You Really Got Me

Book 1: A Rock Star Romance

by Erika Kelly

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; New Adult Romance

Synopsis

The first irresistible novel in a hot new series about a rock star on his way up—and the woman he wants to take all the way…

Emmie Valencia has what it takes to be the music industry’s hottest band manager. She just needs to prove it. Determined to discover a killer new band, Emmie is ready to make her move. First stop: Austin, Texas.

As a sizzling-hot lead singer, Slater Vaughn has no trouble raising heart rates—but his band’s been flat-lining for years. When Emmie, his bandmate’s sister, crashes with them in exchange for some free management, her industry know-how lands them a spot in the biggest music festival in Texas. But it isn’t just her business acumen that catches Slater’s attention. Emmie is sexy and warm, and—for the first time in his life—he wants more.

But as irresistible as Slater is, Emmie is done with musicians. In her experience, a man can’t be a rock star and someone to trust with your heart—but Slater is determined to show her he’s both.

Release date: January 6, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 352

Sample

ONE

“Oh, bollocks, Emmie!”

Emmie Valencia’s boss hollered so loudly her teeth rattled. And there was a wall between them. She pressed the button on her intercom and said, “Be right there.” He could be such a baby.

Seconds later, the office came alive with excited voices and laughter. Her coworkers hurried down the hall, heading for the foyer.

Frontierland was back from their tour. Which meant . . .

Alex.

Her gut twisted hard. Briefly, she imagined ducking under her desk, maybe dashing to the mail room. But, of course, she wouldn’t do that. She could face him. No big deal.

In fact, that’s exactly what she should do. Talk to him as casually as she did the rest of the guys. She hated the way people looked at her whenever he came into the office. Besides, they’d ended it months ago.

One of the interns popped breathlessly into her office. “They’re here.” Her features flushed, she mouthed, “Flash,” and pretended to fan herself. Then she darted down the hall.

Emmie smiled and shook her head. Even though they worked with bands for a living, everyone got all goofy and fawning when the artists came in.

Except Emmie, of course. She’d grown up around musicians. She saw beneath the glitter to their tortured, attention-craving, twisted souls. Everyone wanted a piece of them, to be the one to get in, breach the barrier. To win their hearts. But she knew better. They didn’t let anyone in. Not really. They drew people in with their dazzling charisma and then pushed them back when they got too close. Loving an artist hurt.

Obviously, she’d thought Alex would be different. They’d grown up together. Their parents were best friends. Silly girl. Musicians were musicians. She’dknown that.

As she pulled papers from the printer, she heard, “Emmie!” in a far more upbeat tone than her boss’s. She spun around to find the boys from Frontierland crowding into her office.

Crap, was Alex there?

She’d keep her cool. Treat him exactly the way she treated the other guys. No big deal. Because he was no big deal. Not after what he’d done to her. Lifelong friendship be damned.

“Great job, you guys,” she said, as the drummer pulled her to him. They played an outrageous mix of rockabilly, country, and country rock, so they dressed like badass banditos in leather, vests, and straw cowboy hats. “Have you read the reviews yet?”

“Brenda doesn’t make those fuckin’ scrapbooks like you do, man.” The keyboardist pushed through the others to give her a hug. He smelled of whiskey and patchouli.

“Why couldn’t we score Irwin as our A&R guy?” another one asked.

She winced. Her boss wouldn’t sign them because she’d been dating their bass player.

As the next guy leaned in for a hug, Emmie made a quick scan of their faces. No Alex. Good. But right when the rhythm guitarist belted his arms around her and lifted her off the floor, Emmie caught sight of him.

Alex Paulson, clad in black leather pants and a stretched-out white T-shirt, flirted with the new receptionist across the hallway. Emmie hated that he’d do it right in front of her, of course, but mostly she couldn’t believe he thought so little of their relationship that he actually felt comfortable doing it. Like their time together hadn’t really counted.

It had to her.

