AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Okay, then straight up, he’s just in the wrong place. Obviously, his people gave him the wrong details about the wrong meeting, and—”
“My people got nothing wrong.”
I join Sylvie in whipping frantic sights toward the doorway—
In which the world’s most beautiful male has stationed himself.
Holy. Shit.
I almost blurt it out loud as the impact of his presence soaks my senses. Unlike most celebrities, Darian Z isn’t diminished by the focus of “real life” compared to the filters through which he’s given to the world. Maybe that’s because of the grassroots videos that have been the main thrusters for his fame. And maybe there are a million other reasons too—which all don’t matter right now. Not in the instant in which I’m sure Sylvie agrees with me.
Right now, he’s simply…more. Of all of it. In every beautiful, breathtaking way. His legs are longer, his stature prouder. His near-black hair, the subject of so many fan-made videos—of which I might have indulged one, two or a few hundred—contains even more alluring, silky waves down to the tops of his wide shoulders.
That’s all before I get to his eyes.
My holy shit, his eyes.
It’s the gaze surely made out of the Holy Grail and the Incas’ lost treasure. A gold there really isn’t a name for, unless instant orgasm applies. It’s even better when he’s wielding it over the top of his guitar and crooning his unique mix of throaty rock with old world minstrel, but it really doesn’t suck right now either. Not when he opens his mouth and uses that voice to change the air just as profoundly with his speaking voice.
“Miss Lemarr.”
Oh, gods. Maybe he really is one, because that mixture of baritone and basalt shouldn’t be legal for a mortal man to possess—and to wield so easily in such a contained space. I should be screaming foul—or something like it—at him. Instead, my legs perform a miracle by driving me to my feet. My mouth, not about to be outdone by the feat, actually forms words.
“Errr…yeah? I mean yes. Of course. That’s me. Quinn Lemarr. I’m happy to be you. I mean meet you. Mr.…”
“Darian is fine,” he says, fully sliding his hand against mine.
As I stare down at his fingers, their elegant lengths not doing favors for my composure, Sylvie cracks the thick air with a soft giggle. I’m unsure whether to thank or condemn her for it. Darian doesn’t help, continuing to take me in like he doesn’t hear her. He watches, beyond unnerving with his attention, as the heat from his contact keeps pouring through my body.
All of it.
I’m clenching now. Trembling. Swelling. Getting too damn hot in parts that shouldn’t be reacting like this. Not here. Especially not now.
But I can’t any of it. Somehow, I have to push past it and answer him…
“Of…course,” I finally rasp.
“Of course,” he repeats, kicking up an edge of his mouth as if he’s not aware of how that baritone is working all the vocal magic for him. How can that be? How can any of this be? How can he still be flowing that touch along my skin and that stare across my face without as much as a shred of self-consciousness? And how can I just be allowing it?
No, no, no, no.
Moments like this are why I’m here. Working a job like this because nobody but a friend like Blanca will take a chance on me anymore. Because I already indulged too many moments like this, which became too many other moments…
That nearly cost me my life.
That already gouged a chunk of my heart.
I yank my hand back like he’s burned it—a preferable choice compared to what he’s done already. “So how can we help you, Mr.—ermmm, Darian? Unless you’d like to make an appointment to see Ms. Eppa. She’ll only be gone for the weekend, and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to—”
“Why?”
And here’s my lame attempt at a blithe laugh. “Well, who in the business wouldn’t want to meet with you? Your music is amazing. I’m not trying to slick your ego about that. I’m blown away by your melodies. They’re otherworldly and yet old worldly. But your voice is like something from another era too. So—”
“No.” And speaking of that voice…it’s something new in irked mode. Something commanding—and captivating. “I meant, why are you trying to offload me onto Ms. Eppa?”
I double-take. And frankly, give into a schism of frustration in my own right. “Nobody’s offloading anyone. But Blanca is the owner of the company, a much better choice to handle a rising career like yours. You walked in the door because you know we’re one of the best PR and brand management teams in the business. So why don’t you want the best of our best?”
His head cants to one side. It’s a strange motion, intense and curious, at once making me wonder if I’ve thrown a hood over my tangles and am about to surrender my picnic basket before reaching grandma’s house.
