Page 18 of Ravaged For You

Winston’s not mentioning the fact that I am technically an assistant, not a publicist. He’s really laying all the responsibility of this at my feet, isn’t he?

“Potentially take care of us,” Drake replies with his perfectly smooth voice. I can’t get it out of my head that the last time I heard that voice was through the sound system of an arena filled with thousands of fans. “We still need to decide on who our band will go with now that we’ve left our old PR agency.”

“Right,” Winston says. “Of course. Hopefully, we can convince you to go with us.”

During the whole interaction, Axel does nothing else but stare at me, his green eyes indecipherable under his sexy dark fringe. He offers out his hand in order to shake mine. Somehow, by the unserious vibe he gives off when doing it, I feel like him offering his hand to me is some kind of joke for him. A dare.

He wants to see if I’ll do it. Some awestruck commoner.

I bet he can see the nerves in my eyes; the same nerves I imagine Ravaged see on a daily basis from other people when they meet them. Is there anything more infuriating than a man who thinks he’s above you just because he has a pretty face and a hot smolder that can burn through metal?

Well, I’ll shake your hand, mister. I can stand up for myself.

I go for it, but I also completely forget I’m holding a full mug of tea in my other hand. The mug tips forward, and all its contents go flying over the front of Axel.

“Holy moly.”

Those exact words fly out of my mouth as I watch the tea drip down the rockstar’s shirt and jacket.

So much tea.

At least it’s cooled down by now and isn’t burning.

Axel continues staring at me, seemingly unfazed by the liquid currently trickling down his front.

Oh, he’s going to be so angry…

Everyone in the office seems to hold their breath, afraid of what’s about to happen next. The rest of Ravaged look on with amusing smirks.

And I’m freaking the freak out.

“So sorry,” I stutter to the bassist. “That was totally my fault.”

His jacket is probably so expensive. I certainly can’t afford to pay him back for what I’ve done. A piece of clothing like that is definitely worth a few months of payday. I would have to work day and night to even think about paying for it.

Ha. If I even last that long in this job. I’ve screwed everything up.

I sense Winston glaring at me. I don’t want to even acknowledge him or his condescending expression. I know I have definitely fucked up.

Well, this is the end…

Axel then laughs. It’s so easygoing.

“I’ve never heard anyone say holy moly outside of an old English children’s book before,” he remarks, breaking the tension and making me feel like a total idiot.

“I am so sorry. I can clean this up,” I say, reaching into my pocket for a spare tissue. I go to dry the stain, but Axel immediately backs off.

“Don’t touch me, sweetheart.”

It’s a deep growl. A warning that hits me in the gut.

“Sorry,” I deferentially reply, but Axel laughs again.

“I’m just joking,” he sniggers. And then, without a single fuck given, Axel takes off his jacket. He drops it in a nearby trash can, followed by his shirt. “It’s no matter. I’ll just get a new one.”

He’s now completely topless. His toned body displayed gloriously right in front of me. My eyes – and those of the rest of the office - instinctively follow down his V shape straight to the rim of his skinny jeans. He’s wearing a metal chain around his neck. His chest is adorned with tattoos. Only inches from my face, I can identify them all so clearly. Sparrows, a deck of playing cards, a guitar, a vinyl record. A quote on the underside of his collarbone. Don’t let anybody get in your way. I wonder where that’s from. From what I know about the rockstar, it sounds very Axel. There’s a striped tiger on his left upper arm. A crystal and a winding river on his other shoulder. A cross down the top of his chest between his pecs. I think it’s fair to say he loves tattoos. I want to just reach out and trace my fingers over his hard muscles. Find out where those ink markings have come from and what they all mean. There must be a story behind each one, I guess. I notice, on his lefthand side covering his heart proudly, - the most prominent one - is a lightning bolt R tattoo.

Consumed with the irresistible naked torso in front of me, I’ve completely forgotten about the spilled tea, or even about the fact that everyone present in the office has been watching this strange little interaction.