Claimed by the Alpha Celebrity (Rockstar Romance, Alpha Male Erotic Romance, Billionaire Romance) (The Star Struck Trilogy)
Authors: Giavanna Presley
Claimed by the
Alpha Celebrity
The Star Struck Trilogy
Book 1
GIAVANNA
PRESLEY
Copyright 2014 Giavanna Presley
All rights reserved.
This book is dedicated to Elizabeth Powers and Andrew Martin. Thank you for your passion, your energy and your efforts toward making the
Star Struck
dream a reality. I will see you on the other side of the velvet rope. Cheers.
–Giavanna Presley
Table of Contents
Introduction
I want to thank you and congratulate you for downloading the book
Claimed by The Alpha Celebrity
.
You’re in for a really special treat! In my capacity as an entertainment journalist I’ve met a diver
se range of interesting people, from talent agents to record executives, all the way up the chain to A-List celebrities. I’ve always tried my best to do my job and get my story without getting into too much trouble. But when you’re anywhere near the entertainment industry, trouble is inevitable. Some of my encounters were too exciting not to share, and thus
The Star Struck Trilogy
was born. Most of the names, and some of the details, have been changed to protect the innocent... and of course the not so innocent.
I get excited every time I retell these stories. So slip into something comfortable, relax and get ready to have a good time.
Thanks again for downloading this book, I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1
I
t was getting late, and I needed to make it back to Chicago in time to finish my article, which was due in a matter of hours. I’ve been a freelance entertainment journalist since I graduated college. I’ve done stories in both television and print, for outlets like
Extra
, TMZ,
US Weekly
,
Rolling Stone
and
Billboard Magazine
, just to name a few. My big dream is to have my own show on E! where I get to interview the hottest names in showbiz. I want to be the celebrity that interviews the celebrities! I want my name to be a household name.
Giavanna Lacey.
I’m not there yet but I’m getting close, or at least that’s what I tell myself to stay motivated. Most of the time I work for an independent entertainment news magazine that covers underground artists, rising stars, falling stars, and the very rare and occasional A-Lister. It’s not my dream publication, but I haven’t been featured in the bigger entertainment news outlets since the epic fail a couple of years ago that almost got me blacklisted from the industry. I’ll tell you more about that some other time.
I always feel like I’m just one story away from my big break, and this time was no exception. My heart was racing, and my stomach felt like a thousand anxious butterflies were fighting to escape. I’m sure some
of my intense physiological reactions were due to anxiety about my impending deadline. But my sweaty palms and weak knees could mostly be attributed to the exhilaration I was feeling from sitting in a five-star Beverly Hills restaurant, across from the hottest German rock star to hit the American music scene in my lifetime. Through shameless self-promotion, and a few connections in high places, I had landed an interview with the lead singer of the rising international rock band, Aus Deutschland. His name was Christoff Diemacht Hartmann. Christoff stood a little over six feet, three inches. He had a brawny build and chiseled, masculine features. There was nothing about him that wasn’t larger than life. Like any good showman, he changed his hair almost every week. Today it was a dark chocolate brown, and it fell just below his brow.
I had been an Aus Deutschland fan since their first album. I discovered them while doing an internship for a world music magazine. I never thought that they would become mainstream
in the U.S. and not even in my wildest dreams had I imagined that I’d be interviewing one of them. Okay, maybe I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamed about it, because I had, but I never expected it to actually happen, or at least not this soon. Christoff’s aggressive baritone vocals made ladies all over the globe, including me, swoon. But what was even more alluring was his warm, melodic speaking voice. He sounded much different in person than he did on all of his gritty industrial rock tracks. If it could even be possible, everything about him was even more captivating up close and in person.
I sat across the table silently, as Christoff slowly and deliberately curled his lips around the opening to his beer bottle. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat w
ith every swallow. As he pulled the bottle away, it seemed as if everything was moving in slow motion when a few drops of lager inadvertently missed Christoff’s mouth and landed on his bottom lip. I think I visibly quivered as I watched him roll his tongue across his full lips and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. I love a man that drinks straight out of the bottle. I’ve always found it to be so sexy and masculine.
My thoughts were interrupted as I felt the heat of Christoff’s piercing sapphire eyes
on my cleavage. I pried my attention away from his lips and tried to make eye contact when he discreetly averted his gaze. A rosy, red excitement painted my cheeks and spread across my chest. I was pleased, and embarrassed at the same time, that I caught Christoff Diemacht Hartmann, the man of every hard music fan’s dreams, checking me out in my new black and nude dress with the sweetheart neckline. I started to fumble with my silverware to buy time while I thought of something appropriate to say. Of course, I knocked my sauce-covered fork off the table and on to the floor. My heart raced with embarrassment. I hoped I didn’t get anything on my dress. I was trying to decide whether to pick up the fork or leave it when Christoff cleared his throat.
“You know
I really don’t like the press... in fact... I despise them.” Christoff interrupted the uncomfortable silence with his aggressive German accent.
My breath caught in my throat, and I felt my muscles start to tense. I was both intimidated and annoyed. Sure, C
hristoff D. Hartmann was amazing, but without the press he would be a nobody. So many stars forget that. Without me, my entertainment journalist colleagues and of course the paparazzi, these stars wouldn’t be stars, they would still be starving artists. Aus Deutschland has always had a strained relationship with the press. Many journalists have given them a hard time about their controversial lyrics and tumultuous personal lives. But it really wasn’t fair that Christoff wasn’t giving me a chance. Little did he know, I was a huge fan, and was planning to give him the softball interview of a lifetime. I was crazy about him and the rest of the band so I was going to make sure the interview was a home run for everyone involved. I was terribly put-off by his presumptuous attitude. I tried to stay in control by pulling my shoulders back and taking a deep breath to center myself.
