Page 22 of Forbidden Billionaire Rockstar

There’s a sharp knock on my door, and I lift from the bed while rubbing my eyes. The knock intensifies, becoming more erratic, and I glance at the digital clock sitting next to my bed. My heart races at the numbers staring back at me, showing that I only have thirty minutes to get myself to look presentable for the concert, and I jump from the bed.

“Coming, coming,” I say breathlessly, then pull open the door. Hilary is standing in the hall, an eyebrow raised as she takes in my rumpled clothes, and she rolls her eyes. “Hilary, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her impeccably pressed suit and perfectly coiffed blonde hair are a stark contrast to my disheveled state. Her piercing green eyes scan me from head to toe, and I can practically feel her disapproval radiating off her in waves.

She sighs and pushes past me, showing that she doesn’t need an invitation to make herself at home. “I want to make sure you’ve got everything covered for tonight once the guys get off stage.”

I swallow thickly and nod. “Of course, everything is going to be perfect.” The lie tastes awful on my tongue, but I can’t take it back now.

After nodding, Hilary gives me another look. “Get ready. We’ll meet you at the stadium.”

Without another word, she disappears from the room and leaves me alone to figure out what I’m going to do. I need to explore other options since I highly doubt there will be anyone with a significant following available to come to the stadium on such short notice — perhaps someone who isn’t as well-known.

My phone is lying on the empty side of my bed, and I scurry across the floor, snatching it up, and find the clock app on my home screen. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have woken up from my alarm. When I finally get to the alarm I set, my heart sinks, and I shake my head with a frown.

I’ve never made such a simple mistake before. Instead of setting the alarm for five in the evening, I set it for the morning — which means it isn’t going to go off for another ten hours. This is a mistake a rookie would make, but not me. I pride myself on being able to get my work done.

If it weren’t for Jace and the feel of his lips haunting me, perhaps I would’ve been able to do what I was supposed to do. I glance at the time at the top of the screen and shake my head with a sigh. I don’t have time to worry about this. I have to be at the stadium soon, and I’m not anywhere near ready.

Once I am backstage, I’ll worry about everything.

This is a mistake that could cost me my job.

And it’s all because I couldn’t keep Jace out of my head. One kiss, and I’m risking everything I’ve worked for. Is this what I’ve become? A lovesick teenager masquerading as a professional? The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

I've always prided myself on my professionalism, on being the composed, competent woman who could handle anything. But now? One kiss from Jace, and I'm unraveling at the seams.

Part of me wants to give in, to let myself fall into the intoxicating whirlwind that is Jace. But another part, the part that's fought tooth and nail for this career, is screaming at me to get it together. I'm torn between the woman I've become, and the woman Jace makes me want to be.

And I'm terrified of what choosing either path might cost me

The interview was supposed to help Sweet Surrender gain traction while they were on tour, and I could’ve ruined any chance they had at that.

***

The backstage area is a din of sounds - the distant roar of the crowd, the metallic clang of equipment being moved, and the low murmur of crew members. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, everything seems too bright, too real.

The line rings on the other end of the phone as I pace back and forth along the lounge room located backstage. There’s a plush couch, the one I was sitting on earlier today, but I can’t bring myself to sit down.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to perfect my ponytail, and I had to go with leaving my waves down. Every few seconds, I run a hand through the thick strands, desperate to do something with my hands because I can’t believe that it would turn into this much of a disaster.

As soon as the guys get off that stage and realize I didn’t do what I was supposed to, they will fire me without a second thought.

This was important for them.

Brent came by once, asking me if everything was okay, and I briefly explained before telling him I had to figure this out. He left me alone quietly, although I could tell he hated that there was nothing he could do, and for a moment I thought about asking him for a favor. With Raising Havoc being as popular as they are, I’m sure any of the radio shows would jump at the chance to come here for them — I don’t want to use my brother, though.

I need to prove I can do this.

My neck prickles with awareness, but the automated voice message system that greets me on the other end of the phone forces my attention away from it. I stab my finger against the red button, then quickly go to the next number on my list before bringing the device back to my ear. For a moment, the ringing stops, and my heart soars at the idea that I may have finally gotten hold of someone, but it’s quickly replaced with another ring.

Another voicemail.

This time, when I end the call, I toss my phone onto the couch and press my face into the palm of my hands while I think about what I’m going to do next.

All I can do is prepare for the worst. There’s nothing else I can do.

I’m screwed.

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