Page 1 of True Stars Collide
CHAPTER 1
Zoe crooned the last few words of one of the most famous rock ballads of all time. She set the microphone into the cradle, stepped back, and squeezed her eyes closed. The room fell silent, each member of Black Velvet Machine quiet. One person started clapping and another joined in. One by one, they filled the studio audition space with applause.
She exhaled and opened her eyes. Krissy, her best friend and agent, stood across the room, wearing an enormous grin, her dark eyes sparkling with joy.
“That was bloody brilliant, Zoe. The best we’ve heard, isn’t that right, boys?” The bright blue eyes of Black Velvet Machine’s manager, Ian Sheldon, blazed with pure calculation.
Cautious joy battled with crushing anxiety in her chest. Could this really be happening? Would her dream of finally singing for an alt-rock band finally be coming true? No more harmonizing with the pop group she’d been forced to perform with ever again.
“Thank you. The song is so beautiful, it’s an honor to sing it.” No pressure––the ex-lead singer whose shoes she longed to fill had written it.
“Yeah, the ballad worked. What I can’t see working is you pulling the range on the anthems and heavier songs. How are you going to pull off Austin Michaels’ signature howl?” Liam Jones, legendary lead guitarist, smirked at her from across the stage.
The infamous blond rocker hadn’t said a word to her––not even hello––when she’d arrived. Nope, he’d flashed a scathing glance at her, his eyes frozen chips of bottle green glass, his upper lip curled in a sneer worthy of Billy Idol. He was renowned for his signature open chord progression style, earning comparisons to Slash and Jimi Hendrix. But while his musical genius was world-renowned, his surly attitude and sexual escapades were notorious.
“Liam,” André, the drummer who looked more like an NFL Linebacker than a musician, growled. “Shut it, man.”
Nobody else uttered a word.
Her battle.
Her lifelong dream.
So “Love ’em and Leave ’em Liam” didn’t think she could hit those high notes? Accustomed to being underestimated, Zoe merely flashed a smile at him. Time to wipe that smug smile off his too-handsome face.
“I’ll take that as a compliment and a challenge. Nobody can match Austin Michaels and I’m not gonna try. But I think you’ll be happy with the Zoe Hastings version.” The pompous British prick would eat his words and fall to his knees once she was done.
Because she’d prepared the band’s top ten hits before today’s audition. Besides, she’d been a fan for years, so singing with the band instead of in the shower was a dream come true.
“Did you prep Lightning Strikes?” Ben, the soft-spoken bass guitarist sporting a leather vest, asked.
“Ready when you are.” Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Singing for Black Velvet Machine was her ultimate gig. Failure wasn’t an option.
Liam grunted and muttered something under his breath, but kept his eyes trained on his Gibson. No time to deal with his six foot something of bad attitude right now. She’d survived singing in a five-girl pop band––she could handle anything.
André began the intro to Lightning Strikes, a loud thundering tempo and Ben and Liam joined in, setting her up. The song built gradually before exploding into fast, furious vocals and a pumping beat.
Now or never, Zoe. The music flooded her being, the seductive pulsing rhythm filling her. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, grabbed the mike, and let loose. She stalked around the stage, allowing the music to overtake her. She nailed every high note—hell, she nailed the entire song. Four minutes later, she dropped to her knees, and dropped the mic.
If that performance didn’t earn her the job, it wasn’t because she hadn’t rocked it. Her breath came in rapid bursts and her heart knocked against her ribs. She wasn’t tired, she was exhilarated. For years, she’d been obliged to sing the way others demanded. Today was about unleashing her authentic voice.
Ben stepped over and offered her a hand. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re in.”
“Thank you.” She accepted his assistance, although Ben wasn’t much bigger than she was, and she was 5’1. Well, without her four-inch boots anyway.
Krissy was fist-pumping in the air, Ian was nodding and rubbing the scruff on his jaw.
Liam stared at her with narrowed eyes, his chiseled lips pressed into a tight line. “Color me impressed. Nice range.”
Because of course he hadn’t bothered to listen to her demo tape. If he had, he wouldn’t have been so shocked. Or maybe he’d have assumed she’d auto-tuned the crap out of it. Either way, she’d take the praise, no matter how grudgingly he offered it. No need to antagonize him nor poke at the hefty chip on his shoulder. They didn’t need to become friends, but some form of respect would be nice.
“I’m with Ben. Didn’t think a chick lead singer would work for us. You’re dead on that nobody can sing like Austin, but that’s the past. Fans clamor for Austin and for Tommy. But they’re both gone. I’m the drummer now. I think you’ll help us bring Black Velvet Machine back, version 2.0. Liam?” André’s smooth baritone held conviction.
Liam scrubbed his hands through his shoulder length mess of blond curls. “Yeah, the voice and the performance work. But how many of our fans are going to buy into a pop princess as our front-person? I mean, for fuck’s sake, just a couple years ago, she fronted the Baby Dolls, they catered to little girls.”
Zoe’s lips parted but no words emerged. She’d had valid reasons for signing with the soul-sucking ensemble. After finally escaping the draconian contract, she’d spent the last two years laying low, penning new songs––songs true to her voice. But he wasn’t wrong––her image needed re-vamping.
So, she’d dyed her chestnut hair jet-black, finally sported her full sleeve tattoo the record company had forbidden, and wore enough black eyeliner to impress Alice Cooper. Right now she wore low-slung red leather pants and a ripped white tank top.