Journalism student Alana Graves is having second thoughts about her choice of career when her best friend, Tessa, decides to help her out. Several drunken messages and one gold bikini later, Alana finds herself working as social media coordinator to Rush Moder, one quarter of the world’s hottest rock band.
Life on tour isn’t quite what Alana expected, and neither are the members of Indigo Rain. Everyone has their secrets, especially the enigmatic lead singer, Travis Thorne. But he’s not Alana’s only problem. Accidents keep happening, and nobody wants to attend another funeral. Can Alana find out what makes Travis tick before becoming a victim herself?
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Excerpt: The Beginning…
“Aieeeee!” Tessa shrieked.
Huh? My neck creaked as I turned my head to the side. I’d fallen asleep—or rather, passed out—on the sofa, and between there and the kitchen, the apartment I shared with my brother looked as though the love child of a hurricane and a tornado had rampaged through it.
Tessa poked her head around the kitchen door. Once, she’d been my best friend, but not anymore seeing as last night’s get-together had been her idea.
“You’re either gonna love me or you’re gonna hate me.”
Judging by the apologetic grimace on her face, it would be the latter.
“What have you done?” I croaked.
“Tell you what, why don’t you get up and have a cup of coffee first? Or some more wine? There’s half a bottle of…” She ducked back into the kitchen. “Euuuch! That is not wine.”
How about I go and puke in the bathroom instead?
“I can’t believe you talked me into having a party.”
“Oh, come on, Alana. You haven’t lived until you’ve had to grovel to the police at three o’clock in the morning.”
Yes, that had really happened. Which meant my brother was sure to find out what I’d done when he got back from his honeymoon, and he’d probably lecture me for twenty-four hours straight. The police had actually been quite understanding. Possibly because I’d unplugged the stereo straight away, or maybe because Tessa had cried—crying on cue was her party trick, quite literally—but when everybody scuttled away, we’d been left with the mess to clean up.
“Please just make the coffee.”
“When does your brother get back?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Which meant we only had one day to make the apartment look perfect again.
Perhaps you’re thinking it was a strange arrangement, me living with my half-brother and his new wife, and I guess you’re kind of right. But Zander had raised me from the age of fourteen, so to me, sharing a home with him was normal—first a crappy bedsit in Sydenham, and now our riverside apartment in Chelsea. Plus I adored Dove. They’d only been together for a few months, but they were perfect for each other, and I couldn’t have been happier for them when they’d decided on the spur of the moment to tie the knot in Las Vegas. I’d even played bridesmaid. But then they’d decided to travel around South America for a month, and since I’d just started my summer break from university, I’d been left home alone. Then this had happened.
Carnage.
I rolled off the sofa, tripped over a cushion, then paused to pick up a lamp on my quest to find caffeine. Was that a red wine stain on the carpet? Or worse, blood? With Tessa and a blow-up doll as my witnesses, I was never holding a party again. Or even attending one. What were the symptoms of an aneurysm? Something in my head felt as though it was about to burst.
Tessa slid a mug of coffee across the kitchen island in my direction, and I propped myself up on a stool. Someone had drawn a smiley face on the clock above the sink. Dammit.
“So, tell me why I’m gonna hate you more than I already do right now.”
“Well, you might not hate me.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“It’s actually really good news if you decide not to be boring for the rest of your life.”
“I already tried that last night, and look how it turned out. The whole apartment stinks of vomit. What did you do, Tessa?” I asked for the third time.
“Remember how last night, someone put on an Indigo Rain song and we started perving over pictures of Rush Moder on Instagram?”
No, we didn’t. Tessa had been perving over Rush Moder, something she’d started doing almost three years ago when Indigo Rain had their first UK number one. I could understand why—dark hair, designer stubble, a strong jaw, piercing blue eyes… He was incendiary. She even had a shirtless photo of him set as the screen saver on her phone. And last night, it hadn’t only been pictures of Rush Moder we were looking at, but his words too. He’d posted a snap of himself holding his middle finger up to the camera then gone on a rant at the paparazzi, accusing them of printing lie after lie about the band to sell their “shitty, hate-filled gossip rags.” A proper meltdown.
“Rush is the lead guitarist, right?”
“Right.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee. “Uh, I might have messaged him.”
That’s what she was panicking about?
“I wouldn’t worry. He’s a rock star—I’m sure he gets loads of messages from tipsy girls.”
“You don’t understand. He freaking replied!”
“It probably wasn’t him. I bet the band’s PR person confiscated his phone right after he unleashed that tirade on the press.”
Tessa shook her head. “No, it was him. I didn’t believe it at first either, but he even sent a photo.”
“Why? Why would he do that?”
“It was a trade. I had to send one first.”
“Let me get this straight… You were flirting with Rush Moder last night, and now you don’t know what to say to him?”
“Not exactly.” Tessa shifted so the granite expanse of the kitchen island was between us. With hindsight, I should have realised something really, really bad was coming, but my alcohol-addled brain was still functioning at half capacity. “I borrowed your phone, so technically, you were flirting with Rush Moder.”
Excerpt: The Band…
A naked blonde lay handcuffed to the king-size bed, long hair flowing over the pillow. Three men crouched next to her, whispering amongst themselves while she slept on, oblivious.
One guy turned at my muttered interruption, his eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
JD Altierre. I recognised him from the pictures I’d been studying all weekend.
“Hi, I’m… I’m…” Speechless.
Fortunately, Rush Moder picked that moment to look up. “Bikini girl?”
“You really have to stop calling me that.”
After all, I’d worn jeans today, tucked into sensible mid-heel boots, plus a top that covered everything.
“You know her?” JD asked.
“Sort of. She wears less clothes on the internet.”
Great. Now he’d made me sound like a porn star.
“On Instagram. Rush was looking at my holiday photos. Apart from that, I remain clothed at all times.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
JD turned his attention back to the blonde as Dexter Reeves straightened.
“Clothes or no clothes, you need to leave.”
“But I was invited.”
“Yeah, I get that. But we’re dealing with a situation here, so unless you know how to undo a pair of handcuffs without the key, you’ll have to fuck around with Rush later instead.”
What a pig! And worse, I couldn’t even correct him on his mistaken assumption because Rush did indeed think that I was there to fuck around with him. All I could do was stop myself from getting thrown out before I convinced the band that I had a higher purpose.
“As it happens…” I slid a bobby pin out of my hair. “I may be able to help you.”
Handcuff locks weren’t complicated. I’d found that out one morning three or four years ago after I received a desperate call from Zander. Please could I come and rescue him? His friends thought it would be funny to handcuff him to the balcony in some girl’s flat, and he was terrified she’d wake up at any moment. I’d had to climb a freaking tree to get to him, and did I mention he was wearing boxer shorts and nothing else? Remind me again, who in our household was supposed to be the responsible adult?
“Are you for real?” JD asked. “You can undo the handcuffs?”
“Yes, but how did you lose the key?”
“We didn’t lose the key. Travis cuffed her to the bed, and we lost Travis.”
What the hell had I walked into?
CONTENT WARNINGS
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