The BIllionaire and the Rock Star

Chapter One

Georgia Weber shuffled into the restaurant with a pair of giant sunglasses pulled down over her face, her green eyes darting back and forth across the room for the glint of a hidden camera. She sighed in relief when it seemed that no one was any the wiser of her presence.

Her publicist would kill her if she knew she’d snuck out for this date without her bodyguard. But having an over-muscled he-man canvassing her every move as she attempted to flirt was the last thing Georgia needed at that moment. Dating was hard enough for a rock star.

“Welcome to Lorenzo’s Italian. Meeting anyone, my dear?” the slim older woman behind the receptionist podium asked, barely giving her a glance.

“Yes, I’m supposed to request the booth at the back,” Georgia said, chewing on her bottom lip. “It’s under the names Metal Man and Sweet Daisy Jane.”

She cringed inwardly. When they’d decided to use their dating profile names for the reservation, she hadn’t thought of how silly it would sound when she actually got there. But the woman didn’t even blink.

“Oh, yes, I see it,” she answered, pointing to the paper in front of her. “Your date isn’t here yet, but we can get you settled.”

Georgia let out a shaky breath. At least she had a little while longer to prepare herself. She didn’t want her nervous chatter to drive away the man of her dreams.

Of course, she could be getting ahead of herself. She’d never actually met the guy face-to-face. They’d been matched in the dating app Spark weeks ago. Unlike the shallow conversations she’d found with her other matches, the ones with Metal Man had quickly taken a deeper and more meaningful turn. He seemed real, making Georgia ache to meet her match in person. She had the feeling he was more gorgeous than words.

On the other hand, he could also be a wrinkled old man with a weird thing for twenty-three year old women. Wouldn’t the tabloids love that?

Moving her hands over her thick and curly jet black hair so that it hid part of her face, she followed the receptionist through the dining room. The heavenly aroma of freshly cooked garlic bread and tomato sauce hit her nose.

She’d purposely picked a late afternoon lunch to attract less attention. As she had suspected, only a few tables were filled with some of San Jose’s locals. None of them paid her any attention. The receptionist waved her hand at a back booth and set down two menus.

“I’ll bring your date when he arrives,” she said with a toothy smile.

Georgia thanked her and immediately hid her face behind a menu.

The phone in her black leather coat pocket dinged with a message. She pulled it out and saw it was from the Spark app. Her heart jumped in anticipation as she read Metal Man’s newest message to her. He was here. After three weeks of chatting online, he was only a few feet away. She couldn’t keep her hands from shaking.

What would he think about her when he learned the truth about her profession? As far as he knew, she was just a simple Minnesotan girl displaced to the west coast who liked her guitar. Not an up-and-coming rock star who the tabloids loved to splash across their pages with headlines pondering her latest male conquests.

Metal Man had grown up in the same area outside the Twin Cities. They’d enjoyed the same restaurants, had haunted the same teenage hangouts. It was the first thing that drew them together.

“Ahem, my dear. Your date.”

Georgia peered above the menu to see the older woman standing over her with an amused expression. He was here. She slammed the menu down, simultaneously knocking over the two glasses of water that had been set on the table. Ice cubes and straws flew every direction. Pink colored Georgia’s cheeks as she gasped and went for the napkins, mopping up the mess.

This had been a mistake. She should never have been let out of her hotel room. She couldn’t even behave like a normal human being for one hour.

“Let me help you,” said a deep voice, gently pulling a napkin from her fingers and joining in the clean-up effort.

She turned her green eyes up at that moment, her stomach doing a little flip. Kneeling next to her was a man in a blue dress shirt and black pants. He had a strong, angular jaw and a neatly trimmed beard. His short brown hair had been styled and combed back with some type of mousse. While his outfit didn’t scream wealth, a shiny silver Rolex around his wrist hinted at his success. Georgia wondered if it was real, or one of those knock-offs people sold outside shady gas stations.

There was something definitely familiar about him. Something that she just couldn’t put her finger on. Brown eyes crinkled with the hint of a smile as he winked at her and handed the sopping wet linen napkin to the hostess behind him.

“I think we’ll take two more glasses of water,” he told her with a smile before she nodded and walked away.

“I’m so sorry,” Georgia spouted, dread entering her face. She slid back into the booth and willed herself not to do anything else embarrassing for the next hour. “I’m a klutz when I’m nervous.”

“It’s okay. No harm done.” His voice was low and calm, his eyes searching her face as he took the opposite seat. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Sweet Daisy Jane.”

Her lips curled into a tiny smile and she glanced down at her black fingernail polish. “You too, Metal Man. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“Me, neither.” He cocked his head to one side, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Although I have to admit that I was looking forward to seeing your face. Any chance you might take those sunglasses off now that you’re indoors?”

She’d become so used to hiding that she hadn’t remembered she still had the silly things on. Yanking them off her face, she tucked her curly hair behind her ears and gave him a sheepish smile. “Better?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at her until a warmth flared in her gut and she looked away in embarrassment.

“My name’s Georgia,” she said quietly. “I suppose we can use real names now that we’ve seen each other’s faces.”

“Alaric,” he answered, clearing his throat and finally tearing his gaze away from her.

Panic alarms went off inside of her. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her brain finally putting the pieces together.

“Not, Alaric Hammond?” she asked in a strained voice.

His brow furrowed and he tilted his head to one side with an amused grin. “Yes. How did you know?”

Of course, she should’ve known the first moment they’d met, but she’d been too frazzled by flying ice to make the connection. Alaric Hammond had

been two years ahead of her in school and the golden boy of their high school. All-star receiver on their state champion football team. Mr. Prom King. And desperately adored by most of the girls in their school, including once upon a time, Georgia herself.

She’d been the complete opposite. A quiet mouse, keeping to her small group of music geeks and playing the bass drum in the pep band during sporting events. A total zero on the popularity scale. Alaric Hammond never would’ve known she was alive.

“We had the same anatomy class,” she said, grimacing. “I sat two rows behind you. You wouldn’t remember me, though.”

He pursed his lips in thought, drumming his fingers on the table. A light lit in his eyes and he smiled. “Of course! Georgia Weber. I remember you.”

She gulped, feeling her throat constrict. At that moment, she could’ve desperately used one of those waters she’d spilled. Alaric Hammond remembered her!

“But didn’t you go by Gigi, then?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“Yes.” She laughed nervously, her eyes darting across the room. Thankfully, it seemed, no one had heard him. “Some people still call me that.”

“Georgia Weber.” He leaned back in his booth and smiled at her, shaking his head. “All this time, I was talking to you. Who would’ve thought?”

She desperately hoped this new revelation wasn’t a total letdown. She’d come a long way since high school. Better clothes. Better hair. And the ability to actually look people in the eye when they talked to her. All territory that came with becoming a celebrity. Her publicist had forced her to take confidence classes. She didn’t even know that was a thing until she met with her private tutor.

“Are you still driving that black motorcycle around?” she asked, chewing on her tongue. There had been many a time she’d daydreamed of Alaric Hammond whisking her away on that thing. “The one with the loud muffler? I remember how the teachers hated that thing.”