Always Rayne (The ALWAYS SOMETIMES NEVER Rock Star Romance Series) Page 2

  I can see him let out an exasperated breath and then head in my direction. I quickly scan the room to see if I can spot an exit, but by the time my eyes land on one, it’s too late. Nic Rayne has already entered my personal space.

  And he’s not just close to me; he’s practically on top of me. And I don’t like it. He makes me extremely uncomfortable. I’d rather be anywhere than standing next to Nic Rayne. I’d rather be back in Economics class at the university— and I hate Economics. It’s the only class I ever got a C in.

  “What’s up?” Nic says.

  I’ve seen him in the movies so I knew he was tall and muscular. I guess it never occurred to me how tall and muscular he really is. The guy towers over me and I’m not that short. I’m five feet six inches. Nic has got to be at least six inches taller than me.

  “Did you see where my friend went?”

  He nods but doesn’t say anything else.

  “Okay. Would you mind telling me where she went?”

  “With Leo.”

  I assume he means Leo Donovan, his cousin and the guitar player in Always Rayne.

  “Hey, Rayne.” Xander Donovan, Nic’s other cousin, and the band’s drummer, places a hand on Nic’s shoulder. “Pick the girl you want and let’s go. We’re all headed over to Troy.”

  Troy is the trendiest club in the city. I’ve heard a lot about it but haven’t been able to afford the stiff cover charge and the fifteen dollar drinks.

  “Come on,” Nic says and turns to leave as if I’m supposed to follow him.

  He takes a few steps before he realizes that I’m not following him. Then he turns back around and gives me an odd look. “Aren’t you coming?”

  I shake my head.

  “Why not?” He actually looks puzzled.

  “Do you want a list?”

  His eyes narrow and then he walks back over to me. He gets so close I can smell his masculine scent and what’s left of his spicy cologne. “What’s the list?”

  I gulp. I wasn’t actually expecting him to ask for the list. I thought he’d just get disgusted and find some other girl to go with him.

  “Well, you’re not my type. I don’t find you remotely attractive. Or particularly interesting. I don’t like your music at all. And you don’t seem very smart. And I don’t sleep with guys I don’t know. So, maybe you should just find some other girl to take to Troy.”

  He’s doing his best to bite back a grin. The smug asshole actually finds what I’ve said funny. I didn’t think I could dislike him more, but he’s really pushing my buttons.

  “I’m not your type, huh?” He leans in even closer. So close, I can feel his breath on my neck. “I’m everybody’s type.”

  I try to swallow but I feel like there’s a golf ball stuck in my throat.

  “You don’t find me attractive, huh? Then why are you sweating?” He places his hand over my heart. “And your heart is beating a mile a minute. Maybe you should listen to what your body wants instead of what your brain is telling you.”

  I take a step back and try to collect myself. I wipe my brow and realize I really am sweating. And he’s right, my heart is racing. What the hell is going on?

  “I’m not some groupie who’s going to do whatever you want because you snapped your fingers.”

  He looks me up and down. “I can see that.”

  I place my hands on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He actually has the audacity to laugh. “No one would ever mistake you for a groupie that’s for sure.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your clothes are like some crazy mash-up between a hippie and a school librarian.”

  I glance down at my flowered skirt and strappy sandals. He has a point. I’m not exactly a fashion whore like my roommate. Not that I have the money to update my wardrobe even if I wanted to.

  He steps closer again. He’s got a habit of getting right into my personal space and it makes me uncomfortable every time he does it. When I look into his deep brown eyes, I have the feeling that he’s doing it just to get a rise out of me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks. For the first time since we’ve met, he actually sounds sincere.

  “I came with my roommate. She won tickets from the radio station. She wanted to see you. And your cousins.”

  “I asked what you’re doing here.”

  “I guess I’m here for moral support,” I stammer. “And I have a press pass.”

  I’m not sure why I tell him that. I guess I feel like I need some kind of excuse to be here because I’m definitely not here for the music.

  “Why am I not surprised? You look like a writer. Or a librarian.”

  I dig around in my purse and pull out my press pass. To my surprise, he grabs it from my hand. “Chatter. Never heard of it.”

  “It’s an online magazine. A start-up.”

  He nods then hands me back my credentials.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Like what?” I’m surprised by the question.

  “Writing. Working for a magazine.”

  I shrug. “I’ve never thought about doing anything else. My parents named me Harper Leigh. I was kind of destined to be a writer.”

  He’s looking at me with a blank stare. Maybe he really is as brainless as I think. And for some strange reason that disappoints me.

  “Harper Leigh,” I repeat. “I spell my name differently but she was a writer.”

  He’s still looking at me with a blank expression.

  “She won the Pulitzer Prize.”

  Then he smiles. “I know who Harper Lee is. To Kill a Mocking Bird. Won the Pulitzer Prize in 1961. She was also good friends with Truman Capote. She helped him with the research for In Cold Blood.”

  I can feel my jaw drop.

  “I guess I’m smarter than you think.” He leans in close again. “And I’m also a great actor apparently because I had you fooled.”

