Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series) Read online

  “Wow.” Jeanette shook her head. “I’m glad you never considered a career as a romance writer.”

  Summer rolled her eyes.

  “So…” Jeanette was obviously trying to get back on track. “Can I ask why now? Why you’re deciding you need to be…had…right now? And what’s your plan? I know you, Sum. You’ve always got a plan.”

  Summer sighed. How could she make a woman like Jeanette—with her long black hair, icy blue eyes, and full red lips—understand this longing she was feeling? Jeanette was gorgeous, a high fashion model with a portfolio brimming with magazine covers. She oozed confidence and wore haute couture as effortlessly as most women wear yoga clothes. And, above all, Jeanette was a magnet for men.

  Summer, on the other hand, was nothing like Jeanette. Summer had long, wavy blonde hair and eyes the color of jade. She was thin but curvy, with full breasts and round hips, not at all graceful and angular like Jeanette. At five six, Summer wasn’t short, but those measly four inches elevated Jeanette into a different stratosphere, and therefore, a different life.

  And part of that different life included Jeanette’s newest and most powerful accessory, Elijah, her boyfriend, who also just happened to be the business manager for the world’s hottest band. The band Summer needed access to…

  “Sum? Want to tell me what’s gotten into you?” Jeanette stared at Summer and then looked at the face of her watch.

  “We can talk later.” Darn. She was losing her chance. “You don’t need to waste your time on my moods.”

  “Oh, no,” Jeanette shook her head. “I’ve got time. Spill it. You’ve always been so…serious. Why exactly are you feeling this way?”

  Summer shrugged.

  “What’s going on, Sum? The anniversary?”

  “Maybe…” Here it was, Memorial Day weekend—the unofficial start of the summer season, and the official end of Summer’s life as she had known it. “It’s the twelfth anniversary of my parents’ deaths. I don’t know. That number just feels so big.” Summer whispered through an achy throat. She knew she didn’t need to say it. Jeanette had been with her through every horrific moment. But still. Summer looked up. “The twelfth anniversary; I’m twenty-eight, and I’m a vet. The one thing I said I would be—”

  “Since second grade.”

  “Yeah.” Summer nodded. “And I seem to have everything. I even had a guy who looked great on paper. But inside…”

  “Summer,” Jeanette reached out and took Summer’s hand. “I think what you’re telling me is, in all this time of setting up the perfect life, you forgot to live.”

  “Yes.” Summer nodded.

  “So why now?”

  “I don’t start my new job, and go back to Dr. Brad, until Labor Day. Labor Day weekend we have a veterinary convention here in the city. So I have from now, until Labor Day, to live.”

  Jeanette raised her coffee cup in a toast. “Well it sounds like a perfect summer to me.”

  Summer leveled her eyes on Jeanette. “Thank you, again.”

  “For what?”

  “For letting me stay here. I know I cramp your style.”

  “Sum, I’m thrilled you’re here. We can always go to Elijah’s place when we need some privacy. And besides, watching you kick back and let go a bit is going to make this a summer for me to remember.” Jeanette grinned. “So, any ideas?”

  “One.” Summer ignored her racing heart. “And I need your help.”

  “Okay…” Jeanette tilted her head.

  Before she could lose her nerve, Summer lurched forward and grabbed a newspaper off the breakfast bar. She turned to the society page. She pointed at a picture. “Him. I need you to get me to him.”

  “Donald Trump?” Jeanette narrowed her brows.

  “What?” Summer turned the paper to study the picture. “No. Him. This picture.”

  Jeanette shook her head. “Malcolm Angel? The lead singer of the hottest band around?”

  “Not just any band. Elijah’s band. I know you see Malcolm all the time, Jean. Come on…”

  “Summer, are you serious?”

  “Out of my league?” Summer felt her dreams deflate as she stared wistfully at the paper.

  “No, no…” Jeanette shook her head. “It’s not that at all. It’s just… this is the big time, you know?”

