Built to Fall: A Rock Star Romance Page 5

  From the bench opposite mine, she considered me in a slow perusal like the one she’d given me yesterday. I slouched down, stretching my legs to reach her shiny little shoes with my boots.

  “I think you’re probably ready to be alone for a while. You don’t like talking about yourself, and I might be wrong, but it seemed like you were on edge the entire time, as if you were worried someone would bring up a topic you didn’t want to discuss.” She pushed her foot against mine in a feeble attempt to nudge me away. “That had to be tiring.”

  I tipped my chin, neither confirming nor denying her summation of me.

  She checked her phone. “Once we get to the venue, you’ll have an hour before sound check. Marta has lunch ready for you. We’ll give you your privacy and the time to rest if that’s what you need.”

  “Sounds perfect. I appreciate the job you’re doing.”

  She dipped her head and reached into her bag like she was searching for something, but there was no mistaking the pleased flush in the apples of her cheeks. Claire Fontana blossomed under praise, and something told me she hadn’t gotten enough of it in her life.

  My moral compass, which tended to be more than skewed half the time, directed me to cease taking note of the way this girl reacted. If I still needed my attention diverted post-concert, I had no doubt there’d be no shortage of...diversions.

  “What does your shirt say?”

  Like I said, my moral compass pointed me in the wrong direction all too often, or I ignored it altogether.

  She opened her pink blazer to show me the bold black letters on white cotton. “Fear eats the soul. My...friend and I went to an art installation last year where they were printing these. This is the first time I’ve worn it.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  She tucked an escaped curl behind her ear and rebuttoned her jacket. “Oh yes.”

  “Do you live by it?”

  Again, her cheeks flushed pink, but instead of looking away, her eyes locked on mine. “I’m getting there.”

  “Good. I’m trying to get there too.”

  She scoffed and pushed at my boot once more. “I have a hard time believing you have any fear. You’re a few hours away from standing in front of thousands of people here to see you, and you’re as cool as a cucumber.”

  “Performing doesn’t scare me.” I opened my palms on my legs. My fears were a lot darker than crowds of people waiting to worship me.

  “What does?”

  My mouth hitched in amusement. “Now, why would I tell you?”

  “You wouldn’t.” She drew her feet away, tucking them together against her seat and checked her phone again. “We’re almost there.”

  “Claire?”

  She paused whatever she’d been pretending to type on her screen. “Yes?”

  “Are you scared of me?”

  Her plump lips pressed into a thin line, and she touched a hand to her cheek for a moment before dropping it. “Yes, I am.”

  I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the rest, releasing a long exhale through my nose. “Good. That’s for the best.”

  * * *

  Marta waited for us in my dressing room. Her long legs were propped up on my couch, and her music filled the room. She turned the volume down when we walked in.

  “Greetings.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Your food’s on the table, Dom. Hey, C.”

  Claire’s face transformed from unsure and timid to unadulterated happiness. “Hey, M.”

  “You have nicknames now?” I picked up my sandwich on a plate and took it to the couch, knocking Marta’s legs down to make room.

  “Does calling each other by the first letter of our names really count?” Marta asked.

  “Hell if I know.” I checked between the slices of bread to ensure my order was right. Marta rolled her eyes at me, but she knew the drill.

  “Dominic, would you still like that quiet time now?” Claire asked in her soft, throaty voice.

  “Yes. You can go.”

  “Okay.” She blinked a couple times, gripping the strap of her messenger bag with both hands. “Marta, do you want to grab lunch with me?”

  Marta sat up, her lips twisting. “Oh…well—”

  “You can go, Claire.” I sucked mustard off my thumb. “Marta’s staying.”

  She nodded, her hand on the knob. “All right. I’ll just...I’ll be around.” Then she hurried out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind her.

  Marta’s eyes were on me while I ate my sandwich. She knew the drill. We usually ate together before the show—and that didn’t change because she’d taken a liking to my new PR girl. Sure, I could have invited Claire to stay, but I didn’t want to.

