Too Many Rock Stars (Access All Areas #1)

TOO MANY ROCK STARS

ACCESS ALL AREAS SERIES

BOOK 1

by

Candy J. Starr

Copyright Candy J. Starr 2015

All rights reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental

I woke up cranky, as you do when someone disturbs your precious dreams. Who the hell was in my office anyway? This was the off-limits part of Trouble, even when the club was open – which it wasn't. I jumped up, ready to brain the intruder with whatever was closest to hand. I reached out and found my boot, hurling it at the spot the noise had come from.

"What the fuck, Violet? Are you insane?"

"Razer, what the fuck are you doing in here? Get the fuck out."

"Settle down. I'd just dropped by to see if you could slot us in soon. We need to play some more gigs. We're getting restless."

The bulk of him in the doorway blocked the light from outside. He was a big guy, the kind of guy women swoon over. If you like that kind of thing. Tall, dark, chiselled cheekbones, close-cropped hair, and a hard body covered with tattoos kind of thing, I mean. I know women who'd kill for a night with Razer but I wouldn't be joining that queue.

"More like you've run out of money. And there's this invention. It's pretty amazing. It's called the telephone. You should look into it sometime. And, hey, once you master that, you can move on to this other amazing thing called the Internet. In fact, there are a heap of amazing devices you can use to communicate with people nowadays without ever having to leave your house. Go try them and I'll see if I can fit you in somewhere."

I just wanted him out of my office. When I call it my office, you have to understand that I'm being very generous with that term. It was an office in the way that offices have desks and chairs and that people work in them but that was about it. This room was little more than a broom closet, buried deep in the back of the building. The room had thin wood panel walls, one with a hole punched through it, and the room stunk of stale beer.

I had a ratty old desk and a chair. The sofa I used for my naps had been dragged out of the club when it'd gotten too busted up to be safe. There was a hole under the cushions and, if you didn't sit on it just right, you could end up buried in it. I'd thrown a blanket over it so my skin didn't come into contact with the fabric, because fuck knows what cocktail of fluids had ended up on it.

There was no window and the place was hotter than hell. I'd had on my electrical fan on but turned that off when I'd decided to nap because everyone knows it's dangerous to sleep with a fan going. Even with it going, it just moved the hot air around.

I rubbed my eyes, all hope of sleep gone now. It'd be 5am at the earliest before I got to bed. It was fine for guys like Razer. They could nap when they wanted. Seriously, if you want to ask someone a favour, you should do it by letting them sleep.

Razer moved into the room and leaned against my desk. I hated that. Butt germs all over it. He let a lazy grin unfold over his face. Like that could charm me. Then I noticed the full force of his attack. The t-shirt that highlighted his muscular body, not quite long enough, so that when he reached up, I got the glimpse of the curve of his hip bone.

This guy was a piece of work.

That kind of shit had no place in my office though. I never dated rockers. Never slept with them. Never even swapped spit. I'd been in this job long enough to know what a bunch of screwed up, egotistical jerks they were. Some of them might seem okay
at first
but that's just because they've learnt to hide it better than others. The deeper you dug, the more arsehole you’d find buried there.

I had a job to do and there was a hard line between work and play. Don't shit where you eat.

"Is that all you wanted?" I said, waving him away. Really, he'd been hanging around just a bit too much lately. I didn't like the way he thought he could infringe on my space. There had to be something up.

He'd moved so close, I could smell him. Even my nose was being invaded by him. Strangely, he didn't smell of sweat like I'd have thought. There was something else missing too. I sniffed again before realising how weird I was being. Rockers, they have this smell. You pick it up even if a dude is behind the counter in a bank working his day job. Something like the lingering undertones of sour mash whisky mixed with late nights and an overinflated sense of self-worth.

Was he even a rocker?

I'd seen him on stage, singing and playing guitar, and he could sure rock the hell out of the place. Nothing missing there, that's for sure. When he was on stage, even I gave him a second glance. Occasionally. When no one was looking.

"Yeah, that's what I wanted. Is there anything wrong with that?" Then he winked at me.

When Razer winked, his face fell into sexy creases and his slight dimple showed out. That damn dimple. It gave him a boyish charm that softened his whole look and stopped him from seeming like nothing more than a mountain of muscle.

"Yeah, there is something wrong with that. You know everything is wrong with that. Because you are overstepping your boundaries. This is my office and – stop looking at me."

He leaned over with a leer in his eyes. "Well, you are sitting there in those skimpy little shorts. You have amazing legs, Violet. A man could write songs dedicated to your legs. Although I’d write them about your eyes…"

"Of course I'm wearing skimpy little shorts. I was expecting to be in complete privacy. There's no air-conditioning in here, in case you hadn't noticed, and it's pretty damn hot."

"We could make it hotter." His eyes twinkled.

I glared at him. He was not helping his cause. Now that he'd brought the topic up, the office seemed even stuffier.

With Razer's leer getting leerier, I pulled down the legs of my shorts. They didn’t pull down far enough though. They really were skimpy, mainly because no one ever came into my office. I just left them in my desk drawer for times when it got too hot to be bearable or for napping situations.

I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me. I was far too hot for a blanket but at least it covered my legs.

"Do you want to ever play a gig here again? Because if the answer to that is yes, you will stop talking right now."

Damn rock stars. They thought the way to my heart was through my pussy, like they'd be doing me a favour by sexing me up. The reality of that was so far from the truth. They could keep their bodies and their flirting and calling me babe. Just once I'd like someone to bring me cupcakes. Not sexy times and not drugs, but a nice little cupcake with frosting on top. Or, you know, peace and quiet so I could nap. I folded my arms over my chest. I needed to get this guy out of here.

