<p><b>Copyright © Morticia Knight 2018. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Pride Publishing.</b></p>

“He’s the one I want, Ed.”

Tapping his index finger on a photo of the author of a Rolling Stone magazine article, Aubrey King stared down his manager.

“Shouldn’t the two of you meet first, see if you click before you make such a momentous decision?”

Really? Has the man ever met me before?

Aubrey didn’t answer. He merely raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips ever so slightly. The look was one he’d learned over the years would make almost anyone fall at his feet, make them clamor for the privilege of doing his bidding. Ed, fans, straight men…

“Ed, please. Bryan Gallagher is the man who will write my memoir. I don’t want to waste any more time on this subject. Give his agent a call and set something up—the sooner the better.”

“But what about Conrad Jensen? He’s very edgy and has a lot of buzz right now. I thought he did a great job on your comeback interview.”

“I hate that shit, Ed.”

Ed sighed. “What shit, Aubrey? Am I using too much industry speak for you?”

“God, yes. Please stop.”

“Aubrey, I’ve managed your rock singing career for, what, twenty years? I’ve been there from the first hit Falling in Stereo ever had, through the gruesome break-up then all the way to your glorious comeback.”

Aubrey snorted. “I’m reserving comment as to how glorious this comeback actually ends up being.”

Frowning, Ed continued, “Regardless, I’ve used industry speak that entire time. It’s as ridiculous to criticize me for its use as it is for me to question whether you should do something when you’ve so obviously already decided.”

Ed arched his eyebrows back at him and Aubrey let out a bellow of laughter.

“This is why we’re so perfect together.” Aubrey chanced a sly peek at Ed and winked. “As manager and client, that is.” He ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. “And you also know how much I despise labels. Categories. Boxes that people are forced into. It’s what killed the band.”

After the music had become dulled and artificial due to the endless demands of touring, recording and the pressure to crank out the hits, Aubrey had needed to take a break, re-evaluate everything. All he’d ever wanted was to make music that mattered, music his fans yearned for. The other band members strongly disagreed, since only he and Chuck—the lead guitar player—wrote any of the songs. The tours were how their bandmates made the real bucks.

Aubrey had tried to convince them to give the band a breather, that it would become revitalized and would be best for everyone in the long term. However, the party rock star life his bandmates had been living had made it impossible for them to take any breaks—their money had already been pissed away. Everyone, with exception of Jimmy, the bassist, had all decided they could do just as well by going off on their own and forming solo projects. However, their plan hadn’t worked out the way they’d hoped.

In Aubrey’s case, he’d taken the time off he’d proposed the rest of them do. His disillusionment with the industry had been so all-encompassing that he’d stayed off the music radar for close to ten years. It remained to be seen if he could ever recover from his self-imposed absence.

He glanced up to see Ed gazing at him, nodding.

“I know, I get it. You take care of your music, I’ll take care of the business. If Bryan Gallagher is who you want, I’ll make sure you have him.”

Aubrey lifted the corners of his mouth in a satisfied smile. It wasn’t about him being a prima donna. It was about knowing what the best course of action was for him. Bryan Gallagher’s writing style, his taste in music, his understanding of the emotion behind rock ‘n’ roll—all of it made the sexy young writer he’d been lusting after the only one who should tell his story.

At least the parts I’m willing to reveal.

* * * *

In the spot where he sat at the busy West Hollywood outdoor café, the sun blazed in Bryan’s eyes. Even with his shades on it was uncomfortable. He could tip his head to one side so the blue and white striped patio umbrella blocked the glare. However, he would have to keep shifting the angle of his head and body in order to prevent himself from being blinded as the sun descended to the horizon.

His primary goal for the upcoming hour was not to make a complete ass of himself in front of his all-time favorite singer—rock god Aubrey King. The thought of the star’s name alone made Bryan shiver. When he was only twelve years old, Falling in Stereo’s third album had come out. Even though they’d been popular prior to that, the record-breaking success of Drive Another Nail In had eclipsed their previous achievements and made them superstars.

Falling in Stereo—and more significantly Aubrey King—had become an absolute obsession for Bryan even though he was already a huge music lover. The combination of the intensely personal lyrics and dark-edged alternative rock Aubrey created had touched Bryan in a way that nothing had before or since. He credited the singer with being the one who had inspired his dream of becoming a rock journalist.