Flash, the lead singer, yanked her out of the other guy’s arms and said, “There’s my girl.” Gorgeous in a rough way, Flash had gotten his nickname because in the middle of every show he asked the girls in the audience to “flash me your tits” so he could take a photo on his phone and post it on the band’s website. Classy. “You gonna marry me yet?”

“I think I’d rather marry your fiancée. She’s hot.”

Just as his hand skimmed down her back heading for forbidden territory, she jerked her hips and pulled out of his embrace.

“You’re no fun, Emmie Valencia.”

A sharp pain sliced into her heart. Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the office where Alex and the receptionist shared a quiet laugh. “So I’ve heard.”

“Hey.” Tilting his head, he gave her a concerned look. “I’m just playing with you.”

“I know.” She smiled, hoping to brush away the uncomfortable moment. God, she had to get ahold of herself.

“But if I can’t get you to marry me, then can you at least get me one of those bags you got Irwin’s kid?”

“You want me to score you the latest Hermès purse?”

“For my fiancée.”

Emmie let out an exaggerated sigh. “What did you do this time?” She whipped her hand up. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear. And you don’t need me to do it—just get yourself on the list. Make a call like I did.”

“Oh, come on. We’re stuck with Brenda. She doesn’t do shit for us. Besides, I don’t have your connections. You make shit happen.”

“Yes, for Irwin. And I don’t have connections. I make them when I need to.”

“I could make shit happen for you.”

Their gazes caught. Behind his incessantly flirtatious vibe lived a shark of a businessman. “You offering me a job, Flash?”

A slow smile ate up his ruggedly handsome features. “Fuck, yeah.”

“What kind of job?”

“What kind of job you want?”

Wasn’t that just the question? She didn’t want just a job. She wanted inside. Eight years on the periphery of the music industry as Irwin Ledger’s personal assistant was enough. She needed to take that next obvious step to A&R coordinator—discovering bands, working with talent—and Flash couldn’t help her with that. Only Irwin could.

“Flash?” his bandmate called. “Leave Em alone and get in here. Bob’s waiting.”

“We’ll finish this convo later.” Flash started to go.

“Hey, can you close the door behind you?” She didn’t need to watch Alex flirting.

Unfortunately, Flash followed her gaze, got an eyeful of Alex and the receptionist, and then looked back at her with a hint of pity. He pointed a finger at her. “Golden rule, baby. Never get involved with the talent.”

She smirked. “So we’re not getting married?” So much for her resolve not to make people uncomfortable. “You know what? Leave it open. I haven’t said hello to Alex yet.”

He gave her an appreciative smile before taking off.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” her boss shouted. “Emmie?”

“Coming,” she said into the intercom box.

“I can’t imagine what’s taking you so bloody long. I have a crisis, Emmie. Cri-sis.”

She pressed the button. “Crisis as in you scuffed your favorite Bruno Magli chocolate suede loafers and they don’t make them anymore so you need me to call the designer himself and get a pair custom-made? Or crisis as in the drummer from Wicked Beast fell off the wagon again and can’t make the show tonight so I need to get to the hotel and get him sobered up?”

“You mock me. I count on you, and you mock me.”

She smiled. “Two seconds.” Grabbing her iPad, she spun around to the door . . . only to catch the receptionist pressing her body against Alex.

Oh, hell.

Memories slammed her. His hard chest, the spicy scent of his soap, the creak of his leather. How many times had she held him just like that?

Alex’s hand wrapped around the woman’s waist, pulling her tight against him. That moment of intimacy, the way Val conformed her body to his, the way her hands cupped the back of his neck, her features soft—it struck Emmie right in her core.

It was so intimate, so sensual. And it hurt. God, it hurt. Because she wasn’t sexy like Val. She just . . . wasn’t.

Tucking the iPad to her chest, she leaned back against the wall, out of sight. Why did she let him affect her? It wasn’t like she missed him or even wanted him. He’d cheated on her.

The sex is fine. It’s just not . . . you’re not wild, you know? You service me.

She cringed remembering his words.

A guy wants more than that.