“Well, then why are we here?” I exhaled.
Christoff leaned in and lowered his voice, “I don’t know... shrewdness on your part... or perhaps a little business savvy on my end... or maybe, just maybe... curiosity about that dress you’re wearing... do you have anything on underneath that?”
“Look asshole, I’m here to get the interview you promised me, so I can finish my story by the deadline.” I
slammed my hand on the table and leaned in close for dramatic effect. “I’m a seasoned journalist. I’ve done my research and I know who you are,” I asserted firmly.
“Well since you know me so well, why don’t you tell me about myself?” Christoff smirked arro
gantly and leaned back in his chair.
I took a long, slow sip of my wine before responding. “You’re a womanizer, a cheater with serious commitment issues and possibly a narcissist.” The words fell out of my mouth slow and heavy as I psychoanalyzed him.
“See, exactly why I despise the press. You don’t even know me, yet somehow you think you’ve got me all figured out. You’re just like all the rest of the so-called journalists who make me out to be some womanizing monster.”
“Well, how about you change my mind?”
I said, pressing the red button on my digital recorder and placing it in the center of the table. “Shall we?”
“I suppose.”
“So how is the American leg of the tour going?” I threw a softball to loosen him up.
“It sucks... I’m tired... the laws in the venue
s are too strict, and I’m sleep deprived and horny.” Christoff leaned back and folded his arms.
“Aww, poor over-worked, sexually deprived rock star. I’m so sorry for your pain,” I cooed sarcastically.
“Well you asked, so I answered. Are we done yet?”
“You
know what... yeah, we are! I don’t need this. There are many names much bigger than yours dying to be interviewed by me, so I really don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time. Unfortunately, I can’t let you waste any more of my time.” I gestured for the waiter to come to our table, as I pushed my chair back to walk away.
Christoff threw a wad of cash on the table as I was halfway out the door. I didn’t know how I was going to get back to Chicago in time to find another story. And somewhere between le
aving my apartment in Chicago early this morning and arriving in Los Angeles this afternoon, I had misplaced my laptop. I keep my laptop with me at all times so I can write on the road, but I was so excited about my opportunity to cover Aus Deutschland that I’d been running around as wound-up as an aerobics instructor on a 1980s work out video. Christoff Diemacht Hartmann was my biggest dream, my deepest wish and my wildest fantasy, but that explanation wasn’t going to fly when I showed up back home in Chicago without a story.
I was hoping I absent-mindedly left my laptop back home and not in the taxi or at the airport. Now if only I could get back home to figure that out. If I had to call my editor and tell him that I didn’t get the interview I already prem
aturely boasted to him about, and that I needed an emergency return flight back to Chicago, I would be in such deep shit. I checked my smart phone. Even if I was willing to part with the money to switch my ticket to leave tonight, there weren’t even any more flights leaving LAX until tomorrow morning, hours after my deadline.
“Aaahhhh!!” I exclaimed through gritted teeth. I didn’t know who I would call or how I would make my deadline.
Why does this shit always happen to me,
I wondered. I paced back and forth outside of the restaurant.
My thoughts were interrupted by Christoff’s voice. “Looks like someone is a little frustrated,” he teased while laughing at me.
Even in the frantic state I was in his voice titillated me but I wasn’t going to let him know that. “Fuck you!” I blurted, slapping his massive bicep with my over-sized Longchamp bag. “I have a deadline to meet and I don’t know how I’m going to get back to Chicago, and thanks to you I don’t have an interview,” I exclaimed, still pacing. “Dammit!”
“Aww, poor journalist, so sorry for your pain,” he chuckled.
I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself. “Look, at least be quiet so I can think.”
“I would offer to take you back to Chicago on my private jet but it’s obvious
that you don’t want to be anywhere near me right now.” He smiled, knowing he had full control of the situation.
Maybe I could actually get my interview with him on the way back to Chicago, I thought. And worst-case scenario, at least I would be home in tim
e to come up with an idea for a new piece and a story for my editor as to why I did not get this interview. My mind was racing with a million thoughts.
“Have you ever been on the Pacific Coast Highway during sunset?” he asked with a charming glow in his ey
e.
“No, I’ve been on the PCH several times, but never during sunset,” I replied, letting my frustration dissipate.
“The sun will be setting shortly, I’ll drive you that way on the way to the airport... how about it?”
The valet brought Christoff’s silver Me
rcedes Benz around to where we were standing. Christoff opened my door for me, which I didn’t expect. I could tell he was attracted to me, and lord knows I was attracted to him, but at this point in my life, my career was much more important to me than trying to get laid by some celebrity. I had already been there and done that with some of the most promising up-and-comers in Hollywood as well as the music industry. While it was fun and made for some good slumber party gossip, such indiscretions did not get me closer to my dream of having my own show. In fact, the drama that resulted from some of my romps with the wrong people set me back in certain ways. I’m older and wiser now, and I have more bills to pay and bigger dreams to achieve. No more frivolous celebrity hook-ups for me. My eye was on the prize. I was completely focused on getting my interview and getting back home to find my computer, and write my piece on the revival of Industrial German Rock, or New German Hardness, as the critics so aptly called it.
