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  “Here, let me get those for you.” He says, taking the handle and tilting the bags forward onto the wheels. “I hope you had a good flight.” He makes small talk as he leads me towards the exit.

  “I did. Thank you.” I say, stopping just outside the airport where Sean begins dropping my bags into the back of a black Escalade.

  Sean is not what I expected. I would guess him in his mid-forties, dark hair peppered with just the smallest amount of gray, and a fairly decent build from what I can tell. He is a bit more professional than I expected for a rock band's manager, though I must admit, I like that he is.

  “Shall we?” He gestures to the passenger door of the car.

  “Oh yes. Of course.” I say, trying to shake myself out of my fog as I climb into the passenger seat and secure my seat belt.

  “Clive had a lot of really great things to say about you.” Sean picks up the moment he is pulling the car out of the airport and into the busy afternoon traffic. “I understand you graduated from Penn State?” He surprises me with the question.

  “Yes Sir I did.” I try to keep my shit together and not let my nervousness make me seem like a complete spaz.

  “Impressive. I hear they have an excellent Journalism program.”

  “One of the best.” I proudly boast.

  “I must admit, when we originally discussed the idea of an article depicting the ins and outs of a new bands first intro tour, I wasn't sold. So much can get misconstrued and taken out of context and for a less established band, bad press can stop them dead in their tracks.”

  “What changed your mind?” I ask, flicking my eyes in his direction before turning my focus back to the road in front of us.

  “You.” He says simply, with no other explanation. I wait a few moments, certain that he is going to say more but when I glance in his direction again, he gives me no indication that he plans to elaborate.

  “Me?” I question, confused by his statement.

  “I had to know that if I was going to let someone behind the curtain, so to speak, that it had to be the right person or no one at all. Clive offered up a list of all his most experienced journalists, all of which I declined. Until he sent me your information. Graduated the top of your class. Only took you three years to complete your BA. Landed a job at SMASH right out of college. I have to say, I'm impressed.”

  “I appreciate that....”

  “Sean.” He interjects just as I start to refer to him as Mr.

  “Sean.” I nod. “But I don't understand why you feel like that makes me a good fit for this job. Not that I am not grateful.” I tack on.

  “You submitted an article with your application. A stunning piece on the indie rock group The Strays.” He says.

  “I recall.” I say, remembering the piece quite well considering I worked on it for a good majority of my senior year.

  “That's why you got the job.” He smiles, turning his face towards me for a brief moment before facing the road again. “That piece was something special. It wasn't about the groupies or the drinking and drugs or the other shenanigans that go on behind the scenes with some bands. It was about the music, the passion, the inspiration. That is why I picked you Nora. That is why you are the right person for this job. Because you are the only person that has any damn clue what it means to capture the music.”

  “I don't know what to say.” I admit, more than a little flattered by his comments. Here I thought Clive was cutting me a break, he sure made it seem that way to me at least. But to find out that I was hand-picked by the manager of the band, there are no words.

  “Say you won't let me down.” He smiles, whipping the vehicle to the left and then to the right as he merges onto the freeway. “This feature could set the tone for the entire second half of the tour on the West Coast.” He adds.

  “I won't let you down.” I say, trying to hide the insane smile I feel bursting from every inch of my face. “So, there will be another part of this tour?” I question.

  “Yes, we are doing the Eastern half of the country this leg and as long as all goes well, will start touring the Western half in November.” He says. “Now, before you meet the band, here are a few things you need to know.”

  ****

  “Okay, so what have you learned?” Sean throws the car into park and turns inward to face me.

  “Chester is the drummer. Goes by Chet. Goofball of the group. Girlfriend Kate always travels with him. Aiden plays bass. He's the quiet one. Gabe is the charmer. Plays guitar. Overly cocky. And Killian is lead vocals and also plays guitar. Band formed in Athens where Killian and Chet attended high school together, which is why they chose to open their tour here. Gabe joined a year after graduation in 2008 and Aiden joined less than a year after that. Signed to Rebel Records this past January and just released their first self-titled album in May. Does that just about cover it?” I cock my head to the side, not sure why he felt the need to pump me full of information the entire drive over and now is testing me on it.