Oh, God. She couldn’t bear the memories. She charged out of her office. Just as she turned into the hallway, she saw Alex capture Val’s leg, his hand cupping her thigh, as he murmured against her mouth. Val curled around him, her expression sultry.

God. Emmie had never held him like that. Not with that kind of total abandon.

“Emmie?” Irwin shouted.

“I’m coming.” Seeing Val be the woman Alex had wanted her to be, the kind of woman who melted around a man, who lost herself in sensation, well, it just made it hard to breathe.

The worst thing was that she’d never felt that kind of passion, that urgency. Not for any guy.

She stood there a moment longer, contemplating barging in and greeting Alex, letting the whole office know she was cool with him. Letting him know he didn’t affect her anymore.

But then she realized something. She wasn’t cool with him. She wasn’t unaffected at all.

Because he flirted right under her nose with the receptionist.

And that was just a lousy thing to do.

Taking a deep breath, Emmie pushed off the wall and strode out into the hallway. She didn’t even spare Alex a glance as she hurried into Irwin’s office.

She came to a halt when she saw her boss’s expression.

Lips drawn into a taut line, he held the phone to his ear. She walked right up to his ultramodern chair, which hung from the ceiling like a hammock, and he looked at her with utter relief. Immediately, his features turned slack, and he thrust the phone at her.

Placing it to her ear, she had about two seconds to get up to speed, not having the slightest idea who was on the line.

“He wants me to be there, Daddy. I’m, like, his muse. He said he for sure can’t do his best work unless I’m there. Do you want this track to suck?”

“Caroline,” Emmie said. “Who’re we talking about?”

The girl exhaled roughly. “James. He wants me in the studio with him.”

Honestly, Emmie did not have time to deal with this nonsense. “James is a drug addict, Caroline. Your dad had to drop him from the label because he couldn’t fulfill his contract. Do you see why your dad wouldn’t want you hanging out with James while he’s out of the country?”

“So, what, I’m supposed to be all locked up because my dad’s out of town? I’m an adult.”

“Not when your dad’s paying your bills, including the lawyer he keeps on retainer for your indiscretions.”

“Oh, my God—”

“Last weekend the sound engineer got you so drunk you blacked out. Your dad and I spent seven hours racing around the city, out of our minds, trying to find you. You can’t blame him if he’s not comfortable giving you the run of Manhattan when he’s not around.”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about. Rory didn’t get me drunk. I thought I was drinking iced tea. I didn’t know they were Long Island Iced Teas. That’s not his fault. We were just hanging out. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be alone. You’ll be here.”

Tipping her head back, she blew out a breath. “Caroline. You know I’m going with your dad. Look, hanging out with James the drug addict is obviously out of the question, but let’s come up with a few—”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not what?”

“Going with my dad.”

“Of course I’m going with him.” She glanced to Irwin, found him examining his cell phone, swinging in his chair. He didn’t have a formal office, the kind with the big oak desk facing two guest chairs, a potted plant, and a filing cabinet. Why would he need a desk? No, he had a plush couch, a world-class sound system, a pinball machine, a dartboard, and a Picasso hanging on the wall.

Movement from the corner of her eye made her turn to the door. Alex stood in the threshold, a hint of remorse on his face. Her heart pounded, and her nerves tingled. But before he could take one step into the office, Irwin flew out of his chair, stalked to the door, and slammed it in her ex’s face.

Emmie smiled.

Irwin stalked back to the chair, gripping the metal arm, and set it off rocking again.

“I’m not talking to either of you anymore,” Caroline said. “I’m going into the studio with James because I’m his muse and he needs me. And if my dad doesn’t like it, then you can just come with us and hang out in the lounge.”

“I won’t be able to come with you because I am going to Australia.”

Irwin got up, leaving the leather and chrome chair swinging. He went to the built-in media center that took up one wall and got busy shuffling through his CDs.

“You’re not going to Australia! Dad said. God, why are you being such a bitch?”

Emmie closed her eyes, taking a moment before responding. “And so ends my efforts to help you. Here’s your dad.” With that, she handed the phone back to Irwin. “Hold your ground. She shouldn’t be anywhere near James Beckman.”

