Page 51 of Final Serenade

“Me too.”

Our lips lingered. We didn’t want to part, but he needed to leave before someone saw him, and I was tired and wanted to get some sleep.

Frank pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to me. “I believe it’ll be easier to communicate if I have your number.”

Eager, I punched in my digits and returned it to him.

“How’s your schedule the next few days?” he asked, his finger tracing down my cheek.

“My weekend is kinda stuffed. Levi and I have a lot to do. My Tuesday looks pretty light. Wednesday and Thursday I have events to cover.”

“Sounds like you don’t have time for me, Cassy Evans. My charm must be shit. I better come up with some new tricks.” His voice was a sexy tease. His finger moved beneath my jaw and he captured my chin.

“Are you expecting me to drop everything?”

“No. Never. That’s part of why I want you so much.” He kissed me on the lips. “I’ll call you in a couple of days. Think of something fun you’d like to do that you haven’t done yet. Just not the space shuttle.”

I caught the innuendo. My panties were a wet mess.Iwas a mess. Emotional. Physical. Spiritual. The damage had already been done.

Chapter Eight

Frank didn’t call. Not a couple of days later. Not a week later.

With Ashton staying with me, my life was crazy enough without having to worry about an arrogant ass of a rock star who apparently had dropped off the face of the earth again. His last public appearance was at El Capitan. Jay Brodie still sent updates on the upcoming Hall Affinity album. The new single release was slated for late November. Yet the internet hadn’t seen a new photo of Frankie since he crashed the KGLT event.

No emails from [email protected] popped up in my inbox either.

All this only strengthened my belief that men were indeed a different species, rich men even more so, from a faraway galaxy who spoke a language all their own. In my world, if we said we’d call, we usually did. Or at least texted. Apparently, in theirs, it meant something else.

Still, the silence stung. In my rare moments of weakness when my sexual frustration and genuine worry assumed control of my brain, I wanted to email him, but my pride told me to suck it up and be a strong, independent woman. And my pride, like my gut, was my guide. My compass. I wasn’t going to let Frank, or whoever he thought he was, break my stride.

Instead, I threw myself into work.Rewiredwas on a hot streak this month. Our numbers skyrocketed each time we posted Hall Affinity updates. Levi took advantage of the high traffic and tossed Isabella’s name onto the homepage to promote The Viper Room event.

He was very skeptical about my decision to bring Ashton to her show, but now that my brother knew my secret, I felt responsible for keeping it contained. Although something told me I didn’t have to worry about it since Frank was behaving like a brat.

Rock stars. Go figure.

We left Burbank early because Levi was supposed to meet us in West Hollywood at six and Friday traffic was heavy.

Ashton sat next to me and listened to my crash course on how to behave around people who worked in the industry.

“Rule number one.” I paused and glanced over at him to make sure he wasn’t on his phone. “You’re not a fan when you’re talking to an artist. You’re a professional. An artist doesn’t need to hear how much you admire his or her work when you’re establishing communication. Especially if you’ve never met each other before. They’re human beings and should be treated accordingly. Not like a crystal vase. Not like a god or a creature from outer space. You are not to ask them to sign anything, you are not to ask to take a selfie.”

“But you have,” he countered.

“I’ve been doing this long enough to have established a relationship with some of these people. That’s the key. Once you have a relationship established, you can take advantage of your connections, but you can’t expect people to accept you after one gig. You need to work your way up. It’s all about professional integrity.”

Ashton was quiet, and I had no clue if he understood what I was talking about.

“Look.” I sighed deeply and turned down the music. We rolled up to an intersection and came to a stop at the light. “Everyone who works in the industry is a fan. Each person was inspired by another artist. Art is what drives us, but you can’t let your feelings and your mouth be your guide if you want to make it. Your admiration needs to take a step back. You can’t show your weaknesses to other people. This is a cutthroat industry. There’s a lot of money involved. Millions. There are a lot of things you can’t talk about. You’ll be signing papers and you could get sued for breach of confidentiality. One wrong word and you’re out. Then you won’t ever be able to get a gig.”

“So I have to pretend?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you pretend?”

“Yes, Ashton. Sometimes I do. It’s for the greater good.”

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