Page 2 of True Stars Collide
Not exactly Baby Dolls attire.
Krissy clapped her hands together. “Let’s put the image issues on hold for a minute. If we’ve got a plan for that, are you guys unanimous in wanting Zoe?”
“Hell yeah. We’re ready to get this album recorded. The songs are ready, we’ve already laid down some of the tracks. Time to tour again. It’s been way too long.” Ben waved his long-neck beer bottle and took a swig.
“Like I said, yeah,” André smacked the cymbals for emphasis.
“Liam? If I can guarantee we’ve got not just Zoe’s image problem covered but also a plan to diffuse the issues from the interview you gave claiming Austin was returning, you in?” Ian quirked a brow.
“Yeah, dude, the fans are still pissed at that bait and switch.” Ben shoved back floppy ginger hair from his forehead.
Liam held up a hand. “Mate, I took a gamble.”
A gamble? Zoe bit the inside of her cheek. Last month, a big news story dropped that Austin Michaels was returning to the band after leaving three years ago when their drummer, Tommy Ash, had overdosed. In fact, Austin had zero plans to return, and the fans had been outraged.
“Liam,” the band’s general manager snapped.
“Fine, yeah. If you’ve got some magic strategy, I think she’s worth at least a trial run for this album.”
Asshole. Of course he couldn’t just say yes. Although now wasn’t the time or place to call him on it. She knew how to play the game. Winning did not involve arguing with the guy in charge of her destiny.
Because if Liam said no, the band would keep looking. He was the heart and soul of the group and had the final word. She’d bide her time. Once she was in, she and Mr. Bad Attitude would have a little chat.
“Awesome. Liam and Zoe, let’s meet at my office in an hour. We’ll share the plan because you’re both involved. We’ll get it sorted this afternoon and fast-track recording the new album and cementing the tour schedule. Deal?” Ian was all business.
“Perfect. I’ll see you there.” Joy filled Zoe’s heart. Finally, at the ripe old age of 27, she was going to perform on her terms. No more hiding herself behind a fake image.
How outrageous could the PR plan be?
CHAPTER 2
Liam parked, ripped off his helmet, and stepped off his prized Harley. He stared up at the neon green monstrosity that housed the band’s general manager’s office. Whoever had designed that shit should be drawn and quartered. Call him old-school but he hated the glass and concrete jungle that made up Los Angeles.
He strode to the entrance and through the glass and chrome fun-house lobby to the elevator. At least Ian had the fucking top floor. The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside. And lo and behold, Zoe “Pop Princess” Hastings stood in the corner, her tawny cat eyes wide.
The doors closed silently behind him. Four floors alone together until they met with the team. Great. He nodded at her, not keen on starting a conversation. Yeah, he knew he’d been a dick, but why try to hide his true colors?
“Hi Liam,” she said in her sexy as hell voice.
“Hey.” He leaned against the elevator wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
She brushed a strand of long ebony hair off her truly spectacular face. She wasn’t classically pretty, but you couldn’t take your eyes off her. From those huge tip-tilted golden eyes, high cheekbones, rosebud lips, down to her small pointed chin, she was arresting. Interesting. Compelling. He’d seen photos of her on tons of magazine covers in the past.
Then, she’d had shiny, bouncy Victoria’s Secret hair and polished perfect make-up. Like every other plastic looking Influencer chick out there. Yeah, the messy black hair, heavy eyeliner, and full sleeve tattoo did make her look more Blondie than Britney.
But an incredible voice and looks weren’t enough to erase her past.
Even with the dangerous curves she sported on her petite frame. Yeah, he’d noticed her ass in the supple red leather. Hell, a dead man would have noticed the way her tiny waist curved into that rounded perfection.
Tension simmered in the elevator, and he caught a hint of her perfume, something rich and spicy, jasmine maybe? He held his breath.
“So, I wonder what the PR team has planned to toughen me up? Give me a motorcycle? Have me trashing hotel rooms or chugging Wild Turkey for breakfast?” Her unpainted mouth quirked up at one corner.
He laughed. “Definitely the bourbon, as long as you drink out of the bottle, Jim Morrison style.” So she had a sense of humor. He could work with that.
“Oh yeah, I can channel Mr. Mojo Rising for sure. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to shed the teeny bopper image, so they can do their worst. My public image was never me.”
Huh, she seemed eager to convey that point. He’d wait and see. But he couldn’t deny she could belt it out. Wondered why the hell she hadn’t been in real music until now.