  I want to say something in response but no words come out of my mouth.

  “Rayne.” It’s Xander again. “Come on. We’ve got to bounce.”

  “Does everyone call you Rayne?”

  “Always.”

  He puts out his hand and I just stare at it for a moment. Then I place my hand in his. I don’t know why I expected it to be cold but it’s not. It’s warm, and strong and strangely comforting.

  “Nice to meet you, Harper.”

  I gulp. Was it nice to meet him? I’m not sure.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Nic.”

  I’m not sure why I call him Nic. It just comes out.

  “Always Rayne,” he says as he lets my hand go. “Always Rayne.”

  Then he turns and heads out the door with Xander.

  ***

  “What the hell happened to you?” Brooke asks as she grabs the orange juice from the refrigerator.

  “What happened to you?” I shoot back.

  “I told you I was there for some action.” She grabs two pieces of bread from a loaf of raisin bread, inspects them then places them in the toaster. While she waits for the toast, she pours two glasses of juice and hands me one.

  “Thanks.”

  “So?” She stares at me.

  “So what? I’m the one who should be asking you so? I thought you were there to get your claws into Nic Rayne.”

  “He seemed to be really into you. Besides, his cousin Leo is even hotter, if you can believe it.”

  “I saw Leo. He was attractive but I wouldn’t say he was hotter than Nic. If I thought Nic was hot, which I don’t.”

  Brooke narrows her eyes at me. “You can’t honestly tell me, after meeting him, after getting up close and personal with him, that you don’t think he’s hot.”

  I take a sip of my juice. “I wasn’t up close and personal. We talked. That’s it. I’m sure by the time he got to Troy there were plenty of girls for him to get up close and personal with.”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t see him with anyone.”

  I snicker. �
�I find that hard to believe.”

  When the toast pops Brooke grabs two plates from the cupboard. “Believe what you want. He wasn’t with anyone. And he didn’t go back to his room with anyone either.”

  She places a slice of toast on each plate then hands me one.

  “Butter or jelly?” I ask.

  She thinks about it for a moment. “Both. I can splurge. I had a great workout last night.”

  I grab both the jelly and butter from the fridge and place them on the counter. “And just how do you know that Nic didn’t go back to his room with anyone?”

  “You know everyone calls him Rayne.”

  “So he told me. I just can’t do it. His name is Nic.”

  Brooke grabs a knife from the drawer and lathers her slice of toast with plenty of butter then goes for the jelly. “Rayne’s room was right next to Leo’s. Since I went back to Leo’s room, I saw Rayne go into his room alone. He said he was tired and had some things to take care of.”

  I grab the butter and spread a little on my toast.

  Brooke takes a bite of hers. “What did you say to him?”

  I shrug. “Nothing really. It was just a short conversation.” One I haven’t been able to forget.

  “Are you sure you didn’t call him a man whore? You had some pretty harsh things to say about him.”

  “I may have told him there was a list of things I didn’t like about him.”

  Brooke’s jaw drops. “You didn’t. Did you?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  She shakes her head. “You had your shot at Nic Rayne and you blew it.”

  I nibble on my toast even though I’m not really that hungry. “It’s not like I wanted to hook up with him so what difference does it make? And even if I did hook up with him, what would it accomplish? It’s not like you’re ever going to see Leo again.”

  “You’re twenty-three years old, Harper. Not forty-three. You’re supposed to be having fun. Believe me I had a lot of fun with Leo. We had fun all night long. We even had some more fun this morning before they left.”

  “I guess I just want more than a hook up. I don’t see the point of taking a guy out for a test drive if I’m not thinking about actually buying the car.”

  “And what about Jackson? You didn’t end up buying that car, did you?”

  Not that I didn’t want to. “He’s the one who returned me to the dealership after a four year lease.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’m over it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I lie. It’s only been two months since he left. As much as I want to be over Jackson I’m not sure I am completely.

  Brooke frowns. “We’re a little young for car buying anyway, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe, but I’m not really into the one day rentals either.”

  “Suit yourself.” She takes a sip of her juice. “But I plan on test driving a lot of cars before I decide on a model I want to make any kind of long term commitment to. Just something to think about.”

  She pops the last bite of her toast in her mouth. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  I look at my watch. It’s already past eight. I’d better get going too.

  Two

  “Harper,” Luke calls from his office. “I need to see you when you get a chance.”

  I cringe. I hope it’s not another assignment with Heather. I’ve had about all I can take of her and her scrunchies.

  I grab my iPad and hurry from my cubicle into his office.

  “Have a seat.” He waves to the chair next to his tiny desk.

  There’s not much room between his desk and the chair but I manage to squeeze into it. Then I ready my iPad in case I need to take notes.

  “You won’t need that.” He points at my iPad.

  I have a sinking feeling that maybe I’m going to get fired but I’m not sure why. My mind starts to race. I’ve tried to be the best employee possible. Did I not show enough enthusiasm for the 90s article? Maybe the company isn’t doing as well as he hoped and he needs to lay me off. It’s times like these when it becomes crystal clear why people tell me I think too much.

