Rock (Beautiful Book 4) Read online

  When I’m done, I’m going to find out how the hell she got tickets, and then I’m going to fire whoever was responsible. No Naomi’s allowed. It’s on my goddamn rider for fuck's sake. In bold fucking letters. How much clearer do I need to be?

  I don’t want to be angry anymore. But anger is all I fucking have left. I can’t let go.

  “Marcus? Great show tonight. You sounded amazing.”

  A pang thuds deep in my chest as I turn to face Naomi. “Yeah. Thanks for coming,” I state dismissively, giving her a gentle touch on her shoulder as if she were just another fan and not the woman responsible for stomping on my heart. Her expression falls as I move past her, expecting more with a history like ours. But she doesn’t get more. She made her choice. This is me living with it.

  “That’s all you’re going to say to her?” Amy asks, blocking my path. All I want to do is say my obligatory hellos, thank the right people then go bury my cock in some random.

  “How are you, Amy?” I enquire, giving her my most charming smile. “Where’s Erica?”

  “She doesn’t like you. So she’s not here.”

  “Fair enough.” Can’t please everyone. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” I plaster a fake smile on my face and shift my eyes to the group of women with Amy and Naomi. One I recognise from school. But the other two I haven’t met before.

  “Sure.” She turns and touches the redhead on the shoulder. “You should remember Stephanie from school.”

  I nod once “I do. How are you Stephanie?”

  She grins. “Your voice is amazing,” she gushes, causing me to smile. Hoes over bros except when that bro is a rock star. Interesting.

  Amy jabs her in the side with her elbow.

  “What?” Stephanie frowns like she has no idea what she did wrong.

  “This is Paige and Katrina,” Amy continues, indicating a voluptuous brunette and an exceptionally tall blonde. “They’re both married to beautiful men, so keep your sleazy eyes off them.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” The blonde—I think she’s Katrina—smiles politely while the brunette—Paige—stands quietly off to the side. “Did you enjoy the show?”

  “We did. Thank you,” Katrina says. Paige shrugs and says ‘yeah’ like it wasn’t anything special. I like her already. I’m so used to people gushing about their excitement. A little indifference is actually refreshing.

  “Well, be sure to stay and enjoy the party,” I say, moving past them once again. I don’t even take a second glance at Naomi, but I hear her hiss at Stephanie to ‘leave it’ as I’m pulled into a conversation with a couple who won tickets on the radio. They’re raving about the show.

  “You are by far my favourite artist,” the woman says. “To hear your songs live and unplugged was so special.”

  “Thanks for coming. Enjoy the party.”

  I’ve done this a thousand times before, smiling for photos, offering platitudes. It’s part of the job. But tonight, my mind can’t focus on what anyone is saying because my ears keep searching out the sound of Naomi’s voice. Betrayers.

  “He doesn’t want to talk to me. Let’s just go.”

  Yes, Naomi. How about you just go? I tip my head back and down the glass of scotch that somehow ended up in my hand. Being who I am, it’s replaced instantly.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say to the next person, the flash of a camera phone spotting my eye. “Enjoy the party.” I down my second scotch, scanning the room for a target. I need to get out of here.

  “Marcus.” Naomi’s voice calls from behind me.

  I keep moving, and a busty brunette in a barely-there top and skin-tight jeans thrusts herself in my path. Ah-ha. Escape.

  “I loved the show,” she coos, twisting her fingers around the end of her long ponytail. Word got out a while back that I’m into pulling hair and love a good ponytail, so this happens all the time now. I don’t even carry a hair-band anymore.

  “Wanna get out of here?” I ask, not bothering to pull any punches. I’m pretty sure I could just say ‘wanna suck my cock?’ and she’d follow me wherever I want her to. There’s no chase anymore. Pussy is way too easy. But I appreciate it more than ever in this moment. Naomi has never approached me once a groupie was on my arm. They’re like insect repellent but for tiny blondes who prefer my brother over me.

  “Where are we going?” the girl asks, gasping for breath as I pull her towards the exit.

  “My hotel,” I say, and she squeals. Jesus.

  She follows me into the backseat of my waiting car, and without even bothering to give me her name, she’s unzipping my pants and preparing to wrap her shiny red lips around my shaft.

  “I have dreamed about this moment, but I never thought—”

  “Believe it,” I say, cutting her off while my fingers spear into her hair. Less talking. More sucking.

  The compartment between us and the driver slides up to block his view, and I drop my head on the back of the seat and try to let the sweet warmth of her mouth overcome me. Although it’s hard when the only image my mind wants to focus on is the hurt look on Naomi’s face.

  Fuck.

  “Sweetheart,” I say, as I lift the girl’s head out of my lap.

  “Hmmm?” Not much comes out of her since her mouth is full of my cock.

  “I need you to stop.”

  “Wharruhmph.” Her eyes look up at mine, wide and confused while she continues her earnest bobbing.

  “Think you can take my cock out of your mouth?”

  She releases me with a pop. “Am I doing it wrong?”

  “No.” I place my hands on her shoulders, pushing her back enough so I can tuck myself away. “You were doing great.”

