Rock Star Billionaire

"Mr. Colson, Keith Wilkes is here to see you, sir," Angela's voice echoed through the intercom. I startled to realize I hadn't even noticed her leave my office to return to her desk.

"Great. Send him in," I said and moments later, Keith swept through the door with his usual, charming good looks.

"We're ready for the launch. The All-American is available for purchase at all of our retail outlets and the issue of Speed Magazine hits the stands Friday morning. I've got you scheduled for press interviews all that day, and then that evening will be our party celebrating the launch of our newest and greatest motorcycle yet."

"Great job, Keith. You worked your ass off on this one, and I appreciate it. You'll find a bonus on your paycheck this month to prove it."

"Good," he joked, and we shot the bull for a little while, discussing various details about his life and then big the launch campaign. He really was the best of the best.

"Well, it's going to be one hell of a party. Who are you taking as your date this year?" he wanted to know.

"I'm not sure I'll take anybody. These things always get splashed all over the tabloids, and then I get plagued by paparazzi wanting to know if the date I brought is my new girlfriend. I tried that once, and it wasn't for me. Never again. I'll just show up stag. I'm sure you've invited plenty of eligible young models for me to hit on all night long."

It was no secret that I went for the model type, and every aspiring star out there was always trying to hook up with me, hoping it would advance her career by landing her a spot on the cover of my magazine. Unfortunately for them, I didn't trade favors that way; but they didn't need to know that until after I'd come.

"Oh yes, there'll be tons of models there for you to choose from. Speaking of which, I sent an invitation to the launch party to that girl who did the cover shoot, what's her name? Karla Bran?"

"Kayla Brandt," I corrected him.

"Yeah, her. Well, the invitation came back as a wrong address. Can you have Angela di

g up her number out of her file and give her call? It would look good for the press if she was at the launch party."

"Sure, will do," I said. A few minutes later, Keith left, closing my office door behind him. I picked up the phone and immediately dialed Kayla myself. I'd been looking for an excuse to call her for the past month that wouldn't make me seem needy or weak, and this was it.

"Hello," I heard her sweet voice and my heart leapt in my chest, only to fall again as I realized it wasn't her, just her answering machine. "You've reached Kayla Brandt. Please leave a message at the beep."

"It's Ethan Colson. We're having a party to celebrate the launch of the All-American on Friday, and as the cover girl of our magazine, it's important that you be there. Contact me at my office for details. Goodbye."

I sounded curt and businesslike. I had wanted to sound confident and strong, instead I realized that I came off as dismissive and apathetic. Shit. Would she even call me back after a message like that? I sure as hell hoped so. I missed her more than I could say—more than I'd ever missed anyone.

Chapter Thirteen: Kayla

I was exhausted by the time I got home at the end of the day. Twelve hours on my feet, posing in skimpy outfits with five inch heels that pinched my toes. The end results were well worth it, though. The digital proofs I got to see looked fantastic and were just what the director wanted. They'd make an excellent addition to my growing résumé of experience. Plus, I walked out with a hefty bonus in addition to my promised paycheck.

When I got to my crappy car, I was disappointed to see that it was full of the boxes I had picked up from Mick's place before work. For a brief moment in time, I'd forgotten they were there and wiped out the awful memory of our morning encounter.

He'd set the boxes outside of our apartment building by the dumpster, but my name was clearly emblazoned across them with a bold Sharpie pen, so I knew they were mine. Some homeless people were already digging through them and they ran off with a plastic garbage bag full of my clothes before I could stop them.

"It doesn't matter. They need the clothes more than I do," I muttered aloud as I searched for the boxes that really mattered to me, the ones full of my photo albums and memorabilia.

"Want some help carrying that to your car?" a familiar voice said, and I whipped around to face Mick.

"No, thanks. I can take care of myself." I hefted the heavy box and started carrying it across the parking lot to my car just to prove it.

"Yeah, I see that. Looks like you've managed to do just fine yourself. Got yourself a car and a place to live, all thanks to the job I got for you. You wouldn't have anything it weren't for me, you slutty tramp; but you keep telling everybody how fine you’re doing and see if anyone believes your lies. Aren't you going to ask how I'm doing without you?"

"No, Mick. I don't care how you're doing without me." We got to my car, and he tried to block me from being able to get to my trunk. He was already drunk, though, even at that hour of the morning, and I pushed past him easily. I put the box next to the others I'd already loaded in the trunk, since my backseat was already full, and slammed the lid shut.

Turning on him, I said angrily, "I stopped caring about you the moment I found you cheating on me with my best friend. I have a feeling you stopped caring about me long before that. It's been years since you treated me the way a real boyfriend should. It just took me long time to realize it. Now leave me alone. I never want to see you or my former best friend again."

"It's funny you mention Samantha because she's doing alright, too. In fact, she's moved in with me. Out with the old and tired, and in with the new and exciting. She turns me on in ways you never could, and she brings home way better money than you ever did from her tips at the bar."

"I'm glad. I hope you two are very happy together. I can't think of two people who deserve each other more," I said with a hostile edge even Mick couldn't miss.

"I'll give you what you deserve, you fucking bitch." He grabbed me hard on the arms and tried to kiss me. I kicked him in the balls with all my strength, and he doubled over in half, letting me go instantly before he puked on his own shoes. I jumped in my car, locked the door, and fumbled for my keys, shaking all over. He was shouting at obscenities at me as I started the engine and drove quickly away.

I was still rattled from the encounter by the time I got to the photoshoot, but I was a professional and they never knew. After a little while, I was able to immerse myself in the process and forget all about Mick and the ugly encounter—until I was once again faced with the boxes filling my backseat and trunk.