Page 4 of Knocked Up by a Rockstar

He leaned even farther forwards, trying to catch my eye. His voice was seductive, a low purr. “Perfect. Then you can have a word with me somewhere private.”

I looked sideways at him. The proximity was a little intimidating. By god, he’d aged well. When I’d last seen him, aged eighteen, he still hadn’t quite grown into adulthood, his features. Now, he was broad rather than lanky, chiseled rather than gaunt.

Wealth made beautiful people beautiful, I guessed. In which case, I dreaded his opinion of howI’daged, since I’d spent most of the two decades since our last meet being broke as fuck.

An involuntary shiver ran down my spine. I realized I could smell him – not his aftershave, or his hair products, or whatever it was rich people used to smell nice. No, I could smell the scent of his skin, the musky, salty scent of years of my life, of my obsession with the boy who had held my hand and guided me into his sparkling life, then just as easily dropped me from it as if I were dirt.

I shook the ice cubes in my glass again, sending them tinkling. “No thanks. I’m headed home.”

The barman swept past us to the other side of the bar, raising his eyebrows at me as he went. The clientele of the bar were giving us a wide berth. I shook my head to indicate I didn’t need any help, and he shrugged and served a customer on the other side.

Sylvester drummed his fingers onto the bar surface, the rings on his fingers jingling and clacking against it at he did. “I know who you work for.”

I looked sharply to him, then over to the bartender, who had turned his head slightly in our direction at that sentence and was clearly listening in. I sighed as casually as I could. “You can have a quick word with me outside. Then I’m getting a cab home.”

He stood up. “I can drive you.”

“No thanks. Come on, then.” I slid off the bar stool and wrapped my thick black coat around me, checking the pockets to make sure I still had all my possessions with me.

Then, I beckoned him to follow, and I headed for the exit, giving a lazy wave around at the other patrons of the bar. I knew a lot of them. Not well, but they were familiar faces. I received a few confused waves in return, then pushed my way out through the swing door and up the stairs that led to the noisy street outside.

When the doors swung shut behind us, I rounded on him halfway up the stairs. “How’d you find me?”

Illuminated by the shadowed daylight, he was even more handsome. Age had given him slight lines – crows feet, and a little furrow between his brows. Smiling or frowning, that was generally how Sylvester was. Never passive. “I have my ways.”

I scoffed. I would do well to remember that this man was a threat, however nice he smelled, however special he had once made me feel. “Of course. Do your ways include ‘money’?”

“They might do.” Sylvester sniffed haughtily.

My body was betraying me. I felt a flush rise to my face, my chest. I pulled the coat tighter around me so as not to let him see the effect he still had on me. “Out with it, then. What do you want?”

He was frowning at me, his soft brown eyes slightly puzzled. He pushed back his hair with his right hand, the rings on it gleaming against the daylight, and looked up at the noisy street. “I thought I’d get a better greeting after two decades.”

I held my arms even tighter into myself, as if I were cold, though the day was mild enough. “Did you? You must have been a bit deluded, then.”

He stared back at me, and I felt his eyes taking in every detail of me in the fading daylight. I crossed my arms and tucked my head down, trying to block myself from view. I wasn’t a woman who liked to be looked at. If I could’ve chosen, I’d be totally invisible.

He shook his head slightly, blinked, and clasped his hands together in front of him, those rings clacking together again. “Fine. I want you to not work on Apollo’s next book.”

I looked up at him and laughed a slightly mean laugh. “That’s not surprising.”

He frowned, serious. He was as earnest as he’d been when discussing the intricacies of his favorite songs, or the most underrated members of bands he adored. “I mean it. The things he said in his book are both slanderous and dangerous. You’re putting people’s lives at risk here.”

It was easy to get caught up in Sylvester’s opinions, his passions. He was by nature a charismatic man, and his passion only added to it.

But I was determined not to be swept away in the current of his charm. “By people’s lives, do you mean your poor reputation?” I pouted in slight mockery. “I’m sure you can take it.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t know anything about your client, do you?”

I shrugged and smiled. “I know quite a lot. It’s all in the book. Have you read it?”

“Oh, yes. It was certainly inventive.” He looked up as a motorbike roared past, then fixed his bright, sharp gaze back on me. “Look, whatever he’s paying you, I’ll pay you more, plus the cancellation fee, whatever it is.”

I rolled my eyes, avoiding the intensity of his gaze, which could become mesmerizing if I met it for too long. “While it’s tempting to not have to even work for my money, I can’t do that. I have a career to uphold. I’m fairly sure if I pulled out, Apollo could destroy my reputation. Besides, I don’t want to do that. I like the guy.”

Sylvester blinked, and then shouted up at the sky more than to me, as if cursing the gods for some ill deed. “Youlikehim? You like Apollo Brock?”

Ah, there was his sore spot. Well, it’d be a waste not to push it. I grinned as if I didn’t know what I was doing. “Yeah! He’s funny. What’s wrong with that?”

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