  “You don’t think I’m attractive enough.” Summer sank back into herself and drew her knees up onto her stool. She hugged herself.

  “Summer,” Jeanette dropped the tone of her voice. “I think you’re way out of his league. This guy, Sum, he’s bad news. A girl in every port and all that.”

  “But that’s why he’s so perfect. I can be…had…” Summer was still struggling with the word, “and then we can both move on, back to our own lives.”

  “As long as you understand you will probably be expected to move on about seven minutes after he’s done.”

  Summer gritted her teeth. “Fine by me.”

  “Summer…”

  Jeanette’s voice was soft and kind, and Summer knew she was trying to talk her out of it.

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt here.”

  “I…won’t.” Summer spoke with as much conviction as she could. She swallowed, hard. “Jeanette. Look. I promise I’m not a dope. I know what sleeping with a man like this could potentially mean. That is, if he’d even want me. I mean, look at his date.” Summer spun the picture to her friend.

  “Christy. She’s with my agency.” Jeanette turned the paper back to Summer. “And for the record, she didn’t sleep with him.”

  “Why not?” Summer’s eyes widened.

  “Because she was only there for the publicity. Summer…”

  “Jeanette. I need this. Please. Just introduce me. He probably won’t even look at me twice. If, by some miracle, he does take me up on my offer, then I’ll use every possible protection to keep myself safe.”

  “It’s not your body I’m worried about.”

  Summer tilted her head.

  Jeanette sighed. “Why him?”

  “Because he’s incredibly sexy. And he is the polar opposite of Brad. And look at him.” Summer placed her finger against his picture. She stared at his tan skin and his dark eyes filled with danger. Oh yes, he was absolutely bad news. “I don’t care what lyrics he writes, that’s a man who doesn’t believe in love.”

  “Yes,” Jeanette sighed. “I would think all of those things are true.”

  “And because I have never before encountered someone who seems so irreverent.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Yes. My summer of irreverence. Goodness knows, I need it. All I ever do is play by the rules.”

  Jeanette nodded in agreement.

  Summer bit the inside of her lip as she went on. “Malcolm Angel uses slang and curses in public.”

  Jeanette fought back her grin. “Summer, if that’s your marker for irreverence, I can hook you up with the guy at the deli across the street. He speaks just like that, and he’ll be a lot less hassle.”

  Summer cocked her head.

  Jeanette shook hers, sighing. “Well, if you’re serious, the first thing you’ll have to do is stop using words like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, irreverence. He won’t know what it means.”

  “Oh come on. The man writes his own music. He’s the poet laureate of our generation. I think he knows the meanings of a few basic words.”

  Jeanette sat there, staring. “Don’t do it, Sum.”

  “I have to, Jean.” Summer’s voice grew low and breathy.

  “No, I mean, don’t make this the moment you choose to believe in love.”

  Summer threw her head back, laughing. “Don’t worry, Jean. There’s absolutely no chance of that.”

  Chapter Two

  Malcolm Angel loved early morning runs, and this morning, despite the oppressive heat that sat heavily on a wakening Manhattan, was no exception. Malcolm grinned to himself as he swerved gracefully—hood ove
r his head, dark glasses hiding his eyes—through Central Park. He liked the heat, the extra punch it packed…he liked pushing himself to the limit…he liked, disappearing. He loved the anonymity of Manhattan, and he knew because of it, he could never and would never make anywhere else his home—despite the houses his management made him buy in various locations throughout the world.

  “C’mon, boy,” Malcolm patted his leg for Winston to catch up. The one thing Malcolm loved most about these runs was that he was able to share them with his best friend, Winston. Malcolm chuckled. Nope, he could never admit to anyone that here he was, the poet laureate of romance, and his greatest love had four paws and a wagging tail.

  Most people knew Malcolm loved animals, but they didn’t know about Winston. Malcolm made sure of it. He guarded his relationship with Winston like some celebrities shelter their children. Malcolm had no desire to risk Winston’s life when some deranged lunatic tries to dognap him for ransom money. Malcolm shivered despite his perspiration. He shook his head. What a life. Sure he had hoped for his celebrity and spent countless years honing his craft—but he also absolutely understood the expression: “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.”