  “Then why did we stop?” she asks, blinking at me blankly.

  “Go back to the party, love. I need some time to myself tonight.”

  “But…”

  “Go,” I say more sternly, as I zip my pants back up. Her face falls, but she gets out of the car as instructed.

  “Make sure she gets back in safely,” I tell one of the security guards stationed nearby. “And find out how Naomi Prendergast got in, and fire the person responsible.” I can’t even enjoy a head job because of her.

  He nods then takes the brunette by the elbow and ushers her back into the party. I lean back and rub my hands over the top of my head. I can’t believe that after all this time I’m letting Naomi get to me. It’s been years, and I shouldn’t give a fuck if she’s disappointed or hurt because I didn’t want to talk to her. She hurt me. I shouldn’t feel a shred of shittiness for not wanting her around.

  “I used Erica’s ticket since Naomi’s are banned wherever you’re meant to be.”

  Speak of the devil.

  “Naomi. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You haven’t been in the mood for two years, Marcus.” She gets in the car next to me and shuts the door. “Meanwhile, your family is missing you. Your brother misses you. Why won’t you take any of Theo’s calls? Why have you banned us from attending your shows?”

  “Probably because I don’t want to see you.”

  “Well, your family wants to see you. They miss you so much.”

  “And what about you? Do you miss me?”

  “Of course. I miss being your friend.”

  I release a burst of air through my nose, pressing my teeth into my bottom lip. “I think we both know I’ve never been interested in being your friend.”

  “Why do that? Theo loves you. He spent his entire life in your shadow, lifting you up. Why begrudge him his happiness?”

  “Because he stole that happiness from me.”

  She frowns, pulling her head back like she thinks I’m fucked in the head. And maybe I am.

  “I was never yours, Marcus. You never loved me. You loved the thought of winning, of beating your brother once again. It was always a competition with you. But to me, there was never a question. You were my friend. Theo has always been my heart.”

  “You didn’t even g
ive me a chance,” I spit. “We could have been something. There was something between us.”

  She presses her lips together in a pitying smile and I almost crack a tooth. “How? You were obsessed with putting your dick into everything with a pulse. How was that behaviour going to make me choose you?”

  She’s so fucking self-righteous. I narrow my eyes at her. “I didn’t fuck around that entire tour.”

  “Yeah. For two weeks you acted like a decent human being before you threw it all away when your brother got what you wanted. You’re a child, Marcus. Perhaps it’s time you took a good long look at yourself.”

  “I’m just fine. Thank you very much.”

  “Hey, if fucking an endless line of girls is what you really want, then great. The best of luck to you. But if you could stop being angry at your brother for five seconds, you might find a soulmate of your own.”

  I scoff. “You’re soulmates?” Of course they are.

  She nods. “Theo didn’t steal me. I was always his. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have more than any of us could have possibly dreamed of and you’re just using it to stay miserable. I came tonight to remind you that you have parents, and you have a brother. All of whom love you despite your shit dick attitude. Call them, Marcus. Go and visit your parents at least, and if you ever truly cared about me; forgive your brother. For some reason, despite proving you don’t give a shit about his, he still cares about your feelings. He isn’t willing to marry me until you’ll give us your blessing.”

  I shake my head and scoff again. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “Then I guess we don’t have anything else to say to each other.” She sets her jaw and opens the car door, getting out before leaning down to say one last thing. “I hope your fame keeps you warm at night.”

  “It doesn’t. Naked women draped over my body do,” I retort, feeling mighty.

  She looks at me, narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “I feel sorry for you.”

  “Don’t. I have everything I ever wanted.”

  “Yeah. Except love.” And with that she spins on her heel and stalks off, leaving the car door wide open while I sit there like a fuckwit with my mouth open. Ouch.

  Two

  Lisa

  Bang, bang, bang.

  With my head under the hairdryer, I’m not sure if I heard the door or imagined it. I switch it off to listen.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  “Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. Who the hell turns up at someone else's house at seven in the morning? I place the hair dryer on the vanity and try to smooth my dark brown hair with my hands so I look somewhat presentable.

  My visitor bangs again. "Hang on. I'm coming," I call out.

  When I make it to the door, I peer through the peephole to find my friend Sandra on the other side. Why didn’t she just call? Or text. Texting would be significantly better.

  “Open up, Lisa. I’m desperate, and I need your help.”

  The moment I turn the lock, she tumbles through the door, almost knocking me off my feet. “What the hell? What’s wrong?”

  She turns to me, breathless, her blue eyes wide and frantic as she clutches a manila folder to her chest. “I need you to do an interview for me.”

  "What? No way. I'm no reporter," I say, shaking my head as I walk past her to return to the bathroom and continue getting ready for my actual job—in the advertising department of the magazine she reports for.

  Sandra follows me to plead her case as I decide my hair is dry enough and begin applying my makeup. “Come on, Lisa. I’d do it for you.”

  “That’s really awesome, Sandra. But you’d never have to do it for me. I don't interview people for a living, remember? Why are you so upset about doing the interview, anyway? Did you sleep with the guy or something?”

  “Yes,” she answers immediately, and my mouth falls open.