  Isn't the whole point of this article for me to find out all of this on my own?

  “Good memory. Good. You'll need it to keep this lot straight. They have a certain, dynamic. It's important that you understand each person's role in the group and that you don't step on any toes. These guys are normal, everyday guys. The last thing they want is someone coming in and picking them apart. The more you know now, the better you can prepare yourself to fit in. For the next two months you are one of us. I suggest you find your place in the mold sooner rather than later.” He says, pushing open the driver’s side door. He's out of the vehicle and loading my suitcases onto the sidewalk before I even manage to move one inch.

  Climbing out, I join him at the back of the car just as he is closing the hatch. “Here's your room key.” He says, sliding a plastic rectangular key into my hand. “Do you need help getting your bags up?”

  “No I think I've got it.”

  “I have to meet with the guys. Head on up, order you a bite to eat. The hotel food isn't the finest but you must be hungry and the cheeseburgers are pretty good. First show is tomorrow night so I will call you to make arrangements for you to meet the band sometime early tomorrow. In the meantime, call me if you need anything.” He says, giving me a nod before crossing back around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.

  “I will be back later this evening so if you need me, my room is two doors down from yours. 617. We are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next two months Ms. Brandt. We might as well get used to it now.” He gives me a half smile and a wave as he climbs into the massive SUV and fires the engine back to life.

  Stepping up onto the curb, I drag my bags behind me as I look up at the hotel I will apparently be staying at for at least the next couple of days. Pushing my way through the lobby, I immediately spot the elevators in the far corner of the room.

  The hotel is nothing overly fancy. Just your standard six story hotel with a small pool and even smaller lounge on the main floor, just steps from the elevator. Honestly, a nice glass of wine and a swim doesn't sound half bad at the moment. Suddenly wishing I had thought to pack a swim suit, I jump slightly when the elevator door pings open in front of me.

  It takes me a moment to realize that the elevator is not empty. Not only is it not empty, but the two inside seem to be in no hurry to get off. In fact, they are so busy swallowing each other’s heads, neither one has even noticed that the elevator has stopped.

  Not sure what to do, given that there is only one elevator, I stick my foot into the door track to stop the door from closing and try to gently clear my throat, hoping it will get the attention of at least one of them. When that doesn't work, I try a little louder... Nothing.

  The man has the woman pinned against the back wall, her hands are tangled in his hair. I would be lying if I said that watching them doesn't make me extremely uncomfortable. It does. But I am also intrigued. How can you be so into a person that you are that oblivious to the world still clearly turning around you?


  Clearing my throat even louder the third time, I even add on a little “Excuse me.” The moment the words leave my lips the man stiffens. Still leaning against the woman, he turns his face slightly outward to face me, a large grin pulling up his mouth.

  “Sorry about that.” He croons in what is quite possibly the sexiest accent I have ever heard. Backing out of the woman's embrace, she seems completely unphased by my appearance and barely pulls the hem of her dress down before sauntering out of the elevator.

  “She's a bit of an animal that one.” I try to pinpoint the accent. Irish maybe? He stops in the door of the elevator and really looks at me for the first time.

  Holy hell.

  “I... I can see that.” I manage to stutter out.

  I am not a girl easily taken by a good looking guy. I can appreciate beauty for what it is and rarely let myself even think twice about it, but with this man that simply is not possible. He's tall, at least six one given how he towers over my five four height. His shoulders are broad and while I don't let my eyes travel down his torso, I can only imagine that what they would see if I did would be pure perfection.

