Built to Fall: A Rock Star Romance

AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, I had never stopped dreading the first day on tour. I’d spend the day doing interviews in between sound check and resting my voice when I could. Isabela had always complained incessantly that I was terrible with reporters, but I was terrible with most humans, so I wasn’t sure what she expected.

Like I kept telling her, I was too old to change. My personality was pretty cemented at this point.

Since I’d be spending most of my time today with Claire, I left my room with the intent to go to hers. As soon as I stepped into the hall, her door swung open and one of the little assholes from The Seasons Change backed out.

“See you later, Claire,” he said.

I spotted her over his shoulder, holding the door open and grinning at him. “Bye, Adam.”

Adam nearly tripped over his own feet when he spun around and came face-to-face with me. His young, young face instantly flushed. “Oh, hey, man. Good morning.”

I lifted my chin. “Morning.”

He stumbled down the hall after a backward glance at Claire, who waited with her door open.

“Good morning, Dominic. Give me just a second and I’ll be ready.” She held her palm out, inviting me inside. I probably shouldn’t have, considering she was my employee and I’d just witnessed her saying goodbye to her one-night stand, but I crossed the hall to her room anyway.

While Claire slipped a baby pink blazer over her T-shirt, I glanced around, surprised by how neat everything was. No clothes strewn about or trash anywhere. Even the bed was freshly made. I guess it was possible she hadn’t slept here last night and that kid had been dropping her off.

“I’m sorry I’m not quite ready. I hate being late, but Adam stopped by with breakfast and I—”

“You don’t have to do that.” Tucking my hands in my pockets, I leaned against the door. “I don’t need an explanation. Though, I do have to say, I am both impressed and surprised with how quickly you work.”

Claire stopped what she was doing to stare at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. “What? I didn’t…” She shook her head. “I just met Adam yesterday. I didn’t…I wouldn’t…No. The picture you’ve conjured up is all wrong.”

“It’s okay, Claire.” I held my hands up. “You’re young. This is what you should be doing. I’m not the morality police.”

Claire spent a long beat staring at me from beneath furrowed brows. Her nostrils flared with what I had to assume was indignation, making me chuckle. That only served to make her huff and spin away.

She yanked her phone from her charger and stuffed it in a messenger bag. While eyeing me with annoyance, she slung her bag violently across her chest. “Thank you for your permission.”

Claire, the little teddy bear, had some venom in her, which made her slightly interesting. I didn’t have time for shy and meek, but this, I could make time for.

I trailed behind her down the hotel hallway to the elevator where my security waited. I liked watching her walk when she was offended. Her curly little ponytail bounced in the same rhythm as the globes of her ass. I bet she looked just as good from the front, with those tits rocking to the beat of her anger.

In the elevator, I glanced at her again, but she kept her attention on her phone.

“We have Rolling Stone first,” she said.

“I know.”

“Isabela sent them topics they weren’t allowed to broach. Me as well.” Her eyes slid to mine briefly, then back to her screen. “You have an on-camera interview with Sara Gonzalez from the local ABC News channel.”

“I know all this, Claire. Marta sent me my schedule last night.”

She rubbed her shiny pink lips together. “I’m sorry if I’m repeating what you already know. Obviously, this is my first day, so there are kinks to be worked out. I’m taking note that you actually read the schedule Marta sends you, so unless you ask, I won’t give you a second rundown.”

This girl sounded way too uptight for someone who’d gotten laid last night. Though, it couldn’t have been that great if her lipstick was still intact. I hadn’t seen her reapply it after Adam left, meaning the idiot hadn’t kissed her to hell and back. Jesus, maybe the poor bastard really hadn’t gotten any last night. I had no idea why that thought tempted me to pump my fist, but it sure as hell did.

As we made our way from the elevators to the private room reserved for all the press, I dipped my head to ask her and caught a whiff of honeysuckle coming from her skin.

“Did that kid really just stop by for breakfast this morning?” I asked.

Her feet came to a halt so fast, I had to grab her shoulders to stop from running into her. She rounded on me, her eyes narrowed and chest puffed, like she was prepared to let me have it. But the second we made eye contact, she contracted, almost folding in on herself.

“That’s none of your business,” she mumbled.

