Too Many Rock Stars: Violet's Story (Access All Areas 1)

"We're never going to get a drink here, let's go downstairs." I walked toward the back stairs as the DJ started.

"What the hell was that?" Carlie said. "That wasn't human."

"I know."

"I guess that settles things. You aren't even going to look at Razer after that."

I wondered. Alex was amazing. More than amazing. He'd done things to me, to my body, that no one had ever done before, with just his voice, but that was him there on stage and me in the audience. That wasn't flesh and blood him, everyday him, who you'd wake up to every morning. Alex was made to perform. He became another person on stage.

Is that really what I wanted?

"How was he?" Drew asked when we got downstairs.

"There are no words," Carlie replied. "He was amazing. Hey, Mark, a couple of vodkas over here if you don't mind?"

Mark got our drinks and slapped them down in front of us. "I'm going on break," he said. "You cover me."

Carlie sipped her drink then slowly got up.

"Bastard," she said. "He could've let me finish my drink. What the hell would he do if I didn’t come in here on my night off?"

I sat alone thinking about the night and this stupid competition. My heart tightened and my head buzzed. Alex was dazzling and we had so much in common. He definitely had the numbers. Razer would need to work like hell to beat him. If I was going to date a rocker, then Alex was the rational choice. The two of us together, we'd work. While Razer, that was just chaos waiting to happen.

I just needed to convince my heart that common sense was best.

Chapter 32 VIOLET

MY OFFICE DOOR SWUNG open and I looked up expectantly. Even though I tried to look angry, I couldn't help but smile. Then I realized it was Chuck.

"Nice going the other night. I've made one big payment on the debt. After this weekend, the pressure will off."

I twisted my pen in my fingers. "That's great."

Then Chuck paused. I knew there had to be something more than him just popping by to say something nice. Pretty much every time I saw Chuck lately, my stomach churned. And he wasn't making eye contact. Not a good sign. His beady eyes were firmly looking at the manky floorboards of my office – and I bet he wasn't thinking that I deserved a nice carpet in here.

"Even so, I've had an offer on the place."

I dropped my pen.

"What? You're kidding? Why are we even bothering with anything then?"

"Hey, settle. They've just made an offer. I've not said anything yet but it's a good deal. And they want to keep the place running like it is, to carry on my legacy."

I was so pleased I wasn't drinking anything when he said that because I'd have likely choked to death. His legacy? What legacy did he have besides being a douche? If the new owner carried on the douche legacy, then I'd be out of the place so fast.

I was totally convinced that, no matter what he said, if he had half a chance to sell the place, he'd jump on the cash. And I didn't trust this offer one little bit. It wasn't like this was a labor of love for Chuck. It was a labor of making money and picking up chicks.

"They say that but then they get their claws into the place and next thing you know we'll be selling craft beers and the staff will have to wear dinky little uniforms and they'll rip up the manky carpet. Things change."

"Yeah, Violet, things change."

"I don't want them to."

"It might be for the best."

"It might not be."

When he left, I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my head. Maybe I could make sure Chuck had a nasty accident and he had to give me power of attorney or something. Then the club would be mine. A really nasty accident that maybe left him in a coma. That'd be sweet. He wouldn't be able to talk. He wouldn't be able to barge into my office with his talk about selling the place.