“Shit. I’m sorry,” I say.
The space is filled with leather jackets, heavy cologne, a faint hint of alcohol … and testosterone. Lots of that.
As I try to steady myself, my eyes land on him. All six feet of lean muscle, tan skin, and caramel eyes. Wolf is standing directly in front of me, a smirk on his face as he looks at my hands on his chest. Jesus.
Someone in the background mumbles with a foreign accent, “No worries, love,” but it doesn’t sound sincere and no one else speaks, making the moment even more awkward than it was before.
I remove my hands from Wolf’s chest and turn to face the closing door, hoping to hide the heat rushing up my neck. It’s strange how the presence of a rock star changes the energy in a room. What was once stale, boring air is now electrified and magnetic. I want to face him again to get a good look at him and attempt to recover from that disastrous first impression.
Spinning toward him, I plant a smile on my face and meet his stare. “Mr. Wolf, I should introduce myself. I’m Lyric Cassidy, road manager for your upcoming tour.”
His smirk fades and is replaced by a crease between his eyes. He stands silently. Is this some kind of power move? I’ve seen Wolf a million times in magazines, on TV, on billboards, and on T-shirts everywhere. Hell, I’ve spent my life surrounded by rock stars. If this guy thinks he’s going to intimidate me, he’s wrong. Very wrong.
“Nice to meet you … Lyric.” He releases my name with rasp in his voice and a flick of his tongue. My eyes are on his mouth now. Such a beautiful mouth. Slightly parted and lifted at the corners. Just enough for me to know he’s enjoying himself.
I steal a glimpse of the tongue that just held my name. It’s gliding across his teeth in one slow sweep. As my eyes track the movement, I have to swallow against the roll of my stomach. Holy hell.
That's all it takes for me to know I’m in a knee-deep shit pile of trouble.
I look around at the chuckling bystanders, who are obviously amused by our exchange. I’m assuming the entourage surrounding Wolf includes his band and manager. They’ve surely seen the way women react to their frontman, and they think I’m one of them. I can’t wait to prove them wrong.
My eyes move back to the man with the accent. He wears a suit jacket and jeans, ready for business. “You must be Lionel.”
His eyes light up with mischief and a hint of annoyance. “You would be correct.” His accent is thick. British. Or Australian. I can never tell the difference.
I don’t think he’s my biggest fan. It doesn’t surprise me considering I’m a female in a typically male role. Now I just want to irritate him.
“Should I call you Lion for short? Or are animal names reserved for your boss here?”
I smile at my own joke as laughter erupts from the people all around—except one. Peering back at Wolf curiously, I’m stunned to see a smile slowly forming on his lips.
“He goes by Crawley. No nicknames needed,” Wolf says, his tone striking me below the waist and reverberating through me with every syllable.
All right. So the rock god can take a joke. That’s good.
By the time we’ve made it to the top floor, I’ve concluded that Lionel Crawley, the band's manager, is British, and I’ve introduced myself to the entire band too. I almost forgot their keyboard player was a girl.
We exit the elevator into the lobby of the executive floor, which hasn’t changed much since I was last here. The walls are bright red with orange accents and black trim. The Perform Live logo, 3D against the back wall of the room, screams importance.
We’re greeted by the receptionist and guided to the very last room at the end of the hall with a spectacular view of the bay. As everyone takes their seats, I gravitate toward the window, taking it all in. It’s funny—open air heights terrify me. But this, standing behind a pane of glass that protects me from the fall… This, I can handle.
I can’t wait to get out on the road. It’s views like this, and emotion-filled rock tunes like what’s streaming in from the conference room speakers, that give me an itch that can only be scratched by the rush of life on the road. Seeing a different city every day, bunking it on the bus until we can’t hold out anymore and need a night of hotel room luxury, watching the stage setup, hearing the excitement of the crowd, and driving away from the venue with our veins still pumping with adrenaline.
It’s all a beast buzzing inside of me. Energizing me. Driving life through my every aching bone. Beating down the walls of my chest. I’m always craving for more of it all. More sights. More sounds. The rush of the mob, fans crushing each other to get where I am. To get closer to the band.
That crazy adrenaline that comes with being on the road. Yeah, it makes up for the shitty beds and the lack of closet space.
“You stare as if you’ve never experienced it.”
Wolf’s husky voice tears through my thoughts and brings me back to the conference room. I jump and look to my right where Wolf approaches without making eye contact, his arm nearly brushing against mine.
I swallow against my throbbing pulse. “What?” I understand his question; my answer is just taking a bit longer to form after the vibrations from his nearness took over my body.
He chuckles. “Have you ever explored the city? I could show you around. Maybe after dinner?”
My head snaps toward him, and I'm ready to unleash. The moment dinner is mentioned, I have a flashback to Tony and how that relationship all started with an innocent dinner and far too much wine. Hell no.
Fortunately, I’m prepared with a comeback. I knew this was coming, but I honestly expected it to take a little longer than five minutes. It appears I’ve underestimated him.
“You and I”—I point my finger first at his chest and then at mine—“are not going to dinner together. There will be no sightseeing trips or accidental drunken encounters. I am your road manager. I coordinate travel, keep your merchandise stocked, coordinate with the venues, manage the books, and keep you organized. Is that clear? Dinner. Is. Not. Happening.”
Wolf surprises me by shrugging his shoulders and stepping back. He’s laughing, and that only pisses me off more. “Okay, okay.” He throws his hands up. “For the record, I wasn’t asking you out. You’re not my type.”
I’ll be honest. I didn’t expect those words to come out of his mouth. They sting a little since he’s obviously talking about my looks. He knows nothing about me.
I’m still blushing as he continues. “Seeing as you’re the road manager, I thought you'd be joining us.” He waves a hand around the room. “All of us.”
Luckily, everyone is too engrossed in their own conversations to witness my humiliation. “We’re going out for a bite after the meeting, but feel free to sit this one out. And the offer to show you the city was me being nice because we’ll be here for two weeks. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I got the impression you’re no stranger to enjoying life through a high-rise window. You look like you need some fun.”
Well, don’t I feel like a complete fool? I narrow my eyes, needing to redeem myself somehow. Wolf will not get the better of me. I open my mouth to respond but he’s already backing up, telling me he’s over the conversation.