He put the phone back to his ear. “What did you say that made your auntie Emmie hand me back the phone?” His gaze kicked up to Emmie’s. “Nothing? Are you sure? She’s usually so indulgent with us.” His brow furrowed. “A bitch? Ah, well, then. I’m afraid you’re on your own on this one, darling. Must go, my love. Kiss, kiss.” He hung up on her. “Wretched child, isn’t she?”

Emmie smiled, knowing how he adored his only kid. But the smile quickly faded. “So, Australia?”

“Yes, right. Slight change of plans.” He ran his hand through his messy, floppy hair. Only the silver streaking through his dark hair made him look anything close to his forty-nine years.

“We’re not going?”

“That would be a total change of plans. Slight means only one of us isn’t going.”

“Irwin. We leave tomorrow.”

“Emmie, darling, I’m sorry, but I can’t leave Caroline alone for six weeks. I’m going to need you to stay here.”

Okay, wait. For months Emmie had planned this trip. Two weeks ago one of the producers had realized his passport had expired. She’d had to wave her wand, cast spells, and rub magic lamps in order to push his renewal through. She’d planned every detail down to the minute of their time there. Down to using MapQuest to find the coffee shops closest to the recording studios. She’d booked reservations, arranged delivery of industry periodicals to his hotels, and spent months researching and contacting up-and-coming bands.

Oh, and hang on. She’d spent last night packing for her boss. Yes, that meant handling his black silk boxers.

Not only that, but this trip meant more than assisting Irwin. She’d gotten him to agree to let her go off and discover some bands of her own. So she could finally get that promotion. But now, the day before departure, he was telling her she couldn’t go. Because . . .

“Wait a minute. You want me to babysit?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. You’re not changing nappies. You just need to look after her.”

“You want me to babysit your daughter.” She said it dully, lowering herself onto the plush leather couch. “I’m twenty-five years old, I’ve worked for you for eight years—” She flashed him a look. “Even as a high school intern I did more for you than your own secretary. And your best use for me is babysitting.”

“You make it sound so trivial. This is my daughter we’re talking about. And you’re more like a mother to her than her own mother.”

“I’m four years older than her. I’m not like her mother.”

“No, you’re better than her mother. And something’s off with her.”

Emmie narrowed her gaze.

“More so than usual. You heard her. She’s all screechy.” His phone buzzed, and he quickly answered it.

Coward.

She needed to get a handle on this situation. Heading to the window, she glanced out, pressing close to look down to the street twenty-seven floors below. If she focused on the steady stream of pedestrian traffic, the yellow cabs, the exhaust-spewing buses, she could tell herself he really was just looking out for his daughter. But she knew better. It was so much more than that.

Oh, hell, she couldn’t hold it back. The unbearable pain of being shut out again rolled in and threatened to just crush her. God, it hurt.

She wanted in so badly. Why was it so elusive? All these feelings . . . God, it was her childhood all over again. Being shut out of her dad’s world for not being creative enough, for not really getting him, had made her too sensitive to these slights. Because, truthfully? Artists didn’t have a lock on creativity. She had it, too, just in other ways. The whole reason Irwin valued her as his assistant was for her ability to think outside the box. She’d proven herself an Amoeba a hundred times over. So why did he hold her back? Sure, he needed her in this role as his assistant. But she could do so much more.

She knew she was lucky to work for the top A&R guy in the business. At the best record company in the world. She didn’t take it for granted, but she also knew it was time for more. If she actually stayed behind and babysat Caroline, she’d never break out of this role. At some point, she had to take the initiative and actually say no to one of his demands. She had to force him to see her in a more creative role, or she’d never have the chance to explore that side of herself. To unleash it.

Besides—hello?—he couldn’t function without her, so how could he get through the next six weeks on the other side of the world?

She spun around, pointing a finger at him. “What are you going to do without me?”

He looked alert then. Most of the time he had a dozen very important ideas going on in his head all at once, so it was nearly impossible to gain his full attention.