Claire tugged open the door to our assigned room without sparing me a glance, which I probably deserved. I didn’t need to know about the private life of my twenty-six-year-old PR assistant, and she had every right to ignore my probing questions. Neither of those things meant I’d stop asking, though.

The interviews were smooth sailing, if not tedious and fucking boring. The only thing that entertained me was watching Claire flutter about like a nervous mouse. She was fastidious to a fault, making sure the setup was perfect and remained perfect throughout the day. When each new reporter showed up, she double-checked everything, then stood at attention during every single interview, listening intently.

I liked that. I’d gone through a dozen different PR people over the course of my career, including Isabela, and none had acted the way Claire did. Maybe it was because she was new. Whatever the reason, I kinda hoped she kept it up.

“How are you?” she asked once we were en route to the venue in the back of a black limo.

“We’ve been together for hours, Claire. How do you think I am?”

From the bench opposite mine, she considered me in a slow perusal like the one she’d given me yesterday. I slouched down, stretching my legs to reach her shiny little shoes with my boots.

“I think you’re probably ready to be alone for a while. You don’t like talking about yourself, and I might be wrong, but it seemed like you were on edge the entire time, as if you were worried someone would bring up a topic you didn’t want to discuss.” She pushed her foot against mine in a feeble attempt to nudge me away. “That had to be tiring.”

I tipped my chin, neither confirming nor denying her summation of me.

She checked her phone. “Once we get to the venue, you’ll have an hour before sound check. Marta has lunch ready for you. We’ll give you your privacy and the time to rest if that’s what you need.”

“Sounds perfect. I appreciate the job you’re doing.”

She dipped her head and reached into her bag like she was searching for something, but there was no mistaking the pleased flush in the apples of her cheeks. Claire Fontana blossomed under praise, and something told me she hadn’t gotten enough of it in her life.

My moral compass, which tended to be more than skewed half the time, directed me to cease taking note of the way this girl reacted. If I still needed my attention diverted post-concert, I had no doubt there’d be no shortage of…diversions.

“What does your shirt say?”

Like I said, my moral compass pointed me in the wrong direction all too often, or I ignored it altogether.

She opened her pink blazer to show me the bold black letters on white cotton. “Fear eats the soul. My…friend and I went to an art installation last year where they were printing these. This is the first time I’ve worn it.”

“Do you believe it?”

She tucked an escaped curl behind her ear and rebuttoned her jacket. “Oh yes.”

“Do you live by it?”

Again, her cheeks flushed pink, but instead of looking away, her eyes locked on mine. “I’m getting there.”

“Good. I’m trying to get there too.”

She scoffed and pushed at my boot once more. “I have a hard time believing you have any fear. You’re a few hours away from standing in front of thousands of people here to see you, and you’re as cool as a cucumber.”

“Performing doesn’t scare me.” I opened my palms on my legs. My fears were a lot darker than crowds of people waiting to worship me.

“What does?”

My mouth hitched in amusement. “Now, why would I tell you?”

“You wouldn’t.” She drew her feet away, tucking them together against her seat and checked her phone again. “We’re almost there.”

“Claire?”

She paused whatever she’d been pretending to type on her screen. “Yes?”

“Are you scared of me?”

Her plump lips pressed into a thin line, and she touched a hand to her cheek for a moment before dropping it. “Yes, I am.”

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the rest, releasing a long exhale through my nose. “Good. That’s for the best.”

Marta waited for us in my dressing room. Her long legs were propped up on my couch, and her music filled the room. She turned the volume down when we walked in.

“Greetings.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Your food’s on the table, Dom. Hey, C.”

Claire’s face transformed from unsure and timid to unadulterated happiness. “Hey, M.”

“You have nicknames now?” I picked up my sandwich on a plate and took it to the couch, knocking Marta’s legs down to make room.

“Does calling each other by the first letter of our names really count?” Marta asked.

“Hell if I know.” I checked between the slices of bread to ensure my order was right. Marta rolled her eyes at me, but she knew the drill.

“Dominic, would you still like that quiet time now?” Claire asked in her soft, throaty voice.

“Yes. You can go.”

“Okay.” She blinked a couple times, gripping the strap of her messenger bag with both hands. “Marta, do you want to grab lunch with me?”

