Wrecked

Three

I scan the room, hoping to engage in some people watching while Alyssa leaves my side to meet the band. All of the guys seem to be here, except for the front man. I haven't seen him once since he left the stage.

I've learned Gareth is the guitarist. He seems to pull in women like a magnet, and the girl from earlier is no exception. His hands lie firmly on her ass while she whispers god knows what in his ear. Then, there is Anthony who prefers to be called 'Ant'. His long dirty blonde hair has been tied up into a bun, and he's currently playing tonsil hockey with a busty redhead. Neil is the bassist. He strikes me as the tamest of the group. His attention doesn't seem to be on getting laid, but rather tuning his instrument and periodically hitting a bowl.

I dip my fingers into my drink and swirl the ice cubes around the glass. If I was wearing a watch, I'd be checking the time every few minutes. I was counting the minutes until we could get the hell out of here before I caught some unspeakable disease just from being in the general vicinity.

"Unimpressed?" A deep voice asks, and I am pulled from my thoughts.

When I find the source of the question I am surprised to see the lead singer standing much too close for comfort. I take a step back, "Quite, actually."

"I can tell." He states flatly.

We stand in awkward silence for a few moments.

"Should I be?" I finally ask.

He shrugs, "Most girls are."

I laugh, "I'm sure." He seems surprised by my remark.

"You seem unfazed by all of this. Not your first rodeo backstage, I'm assuming." He retorts.

I raise an eyebrow. His insinuation gets a rise out of me, but I have a feeling that was his goal. "Not used to meeting women that aren't starstruck groupies, I'm assuming."

When he clenches his jaw I know I have landed a shot to his ego. My mouth curves into a smile, "I know plenty celebrities, and they're just people." I gesture towards the harem of women fluttering around his band mates, "If they want to treat you like your gods, that's fine. But at the end of the day, you're just a guy with a record deal and a tour bus."

He looks me up and down. The look in his eyes is hard to decipher. I can't tell if it's disdain or hunger. Either way, I'm not interested. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

"You know plenty celebrities, huh?" He asks, challenging me.

"I'm a publicist." I lie. It's not like I'll ever see him again, so what's the harm in stretching the truth a bit. I mean, I will be a publicist. "That means I see right through all this shit."

"Interesting." He leans in to me, and I find myself clenching my thighs together in an attempt to sooth the ache. How is he having this effect on me? "Do you specialize in musicians?"

Well, Mr. rock star at this very moment I wish very much I specialized in musicians... in more ways than one.

I shake my head, "Not particularly. At the moment I'm revamping the image of a socialite gone wild."

"So, in your professional opinion how's my image?" His tone is low, and I can feel a shiver crawling up my spine. I have never been one to lose myself because of a guy, but Jesus this man in particular is an Adonis.

Confidence, Juliet. Just fake confidence. "You're obviously going for the unattainable and mysterious vibe, and judging by what's happening in this room it seems to work for you. I'm not a fan of the oiled up rock god thing, but that all comes down to personal preference. You have a specific target audience, and you cater to it. If I had to guess, pulling back women from the crowd for a more intimate fan experience is just another ploy by your management to keep in line with the rock star persona. However, I doubt you mind. The tight leather pants, the groupies, the oiled up skin, and rebel without a cause attitude? It's all rather predictable if you ask me."

I can't tell if he is intrigued or offended by my assessment, and I wonder if I laid it on a little too thick.

"And you feel a different approach would be more beneficial to my brand?"

I bite my lip and consider the question. "Probably not. In your world sex sells. I'm sure a straight-laced rock star wouldn't be very appealing to the masses. In fact, you're sales would probably tank the moment you stopped dry humping models in your music videos."

I meant that last part as a joke, sort of.

A smile appears on his lips. "What's your name?"

"Juliet." I say, growing more aware of our closeness with each second. I can't explain it, but there is something about this man that makes my insides quicken. Keeping my cool is no easy feat.

"Ryan Knox." He says, introducing himself. They way his deep voice purrs out his own name is intoxicating. "So, Juliet. Who do you represent?"

Fuck.

Abort mission. The last thing I need right now is for my bosses to get a call that I was talking shit to one of the biggest stars on the planet.

As if on cue, Alyssa throws her arms around my shoulder. "Holy shit, it's you. Hi. I'm a huge fan."

I have never been more thankful for a interruption.

"Ryan, this is Alyssa. My best friend." I nod in her direction and he flashes her a wicked smile. I roll my eyes.

"Hello, Alyssa. Your friend was just schooling me on my image. Tell me, do you find me mysterious and unattainable?" He directs the question to her, but his eyes never leave mine.

She giggles nervously. "Uh, sure. I guess."

"And, predictable?" He continues.

She shakes her head, "Oh, no! I think you're incredible. You know, like really incredible."

I wasn't sure how to feel about her fawning over him, but I push away the unwelcome possessiveness just as quickly as it came on.

"I don't know, it seems like I may need to fire my publicist. Clearly I'm been steered in the wrong direction. Tell me, Juliet. Which firm do you work for? Or do you own your own? It seems you have quite a bit of knowledge when it comes to branding a rock star." It's clear he's testing me, trying to figure out if I can back up all the shit I've been spewing out.

"Oh! Jules isn't a-" I grab her arm before she can reveal that I've just bullshitted my way into a very precarious situation. I can just imagine the look on his face when she finishes that sentence.

"Jules isn't a publicist, she's just an intern."

Not to mention our company has never even come close to representing someone of his magnitude.

"Alyssa, it's getting late. I need to get home. That proposal isn't going to finish itself." I say, my eyes pleading with her to catch on.

"Oh, uh... yeah. Your proposal. For your client, your famous client. Because you're a publicist." She says.

Jesus. And she wants to be an actress? Remind me to sign her up for the next improv class I can find.

Ryan's face gives away his amusement.

I begin to drag my best friend towards the exit. "It was nice to meet you!" She calls out to him.

"You too." He replies with an annoying smirk. "And Juliet, I hope to see you again."

When we are finally outside the fresh air slams into me. I let out a deep breath and try to steady myself.

"Oh my God, Jules. Ryan Knox was flirting with you. Like, really fucking flirting with you." Alyssa squeals.

His parting words to me didn't seem like flirting. In fact, it felt more like a warning.