Those sharp blue eyes pierced her, and she knew she had it then.

“Right,” he said to the caller. “Emmie will get back to you later.” He stowed his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m taking Bax with me.”

Had she been standing on a trap door? Because the floor gave way, and she was in free fall. Baxter Reynolds had started as an intern five years ago. When Irwin hadn’t shown any interest in promoting him, he’d attached himself to Bob, one of the other A&R guys.

And now Irwin was showing an interest in him? Instead of Emmie?

She didn’t know what to say. “Bax?” How was Bax better than her?

His phone buzzed, but he ignored it as he came right up to her, close enough that she could smell the Christian Dior cologne she kept stocked for him. He brushed his hand down her arm. “I’m sorry, Em. As much as I need you with me, I can’t leave Caroline alone.”

“Where’s her mother?”

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? I can’t really count on Claire. But I can count on you.”

See? When he did that, she caved. Irwin loved his daughter, and who else could he trust to look out for her? His entire family lived in England. Flighty, gorgeous, sexy Claire Murphy flitted around the world on a whim, barely touching down long enough to take care of anything but her most immediate and impulsive needs.

But Emmie needed more. She needed in. She couldn’t stay his personal assistant forever. So what should she do? Of course, if Caroline were in any danger, Emmie would have to help. But the girl was twenty-one. And, sorry, but Emmie simply wasn’t her mother or her big sister.

She didn’t want to let Irwin down. But she was continuing to let herself down if she never took the next step—which meant taking charge of her own career.

She needed the promotion. “I’m not going to babysit Caroline, Irwin. You need me in Australia, and I need to go to Australia to see the bands I’ve been researching.”

He let out a deep sigh. “Truth is, you’ve set everything up perfectly, as you always do. You’ve got my every moment organized and arranged to the point that I don’t need you there.”

“But you need Bax?”

“You’ve given me the list of bands to check out, along with the scheduled times to meet them. So, yes, I need Bax.”

“I researched those bands.”

“From the privacy of your office. Bax lives it, Emmie.”

“You’re saying I’m not good enough to be promoted?” She felt the sting of it, like he’d doused alcohol on a blister. No, no, no. That was bullcrap. She wasgood enough.

“I’m saying that I need you right where you are.”

“And I need a career. Not just a job.”

His phone buzzed again, and this time he checked the caller ID. “I have to take this.”

“No. Please, Irwin. Not until we settle this.”

“It is settled, Em.” He said it gently. “I’m taking Bax.” He punched the button on his phone. “Yes?”

“Then I quit.”

Irwin’s eyes flared. His features burned crimson.

She stood there, letting the words settle around her. The only sound was her own breathing, the only movement the wild and erratic beating of her heart.

Had she actually done it? Quit her coveted job?

“Wait, wait, hang on a moment,” he said into the phone.

“I’m sorry, Irwin. I can’t keep doing this. You have no intention of promoting me.” Standing on the periphery hurts too much.

“You can’t quit.” He turned back to the phone. “Let me get back to you.” Without waiting for a response, he hung up. “You can’t quit.” He looked utterly lost and baffled. “Why would you quit?”

“I’ll find my replacement.” She turned to go.

“Good God, Emmie. You cannot leave me.”

“You’ve given me no choice.”

“All right, just stop this. Stop it right now. I can’t function without you, and you know that. You’re threatening me. That’s not a good way to get a promotion.”

“It’s not a threat. I told you I needed a career, and you told me you needed me right where I am. Fetching your Americanos and cajoling your landlord into letting you keep amphibians in your penthouse apartment isn’t a career. I can’t be your personal assistant the rest of my life. You get that, right? I’ve loved working for you, but it’s supposed to be a stepping stone. You’ve just shown me it’s a cage. I deserve more.”

He had a strange expression, like he was listening to an incoming message from an ethereal source. “It’s not right for you.”

“What isn’t?” He’d punched the accelerator on her pulse, making it rev so fast she went light-headed. This is not happening. He was not shutting her out of this world.

