The Mighty Storm

I look over at him and I can see the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. He actually looks impressed. And for a moment, I wonder what he was expecting me to ask him.



“People don’t work with me, Tru, they work for me. And the guys in my band, the ones who matter, don’t seem to have a problem with the way I run things.”



Wow, arrogant much? And kind of hot.



Crap.



“But to answer your question,” he continues. “I want my music and my label to be the best it can be. Currently it is, and I intend to keep it that way, so if I have to bust a few balls and have myself labelled as a complete shit to work for, or a ‘perfectionist’,” he air quotes, “to keep me, my band and my label at the top of its game, then yeah, call me a perfectionist. I’ve been called worse.” He grins.



And it travels all the way through me. I have to press my knees together to stop my legs from trembling.



I scribble down the last of his answer quickly, and clear my throat. “The general feeling and what people are saying, is that ‘Creed’ is your most chart-friendly album to-date, do you agree with that?”



“Do you?”



Eh?



“Me?”



“Yes. I’m assuming you’ve listened to the album.”



He’s testing me.



“Of course I have … and … yes, I agree with the general consensus. I think that a lot of the songs are holding a softer tone than your previous albums. Especially ‘Damned’ and ‘Sooner’.”



Ha, suck on that!



“Good. Then then the point of the album is being received.” He smiles, and I feel a little lost.



What?



Okay, recover yourself Tru.



“So tell me – what would you be doing right now if you weren't talking to me?”



“I’d be catching up with an old friend.”



Oh.



“Um…” I stumble, caught totally off guard, yet again. “Okay … it’s been a while since you toured, are you looking forward to getting back on the road and playing live again?”



He sits forward, closer to me. I have the urge to lean back, but I don’t, instead I cross my legs in front of me, feeling like they could somehow protect me from whatever answer, or quite possibly question, he has ready to throw at me.



He was always smart when we were kids, and so quick, but this grown-up Jake is like a snake in a stallions clothing.



He most certainly does not come across as the womanizing, drinking, drug addicted Jake the press claim him to be. Or even like a man who just got of rehab a little over four weeks ago.



He seems in control. Or maybe this is just what sober Jake is like.



His eyes flicker down to my bare legs, quickly travelling up them and back up to my face.



And there’s the womanizer in him.



“Playing live is what I love to do, it’s what I live to do … and I have a feeling this tour is going to be a very interesting one – probably my most interesting to date.”



“Oh yeah, and why’s that?”



I’m curious now, if anything I thought this tour would be hard for him with Jonny gone. Especially, considering what happened in Japan.



He runs his hand through his hair. “I’ve just had a recent addition to my team and I know for sure she’ll make things different, interesting … better.”



She?



Maybe he’s got a girlfriend nowadays. But then he did say his team, I’m sure he doesn’t screw the staff – actually no he probably does.



“And this new addition, I’m taking it she’s not new a band member?”



He shakes his head, lips pressed together.



“So she’s part of the team putting the tour together?”



“I put the tour together.”



“Right. So she’s…?”



“Let’s say she does … PR.”



Okay … I decide to move on from there seeing as though he’s not keen to expand on the mystery woman who’s going to make his tour his most successful to date.



“So tell me about your personal favorites on the album and where the inspiration for them came from?”



Then I see the spark in his eye, and I know I’ve caught him with his music, the one thing he truly loves, and I’m reminded of that boy I loved all those years ago.



It makes my heart ache a little.



Forcing myself to focus, not wanting to miss a word he says, I start to write quickly trying to catch up as his enthusiastic words start to spill out.



And that’s how it is for the next thirty minutes. Question after question, I listen to him come more and more to life as he talks about his music; just like the old Jake I knew in so many ways.



It makes me miss him, in the oddest way, even though he’s sitting right here before me.



I keep all the questions music based. I don’t ask any of the questions I had lined up about Jonny Creed’s death, how it affected him or his time in rehab or about his personal life. It just wouldn’t feel in line with the whole vibe of the interview, and I don’t want to spoil the obvious pick-up in his mood, and I’ve got a feeling he wouldn’t answer them anyway.



To be honest I’m surprised I wasn’t vetted by Stuart on what I could and couldn’t ask Jake when I first arrived. That’s how it usually works with celebrities. Especially ones as high profile as Jake.



But then I get the distinct impression that Jake doesn’t play by the rule book in anything – and that any vetting to be done – he does himself.



I finish shorthand scribbling down his last answer and then close my note pad and put it back in my bag.



“Thank you,” I say.



“It’s been really good to see you, Tru.”



“You too.”