Marta sat up, her lips twisting. “Oh…well—”

“You can go, Claire.” I sucked mustard off my thumb. “Marta’s staying.”

She nodded, her hand on the knob. “All right. I’ll just…I’ll be around.” Then she hurried out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Marta’s eyes were on me while I ate my sandwich. She knew the drill. We usually ate together before the show—and that didn’t change because she’d taken a liking to my new PR girl. Sure, I could have invited Claire to stay, but I didn’t want to.

“I could have gone with her,” Marta said.

I wiped my mouth with a flimsy napkin. “No. You couldn’t have. I wanted you here.”

“I get that, but why be so damn rude to her? From her texts, it sounded like press went well.” Marta tucked her feet beneath her to face me. “Did something happen?”

“No. She did a good job, which I told her.”

Marta gasped. “You did what?”

Her surprise had me grinning. “I told her she did a good job, Mar.”

She shoved at my shoulder. “Dominic Cantrell, you don’t tell anyone they do a good job! My yearly bonus is my only sign you’re pleased with my performance. What the hell?”

Unbothered, I took another bite of my sandwich while Marta huffed and flailed and called me a bastard. Finally, I pushed her forehead with my index finger.

“You can stop now. I told her she did a good job because she seemed to need it.”

Her shoulders rose and fell with indignation. “Maybe I need it sometimes.”

I smiled at my sandwich. “You don’t.”

“Well…fuck off.”

My shoulders shook, but I swallowed the laugh. “Nice way to speak to your boss.”

She crossed her arms. “That was me talking to my friend. I’m on my lunch break, you know.”

I uncapped a water bottle and took a swig. “Any luck with your straight girlfriend last night?”

Marta ripped open a bag of chips and crunched a few in her mouth. “Iris isn’t straight.”

Marta had been crushing on the lead singer of The Seasons Change since they met a few months ago. While Marta wasn’t one to be shy, Iris had thrown her for a loop. Personally, I didn’t know one way or another, but if Iris hadn’t taken Marta’s ample bait yet, I figured she wasn’t interested.

“You’re one-hundred-percent on that?” I asked.

“No, obviously, you monster.” She stuffed more chips into her mouth. “I’ll find out soon.”

I raised a brow. “Are you…I don’t know, going to ask her?”

“I have my ways, and they mostly involve alcohol.”

I laid my hand on the top of her head and ruffled her carefully styled hair. “That sounds like a well thought out plan. I’m into it.”

She flew off the couch and across the room, smoothing her hair down. “Are we really judging each other’s lives now? Is that what’s happening? Because I have opinions.”

I stretched my arms along the back of the couch, my forehead puckering. “Since when have you ever held back?”

She tapped her lip. “There was that week there…”

“The week you started working for me?”

“Shut up. Just leave my game alone and be nicer to Claire.”

“I thought you were mad because I was too nice.” I lifted a hand. “By the way, I saw that kid Adam exiting her room this morning.”

Marta paused her manic chip chewing. “No. Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

She nibbled at the edge of a chip. “He was looking at her with puppy dog eyes all last night, but she didn’t seem to really notice. I’m going to have to get her to spill the damn tea because I thought they went back to their rooms separately last night.”

“I’m surprised you noticed anyone besides Iris.”

“I’ve learned from you that prolonged eye contact gives people the creeps.”

I pointed to my eyes with two fingers. “This shit is intense, not creepy.”

Marta shot me an exaggerated wink and nod. “Okay, Dom, keep telling yourself that.”

There was no real, tangible reason Marta and I had become friends. She was a good deal younger, a lot more cheerful, had a wide group of friends, close with her family, and generally functional as a human. But within a week of knowing each other, she’d taken a shine to my grumpy ass, and I looked forward to her antics every day. She took pleasure in calling me on my shit, and…well, I didn’t mind it. Not when it came from her.

“Intense,” I muttered, eating the last of my sandwich.

“Creepy!” she yelled, then jammed a fistful of chips in her mouth, crumbs falling onto her shirt as she chomped.

I shook my head. From the moment I woke up, I’d been dreading this day, but as I sat in my dressing room with this crazy woman, I realized it hadn’t been half bad. Not even close.