“A&R.”

“I . . .” She found it hard to take a full breath. But he was wrong. Of course it was right for her. She pretty much did the job anyway. Maybe not discovering the bands, but . . . oh, God. She needed to breathe. Deep breaths. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve been doing it for eight years.”

“Em, look, I have to get to the studio. You simply can’t quit. I won’t allow it. We’ll find a way to compromise, right? I want you to be happy.”

“I’m not happy babysitting your daughter.”

He winced. “Loud and clear.”

“I need to know there’s a place for me here other than going through your laundry room and drawers looking for a missing cashmere night sock.”

Looking pained, he touched her arm, ignoring his buzzing phone. “Let’s both think on it. Come up with a solution.”

“Am I going to Australia with you tomorrow?”

“No.”

She bit down hard on fear. It was scary as hell, but she had to do this.

“Emmie . . .”

She turned and walked out of the room.

TWO

It’s not like Slater Vaughn didn’t like lingerie. Hell, the only thing he liked better was peeling it off a woman’s body. So, when the panties started flying, he tried to convince himself that catching just one single pair and meeting their manager’s expectations was a no-brainer.

Clutching the microphone, taking in the screaming crowd as Ben doubled his beats on the high hat, he knew if he didn’t do it this time—if he didn’t snatch the underwear midair and pretend to breathe them in—the manager would bail.

And it’d be Slater’s fault. He’d drive off yet another one. Which, he was pretty sure, would mean the end of the band. How many could they go through? They were getting too old for this shit.

But hell. Sniffing random underwear?

Fuck it. He couldn’t do it. The panties landed like confetti around his feet. He looked toward the bar, across a sea of ecstatic faces, where John, the manager, yanked a bill out of his wallet and tossed it on the counter. He got up to go—just when Slater should’ve launched into the first verse of the song—and looked him dead in the eye. John shook his head with a bitter frown and strode out of the club.

Shit.

He didn’t want to see his bandmates’ reactions. He especially didn’t want to see Derek’s. The guys kept playing, and Slater tried to pick up the beat, find his way back to the opening, but he couldn’t. He had to know if he’d just put a bullet through the brains of the band. The other guys would probably forgive him, but while he loved them like brothers, they were just instrumentation. Snatch could carry on without them. Derek, though? He was the CEO of the band. If he’d had enough, if Slater had finally pushed him too far . . .

Derek would walk. He’d have to. He’d kept up his end of things—the bookings, publicity, social media. Christ, he was Eddie Valencia’s son—success in this industry was his legacy. What the hell was Derek doing with Slater anyway? Whose only legacy was failure?

The melody kept looping back, and each time Slater let it pass. Because he knew. It was different tonight—he’d sensed a change in Derek. A growing impatience. Was tonight the breaking point?

Time to find out. Slater turned—just as he sang the opening line, just as the crowd started screaming—and found Derek . . . jamming.

That’s it. Head lowered, fully concentrating on the bass. Not a care in the world.

What the hell?

* * *

After the set ended, the guys gathered around their usual table near the stage. Slater headed for the bar, grabbed the beer that always waited for him, and let the girls swoop in. Sure, he’d have to face it. But, hey, he could stall a few minutes while the girls rubbed his dick or pressed their tits on him. It’s not like the guys expected anything different.

Yeah, okay, no stalling. Not tonight. He hoisted his beer and nodded his thanks to the bartender, pushing a bill his way. As Slater disentangled himself from the girls, one of them slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and cupped his ass, giving it a lusty squeeze. He turned to see which one and wasn’t disappointed. The blonde with the huge tits and juicy lips. Perfect. He leaned down, licked the shell of her ear, and said, “Twenty minutes.”

“Mmmkay.” She breathed it like she was two seconds away from a climax, bringing her other hand to his cock and rubbing it with the heel of her hand.

As Slater approached the table, he watched Derek clear out the groupies. They scattered—all of them except one. Only she didn’t look like a groupie. She looked . . . well, Slater didn’t know