Rock Star Billionaire

We finished up the song and went right into the next one. I was feeling a bit better, we were sounding better together, and I was finally focused fully on the music. By the time we hit the last song, we were jamming smoothly and rocking hard.

For the first time all day, we were right in our element. It was amazing; this was how things had been when we had first started out. A sensation I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to experience again, but there I was, feeling it once more.

“That sounded amazing! I cannot wait to go on tour, man!” Jeremiah smiled. “Wow, I mean, it's been really great jamming again and getting back into the music, but now... Now I feel like we're really in the pocket, you know? We're totally hitting it again the way we used to. Man, this feels epic!”

The others were equally as pumped, Jay and Talon high-fiving over his drum set.

“We totally owned it!” Talon exclaimed with a look of pure joy beaming from his face. I could see how pumped he was and how important this was to him. That, at least, made me feel better. And to tell the truth, I was really pumped about it, as well. It really felt as if all the pieces were falling into place — musically, at least.

But that left the business side of things a little unstable. My mind kept wandering back to thoughts of Nalia. I looked down at my watch and saw that it was now quarter past three. The guys were starting to pack up. Nalia must have decided against coming. I couldn’t think of any other logical explanation for her being so late and not at least calling to let me know.

Fuck it, I thought. It looked as though I would just have to find someone else. It was a huge bummer. I really felt like I had lucked out finding her. She seemed so perfect for what I needed. What the band needed, I reminded myself.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Nalia

I couldn’t believe it. I had finally lucked out and had a second interview for a job I really wanted and, of course, I get stuck in traffic. That’s just how my luck works. I should have known that things couldn’t just keep going my way – there always had to be a snag.

I’d tried calling the agency multiple times to let them know so they could at least tell Owen why I was late, but the line kept ringing busy. What kind of company doesn’t have multiple lines?

My frustration was rising with every minute and every inch traffic crawled. I tried them again and again, and I was near tears when the busy signal blared in my ear once more. All I could think was that this was going to end in disaster, and that I'd gotten my hopes up all for nothing. Would I really have to come so close to this opportunity just to have it snatched from right under my nose? Would I have to go crawling back to Allison for a job at the dive bar, penniless and with my tail between my legs?

Hell no. I’d starve first.

I texted Grace, whom I had told about the interview the night before, and she called me a few minutes later.

“Okay, calm down, Nay. Just get there and explain about the pile up and the traffic. It’s all over the news, so it isn’t like they can’t verify you’re telling the truth.”

“Yeah, but this is my first impression for the rest of the band. I even left early! To make sure I had enough time to get there!”

“Exactly! You can’t control the traffic, so quit freaking out,” she tried to calm me down. “I mean, there was a huge accident with an eighteen wheeler. You couldn't have predicted that. You did your best to be there on time, but sometimes these things happen, and I'm sure they'll understand. Like I said, it's been all over the news. Hell, the footage from the freeway looks downright terrifying! The eighteen wheeler is still on fire.”

“Ugh, I really want this job!”

“I know you do, and you’ll still get it. Is there another way you can get there? Can you get off the road you’re on?”

I looked around at the bumper to bumper gridlock. “Not a chance, I’m not going anywhere with how bad the traffic is. I'm completely blocked in, and there's no exit for at least a mile. And it might take an hour just to get to the exit – I'm not even joking.”

“Well, I’m sure things will start to clear up soon, and you’ll be able to make it there and explain what happened. It’ll be fine. The fire department and the traffic police are working on sorting it all out. I’m sure Owen Young understands how traffic can be.”

“God, I hope so,” I sighed, staring at the parking lot of freeway traffic. I could just barely see the smoke rising from the scene of the accident and the emergency vehicles that were cleaning it up. They were starting to open one lane at least. Maybe Grace was right, and they would understand.

“Call me afterwards?” she asked. “And good luck getting there. I'm sure you'll be fine.”

“Of course.” I hung up the call and then waited as the cars started to inch forward a little bit more. Oh, thank God, I thought. I just needed to get past the bottleneck and I’d be almost there. My GPS showed that I was five minutes away.

It was another half an hour, though, before I finally got past it and traffic began to move again. It was after three already, and I hoped they were still at the studio and hadn’t finished practice yet. I was driving like a bat out of hell, even though I was already late and another few minutes probably wouldn’t have made a difference.

Five more minutes later, I was finally in front of their building. I hurried out of the car, not bothering to check myself in the mirror, and ran as quickly as I could in heels toward the door.

When I got inside there was a pretty, young woman sitting behind a desk up front, she smiled at me. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I was supposed to be here over an hour ago but there was a huge accident that blocked all the lanes on the freeway. I was supposed to see Owen for a second interview. Is he still here?”

“Oh! You must be Miss Dean. Yes, they’re all still here. I think they're packing up, but they usually hang around and chat for a bit before they leave. They should still be back in one of the rehearsal spaces, though. Come on, I’ll take you back. So sorry about the traffic. It can be such a beast sometimes,” she said, her voice unbelievably chipper and sweet.

“Thank you so much,” I offered her a smile despite how frustrated I felt about my commute there. She put her phone to voicemail then got up and motioned for me to follow her. She led me down a few different corridors to a door at the end of a long hall. It looked like a recording room with a booth full of expensive looking soundboards and equipment. Past it, there was a window and another door leading to the practice space where the guys were packing up their equipment.