  But my mind never stops racing…not even when I’m supposed to be sleeping. I’ve had insomnia since I was twelve years old.

  “I have a special project for you. It’s going to require extensive travel. Are you up for it?”

  I gulp. Travel? I’m not really the traveling type. I’m much more of a home body. Commuting to the other side of the city sometimes feels overwhelming and exhausting.

  “Where would I have to go?”

  Luke looks down at a paper on his desk. “Los Angeles, Phoenix, Chicago, Atlanta and New York.”

  I can feel my eyes go wide. That’s more traveling than I’ve ever done in my life.

  “You’ll be gone for ten days.”

  I’m not sure what to say. Why in the world does he want me to travel to cities all over the country?

  “I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job,” I admit.

  He shakes his head. “Not only are you the right person, you’re the only person.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I got a call first thing this morning from an…” He looks down at the paper again. “Ari Miller. He’s Nic Rayne’s manager. He offered me a behind-the-scenes exclusive with Nic Rayne and his band. He suggested that we imbed a reporter with the band for the last leg of their tour. Kind of like how reporters are imbedded with our troops in the Middle East. But this would be putting one of our reporters on the front line with the band. That reporter is you.”

  I shake my head. There is no way I’m going on the road with a rock band, and I’m definitely not going on the road with Nic Rayne’s band. I didn’t even want to spend one night with Nic Ryane. Why would I want to spend ten days with him?

  “I think you need to find someone else. Maybe one of the male reporters.”

  Luke leans over the desk and narrows his eyes. “Here’s the thing. Ari Miller specifically asked for you. He said that you were the only reporter Nic Rayne would approve.”

  He wipes a bit of sweat from his brow. “This could be really big for us, Harper. An exclusive with one of the hottest actors in Hollywood. Day-to-day access as he tours with his band. This is an opportunity to expand our circulation and maybe even go viral. I’ve already got advertisers lined up.”

  “I just can’t see myself going on tour with a rock band.” Or spending ten days on the road with Nic Rayne.

  “You have to do it,” Luke says matter-of-factly. “Or you’re fired.”

  Fired? I can’t be fired. I have bills to pay. And my student loans are going into repayment. I can feel my eyes start to water.

  Shit.

  I don’t want to start crying in front of my boss. I try to stifle my emotions but I only make it worse. I try to take in a deep breath but end up heaving instead.

  “Please don’t cry.” Luke looks genuinely concerned. “It’s only ten days and all the expenses are paid. And if the circulation goes up as much as I hope, I’ll give you a raise when you get back.”

  I sniffle. “How much of a raise?” If it’s enough to cover my student loans, I’ll do it. Then I won’t have to get another part-time job.

  “Twenty percent.”

  “Done,” I reply.

  “Good.” Luke looks relieved. He hands me a folder. “I’ve already got your plane ticket and travel itinerary ready. All you need to do is pack.”

  I can feel my heart start to race. “When do I leave?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning.”

  ***

  “You’re what?” Brooke screams even though I know she heard me.

  I’m throwing every halfway decent piece of clothing I own into my old ratty suitcase. I’ve had the suitcase since I was in eighth grade and my parents made me go to summer camp. What I didn’t realize until I got back from camp was that
they were thinking about getting a divorce and needed some time with me away to get things sorted out. I’m happy to report that they didn’t end up getting divorced. They ended up renewing their vows instead.

  “I’m going away for ten days for work.”

  “I heard that.” Brooke grabs a pink sweater out of my hands and throws it into the trash can. “What you haven’t told me is where you’re going and why?”

  “I love that pink sweater,” I state as I try to retrieve it from the garbage.

  “I remember that pink sweater from our freshman year in high school. You’re now a college graduate. I think it’s time to get some new clothes.”

  “But if it still fits and it’s not worn out, why can’t I still wear it?”

  Brooke places her hands on her hips and glares at me. “I know both of your parents. I spent so much time at your house, they practically raised me. They both wear nice, fashionable clothing. How did you not inherit any sense of style whatsoever?”

  “I have style,” I protest. “It’s a classic look.”

  She frowns. “Wearing clothing that wasn’t even fashionable a decade ago is not classic, it’s outdated.”

  “Fine, I won’t take the pink sweater.”

  Brooke rummages through my suitcase and heaves a huge, exaggerated sigh. “If you tell me where you’re going, I might be able to give you some pointers about what to take.”

  I really don’t want to tell Brooke where I’m going, and I definitely don’t want to tell her why, but I know I have to. We’ve been best friends since third grade. We tell each other everything.

  “Fine,” I sigh. “Los Angeles, Phoenix, Chicago, Atlanta and New York.”

  “Seriously? You’ll need much nicer clothes than any of these.” She starts to pull everything I’ve packed right out of my suitcase. “No. No. Definitely no.” She holds up my favorite pair of jeans. “No one should ever wear these. These make Mom jeans look sexy.”

  “I’m leaving first thing in the morning for LA. I don’t have time to go shopping for new clothes. And then I’ll be on the road with…”