Billionaires Runaway Bride

“Yes, hi,” she giggled. Oh God, I thought. She had to be a fan. Fans were great when you were on tour, but definitely not so much when part of the operations aspect of the tour. Nonetheless, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and sat down to get on with the interview. It was only fair to give her a chance, after all.

“So, you have experience in managing music tours?” I asked her.

More giggles. “Yes, mostly with up-and-coming, unsigned, indie rock bands, kind of like how you guys started out.”

“Oh, that’s cool. We need someone well versed on locations and venues for bigger shows, though. Do you feel confident doing that?”

More giggles. Her giggles were like tiny pinpricks in my head and, to be honest, I was struggling to deal with it. Especially since she was just staring at me and not answering my questions.

“Felicia?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I just can’t believe I’m actually sitting here talking to you.” She blushed...and giggled once more. Why me, I thought. I hoped the rest of the interviews weren’t going to be like this. Otherwise, I’d be ready to toss myself off the top of the building by the time I was done.

“Could you please answer my question?” I asked, no longer hiding my annoyance. This seemed to strike her as mean because her eyes misted up a little.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m blowing this, aren’t I?” she sniffled, which only led me to believe that she might be one of those emotional roller coasters, as well. Another red flag for a bunch of guys on tour.

“Do you not have experience booking larger scale tours?”

“No, just with smaller venues and smaller indie bands,” she finally answered. I let out a sigh. This girl was, unfortunately, not at all what I was looking for.

“Thank you, Felicia. I do appreciate your time, but I think that will be all.” I didn’t look her in the eyes, but I could already tell that she was, in fact, crying in earnest now. I sent Mike a text to summon him back over to the office. Mike came in and looked from me to Felicia, his forehead wrinkled as he made his way to the desk where I sat.

“Mike, I need someone that fits the profile I gave you. Please don’t waste my time,” I said quietly. Not quietly enough, though, because the girl got up from the chair and rushed out in a flurry of tears.

I honestly felt bad, but there wasn’t much I could do. We were a multi-platinum selling band with millions of fans all over the country, not a bunch of amateurs playing the dive bar circuit for beer money on weekends. Maybe once, but not anymore. We had to have someone who had enough experience to be professional around bands of our caliber; there was simply no getting around that, as hurtful as it may be to any of the hopefuls.

Mike looked back at me suspiciously, then nodded. “I promise the next two are much more qualified. I’ll be back with the next girl in a few minutes,” he said, then left me there alone to wait.

Chapter Eight

Nalia

The first girl that had gone in for her interview came out crying, and I bit my lip, suddenly a little more nervous than I had been. I felt a wave of uncomfortable heat wash over me, and for a few moments, a powerful feeling of nausea bubbled in my stomach. Was this guy a nightmare to deal with or something?

My stomach did a nervous flip flop as I watched the crying girl push the doors to the main office open and leave, sniffling and wiping at her face. He must have been pretty damn intimidating to have elicited that kind of response from her.

“Nalia Dean?” someone called my name, and my stomach did another flip flop.

“That’s me.” I stood, smoothing out my skirt. I paused to breathe in deeply. I held the breath in my lungs and closed my eyes for a few moments to calm myself. I hadn’t been sure how to dress for this interview, so I had opted for a more business-like attire. I had settled on a black two-piece skirt and fitted business jacket with a ruffled, V-neck, white blouse and a pair of black heels.

Mike, the man who had called me to schedule the interview today, held the door open for me to enter the hallway. I followed him in, not saying a word, just focusing on the walls of the long hall decorated with all the different awards and pictures of celebrities that they’d apparently worked with in the past. I recognized almost every single one of the artists, and to say I was intimidated was an understatement.

At the end of the hall we reached a corner office. A rather large corner office. A handsome man with short, jet-black hair he had spiked up in the front and mesmerizing, deep-blue eyes watched me come in. He was perched against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed—arms that were fit, tanned, and toned and had just enough muscle to fill out the t-shirt he was wearing.

“Nalia, this is Owen Young of Young Records and Bleeding Heart. Owen, this is Nalia Dean,” Mike announced as he introduced us.

I froze for a moment. This was the guy Grace had been talking about? This was Owen Young?

I recovered quickly, doing my best to stifle my surprise and shock, and reached my hand out while smiling warmly. Owen took it, shaking it politely. The nerves I had convinced myself I wasn’t going to have showed up in a big way the moment he did. I managed to keep them under control though and made sure that I came across as being calm, relaxed, and completely unintimidated by the rock star in front of me.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nalia. Please, have a seat.” He smiled at me, then nodded for Mike to leave us. As Mike left, Owen made his way back around the desk to take a seat in the chair.

Funny, this guy didn’t look like the type that would have chased the last girl out of there crying. Still, I had seen what I had seen, so I kept my guard up. Looks could be deceiving, after all. Besides, I wasn't only nervous because of the crying girl. It didn’t hel

p that I’d bluffed a good bit on my resume. God help me if he called me on any of it. Then perhaps it would be my turn to rush out of the office in tears.

Of course, in addition to all of this, there was also the fact that I was a bit put off a little by his unnerving good looks. He had a nice, strong, chiseled jaw and those eyes…my God, those eyes. I had no doubt those eyes could get most any woman to do what he wanted her to do.