very attracted, actually.

It was a pity that I wasn’t interested in a one-night stand, since I was quite sure that I could have gotten him to bed if that was what I wanted. I had seen how thoroughly he’d eye-fucked me at that studio, and while I was also sure that he’d seen it had turned me on, it was nothing but stupid to get involved with a guy like that.

I wasn’t interested in a one-night stand at all, especially not with one of the men I was going to be working with for the foreseeable future, and I couldn’t imagine that Jared was capable of having any kind of relationship that extended beyond a twenty-four-hour period.

No, as attracted as I was to him, that wasn’t happening.