Louder Than Words ✨ Guns N' Roses

08.

I put on my least 60's hermit outfit (a black pencil skirt, heels and a tucked t-shirt) and stared at myself in the mirror. I hadn't had time to straighten my hair so it was a curly mess, and I had accepted it.

I had everything I needed, my notebook and lots of pencils. Chewing gum. Mints. My bedroom at Angelique's was like something out of a 30's era movie, with outdated furniture and sheets. The bed had a canopy and really plush pillows, and it was much bigger than my room back home.

The old house was big and creepy, I'd yet to explore it all.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I rode in my cab to the studio. I was definitely not taking the bus, I didn't wanna risk having a famous rock star see me get off of it, so it was worth the money.

Slash's challenger was parked on the corner. I glanced through the windshield and saw him, with W in the passenger's seat. The window was cracked to let out the cigarette smoke. He nodded to me. W smiled, which surprised me.

I took a deep breath and walked into the studio, a small place Rolling Stone had set up across town from headquarters to keep the A-listers from distracting the employees.

When I walked in I'm told my 'client' is waiting in the green room down the hall. I took a deep breath in and out as I walked, and promised myself I'd behave. I had my list of questions drawn up by Laurel, and I was gonna stick to it.

I put on my brave face and opened the green room door.

He was sitting on the couch, eating a handful of M&M's. He was dressed like you'd think a rockstar would be, all in leather and jeans, sunglasses tucked into his Twisted Sister t-shirt. He looked at me and I almost stopped breathing. Those navy blue eyes seemed to hold so much intelligence, perfectly framing his beautiful face.

He stopped chewing when he saw me, clearing his throat a little.

Next to him was a man in a suit, someone I presumed to be his manager. The man stood and looked at me curiously. "You aren't Laurel McCormick, are you? You seem a little young to be someone of that... stature."

"Oh no," I said evenly. "She sent me in her place. I work for her at the office."

"She really should've called ahead and arranged for this, how am I supposed to-"

"Dude, relax." Jon's voice was smooth and soft. "This is fine. Even better, I might say. Why don't you wait for me out in the lobby?"

"But I thought we discussed that you wanted me to-"

"Go, and we'll be done soon," he asserted hastily. His eyes explored me so blatantly, I didn't know what to do with myself.

The manager reluctantly left the room. And then I was alone. With Jon Bon Jovi. While he stared at me, grinning through a mouthful of chocolate. Let's just have that sink in for a second.

I went to the chair set up beside the couch he was sitting on, but he stopped me.

"Why don't you sit next to me?"

I looked at him. "What?"

"It's a big couch. I'm kinda lonely over here by myself, you know." He winked and I shivered.

"You just kicked out your manager," I chuckled.

"Yeah, well he can be a bore."

"Aren't interviews?"

He looked up at me. "Why you say that?"

"Just... answering a whole bunch of questions about yourself, you know. Repeating the same thing to different people. Just figured it must get old sometimes."