Page 1 of Madden

Chapter One

Brielle

I can’t fuck this up.

As we pass through the neighborhood, I peer out the window at the stunning homes behind gated entrances with stone pillars and statutes, each with freshly manicured lawns.

We pull up outside of a black wrought-iron gate, and Davis presses the button to the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Yes, it’s Limelight magazine. We’re here for our interview with A Rebels Havoc.”

“I’ll let you through. Please come to the front door.”

The gate opens, and we pass through, down the long gravel road to the circular driveway and park.

Davis whistles when he leans forward to take in the beautiful home.

“Here I thought I’ve been saving myself for a hot shot financial banker or some successful real estate investor, when I should’ve been looking for a sexy rock star.”

I shake my head. I’m not sure what I expected when we showed up here, but it wasn’t this. Black shutters surround two large windows with a balcony on the upper level, a pillared entrance, and black and gray brick below.

I imagine taking in the view of the sunrise each morning with a cup of coffee and the sun glistening on the water.

“You ready to kill this thing?” Davis asks, bringing me back to reality.

He’s overly chipper this morning. Something I’m not quite ready for.

I mumble, “Ready as I’ll ever be,” while mentally trying to hype myself up for what’s to come.

It’s just the two of us, and it’s my first assignment. I can’t believe my boss thought to stiff me with this interview on my first week.

“You have plenty of experience in the industry, Brielle. You’ll kill it. I have all the faith in you,” Sawyer sang, tapping on the doorframe before she disappeared out of my office.

She didn’t give me a chance to protest.

Davis adjusts the bag on his shoulder and bumps his arm against mine.

“Let’s do this damn thing.” He grins.

We take the stone steps up the front walkway to the door. Davis hits the doorbell, and I clutch my bag holding my notebook against my side. I run my hand over my blazer down to my skirt to calm my racing heart.

While I may have years of experience, this job is something new for me entirely. I’ve never done a sit-down interview with anyone, much less the members of the biggest rock band in the country.

We stand outside, taking in the trellis of vines climbing up the brick exterior, waiting for someone to answer, but no one does.

“Where are they?” Davis peeks into the doorway, looking for any sign of movement.

“What the heck? Don’t they know we planned to be here at two o’clock?” I grit out.

I’ve done my best not to let my distaste for A Rebels Havoc show. I’ve always thought of them as a bunch of arrogant, womanizing pricks.

“You’d think so,” he says, shrugging. “Should I ring it again?”

I glance around, searching for any indication someone is even home.

“We have the correct address, right?”

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