  Pound, pound, pound. The corner of Malcolm’s mouth turned up into a half grin. Thirty-nine years old, and damn, he was just reaching his peak. He looked down at Winston who was panting to keep up, his hips moving stiffly, like the Tin Man before Dorothy found the oil can. Malcolm looked away. Winston was absolutely fine—he was like Malcolm, incredibly strong—no matter what their ages.

  Malcolm sidestepped a large rock in the path, realizing his grin took over his entire face. So maybe he was feeling a little bit cocky this morning. But it was okay. For a musician, he was humble. And Malcolm Angel wasn’t just any musician. He was one of the most successful and famous rock stars on the planet. And he maintained that title year after year. As other musicians faded away, he held on strong, with new hit after new hit. It was a hell of a lot of work, but Malcolm had become more than a singer, he was a poet—the poet of romantic love. Malcolm chuckled to himself as he ran. It was so ironic. All of it. How could he be the poet of romantic love when he didn’t know a damned thing about it?

  Malcolm looked up at the sky. There was something in the air today—something freeing, which, considering the date, was incredibly odd. Malcolm shook his head. No. He whizzed through his run. If it wasn’t that Winston was struggling, he would have taken the long route around the reservoir. Instead, he took a shortcut. Malcolm liked that he knew every nuance of the park, and he adored the feel of the untrustworthy clock that guided Manhattan—it reminded him of how he ran his own life. Maybe whatever it was that needed doing wasn’t done on anyone else’s schedule, but it would, eventually, get done.

  Keeping a watchful eye on Winston, Malcolm pressed a bit harder. Okay, maybe neither of them was running as quickly as they used to, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to exhaust Winston. Eighteen was old for a Golden Lab, but Malcolm chose not to think about it. He pushed it from his mind as he did so many other thoughts. Some of the guys from the band asked Malcolm why he kept a Lab in a city like New York, but with the size of Malcolm’s apartment, frankly, he could have kept a racehorse locked inside, no problem.

  Surefooted, Malcolm dodged a rain puddle, but Winston charged right through. “Atta boy.” Malcolm petted Winston’s head as they ran, and Winston barked and yapped happily in response. “Not too bad for a couple of old guys, huh?”

  Winston dashed ahead, and Malcolm spoke as they ran. “No one else understands, huh, boy? Forget all the work and stress of relationships, that’s all you truly need in life—one good friend. Man’s best friend, right?”

  Winston barked his reply, and Malcolm shook his head.

  “It’s our secret, boy. Can’t let anyone know I don’t believe most of the crap I sing about.”

  Winston barked in agreement.

  “Good boy,” Malcolm finished his run with a sprint, and doubled back to get Winston. He rubbed Winston’s back. “I know my secret’s safe with you. C’mon,” Malcolm tossed his head in the opposite direction. “Let’s hit the juice bar. I’ve got a long, dehydrating night ahead.”

  Winston yelped in agreement.

  ****

  “Jeanette?” Summer fanned her friend with the paper. “Jean? You okay?”

  Jeanette snapped to. “Yeah, fine. It’s just…you’re sure? As in, really sure?”

  Summer took Jeanette’s hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “I need this, Jean. Please.”

  “And if it doesn’t…happen?”

  “At least I would have tried. And eventually, I’ll find someone else to scratch this itch.”

  “Well, all right then. Go get dressed.” Jeanette stood as she spoke.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shopping. We can’t expect you to catch Malcolm Angel in those.” Jeanette narrowed her eyes at Summer’s pajamas.

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “It’s a casting. On a Saturday. I’ll have the agency send my book.” Jeanette flitted her hands, gracefully dismissing Summer’s concerns.

  “That’s the job to have…” Summer’s eyes followed Jeanette as Jeanette made her way to the bedroom. “You don’t feel like showing up so they send pictures of you.”