  “I could have gone with her,” Marta said.

  I wiped my mouth with a flimsy napkin. “No. You couldn’t have. I wanted you here.”

  “I get that, but why be so damn rude to her? From her texts, it sounded like press went well.” Marta tucked her feet beneath her to face me. “Did something happen?”

  “No. She did a good job, which I told her.”

  Marta gasped. “You did what?”

  Her surprise had me grinning. “I told her she did a good job, Mar.”

  She shoved at my shoulder. “Dominic Cantrell, you don’t tell anyone they do a good job! My yearly bonus is my only sign you’re pleased with my performance. What the hell?”

  Unbothered, I took another bite of my sandwich while Marta huffed and flailed and called me a bastard. Finally, I pushed her forehead with my index finger.

  “You can stop now. I told her she did a good job because she seemed to need it.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell with indignation. “Maybe I need it sometimes.”

  I smiled at my sandwich. “You don’t.”

  “Well...fuck off.”

  My shoulders shook, but I swallowed the laugh. “Nice way to speak to your boss.”

  She crossed her arms. “That was me talking to my friend. I’m on my lunch break, you know.”

  I uncapped a water bottle and took a swig. “Any luck with your straight girlfriend last night?”

  Marta ripped open a bag of chips and crunched a few in her mouth. “Iris isn’t straight.”

  Marta had been crushing on the lead singer of The Seasons Change since they met a few months ago. While Marta wasn’t one to be shy, Iris had thrown her for a loop. Personally, I didn’t know one way or another, but if Iris hadn’t taken Marta’s ample bait yet, I figured she wasn’t interested.

  “You’re one-hundred-percent on that?” I asked.

  “No, obviously, you monster.” She stuffed more chips into her mouth. “I’ll find out soon.”

  I raised a brow. “Are you…I don’t know, going to ask her?”

  “I have my ways, and they mostly involve alcohol.”

  I laid my hand on the top of her head and ruffled her carefully styled hair. “That sounds like a well thought out plan. I’m into it.”

  She flew off the couch and across the room, smoothing her hair down. “Are we really judging each other’s lives now? Is that what’s happening? Because I have opinions.”

  I stretched my arms along the back of the couch, my forehead puckering. “Since when have you ever held back?”

  She tapped her lip. “There was that week there…”

  “The week you started working for me?”

  “Shut up. Just leave my game alone and be nicer to Claire.”

  “I thought you were mad because I was too nice.” I lifted a hand. “By the way, I saw that kid Adam exiting her room this morning.”

  Marta paused her manic chip chewing. “No. Are you kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  She nibbled at the edge of a chip. “He was looking at her with puppy dog eyes all last night, but she didn’t seem to really notice. I’m going to have to get her to spill the damn tea because I thought they went back to their rooms separately last night.”

  “I’m surprised you noticed anyo
ne besides Iris.”

  “I’ve learned from you that prolonged eye contact gives people the creeps.”

  I pointed to my eyes with two fingers. “This shit is intense, not creepy.”

  Marta shot me an exaggerated wink and nod. “Okay, Dom, keep telling yourself that.”

  There was no real, tangible reason Marta and I had become friends. She was a good deal younger, a lot more cheerful, had a wide group of friends, close with her family, and generally functional as a human. But within a week of knowing each other, she’d taken a shine to my grumpy ass, and I looked forward to her antics every day. She took pleasure in calling me on my shit, and…well, I didn’t mind it. Not when it came from her.

  “Intense,” I muttered, eating the last of my sandwich.

  “Creepy!” she yelled, then jammed a fistful of chips in her mouth, crumbs falling onto her shirt as she chomped.

  I shook my head. From the moment I woke up, I’d been dreading this day, but as I sat in my dressing room with this crazy woman, I realized it hadn’t been half bad. Not even close.

  Chapter Eight

  Claire

  Dominic and I traveled outside of Atlanta into a more rural area of Georgia where he had a radio interview this morning. Even though it was just as easy to do it by phone, he wanted to go in person, and it wasn’t my place to ask questions. In fact, Dominic had made it pretty clear where my place was.

