The Complete Rockstar Series

Kiera gives me a strange look that I catch briefly when I lower my hand from my face. “Of course I’m going to work with him. You don’t say no to Andrew Forrester, Adam.”

Naturally. Fucking wanker. And he got the cover of the Sexiest Man issue again, twice in four years. I don’t really care to have that title, but I had daydreamed once or twice that Ellie saw me on it and it made her realize what she was missing. Stupid, I know, but that’s where my mind went.

“God, now I really hate that arsehole,” I mumble. Do I even care about Kiera or who she works with? I think about it for a minute. No, not really, I just don’t want Forrester to ‘win’. If we’re having a competition of who’s the bigger douchebag, he’s miles ahead of me.

“What? I didn’t hear you Adam,” Kiera asks absentmindedly as she types on her phone.

Sighing, I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

The drive up to the massive house is lined with fancy cars, with valets in black trousers and red sleeveless cardis running all over the place to get them situated. Our driver rolls up to the front and an overeager employee opens the car door so we can get out, his frosty breath halting when he gets a good look at Kiera and her heart-stopping beauty.

Yeah, she’s attractive mate, but get to know her and it’s not as pretty. Trust me.

Kiera ignores the valet, because that’s what she does, and walks through the front door as if the party were being thrown just for her. I chuckle under my breath and nod at the wide-eyed man. She’s only here because I invited her, yet she feels entirely too comfortable with attending. She instantly spots someone ‘important’ that she needs to suck up to and leaves my side without a second thought.

I wander over to the bar, stopping to exchange polite words with different industry people and other familiar faces. Since rehab, I usually stick to water or juice at these things, but I can handle a beer or two without any problems. It’s only the hard stuff that I have to avoid completely.

“Water with lime, please.” He nods and seconds later, hands me my drink. I decide not to push my luck by drinking tonight, especially since I’m already in a shitty mood. Plus, I want to have all my faculties if I run into that Forrester prick.

“Thanks mate.” I take my water and turn to scan the room. I notice several executives from my record label chatting with someone I don’t know. Ross wanted me here tonight to mingle with our bigwigs, know what side your bread is buttered on and all that.

On the other side of the room are a few young actors and actresses I recognize from a movie that released just a few weeks ago. Some trilogy made from a bunch of best selling books. Leah was excited by it, that’s how I know anything about it. She said a girl actually killed herself outside the premiere. Fans can be fucking mental sometimes.

“Adam!” I turn at the sound of my name and see Calvin Wallace and Vic Klein waving me over to their group.

Time to work.

I grin and approach the men, shaking hands and exchanging back slaps with everyone. Cal and Vic are genuinely good people. I’ve known them for eight years. Their touring company put together the band’s first big tour and they’ve done every single one since. They do what they say and they say what they mean, which is rare in the entertainment crowd. Their honesty is refreshing and I appreciate it, especially back when I first started and discovered that lies and backstabbing were commonplace in the industry.

“Adam, great to see you son,” Vic says, throwing his arm over my shoulders to pull me into the circle of suits.

“Great work, Adam. Sending the Harford boy’s stuff to me,” says Dane Calder, the president of my record label.

“Harford?”

He must see the bewilderment on my face because he chuckles and elaborates. “The boy from the hotel. You sent me his work. He came in with his band and played for me, they’re incredible.”

“The kid? You listened to his stuff?” I’m not sure why I’m shocked, I mean, I record platinum-selling records, but it still humbles me that someone like Dane would take my advice. I’m even more shocked that the record label president listened to the kid’s band personally.

“Of course I did.” Everyone laughs with him. “You’ve got a great ear for talent, why wouldn’t I listen if you thought it was good?”

I shrug and take a sip of my water. “Not sure. I’m glad it worked out,” I’m happy for that kid, Roger. He deserved a chance and Dane’s right, his stuff is incredible. I guess a part of me still believes I’m just that poor kid from Hackney, not good enough to have an opinion that matters.

“He should be here tonight with his band. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you,” Dane says.

“Right. Sure.”

“They’re great Adam,” says Rachel Whatley, head of marketing for the label. “I can see them headlining someday. They’re a marketing agent’s dream come true. Kind of like you.”

Rachel smiles and winks at me. She’s always been like this with me, playful, flirty, but it never goes past professional. I like that about her, no pushy expectations, no desire to ‘see what it’s like to fuck a rock star’. She’s brilliant and comfortable to be around and loads of fun when she wants to be.

“Thanks Rachel.” A tall figure behind her catches my eye and my entire body tenses up. “Sorry, I see someone I need to talk to.” I give Rachel her a quick peck on the cheek before excusing myself.

My mind starts working overtime as I approach Kiera. She’s laughing and clinging to the arm of that bastard Andrew Forrester. I may not love her, but I’ll be damned if she’s going to hang all over that prick in front of everyone and make me look stupid.

I come up behind her and around to her side, crossing my arms and waiting patiently for Kiera to acknowledge my presence. Studying him while he’s not looking, I see a flash of irritation on Forrester’s face, and he shrugs his arm out of Kiera’s iron grip as he speaks to a man on his other side.

Ha! She annoys him as well. Normally, I’d say you’re bloody welcome to her, stupid actor, but I refuse to lose to him again, even if I don’t really want the prize.