Page 1 of Rock My Girl

CASSIE

I've always loved puttering. Cleaning, arranging, organizing. It makes me feel fulfilled, even when it isn't my own stuff.

I did my third lap of the photography studio, grateful that I’d found an extra gig this week. I spent too much time hidden in my tiny apartment retouching product shots and didn't get out into the real world enough. Sure, I needed the cash, but the real reason I took this last minute photographer's assistant job was to learn more about the process from an expert.

When I’d arrived half an hour ago, the receptionist had rolled her eyes when I said I was working for Tom Wilson before letting me into his studio. That didn't seem like a good sign.

After completing the list of instructions I'd been emailed, Tom still hadn't arrived, so I took it upon myself to clean and organize things in a logical way.

The huge room was far too quiet. I went over to the sound system and switched on the local rock station. A song came on that I hadn't heard in ages and I was practically dancing as I ran a broom around the main part of the space, singing along to the parts I knew well, and making up lyrics for the parts I didn't. It was a silly thing I always did.

Music always made me feel alive, even though I couldn’t tell you why. It was just a feeling. It made my feet move faster as I swept the rest of the room. I was one of those people who had a secret desire to sing on an album someday, and I belted it out, imagining that I had an audience.

A favorite song came on next, so I sang a bit louder, changing the words in the chorus, and adding more lines to the bridge that I felt were missing.

"I like your version better."

My head snapped around to see a tall man in a black leather jacket leaning against the door frame.

"I've always wished the bridge was longer." Smiling, I put away the broom. "It would give the last verse even more punch, you know?"

His smile changed, from amusement to…something else. "I can always record another version, if you like."

As I came closer, it was difficult not to stare. Those rich brown eyes were positively breathtaking. He looked vaguely familiar, with a sexy modern scruff of beard, and thick brown hair cropped close on the sides.

"You must be Tom?" I asked.

He shook his head, then extended his hand. "Ford."

Oh my god.

Ford as in Ford Walton. The rock star.

And I had just been singing his biggest hit right in front of him, changing the tune and the lyrics. My cheeks blazed with heat.

"Cassie. Cassie Clement. I'm so sorry. I'm Tom's new assistant. You must be the model today?"

"Yeah." He came into the room and dropped his shoulder bag on the couch, looking around at all of the photography equipment. "The studio wants to start dropping new photos while they prep my next album launch."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Just between us, I think a lot of the promotional stuff is total bullshit, but I'm supposed to smile and play along."

I smirked. "I understand completely."

Glancing at the clock over the door, I was surprised to see that Tom was over twenty minutes late.

Ford followed my eye. "I'm usually a bit late myself," he said. "But this Tom guy should be here by now, right?"

"Yes. I’m sorry. I can check with the receptionist. Would you like a coffee?"

"That would be great – just black, thanks." He plopped onto the couch, casually stretching out his legs.

Ford moved like a dancer. Or a panther. There was something ridiculously sexy about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was purely physical, and had nothing to do with him being a famous singer.

I hurried down the hall to the bored receptionist. The lobby and coffee room area were quiet.

"Tom still isn't here," I said. "Did he call? Did something happen?"

She laughed, tapping her long fuchsia nails against the desk. "That drunk often doesn't show up at all. He only makes it to about a third of his shoots these days."

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