CHAPTER
TWO
LIAM
Staring at my reflection in the mirrored door of the elevator, I cringed. In the time span of six months, my life had gone from rock bottom to hellfire. I didn’t even know someone could sink as far as I’d been buried.
And the woman who currently held my balls in a grip so tight it was just this side of too painful to be pleasurable, was standing next to me, scowling at her cell phone.
Figuratively. Not literally. Anne Marker wouldn’t get anywhere near my nuts. Not only was she married to Don Marker, owner and CEO of Marker Entertainment, she was also old enough to be my mother.
She was also the best music agent in the business. She took scrubs like me, found in dirt hole bars plugging away at their dreams and sleeping in our rusted-out Buicks all over Los Angeles, and shot us to the top before the ink was dry on our first contracts.
“I still can't believe you’re forcing me to do this.” In the mirror, my lips curved into a sneer. Where was the damn elevator? The sooner I got this shit over with, the sooner I could get drunk.
Anne didn’t spare me a glance as her fingers violently flew across her cell phone’s keyboard. “Suck it up, buttercup.”
At six-foot-two and a solid muscle mass of two hundred and twenty pounds, no one would dare to call me a buttercup.
I would let Anne get away with murdering my childhood dog if she thought it'd help me out of this mess. At least, I would if Sparky was still alive.
Also, Anne didn’t give a shit. I was the top musician in the country, topping charts and carrying off more awards and trophies from awards shows than I had room for. Anne's only job was to save my ass and bring me out of the seventh layer of hell.
You'd think after some woman accused me of rape, and then withdrew her allegation once there was absolutely no evidence found to support her claim, would have been enough to save me. But apparently, people who didn’t know me from Jesus and who only read what they saw in grocery store checkout aisles didn’t fully believe rock stars like me didn’t go around sticking their dicks in unwilling women.
Please. I got enough pussy offered I didn’t have to take what wasn't mine to have. I wouldn’t even consider it without millions in my bank account.
“This still sounds ridiculous. A woman for a year? The thought makes my balls want to shrivel and die.”
Anne tucked her phone into her purse. “Grow up. You know the game.”
Media. PR. Social media. Public image. I only wanted to make good music and blast it through a microphone into a screaming stadium of thousands.
Anne was right, though. I was sounding like a spoiled, rich prick and I was neither of those things. My mama taught me better. And besides, I’d been successful enough without having to play the media game. After five years of being constantly in the public eye, I was due for a scandal.
“You sure this is the right thing, though?” When Anne first mentioned Infidelity to me, I balked. The whole concept was crazy shady. What would the press do if they found out I hired an exclusive, highly paid escort to pretend to be my girlfriend just to wipe away the rumors of me being a rapist?
Fuck. I pulled my hands down my face. How in the hell did my life turn into this?
The bell dinged right as Anne's foreboding words echoed the ring in my ears.
“Buttercup, this is the only thing that can save you now.”
The bitch of it is, she was right.
“Let’s just get this over with.” As soon as the doors slid open, I stepped into the doorway and was immediately met with a tiny, lithe brunette rushing right into my chest before I could bring my hands up to stop her.
“Oh, shit,” I grunted from the impact and reached for her, but her phone went flying and she was on her ass, sprawled out in front of me before I could grab her.
Damn. A glance at the lobby told me no one noticed. I quickly squatted to help her up. If anyone saw me, a woman at my feet, knees spread wide from her fall, it’d be on tabloid covers in hours.
“Are you okay?” I asked, holding out my hand.
She glanced up, eyes on my hands and as if she recognized me from my knuckle tattoos alone. Her eyes widened, skin paled, and mouth opened.
She dragged her gaze up my arm until our gazes met. Holy fuck she was beautiful.
I almost fell to my own ass from the impact of her beauty. Rich, chocolate eyes, framed by long, brushed to the side bangs and held back with a clip. Hair almost as dark as her eyes. I had a full view of her alabaster skin as if it’d been untouched from the sun for her entire lifetime.