  His dirty blonde hair is shaved underneath and longer on top, showing no signs of the fingers that were just tangled in it moments ago. His chiseled jaw is lined with stubble that looks more like he hasn't shaved in a week than an actual style, though I'm sure it's meant to be one. He runs his hand through his hair, shoving the longer pieces out of his face, revealing deep blue eyes that nearly knock me right on my ass.

  “Killian.” The girl whines from behind me.

  I whip around to see her standing just two feet from me. She is exactly the type of girl I would expect to see with a man like this. Tall, thin, long blonde hair that hangs to her near perfect ass and tits that she no doubt paid really good money for. Figures.

  It takes a moment for the name to sink in and then a hard knot forms in the pit of my stomach. Killian? As in Killian Adair? As in lead singer of Everything After? Oh god. I'm too scared to even ask so I just stand there like an idiot looking between the two.

  While I am sure it has been mere seconds since I was able to pull them out of their embrace, it feels like hours with the heaviness that seems to have settled over me. I don't know what is wrong with me. I can't seem to get my brain to function properly.

  “Well. Yeah. Sorry again.” He says, his accent once again catching me by surprise. Irish. Definitely Irish. Stepping past me, the scent of his cologne engulfs me the moment I manage to gather my composure enough to step fully inside the elevator.

  “No problem.” I manage to get out just as the elevator doors slide closed between us. The moment the silence of the elevator swallows me, I burst into laughter.

  Why am I laughing exactly? I'm not really sure. I just know that if I don't laugh about the fact that I just met the man I have to spend the next two months with, getting it on with some blonde bimbo in the elevator, I might panic.

  If I don't laugh, I might focus on the fact that not only is he one hundred percent the hottest man I have ever seen, but he also has the most incredible accent. Hot guy. Hot accent. No problem. Only I can't forget that it was only hours ago that I fell in love with his music, his meaning.

  Hell, on those few short hours from Philly to Atlanta, I fell in love with his soul. Or at least the part he lets show through his art. I would be able to appreciate this fact had I not just learned that he is also the stereotypical rocker whore. I am not stupid enough to believe that the bimbo that was attached to his mouth is girlfriend material. No, she was exactly what she looked like; a booty call.

  Pushing my way into my hotel room, I drop my cases and immediately head for the bathroom just inside the door. Flipping on the light, I turn on the cold water and proceed to splash my face a few times before resurfacing.

  Finding a nearby hand towel, I blot my face dry and then look up at my reflection in the mirror. My hair, while semi-presentable this morning, is now a frizzy mess from the southern heat. My makeup has all but melted off and my clothes are wrinkled from sitting on a plane and then in a car for a good portion of the day.

  “Awesome. Way to make a first impression Nor.” I say, letting out a loud exhale.

  Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe the Killian I met in the elevator is not the Killian from the band. Sean never mentioned that Killian was Irish. Certainly after all the information he drilled into my head, he wouldn't have left out that the lead singer is Irish. Maybe it's just a coincidence that two Killians are staying in the same hotel at the same time. Stranger things have happened right? A girl can dream.

  “He's just a guy Nora. Remember why you're here. #29- Land your first major article that will ultimately spear head your career. Focus on the goal.” I give myself the same familiar pep talk I always do when I doubt myself.

  Who cares if he is the same Killian. Who cares that I have to work alongside this hot piece of rocker for the next two months. If I have proven anything over the last ten years, it's my ability to not let anyone or anything stand in the way of me achieving what I set out to accomplish. And I am not about to start now.

  Chapter Three

  Killian

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I hate being late.

  I tear open the door to Pete’s Studio, throwing a wave to John, Pete's nephew who works the desk, as I head down the poorly lit hallway to the studio room in the back. Pete’s is one of those hometown studios. Very different from the lights and money of L.A. where we recorded a good portion of our album. Tucked away in a strip of small shops on Main Street, anytime we can hit Pete’s to lay down a few tracks, we do.

