Rock Star Billionaire

"So, Miss Brandt, I have asked you here to discuss your audition from yesterday," he began, and I couldn't stop myself from interrupting him.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so very, very sorry."

"That I want to talk with you?"

"No, I'm very happy about that. It was such a relief when you called. I'm sorry about everything else. Sorry about my top coming off. I did not mean for that to happen. And, I'm really sorry about knocking over the motorcycle. Did I break it? I'm more than willing to pay for any damages I caused to it. Is that why I'm here? Do you need me to sign some legal papers accepting responsibility for it?"

"Settle down, Miss Brandt. The bike wasn't damaged. Speed Motorcycles are built to be tough. They can handle highway crashes at fast speeds, I'm certain they can survive being toppled over onto a carpeted stage while standing still. I didn't call you here personally to have you sign liability forms."

His humorous smirk lightened my tension and made me see how silly I was being. Instantly, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and smiled. "Okay, good. So, why did you ask me here?"

"I understand you want the job of being a model for next month's issue of Speed Magazine."

"Yes, me and about a thousand other girls," I giggled nervously. Why couldn't I stop my hands from fidgeting?

"Yes, that's true. We literally see thousands of women every year, all of them hoping for the chance to appear in pages of our magazine. After a while, they all start to look the same. I'll say one thing for your audition yesterday; you made it memorable." I wanted to apologize again, but he didn't give me chance and kept right on talking. "That's why I've selected you to be the model for the cover of next month's issue."

"The cover! Are you serious?" I had never been so happy or excited in my life. This was an incredible opportunity, and would launch my career as a professional model. Clasping my hands to keep them from shaking, I cried out happily, "I'd been hoping for something on one of the inside pages; I never dreamed I'd be considered for the cover."

"Yes, well it's a special honor only twelve women a year ever get to have. There was a lot of debate in the boardroom over selecting a model with as little experience as you have, but I cast my vote for you personally."

"Thank you so much. I don't know how to thank you."

"Well, don't thank me yet. There is a catch. I'm going to need you to do something special for me first before I give you the job. Come with me. I'll have my assistant get a hanger for that dress. You won't want to get it wrinkled or dirty."

"What?" My heart dropped and all my joy drained away. "My boyfriend was right. You only want me for this job because you think I'm willing to take off my clothes for you—and God knows what else. Well, I'm not that kind of girl. I don't care if it costs me this job. I don't care if I never work as a model in L.A. ever again. I'm leaving, Mr. Colson."

"No, wait," he cut off my retreat with his ripped form, and I was more than intimidated as my heart thundered in my chest. If he wouldn't let me leave, I would fight him with everything I had. With trembling hands, I fumbled in my purse, pulled out my pepper spray and aimed the canister at him.

Chuckling good naturedly, Mr. Colson held up his hands in surrender and said gently, "You misunderstood. I don't expect you to strip for me, pose naked, or have sex with me or anybody else in this office. I do, however, intend to teach you how to ride a bike."

"What?" I was stunned and nearly dropped my pepper spray. "You want to teach me how to ride?"

"Yes. It's the kind of thing you can't fake in a photoshoot, so I need you to learn how to ride before I can give you the job. It will be fun and easy, and I'll even teach you myself."

"Why would you be willing to go through so much trouble just for me?"

"You have the all-American look I want for this cover. I don't want anybody else except you, but you'll have to learn how to ride first. The fact that our models truly enjoy riding motorcycles is what makes our magazine stand out among the competition. It's what makes the models who appear on it resonate with the public. So, do you want the riding lesson and job?"

"Yes!" I grinned joyously. This was a dream come true for me and my heart was bursting with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Mr. Colson went over the terms of the modeling contract with me, and it was incredible. Up until then, the most I'd ever made on a job was a thousand dollars. This was much, much more. I'd be featured in a story layout for the newest motorcycle they were debuting in the issue, and I'd appear on the cover. It was the most exposure I'd ever had as a model and sure to get me noticed in the industry. Many models that were now world-famous had gotten their start on the cover of Speed Magazine. It was an incredible opportunity, and the money was going to be a lifesaver for us. Now Mick and I would finally be able to have that wedding I'd always dreamed of and still have enough left over to rent a decent apartment and tuck away some money for later. It was a dream come true, and I was crying tears of happiness as I signed my name on the contract.

"Oh, look at me. I'm a mess." I blushed, dabbing at my eyes with

a tissue after catching a glimpse of myself in the reflective surface of the chrome on his desk.

"Don't worry about it. The photoshoot isn't until next week. That gives us plenty of time to get you familiar with riding on a bike."

He called his assistant into the room and told her to fit me with some riding gear. I found out her name was Angela, and even though she smiled constantly, I got the impression she didn't like me very much. Perhaps she was one of the objectors who thought I didn't have enough experience. Oh, well. It didn't matter. Mr. Colson wanted me for the job, and now it was mine.

I'd never worn a riding jumpsuit before. I was surprised at how comfortable it felt, despite the extremely tight fit. The boots hugged my feet like they were made just for me, and so did the gloves. The helmet felt strangely snug, but I knew I'd get used to it.

"How do I look, Mr. Colson?" I smiled as I entered the massive garage in the basement of the building. It was filled with hundreds of motorcycles, all them looking shiny and new. He was standing next to a pair of matching bikes with an innovative new design that I correctly guessed must be the All-American. Both the bikes were comprised entirely of black leather, steel, and shiny chrome.

"You look like a pro already. Please, call me Ethan. It distracts from freedom of the open road if we're being so formal with each other, and I want you to get a proper sense of what it means to be a true biker."

"Okay, Ethan." The feeling of calling him by name made me flush, but I liked the sound of it. I liked it even better when he called me by mine.