Eventually, Bryan’s fanatical love of music and the artists who created it had led him to aspire to more. He wanted to one day be considered the ultimate rock historian. So far, he’d been fortunate enough to write two critically acclaimed rock bios, and also had a very popular music blog. Essentially, he was considered the expert on any rock-music-related topics. Yet, he’d never interviewed—or even met—his writing muse, the man who had single-handedly led him to the love of his life, music.

Only Conrad Jensen had the potential to rival him as a writer in the rock music world. The author had scored an exclusive interview with Aubrey right as he’d been beginning his bid to make a comeback. Aubrey had emerged from his self-imposed retirement to embark on a solo career and there were plenty of people waiting to see if he still had it after being absent for ten trend-changing years. At forty-two years old, Aubrey was no longer the fresh young face of alt rock, the leader of millions of angst-ridden teenagers. It remained to be seen if he could transcend musically into a more mature songwriter while still retaining his core base of fans.

Bryan mulled over his current situation. At any moment, Aubrey would be approaching him to discuss whether Bryan would be given the opportunity to collaborate with Aubrey on his memoir. When he’d received the call from his agent, he’d assumed it must be a joke. No one on the inside had known Aubrey was considering such a thing. To think he might get to work closely with his idol on the personal details of his life was more than he ever could have imagined for his career. For himself.

I can’t get too worked up before he even gets here.

Bryan was grateful he wasn’t currently in a relationship. Any woman he’d ever been with eventually tired of his all-consuming drive toward his career—some quicker than others. Many had claimed it was like sharing him with a particularly voracious mistress. He’d tried to only become involved with women who were as enamored of music as he was, but so far, he hadn’t met anyone he was that interested in who attached as much significance to the deep inner meaning of songs as he did.

God, Aubrey’s songs were so much more to him than simply a set of words to a driving melody. It was as if they dug deep into his soul and embedded themselves there. When he recalled some of the fights he’d gotten into over the years due to his obsession with the rock star, he’d never understood why some had suggested that what it really amounted to was him having a big hard-on for Aubrey.

He snorted to himself. It was rather silly. He’d never thought of a man that way, had never even considered experimenting. Besides, he knew plenty of guys who became hardcore fans of a male musician or a sports figure without wanting to do them. It didn’t mean anything other than an appreciation for that person’s talent. His elevated heart rate and kid-like excitement over seeing his rock idol at any minute was nothing more than a strong dose of fan worship.

A flash of light, possibly a reflection, drew his attention and he glanced up. The moment he spotted Aubrey winding his way through the café tables, he was transfixed. As the singer sashayed across the patio, his steps were performed with the same panther-like grace he’d used for many years on stage. Bryan had always assumed it was a part of his well-practiced act. Yet it appeared so natural on him that Bryan couldn’t discern whether it was how he’d always carried himself, or if it had become a part of him as his years in front of an audience had gone by. His lithe body with long limbs and torso were the perfect vehicle for his languid movements.

Aubrey sported a pair of black sunglasses that couldn’t conceal his sharp and chiseled features, but did keep Bryan from detecting how much his face may have succumbed to the inevitable onset of aging. Having carefully hidden from the public eye for the previous decade, there weren’t many recent photos of him available. He wore a loose, teal-colored shirt buttoned only part way up with what appeared to be a black tank underneath. The ensemble topped incredibly skin-tight, dark-chocolate-hued leather pants that rode low on his hips. The barest hint of a pelvic bone peeked out of the top of his waistband on one side where the edge of his shirt fluttered in the light breeze, and Bryan quickly lifted his gaze.

A bronze medallion of some sort of sun image dangled around his neck on a long black cord. His brown shaggy hair hung a bit past his jewelry-adorned ears—about two or three inches shorter than he’d worn it in the past—and was embellished with red streaks. Bryan could only make out parts of the ink he knew was emblazoned across Aubrey’s chest. A teaser of the flames, a fiery wing, a talon—all pieces of the intricate phoenix that was Aubrey’s most talked about tattoo. Bryan had to admit that the vision approaching him was like all his rock ‘n’ roll fantasies coming true.

Bryan attempted to swallow, his throat uncharacteristically dry. He took a quick sip of water right as Aubrey neared and wished with all his might he could see Aubrey’s expression behind the dark shades. Bryan rose and extended his hand once Aubrey stood before him. Aubrey paused, appearing to consider Bryan’s offer before clasping it with both of his own hands. Aubrey squeezed him gently one time then let go. Bryan’s throat was still as dry as ever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to croak anything out.

“Mr. King, thank you for the opportunity to meet with you today.”