I feel a sudden lump in my throat and I realise, even though half an hour ago I felt like bolting, now, I don’t want to leave him. The thought of not seeing him again is constricting my heart in the weirdest kind of way.



Crazy, I know.



I reach down and pick my bag up, and stand. Jake follows suit, standing beside me.



I’m not really sure what to do now.



Do I shake his hand, or hug him, or what?



“Did you bring a coat?” he asks.



“It’s in my bag.” I turn to him. He looks down at me with his crystal clear blue eyes. “Thank you again for the interview. It was great.”



“You don’t have to thank me; I’d do an interview for you anytime.”



“I might hold you to that,” I laugh.



“Do,” he says. Not a trace of humour in his voice.



I suddenly feel unsteady. I put my bag strap onto my shoulder, holding my bag to me for support. “Thanks again for your time,” I smile and start to walk toward the door, my legs feeling like lead.



“So you’re heading back to work now?” Jake asks following behind me.



“Yes.”



“Do you need a ride? I can get Stuart to drive you.”



I feel a smart of disappointment. I actually thought he was going to offer to drive me back for a moment there. But then I guess Jake going out in a car is an awful lot of hassle to go to, just to drop off little old me. He’d probably need his full security team with him.



Not that that I’ve seen many of them around. Just Dave.



“It’s okay, thank you, I’ll walk, it’s not far.”



“You’re sure?”



“I’m sure.”



He reaches for the handle to open the door for me, and stops. “Do you have plans tonight … because I was wondering if you would have dinner with me?”



My heart stops. Literally, stops.



Then goes kaboom in my chest.



I’m supposed to be going out for dinner with Will tonight. Will, my lovely boyfriend. Who I can’t cancel on again.



Can I?



If I say no to Jake, I might not get the chance to see him again.



Yes. No. No. Yes.



I’m speaking before I even realise I’m doing it.



“No I don’t have plans, I’m free. Completely free.”



He smiles, widely. “Great. Cool. So we can catch up properly without the threat of an interview hanging over us.” He gives me a small smile, a cheeky glint in his eyes.



Holy shit. Dinner with Jake.



My heart is doing somersaults in my chest.



It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date.



“Yes.” My voice goes a little squeaky. I clear my throat. “Sounds like plan.”



He smiles again, it reaches all the way to his beautiful eyes. “Eight o’clock okay?”



Now would be fine with me. Yesterday, whenever, I’m easy.



“Eight o’clock is great.”



“Write down your address and I’ll come pick you up.”



I pull my note pad back out from my bag, quickly scribble down my address, tear the page out and hand it to him.



My fingers touch his in the exchange and my skin hums. I feel my face start to heat up again.



Jake glances at the paper in his hand, then folds it up and puts it in his back pocket.



He opens the door for me and stands aside to let me through.



We walk to the front door in silence, Stuart and Dave are nowhere to be seen.



When we reach the door, we stop for a moment facing one another.



I have no idea why, but I just feel sad again saying goodbye to him. Like I’m never going to see him again. Which is stupid because I’m going to see him tonight.



I’m seeing Jake tonight. A thrill shoots through me.



He reaches his hand up to my face and tucks my hair behind my ear. I almost swoon, my legs trembling, tummy butterflying.



Then he leans down and kisses my cheek.



The feel of his lips on my skin, his hot breath momentarily halts every moving particle of me, paralysing me to the spot, nearly sending me into convulsions.



As he moves back, he smiles warmly at me. “So I’ll see you tonight then.” He opens the door for me.



“Yes, tonight. At eight.” Oh God, I sound like a complete idiot.



I stumble through the door, legs failing on me. I grip hold of my bag like as it’s my life support.



“Bye, Jake,” I say, lingering.



“Bye, Trudy Bennett.”



I force myself to turn and walk down the hall.



When I reach the end of the hall, I turn, looking back but the door is already closed.



I reach the lift and the doors instantly ping open.



I wobble into the lift, press for ground and fall back against the mirrored wall.



I’m going out for dinner tonight with Jake.



Holy shit.



Chapter Five



It’s going to be okay.



No it’s so totally not.



How the hell am I going to explain to Will that I’m cancelling on him for the second night in a row, this time to go out for dinner with Jake Wethers, who I forget to mention I knew very well when I was younger and have just interviewed today, which he also didn’t know as I neglected to tell him that too.



Okay, deep, calming breaths Tru. It’s not a big deal. Will is cool, he’s understanding. And really there is no issue to have. It’s just two old friends having dinner. One of them just happens to be the world’s biggest rock star.



Oh crap.



The concierge opens the door freeing me from The Dorchester and I step onto the busy street. The warm air on my face does little to help me, right now I need a blast of the cool.