  While I hadn’t expected to become pals with Dominic Cantrell, his callous dismissal of me had stung. Then again, I was still tender all over from my marriage ending, so it wasn’t entirely Dominic’s fault I had been easily hurt.

  Our car rolled into a small town straight out of a greeting card movie. Store fronts lined a dusty main street, a few older people strolling down the sidewalks.

  “This is where we’re going?” I checked for the station’s name on my phone. “KXGA?”

  Dominic turned from the window, his mirrored lenses hiding his eyes. “This is it. Good ol’ Dublin, Georgia. More peaches than residents.”

  “Do you have a connection here?” It wasn’t my business, but I couldn’t help being curious.

  “I do.” That was all he said before turning back to the window.

  The radio station sat at the end of the street, and we were able to pull up right in front, taking one of the slanted parking spots. An older man with tufts of white hair around his shiny skull, wearing a suit that looked like it had fit him two decades ago, stood on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for us.

  Dominic hopped out of the car with a wide smile—the first I’d seen on him so far. The corners of his eyes crinkled from the force, and I...liked it. He was handsome, that wasn’t in question, but there was something otherworldly about seeing him genuinely happy, even if it was fleeting.

  He shook hands with the older man, who turned out to be the station owner, Dale Lemon. Dominic made sure I was with them and introduced me to Dale, who took little interest in me.

  I wasn’t from the south, but I recognized a good ol’ boy when I saw one. Dale Lemon probably didn’t believe women should have roles at work outside of support staff. Thankfully, I didn’t work for him and we’d be in and out in an hour, tops.

  “How’ve you been, son?” Dale asked.

  Dominic clapped him on the back. “I don’t think you can call me son anymore since my hair’s about as gray as yours.”

  Dale laughed, big and rowdy. “I’ve known you since you were knee-high. You’ll always be that kid with skinned knees and a gappy smile no matter how big you get.”

  Interesting. I had no idea Dominic had grown up in Georgia. Maybe that explained why he’d been willing to come all this way to this tiny station in the middle of nowhere for an interview.

  Dale led us through yellowed walls covered with pictures of rock stars who had been famous thirty years ago, then stopped outside of a small room with two vending machines, a cracked laminate table, and a worn black leather couch, the station’s broadcast playing over crackling speakers.

  “You can have a seat in here, ma’am. I’ll take care of ol’ Dominic. He’s in capable hands.” Dale threw me a wink and held his hand out to usher me inside the space that looked more like a prison waiting room than somewhere guests would be shown to.

  My gaze focused on Dominic. “Is that what you would like, or would you rather I stay with you during the interview?”

  He paused for a long moment, his eyes sweeping over me. I had forgone the message tee and jeans for more professional high-waisted trousers and a purple, short sleeve cardigan, but kept my trusty oxfords. I couldn’t tell if Dominic found me wanting or not. He was impossible to read when he wanted to be.

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking, Claire.” He leaned in, speaking low beside my ear. “Keep an eye on the time. We need to make a short stop on the way back.”

  “Got it. I’ll make sure we leave with plenty of time.”

  He nodded, satisfied with my answer. “You’ll be okay in this shithole?”

  I snorted a little laugh. “I’ll manage.”

  “Okay. See you on the flipside.”

  He and Dale left me in the shithole. I didn’t really want to sit on the couch, which looked like it hadn’t been wiped down since the eighties, so I wandered into the hall to check out the pictures. There was some serious history in these images. Huge bands and smaller ones had visited this little radio station, though it looked like it had been at least ten years since a new picture had been hung.

  I stopped in front of a picture of a much younger Dominic from when he was in The Hype. His band members crowded around him, all of them grinning with the lightness of youth and newfound success. Tracing a finger over Dominic’s dark hair and easy smile, a pang of wistfulness hit me. He wasn’t the same man he’d been in this picture, but I could look back at pictures of myself from a year ago and say the same thing.

