My 3 Rockstar Bosses

“We love you, Mason!” a girl screamed.

“Trent, sign my tits!” another belted.

Trent shook his head and scrolled through his phone until he found the number he was looking for. I knew exactly who he was dialing, and it wasn’t Katy. He selected the contact and pressed call. It was only a moment before the woman on the other end answered. He put it on speakerphone.

“Good evening, Alphas.” I could hear Helena's self-satisfaction laced in her tone. “What can I do for you?”

“Not a thing right now,” Trent said. “Just trying to look busy while we find the fuckin’ dressing room—and we wanted to give you some serious thanks for the new girl. You scored a solid ten with her.”

“You like this one?”

“We all do,” I agreed, despite my headache.

Nick gave a rumbling sigh of contentment. “She's perfect. The best we’ve ever had. You did good, Hel.”

“Good,” she replied. “Don't wear her out too much. She still needs to be able to tend to her other duties. You guys have more requirements than any of my other clients. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but you’d do anything for us, right?” Trent jested. “Anything at all?”

She groaned. “I do my best.”

Because Helena is actually Trent's older half-sister. It’s all in the family sometimes. Even though she thought our needs were a bit strange, the woman didn’t blink an eye. She took care of the band.

And it worked too. Look where we are now. So while Helena came off like a witch ninety-eight percent of the time, in actuality, she was like a mother to us—if a mother also happened to be a ball-buster and a wizard when it came to career management.

In short, Helena was one of a kind.

“We’re just fucking with you. We'll take good care of her,” Trent laughed. “Real good care of her.”

“Disgusting,” she groused. “Get your own next time. I’m sick of finding replacements when you jackasses get bored.”

Because even though she claimed to hate choosing our staff, that was far from the truth. Helena was happy to find a replacement whenever a heartbroken woman threatened to sell our kink to the papers. Oh yeah, if our secret got out, then all hell would break loose.

And while the middle-aged woman did her best to find women that wouldn’t do such a thing, it turned out that a lot of chicks were petty when it came to their feelings. Our last assistant threatened to call someone at Rolling Stone when Trent said he couldn’t marry her.

Yeah, shit like that.

Totally unrealistic.

Because the problem with girls we’ve met is that sometimes they want more than we can give them.

Okay, they always want more than we can give them.

“We don’t get bored,” Trent explained. “We just have bad luck with assistants.”

“Bad luck or you drive them away?” Helen asked wryly. “Don’t go breaking this one’s heart, okay? They always resort to blackmail when you pull that shit. I can’t afford another half a mil just because my clients can’t keep it in their pants. Got it?”

“Got it,” I replied. “Now let us off the phone so we can put Katy to work.”

“She’s got good tits, sis,” Trent growled.

“Too much info,” Helena sighed. “But have fun. Don’t get too crazy.”

Then she hung up the phone. Sometimes, our manager liked to play dumb. The middle-aged woman sometimes pretended she didn’t know what we did with our assistants, although that was clearly untrue. The three of us played along. It was a sort of game we had.

But finally, we were at the dressing room after walking what felt like five miles. It was a safe place for us to indulge in our fantasies once more, to let go and relax.

And true to form, the space was nice. There was a bathroom with a massive shower in the back, complete with multiple nozzles and an overhead steam pump.