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Sure enough, as I broke the cap off a sharpie, another round of screaming took off.
“Oh, my God. It’s him!”
“Oh, my God! Roman!”
The high-pitched calls had the same effect on him as crack. He got high on their adoration. After all, Roman’s favorite thing to talk about was Roman. And the fans almost always obliged him. He paused on his way to the table to take a couple of selfies with them before heading over while my manager explained how this was going to go.
We would sign and personalize any swag they wanted from the table, and when we were done signing everybody’s stuff, we would take pictures. At that point, everyone would be free to ask questions, and the whole thing would last about an hour.
I shuddered to think how much these people paid for an hour of Roman’s time because they weren’t here for me. I cared about music, not having sex appeal. Not like Roman did.
We worked quickly, getting through everybody’s requests, signing posters, t-shirts, vinyls, and one girl even brought a shoe. Next, we moved on to the pictures, allowing me to scan the faces in the crowd. Considering how many people I saw every week, it was a wonder I could recognize familiar faces in the crowd. But two or three of them I recognized from previous concerts as having already paid for this experience—yet here they were again.
One girl, lingering in the back, had long, black hair hanging past her chest. She wasn’t as excited as the others. She wore a vintage Stones t-shirt covered by a leather jacket and ripped jeans. I found my eyes lingering longer than they should because she was gorgeous. But her eyes were glued to Roman.
If I had half the balls Roman had at this kind of thing, I might have nodded to my manager and told her I wanted to see this girl in my room. But that wasn’t my thing. I wouldn’t take advantage of somebody because she idolized me. That was Roman’s bag.
Before long, pictures and questions were over, and the girl still hadn’t said anything or come up for a photo. But she was lingering, even as everybody was slowly being ushered out of the room. It was only then she made her move.
As he made to leave, she headed toward Roman, and a bodyguard stepped in between them. “The meet-and-greet is over,” he grumbled intimidatingly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Her eyes flicked from him to Roman. “I have one more question for Roman if he could take the time.”
The guard looked over his shoulder as a Roman shook his head before heading for the door. My eyes followed her again, seeing the panic bloom on her features. That was when I knew what she was going to do.
She dodged the guard, attempting to get to Roman. The guard took her for the threat she was and caught her around the waist, lifting her into the air.
He walked her toward the door. “Wait! Wait! I need to ask Roman one more thing.”
When he didn’t move to give her any attention, she moved on to more desperate means. “I need to know if you used protection!” she shouted wildly at him.
That caught his attention, and he slowed his gait, turning to look at her. “What?” he asked, looking confused.
“When we had sex six months ago, at the Sioux Falls concert. Did you use protection? Because I’m pregnant, and I’m pretty sure it’s yours.”
The room turned silent as everyone processed what she was saying, but Roman reacted first.
He scoffed and shook his head. “Get her out of here and ban her from all concerts.”
TWO
SKYE
That fucking asshole banned me from all future concerts. I couldn’t believe it. And he refused to speak to me, outright ignoring me and the fact he could’ve gotten me pregnant. I had sex with Roman that night, and now I was pregnant. No “could’ve” about it.
I needed a damn DNA test to prove it because I sure as hell wasn’t doing this alone, no matter how many bans he put on me.
I called Logan and told her to put her skills to work. She based her information on the hotel we went to with the band six months ago, and Logan tracked the best possible option for which hotel they would be staying at. She then forwarded the information to me, and one quick Uber drive later, I found myself there.
I wasn’t in the habit of being a super sleuth. I was a small-town girl whose rose-colored glasses had been ripped off by the rock star she once idolized. But now, I was a woman on a mission. I would do whatever it took to get back to Roman and tell him the baby was his, whether he liked it or not.
Heading to the bar, I waited until a bartender filled a tray of drinks and carried it toward the elevators. I stayed in the lobby and watched the numbers ascend to the top floor. Then I hit the up button and followed him to the same floor.
As I emerged, the same bartender came out of a room, holding an empty tray. I was puzzled because there were no bodyguards around. I didn’t know if they were inside the room with the band or if they weren’t partying tonight.
Not wanting to lose the small window of opportunity, I headed over to the room the bartender left and knocked quickly.I hope this is Roman’s room.
After a couple of moments, the door swung open, except I wasn’t staring at Roman. No—this was Cash Savage.