  “Can I help you?”

  Startled, I whirled around to find a guy about my age in a Blue is the Color band tee and ripped-up jeans. His eyebrows were raised expectantly, but his smile was friendly enough.

  “I’m good, actually. I just wandered out of the room I was told to wait in to check out these pictures.”

  “Ah, the hell pit. I don’t blame you. Are you with…?” He nodded toward the studio at the end of the long hallway where Dominic was currently being interviewed.

  “I am. I’m his PR assistant, Claire.”

  “Cool, cool. I’m Sam. I do sound engineering here.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Livin’ the high life.”

  “It can’t be so bad. You probably get to hear new music before anyone else, right?”

  “Truer words.” He checked his watch. “Have you got some time while Dominic does his thing? I’m about to listen to the new Unrequited release for the first time…”

  I couldn’t say no to that. Unrequited was one of my favorite bands. I’d begged Derrick to go with me to see them when they were in town, but he’d been completely uninterested, saying they started sucking once they hired a girl drummer. He couldn’t have been more wrong. They’ve killed it more than ever since Maeve O’Day joined.

  In Sam’s small office, I got lost in the music, but not so lost that I didn’t keep track of the time. We still had five minutes before we needed to leave, but I grabbed my bag and phone so I could find Dominic.

  “Thanks for saving me from the hell pit,” I said.

  Sam dipped his chin. “No problem. I wouldn’t send my worst enemy in there. I don’t think the snack machine has been changed out for a good decade or two.”

  I giggled. “And the couch, my god.”

  He tossed his head back. “Let’s not even talk about the couch.”

  I shuddered. “It’s unholy.”

  “What’s unholy?”

  I whirled around, finding Dominic Cantrell filling the doorway, his eyebrows drawn tight over crow-black eyes, his tattooed hands gripping the frame. The rose on his left hand rippled with tension as he held himself
there, suspended between the hallway and office.

  I shook my head, snapping into professional mode. “Oh, nothing. How did your interview go?”

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “Um…” Oh shit, I’m not supposed to say “um.” Thankfully Isabela can’t hear me making a fool of myself right now. “No. I didn’t realize you wanted me to. I met Sam in the hallway, and he let me listen to the new Unrequited album.”

  Dominic cocked his head. “How was it?”

  He seemed to genuinely want to know, so I went for full honesty. “It was incredible. Sick. I already know at least two of the songs are going to be on repeat when I download it.”

  He nodded once. “Nice. I’ll have to check it out.”

  From behind Dominic, Dale clamped his hand on his shoulder. “Ready to do those station bumps?”

  I exchanged glances with Dominic, then checked the time on my phone again. Three minutes. “What’s a bump?” I asked.

  Dominic moved to the side so Dale could answer. “The big guns at KXGA’s parent company sent down promo for Dominic to record for their affiliates. We play it between songs and station breaks. Shouldn’t take much more than half an hour.”

  “Actually, Mr. Lemon, Dominic doesn’t have time for that today. I’m sorry, there must have been a—”

  Dale Lemon went from good ol’ boy to angry man in a few blinks. He slammed his hand on the outer wall. “That isn’t acceptable. Dominic always records bumps for us.”

  I moved closer, my knees quaking beneath me. “We’ll figure out a way to record the bumps, but it can’t be today. If I had known—”

  Dale squared off on me. “If you had known what, girlie? If you hadn’t been so busy flirtin’ with my engineer, you woulda been able to do your job.”

  This man in front of me was big and full of bluster. He might’ve been a small-town radio guy, but he didn’t seem like the type who took no for an answer, especially not from women.

  “I apologize again—”

  “Your apologies mean nothin’. You need to make things right.”

  If I could just get out of this office, I could breathe and think. But Dale had blocked the entrance, trapping me inside. My chin trembled, but I refused to cry, no matter how afraid he made me. He wouldn’t hurt me, not with Dominic and Sam as witnesses, but knowing that didn’t really help—not when less than three months ago I’d been trapped and hurt by another man.