Page 68 of Wicked Angel
“And this is standard when taking on a client?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. But you’re my first one. And my only one, so far. So, I’ve got time to burn, shit to prove, and considering my general life situation right now, major motivation to make sure this year is the best year of your entire career.”
Okay, that definitely took him by surprise.
“Then we have a common goal,” he said after a moment.
“Great.” I hopped off the bar stool. “Thank you for the expensive water. I’ll start putting together a press release introducing myself to the media as your new publicist and I’ll be sure to no-comment on your band situation. You’ll have a chance to read it over and approve before it goes out, and we’ll discuss the timing of it, of course.”
“Of course,” he said, though I knew he’d thought of none of this. It wasn’t his job to think of this.
“I hope I can take the burden of having to care about any of this off of you. So you can focus on what you do best.”
“Which is?”
I shrugged. “Playing that rock ’n’ roll the way the girls like it.”
“You know,” he said dryly, “sometimes the guys like it, too.”
I looked him over briefly in his tank top and shorts, all lean muscles and tattoos and sex appeal. “Sure they do.” I turned on my heel and headed for the glass doors to the deck, before my eyes got any ideas about checking him out any more.
“You have a lot of confidence,” he said behind me.
I paused. “I don’t have a lot of confidence, actually. But I am confident about you.” That was true. “And in case no one’s ever told you…” I turned, jolting a little when I found him directly behind me. “Uh, sex appeal sells.” I eased back as he reached to open the door for me. I watched his beautiful arm flex as he slid it open.
Then our eyes crashed together. “Does it?”
I frowned. “You know it does. And so does a beautiful face and a six pack. And I will shamelessly play the beauty card if it gets you positive attention. No one can credibly attack your musical skills. You have talent. So, there’s absolutely no shame in letting the world enjoy your pretty face, too. No one can call Johnny O a pretty boy or a talentless mimbo with any authority.”
“Mimbo,” he repeated.
“It’s a male bimbo.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Point being, keep doing those workouts.” I patted his abs, which flexed under my hand. “The cameras will be coming for you, I guarantee it. But you might want to think about purging all the mean girls from your social calendar.” There; slipped it right in and turned to dodge out the door before he could—
“Mean girls?”
I stopped in my tracks.Damn; not fast enough.
“Yeah. You know. Brianna types.” I forced myself to meet his eyes again. “It would help me do my job, like a thousand percent, if you took care to only show up in public with lovely, classy women with either non-existent or pristine public profiles, from now on. Oh, and who are not dating any of your bandmates.”
His jaw clenched.
“You get the picture. Now, I really have to go pick up all my worldly belongings from my ex’s apartment. Before he decides to, I don’t know, burn it all or something.” I patted his six pack again, because I had absolutely no reason to, then awkwardly jetted out of there.
ChapterTwelve
Angeline
My worldly belongings, which Courteney and her husband’s bodyguard helped me pick up from Flynn’s place while he wasn’t there—his choice—sat in boxes for all of the next day and the next as I worked on my laptop around Shayla’s house and on her back deck while listening to Breakneck songs.
I was getting more acquainted with Breakneck’s music, memorizing the albums and the song names, who wrote which songs, and learning the lyrics. I wanted to know my client and his body of work as well as any fan. As of the official press release I’d be putting out soon, I was Johnny’s publicist. Which meant that anyone, at any time, might ask me something about him, and I did not want to be caught without an answer. Or at least an understanding of what they were referring to.
I had a video call with Yash, who seemed cautiously optimistic about having me onboard. My last name—Elle’s last name—seemed to have currency with him, as it did for most people I’d met in the music industry.
Mostly, I fussed over the press release, trying to paint my client in the best light possible. He was a passionate, talented rock star with legions of fans, and he couldn’t wait to put out his next album. That part was true enough. We’d address what was going on behind the scenes in more detail as it became appropriate to do so.