"Who let you in anyway? The club is shut. Not open. Closed for business."

"Drew. He's doing the cleaning."

"That little jerk. He knows better."

Drew was the bus boy/cleaner/dogsbody. He was in like two hours early for his shift because he was crazy conscientious. He sure as hell would not have the balls to tell Razer to fuck off. But the guy had to grow a pair sometime. You couldn't just have trash blow in off the street. I was at the club to work, not entertain random rockers.

For all he knew, Razor could be really dangerous instead of just having a big, jerky bad boy front. All those tattoos and the hard body, they didn't fool me. I bet he took his laundry home on Sundays for his mother to wash. That was the way of every “bad boy” I’d known.

Razer moved around the room like he owned the place, messing with my stuff. I had a pile of notes on the demos bands had sent in and he picked them up and started reading them.

I jumped up and pulled them out of his hands. That sort of confidential info was not for the likes of him.

"Can you just leave?" I asked. "There is nothing here for you, Razer."

I stared him down while he did that eye thing he does that I'm sure gets more panties wet than I could even count. I checked myself. Nope. Total dry panties here. He had no effect on me whatsoever. He could move that look on to the next girl he had in line.

Okay, that was a complete lie. He did get my panties a little wet and my heart pounding but there was no way in hell I'd ever admit that to him... or anyone else.

Our gazes locked and my body froze to the spot. I tried to think of a snappy comeback, something to break the moment, but my mind just buzzed with the smell of him and the closeness of his skin.

As he moved in closer, his lips almost grazing mine, my senses returned to me. I pushed him aside.

"If you're not going to leave, I will," I said. I grabbed my blanket and stormed out of there.

To get to the bar, I had to cross the store room. On one side, boxes of booze piled up perilously. Behind them, the back stairs lead up to the band room – my secret stairs so I could get up to the bands without having to squash my way through a packed crowd.

On the other side, the cool room rumbled. That thing scared the bejesus out of me. Maybe I'd seen one too many movies about people being locked in them.

Drew had started mopping out the store room and the floor was soaking wet.

"Watch out," he called.

But it was too late. My foot skidded on the wet tiled floor. In slow motion, I slid across the floor to the stack of boxes. I floundered, reaching out for something, before I ended up buried under a mountain of glass.

I was going to die.

Then strong arms encased me, holding me firm.

"Razer?" I asked, wondering where he'd come from.

"Razer?" a voice answered. A voice like a luxurious blanket that you wrap around yourself. Not a skanky blanket like the one in my office but cashmere or silk or some other fabric too rich for my blood.

I got myself onto my feet and turned to check out my rescuer. His voice sure wasn’t familiar and neither was the rest of him.

Long hair, long legs, leather pants, sexy insolence, and a hint of darkness that proved he was the antithesis of Razer.

He leaned back against the shelves like a sleek, pedigree cat. A lock of glossy black hair swung down in his face and he languidly tucked it away.

I knew every rocker in this town. Every single one, from the kids begging for their first gigs to the guys who’d forgotten the name of everyone who’d helped them along the way. I didn’t know this guy though.

This guy was no novice, that's for sure. He had that look, like he'd been around. But he'd not been around here.

"What's going on?" Razer walked out of my office.

The new guy stared at Razer with barely concealed disgust. Razer stared back, the threat of violence in his eyes.

I sighed, knowing this would be trouble. Big alpha male face-off trouble.

Razer sneered. "Leather pants in this weather? You must have some sweaty balls going on there."

Okay, that checked off far too many boxes on my gross out list. The new guy didn't react though, apart from a slight twitch of his lips. Then he looked at me with his soulful eyes, as though the gaucheness of Razer caused him physical pain. Soulful eyes, especially if they are the colour of a perfectly brewed coffee, are the most dangerous weapon in the rock star man-whore arsenal. Those eyes could set a girl on fire, zap her full of electrical current and leave her a burnt out shell.

I couldn't, wouldn't burn in them. I looked away.

The two guys moved closer to each other, chests puffed out and backs straight. They locked eyes and the stench of testosterone drowned out the beer smell. They'd start grunting before long.

The store room was far too small to contain their burgeoning egos. If I didn't stop them, man-ego would be leaking out through the cracks in the walls.

"There is nothing here for either of you. This is a YOU-free zone. Both of you." I waved at them, wanting them gone.

"Violet Mason? I was told you’re the woman to see in this town if I want to score a gig."

Wow, if his eyes were coffee, his smile was the whipped cream on top.

"There's contact details on the webpage. You didn't need to come in. I don't accept demos in person." I kept it cool, avoiding his eyes.

"This one you'll want to listen to," he said, flipping a USB stick at me. "There's footage of us playing on there too."

I caught it and put it in my back pocket. I'd listen to later, some time. I had enough work to be getting on with. A pair of sexy eyes didn't mean you could jump my queue.

"Listen, mate," said Razer, "You can't just waltz in here with your demo and expect to get a slot. There is a system. A process. I'm not even sure you'd make the kind of music that'd go over well here. Maybe you should just run along. Violet is very busy, you know."

Razer moved over beside me as though staking his claim. He leaned so close, the hairs on his arm tickled on my skin. That was way too close for my liking.

"Razer, I'm the band booker here – and you, you are the band that might never play here again if you don't watch your mouth."

The stranger's mouth curled a little. A half-smile lifting one side of his lips in an enticingly arrogant manner.

"Do you have a bio?" I asked him. I really just wanted to get out of the store room. The cold concrete was a killer on my bare feet and I was far too aware of the skimpiness of my outfit.

"It's on the USB but I've got a paper version if you need that." He handed me a sheet of paper.