AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cheating has always been my number one deal breaker. Always. And I can’t imagine my mother wanting me to stay with one.
“Nena, I know you loved the boy. We loved him, too, and part of me still does. He was like a son to me for all these years. The line is blurry, but you come first. I want you to be happy and if you don’t want to go to the wedding, you shouldn’t. But if you want to go, your father and I will be there by your side. We can show him that he doesn’t hold any power over you anymore.”
I smile at her, my heart panging in my chest. I love her so much. Of course, she’s on my side, she’s always been. But she’s right. With the lifelong friendships intermixed in my heartbreak, it’s a touchy situation, to say the least.
I finger the invitation in my hands, wanting to rip it to shreds. Holding it brings about a finality that I never realized would happen with us. Three years with him and all I got in the end was an invite to his wedding to someone else.
* * *
“Okay, so, I talked to Frankie and your hours are going to be Tuesdays from three until nine, and Saturdays from nine until three. Does that work okay with school and whatever else?” Bordeaux looks at me from behind the counter in the shop. His hands rest on the glass top, arms flexed, holding his body in place. I let my eyes linger on the curves and muscles of his arms for just a second while he’s speaking, then snap my attention back to his face.
We had the schedule discussion during my interview. I told him I’m in college and he seemed willing to work around it.
“Yep, totally. That sounds really good, actually. Who will I be working with?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
Bordeaux’s hair is full, thick, and dark. He wears it short on the sides and longer on top, and I’ve noticed how often he fingers through it, one of his habits I’ve already picked up on in the two times I’ve met him. His beard is shorter than it was during my interview, and I think I like it better this way. It falls down just a bit from his chin, his dark hair combed into perfect place.
“You’ll be with Kennedy on Tuesdays, and I plan to work on Saturdays until you’re up to speed, or until our tour starts, whichever comes first. You’re getting the best of both worlds with the two of us,” he says. He’s cocky, and I find myself narrowing my eyes at him as he smirks.
“You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?” It comes out a bit feistier than intended, and I make a mental note to tone down my sarcasm. I just met the guy and there’s also the fact that he’s my boss’ grandson.
I expect him to put me in my place, him more than likely being used to running the show, but he doesn’t. Instead, his smirk grows wider and a chuckle escapes his lips.
It almost eggs me on.
Actually, it definitely eggs me on.
“Do you really think having two men teach me anything about music is the best of both worlds? Do you know just how many men have royally fucked up good things in music?” I ask, knowing I’m really testing the waters now, but damn. I’m blaming my mother and that feisty personality of hers.
Bordeaux leans backward against the wall, his eyes growing wide as he covers his mouth with his hand for a moment. It does no good because I see his smile before he can fully hide it. He laughs and I cock my head, not understanding where the amusement comes from.
“Marilyn Manson ruined ‘Baby One More Time,’” I state. “Should we just ignore the fact that Johnny Cash totally fucked over Dorothy Love Coates when he turned the song she wrote about her hardships into something about himself and ran with it?” Bordeaux starts to say something, but I cut him off, holding a finger up in the air. “Before you even tell me that was decades ago, how about Kesha and Dr. Luke? Taylor Swift and Scooter Braun? I could go on and on, and it would just further reiterate my point that learning from two men is not, in fact, the best of both worlds.”
I swallow back anything else my brain intends on word-vomiting just as Bordeaux leans back down onto the counter, inches from my face.
“You sure you aren’t going to school to be a lawyer or something?” he asks, and I can’t help but smile, just a little.
Five
Bordeaux
Elysian (adj.) beautiful or creative; peaceful and perfect
___________
Isla Robles is a goddamn firecracker, and I’m just an innocent bystander being assaulted by her flare. I don’t know what to make of this woman. She’s nothing like I’m used to—not like the average rockstar groupie, falling at my feet, practically begging to blow me with her eyes. I’d think something was wrong with her if I didn’t remember how things were prior to being signed by my label. Not all women are infatuated with musicians. Some of them actually despise us and the reputation we hold. Isla might be one of those women. And that might be a good thing… for the both of us.
If I can’t take her home with me, fuck her senseless, and have her leave in the morning, knowing I’ll never see her again, then we probably shouldn’t be fucking at all.
But I can’t help but feel my dick ache for release as she rattles off facts about the music industry. This woman is fucking unreal. And I don’t like admitting that, even in my own head. I’d rather let her think I’m the typical cliché rockstar than allow her in. The most cliché thing I do is fuck. And really, what man wouldn’t if he were in my position?
One of the first rules when people start to put you up on a pedestal is to never let anyone close enough to hurt you. And I stick by that rule.
I scan the shop as Isla goes to shadow Kennedy, my eyes skimming over the windows that lead to the sidewalk out front. There’s dozens of fans and a few paparazzi with their cameras pointed inside. I’ve already gone out and signed a few things, taken photos, and smiled for the camera. My team does their best to allow them to get their shots, but then we ask them to leave. The fans are another story. I don’t want my team asking any of them to leave. They buy our music and our merch, they purchase concert tickets and support our dreams, and I can’t ask them to leave a public space. If they were inside disrupting Frankie’s business, sure, there’s lines that shouldn’t be crossed, but if fans want to stand outside the store, they can. There’s no harm in it.
I glance over at two women who are pretending to shuffle through records but are, in all actuality, just ogling me every few minutes. Freddy, one of my security guys through Hellfire, stands in a corner. It still blows my mind that there are people being paid to protect me. Four years into this, and I’m still in shock over a lot of what goes on. I watch as Freddy eyes the women and glances to me. I wave him off because it’s not bothering me. Women like to come in here and just hangout, even if they don’t like music. I remember the place being full of girls even before our band blew up. I was here all the time, just trying to play my music and escape my drunk father. Frankie owns the bar, Iconic, upstairs, too. It’s a bar and music venue, so bands frequent our space. Women are like moths to a flame in Iconic, and it just so happens that they sometimes venture down here, too.
After the band got signed and we blew up, they hired security for the band, and I hired security for Iconic—for Frankie’s sake. And when I’m helping Frankie in the record shop, security is at both doors. We’ve had too many weird incidences to not have them on guard.