  “It’s not quite that simple,” Jeanette yelled from her closet. “And I’ve worked mighty long and hard to get to this point.”

  “I know that, Jean.” Still clutching the picture, she joined Jeanette in the closet. Summer watched Jeanette forage for clothes. “So don’t throw it all away on me.”

  “Throw what away?” Jeanette held up a black tank top as she spoke. “My career?” Jeanette laughed. “No worries. This is way more exciting.”

  “What is? Seeing me finally let my passion lead my brain?”

  “Well, that…” Jeanette tossed her head back and forth, weighing her answer. “And…”

  “And, what?”

  “Seeing Malcolm Angel finally get what’s coming to him.” Jeanette’s gorgeous blue eyes sparkled. “This is more than your summer, Sum. If you actually succeed in having a purely physical relationship with Malcolm without getting your heart broken, well then, I’d say you would have single-handedly made one great step for womankind.” Jeanette beamed. “Although, rumor has it you’ll need a hell of a lot more than a single hand to manage the likes of him.”

  “Jeanette!” Summer felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

  “Oh, relax.” Suddenly, Jeanette fixed her eyes on Summer’s face.

  “What?” Summer reached up to see if she had any breakfast left on her chin.

  Jeanette gazed left and right, considering her options. “I think we’ll start with shopping and move on to hair.”

  “My hair?” Summer reached up and grabbed a lock of hair that was falling over her shoulder. She twirled it nervously. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Nothing. Your hair is gorgeous. But what you do with it—”

  “There’s something wrong with ponytails?”

  “No. Not when you’re delivering a whole batch of puppies.”

  “Really?” Summer tapped her foot. “First of all, it’s a litter. And second of all—”

  Jeanette held up her hand. “Good grief. When it comes to going after Malcolm Angel, we may have to teach you a few basic conversation skills.”

  “Like what?” Summer crossed her arms.

  “Like stop correcting people.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And if you’re going to do that—” Jeanette mimed Summer’s crossed arms, “then at least do it in a way that shows your cleavage.”

  “Jeanette…” Summer looked away.

  “Summer…to catch him—this guy,” Jeanette pointed to Malcolm’s picture. “You’re going to have to dumb it down and gloss it up a bit.”

  “You mean, pretend to be someone else entirely?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Summer grinned. �
�That is exactly what I was hoping you were going to say.”

  ****

  Summer stared at herself in the salon mirror.

  “Oh my goodness…” She leaned in for a better look.

  “See?” Jeanette stood next to Summer’s chair, beaming. “You are a goddess.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Jeanette put her hand on Summer’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “I’ve never looked like this before…” Summer turned her head to the right and left, staring at her smoky eyes and contoured cheeks. Her mouth was full and glossy. Summer was always okay with what she looked like—natural straw blonde hair, a little too coarse and free, hardly any makeup, and full lips that were their own cherry color, although usually damaged from her nervous tic of biting them. But until now, Summer never imagined she could play in the leagues with professional models.

  “You’re welcome.” Chazz, Jeanette’s hairstylist, waltzed up to them.

  “My hair…” Summer stared in the mirror, transfixed. “It’s so shiny and soft.” She lifted a hand to touch her hair.

  “No!” Jeanette and Chazz yelled in unison.

  “You can’t touch.” Jeanette gently guided Summer’s hand away.

  “Not my masterpiece,” Chazz reprimanded good-naturedly. “You are to go immediately home, slide into your outfit and head to the concert. How are you getting there?” Chazz turned to Jeanette.

  “Elijah’s sending a car.”

  “Good.” Chazz nodded his approval. “Make sure you tell them you need it climate controlled—sixty-eight degrees.”

  “For my hair?” Summer faced them, flabbergasted.

  “Yes.” Chazz appraised Summer like she was the most pathetically naïve creature ever to walk into his salon. And she may very well be. “Hair has its own life. We must take care of straightened hair, treat it kindly. Don’t expose it to rain or wind or…” he closed his eyes and shook his head solemnly, “humidity.”