  “Oh, my god. I was joking when I said that!”

  She grabs my arms and looks at me pleadingly. “Please. It was this random thing I did. It was a year ago, but I’m so embarrassed by it. It happened when I was working for that music show and I don’t want to interview him again.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Marcus Bailey.”

  I shake my head and pick up my black eyeliner to accentuate my honey-coloured eyes. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “Which is what I love about you and why I’m asking you. I know you can interview someone as famous as he is without going stupid over him.”

  “That’s because I don’t go stupid over anyone. Who’s his manager?”

  “Craig someone. It’s in the file. Just, please. Pretty pleeeaase.”

  I sigh. “Not taking away from your sexual prowess or anything, but if he’s a famous musician, it’s likely all the women he sleeps with are just one big blurry face with a pussy.”

  Pressing her lips together, she reaches up and pulls her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder and smooths it over as she gives me a slightly unimpressed look. “I don’t care if he remembers me or not. This is about me feeling like a fucktard because I screwed him like a groupie. I'm scared that he'll remember me and expect me to do it again. But I'm even more afraid that he’ll have absolutely no idea who I am. And that will feel so much worse.”

  “Oh honey,” I say, feeling my resolve slipping.

  “Don't feel sorry for me. Just help me out… please?”

  I lean towards the mirror and concentrate on applying mascara to lengthen my already dark lashes. “I'm not saying no. But why can’t you ask one of the other girls to do it for you?”

  “Because, I still want the story. If I get one of the others to do it, they’ll snag the by-line too. Please do it for me.” She holds the folder out while she pouts her full lips and bats her eyelids. She looks like a cute puppy and I can’t resist.

  Reaching out, I take the folder from her. “Fine.”

  “You'll do it?”

  “Yes, Sandra. I’ll interview your rock star for you so you don’t accidently screw him again,” I deadpan.

  She throws her arms around my neck and squeals. "I knew I could count on you."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. What time do I have to be there?"

  "In forty-five minutes."

  "Forty-five minutes? Are you fucking mental? How the hell am I supposed to get there in time?"

  “It’s not far. If you leave now, you’ll make it there with maybe fifteen minutes to spare.”

  My eyes bug out and I almost ruin my mascara. “Fucking hell, Sandra. This isn’t cool. Why couldn’t you have asked me this last night instead of dropping it on my lap this morning?” Feeling rushed, I select a pale rose lipstick and run it over my lips before twisting my slightly damp, wavy hair into a bun on top of my head.

  I look in the mirror. That will have to do.

  “Because I thought I could do it. But look at me. I’m all splotchy just thinking about it. I’ll fuck it up and start accidentally saying ‘cock’ or something.”

  As I spritz my perfume in the air and let it fall over me, I take a moment to look at her properly. She’s right; she does look all splotchy. To the point where I think she might have given herself hives. Instantly my annoyance dissipates as I realise how distressed she really is.

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you. Just do me a favour? Lock up for me and let the office know I might be a little late. Tell them I have an appointment or something.”

  “Done. Thank you, Lisa.”

  “Hey, what are best friends for?” I slip my feet into my black peep-toe heels, check my appearance in the full-length mirror then grab my bag and car keys and head out the door. As I walk to my car, I open the folder to get the address I need to drive to. The moment I’m in the driver’s seat, I press the voice command button on my phone and tell it to navigate to the studios where Marcus Bailey is supposedly filming a music video.

  Great. Just what I need to start my day; a cocky muso who thinks he can bed any woman he pleases. I fucking hate famous peo
ple.

  Marcus

  “How many interviews do I have today?” I ask my manager, Craig as we leave the set of the latest music video for my single ‘Animals’. We’ve been staging a massive costume party and I’m the entertainment, singing on stage while the partygoers gyrate in front of me. It’s the typical storyline; there’s some hot chick who catches my eye and we’re drawn in by each other’s ‘animal magnetism’.

  Doing this kind of stuff used to be fun. But after my recent bout of self loathing, I’m tired of the fanfare. I was already feeling crappy about my life choices before Naomi threw a few truth bombs my way. And now I can’t stop hating everything about this job I so desperately wanted.

  When I first started in this industry, I never dreamed there would come a day when I’d grow tired of the constant parties, tired of the constant women, tired of the fake friends. That’s the part I hate the most. Fake friends. I need people to be real with me, but when you have all the money and the power, people tell you whatever they think you wanna hear.

  As badly as I reacted to Naomi, seeing her the other night reminded me of everything I used to have. I may not like what she said to me, but at least she was real. Honest. I don’t get a lot of that these days.

  And there’s nothing real about what's been in front of me all morning. My ‘love interest’ for the music video is a plastic Barbie-doll model with the personality of a gnat. I’m not even sure what her name is, but she’s been giving me the look all morning. I’m starting to wonder exactly when my music career started being more about sex than music. When I think back, sex has always been what I saw as a perk of the industry. But it wasn’t my driving force. These days, it seems all I do is fuck. Even my dick needs a break.

  “You have five reporters coming,” Craig explains after consulting his smartphone. “They’re spread throughout the day between shooting. The first one should be here any moment.”