His voice had only cracked in the slightest, and he was able to sit down without knocking anything over or missing his chair entirely and landing on the ground. He had interviewed some of the biggest names in the industry and had even been invited to attend a special dinner party at the White House. Yet nothing in his travels or experiences compared to the thrill of meeting Aubrey King for lunch at a small café in Hollywood.

Once they were both seated, Aubrey relaxed into the cabana-style wicker chair. He draped his arms loosely over the rests, his legs crossed at the ankles of his leather, pointed-toe boots as he eased back, his body angled slightly toward the aisle.

“Please, Bryan, I feel enough out of touch with the scene as it is. Call me Aubrey. And I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. Your flight in from New York was comfortable?”

Oh, my fucking God. I’m having an actual conversation with Aubrey Fucking King. This is so insane.

It was too bad he didn’t know anyone—not even his agent—who could fully and completely appreciate the enormity of the moment and how it affected him personally.

“Very comfortable, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Aubrey.”

Aubrey pushed his glasses onto the top of his head and Bryan was met with his intense stare. The one Bryan had been mesmerized by for countless years whether on a CD cover, during a concert or when watching a video. He could picture those sea-green eyes in his sleep and now he was gazing into them in person.

“You look exactly like your photo.” Aubrey raised one eyebrow. “Bryan.”

Bryan blinked a few times. Was that purposeful, is he mocking me? He shifted in his seat. God, don’t fuck this up whatever you do. Don’t be weird.

Bryan did something he never did. Typically, he was relentless and purposeful when it came to an interview. No star could get the best of him. He always made it known by his body language alone he wasn’t intimidated by their status. However, Aubrey wasn’t simply an interview. He was everything, as far as Bryan was concerned.

Bryan shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he attempted to gather his thoughts. He clasped his hands tightly together and placed them on the table in front of him in a futile effort to keep still. Aubrey’s gaze flitted down at his clasped fingers then darted back up to catch Bryan’s eyes. The slightest quirk at the corner of his mouth indicated to Bryan that Aubrey knew he was nervous.

“This café is a bit too crowded today, don’t you think, Bryan?”

Aubrey tilted his head to one side and propped his chin on the heel of his palm. The simple gesture had Bryan hypnotized.

This is fucking ridiculous. I’ve been instantly transformed into a giddy teenager. What the hell?

“Um, it is a bit noisy. Is there somewhere else you would prefer to take our meeting?”

“Have you eaten yet?”

What? “No. I came straight from the airport. I was concerned I would be late, so I didn’t take the time to get anything.”

“And you didn’t order because you were waiting for me?”

Bryan frowned. “Of course.”

“What if you’d been waiting for someone other than me? For instance, your agent or a girlfriend or one of your buddies?”

Still perplexed, Bryan went with the inquiry as it somehow seemed important to Aubrey. “I still wouldn’t have ordered. That would be incredibly rude, no matter who I was waiting for.”

For the first time ever, it appeared to Bryan that he was the one being interviewed. He needed to snatch back the control.

Aubrey scraped his teeth over one side of his bottom lip. The action was yet another thing Bryan had seen him do over the years. Aubrey continued to eye Bryan, an expression forming across his features that seemed to indicate he was pleased about things between them. He wanted the assignment with Aubrey so badly that he hoped he wasn’t reading satisfaction into their exchange out of sheer hope.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Aubrey said as he was standing.

Bryan quickly rose to his feet, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out his wallet so he could drop a tip on the table. Before he’d had the chance to remove it, Aubrey had tossed down a hundred-dollar bill and was in full stride, leaving the eatery. Bryan picked up his pace to go after him, replaying in his mind all the Aubrey King trivia he’d gathered over the years. Now, he had the extraordinary chance to experience a myriad of private moments with his idol from the mundane to the spectacular.

By the time Bryan reached Aubrey at the valet stand, he’d decided he needed to get his journalist hat firmly back in place. Aubrey whipped his head around and the singer locked his gaze with Bryan’s once more. It was that look. That stare. It penetrated him, laid him bare. He’d rhapsodized to others over the years how it elevated Aubrey above other rock idols. No one could convey their soul the way he did.

“Are you hesitant to come with me, Bryan?”

He attempted to maintain an even, unrevealing tone. Instead, the first part of his response was similar to a strangled squeak.

“Of course not.” He cleared his throat again. “I’m more than happy to come with you.”

Fuck. Walked right into that one.

Aubrey grinned a wicked little grin and Bryan’s journalist hat was missing altogether.