  There are four studio rooms in total. Each room has a small lounge area that is separate from the studio space itself, which offers the musicians an area where we can hang out while working on material or trying to figure out a lyric or riff. Just one of the many things I love about this place.

  I can hear the guys in the lounge room fucking off before I even reach the door. Taking a deep breath, I push my way inside, already prepared for the glares that immediately settle on me the moment that I do. Though I must admit, I think it was worth it.

  Chester is laid back on the couch against the far wall, his arm elbow deep inside a bag of Cheetos. Sean and Gabe are at the small round table, sheets of music laid out between them, and Aiden is in a chair off in the corner, tuning his bass as per usual.

  “Seriously dude. You are over thirty minutes late.” Chester pulls out a giant handful of Cheetos and wings them in my direction, missing me by a good two feet.

  “Don't throw food in the studio Chet.” Sean rubs his forehead in frustration.

  “Pete doesn't care.” Chet objects.

  “I care.” He pins his eyes on Chet in warning. We all know that look.

  “Uh oh. The suit is irritated.” Gabe laughs, clasping down on Sean's shoulder. “Relax old man. You are likely to send yourself into a premature heart attack.”

  “No. I'm pretty sure that will be your doing.” He laughs, shaking Gabe off and pushing into a stand.

  “Well, now that Killian has graced us with his presence, perhaps we can get to work, yes?” He asks, crossing the room to grab a bottle of water.

  “Where the fuck have you been man?” Chet nudges me when I flop down on the couch next to him and drop my hand into his Cheetos bag, retrieving a handful before relaxing back beside him.

  “Jillian. No Joyce. J- something. Shit dude. I can't remember where I've been.” I laugh, seeing the way Chester's eyes light up with my comment.

  “Holy fuck dude. The blonde?” He asks, waiting for my nod before letting out a holler. “Hell yes man!” He bounces next to me. “God I wish I was you.”

  “Excuse me children.” Sean clears his throat loudly. “If you two don't mind, I am trying to explain the details about the young lady who will be joining us for the duration of your tour.”

  “Sorry Suit.” Chet laughs, running his finger along his lip, gesturing that his mouth is shut.

&n
bsp; “Now, as I was saying. Her name is Nora Brandt and she is a Journalist with SMASH magazine.”

  “Hold up.” I interrupt, pulling the attention of the group to me. “I thought we scratched that idea.” I say, having been under the impression that we had decided against allowing someone to follow our tour and then write about it.

  “Well, maybe if you actually listened to me once in a while you would know these things. Now, as I was saying, Nora will be tagging along to each stop, observing the inner workings of what it means to be an up and coming band on your very first tour. She will do group and private interviews. And no Gabe, sleeping with her will not be encouraged.” He turns his eyes on our cocky guitar player who only fakes innocence.

  “Hey now. What did I do?” He laughs, throwing his empty water bottle at Aiden's head when he snorts at the remark.

  “It's not like we weren't all thinking it.” Aiden retorts, fiddling with the strings of his bass.

  “Seriously guys.” Sean sighs loudly and slides back down into his chair next to Gabe. “Look, she's a good girl with a really good understanding of music. Trust me, you’re lucky to have her and not some run of the mill reporter who is only interested in who you are sleeping with and who is fighting over what.”

  “So what do you need from us?” I ask, not feeling much up for having a tag along on my back considering I am strung up enough about this fucking tour.

  “I need you to not be complete jackasses to her. Do you think you can handle that?” Sean pins his eyes on Gabe.

  “Again, why me?” Gabe laughs.

  “Because we all know you.” Chet laughs from beside me.

  “Just because you have one girl permanently glued to your balls, doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer.” Gabe retorts.

  “Alright guys, enough.” I step in, seeing Sean's growing frustration with our inability to stay on task.

  It can't be easy for him. Going from Los Angeles living to slumming it with us heathens. I gotta give it to the man, he's not as bad as I expected. When the label insisted they provide management, I wasn't sure who we would end up with.