Rebel Rockstar

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opyright
© 2016 by Marci Fawn

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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I
’m sitting
in the middle of a purple crushed-velvet sofa in my manager Kim’s office, sunlight glinting off my perfectly styled, long blonde hair. I tilt my tan neck left and right while examining my face in the mirror behind my manager’s glass-and-chrome desk. She’s been on the phone for about fifteen minutes and I am quickly growing bored of waiting for her attention.

What is she talking about and what could be taking so long?
I wonder, pouting my light pink, glossed lips at my sunlit reflection.

“Jem! Hello—sorry for taking so long.” Kim grins at me, putting her phone down, and I smile, letting her know it’s not a problem. “I may have another job lined up for you.”

“Oh?” Color me curious.

“That was the owner of the Starlight Cruise Line….you know, the luxury cruise ships for the elite and beautiful?” My manager flashes a bright, toothy smile in my direction.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been aching to get a gig with them!” I can hardly believe it. This could be such a big break for my career!

“That’s what the call was about, Jem. They’ve asked for
you
to be on their next cruise!”

I grin back, my stomach filling with butterflies and my face flushing with excitement at the thought of finally boarding the five-star luxury liner to perform for the likes of Kanye West and Nicki Minaj. I clap my hands together, so lost in thought that I almost fail to notice my manager’s expression changing.

“Kim…what’s the problem?” I frown at her, not liking the determined expression that has replaced her smile.

“You’re not going to be the
only
performer on the cruise. They’ve also asked Nathan Romero to be there.”

Before Kim can say anything else, I push myself furiously from the soft sofa and storm out of the office, hurrying toward the elevator before the angry tears escape.

I am so damn weak. One mention of his name and I turn into a blubbering mess.

I bet Kim will come after me any moment now, but I don’t want to talk. Especially not about my ex, Nate. We broke up for a reason, and after we did, he turned his life upside down. He’s now the city’s resident playboy, and as for me… I’m stuck pretending I don’t care.

I won’t do it. I can’t. I can’t be around Nate. I never want to see his face again!
Thoughts whirl in my mind, my eyes closed, tears slowly leaking out. My usual vanity is gone. I don’t care if my perfectly applied mascara is smudged or running.

The elevator stops and it takes all of my willpower to not run from the building weeping. There would be paparazzi waiting for me in some dark, creepy corner, so instead I open my eyes and fix my face in the elevator’s lighted mirror.

Jemima Rockwell is not going to allow herself to be seen crying over Nathan Romero!
I gather myself and slowly exit the building to the waiting chauffeured Audi.

“Home, please Rick,” I mutter, my voice quiet and hoarse.

At home I collapse my bed’s satin sheets and feel the tears welling up in my eyes once more. The pain and anger over the breakup with Nate is as sharp as if it was yesterday that my teenage sweetheart and I had cut ties. This time, in the privacy of my own home, I allow the tears to flow without inhibition; I empty my heart into the pink, downy pillows on the lonely, queen-sized bed.

Oh, Nate. I thought I’d never have to be near you again. This is my big break and it’s not fair I have to share it…share it with
YOU!

My phone rings in the distance but I don’t rush to pick it up. I’ll leave it for the voicemail. Instead I stretch out on the cushiony surface of my bed and curl my long, brown legs up to my small but proud chest. Hugging myself, I let my mind replay memories of Nate and me.

There had been such a magnetic attraction between us, even in our early days of flirting. Nate’s dark, sensuous looks had made me weak in the knees whenever I saw him. His full lips had fitted perfectly with mine and his kisses made my entire body tingle. Even now the memory makes my skin prickle. His soft hands would caress my back during a make-out session and…

The memory causes me to hunch over in sorrowful pain. Nobody has touched me as gently as he did for quite some time. Even my brief courtship with up-and-coming rapper Al-Ex hadn’t made me feel quite as happy as Nate had.

I bite my bottom lip, sighing at the memory of Nathan’s soft lips brushing against my neck. The cruise is going to be difficult to endure if he’ll be there. I won’t be able to concentrate on my performance with his alluring presence so near. No. I will simply decline the offer. I nod my head decidedly and, feeling drained, promptly fall asleep.

* * *

M
orning
sunlight streams in through the window, kissing my skin and hair. I stretch my shapely legs, taking a moment to bask in the warmth. Rolling over to my right side, I check my cell phone.

“Ten voice messages? Kim, what is going on
now?
” I say to myself, unlocking the screen to dial the obviously frantic manager. Kim picks up after the first ring, her voice harried and angry.

“Where have you been, Jemima? After you stormed out yesterday, I was not impressed! I can’t believe you, acting like a spoiled child. You will do this cruise, Jem, because your career needs it.”

I deserve to listen to her rant, so I listen sheepishly. All the comebacks I put together in my mind don’t seem appropriate for the occasion, so I bite my tongue and shut up instead.

“I’m sorry, Kim,” I finally manage to get a word in. My manager sighs and keeps going, barely missing a beat.

“While we’re at it, I’m going to have to ask you to be…well…different! This good-girl, teenage image is getting old fast. You’re almost twenty-one, Jem.”

I’m shocked into silence. Kim has never spoken to me like this before. “Kim, I…I don’t want to be different. I’m happy as I am. It’s who I—”

“Who you are is who the public sees. Right now, Little Miss Perfect, all they see is a small-time pop singer. You’re getting on that cruise next week, and you better be ready to sex yourself up.”

Kim hangs up before I can reply, leaving me confused and hurt. She’s never had problems with my image before. In fact, I thought my wholesomeness was what allowed me to stand out from the crowds of sexual, scantily clad young female singers. My songs focus on being proud of who I am, of holding onto my virtue…and my virginity.

I flop back on my bed and sigh in frustration. So, she’s really making me do this, is she? I’ll have to go on that stupid cruise and face every one of my old fears again. I guess I’m old enough now to stop acting like a child… and apparently, start being a sex kitten instead.

Kim is right, though. My popularity has been fading, and the days of me being a cute little child star are long gone. I need something to propel me amongst the real stars. Just like always, Kim is right again.

I call her number, and she picks up on the second dial. “Yes, darling?”

“Kim… I’ll do it.” I hate myself for agreeing with her terms.

Her laughter is infectious though, and I giggle along with her. “Okay Jem, here’s what we’re going to do…”

* * *

A
week
after Kim’s scolding, on the way to the luxury ship, my driver tries to make small talk. He’s unsuccessful. My mood is dull and unhappy, and I do not want to talk about the weather with a man I barely know.

We reach the dock for the cruise liner in silence, my thoughts whirling as I steel myself to run into my ex. I chose my outfit carefully, trying to “sex it up” as per Kim’s request.

I’m wearing a tight, luminous purple tank that hugs my pert breasts and barely covers my stomach with a short, white mini-skirt. The colors show off my deep caramel skin. My soft, butter-colored hair curls sensuously around my neck, with bangs framing my face.

I look good. But I can’t help feeling exposed and uncomfortable, not in my usual country-jeans-and-peasant-top ensemble. I don’t like showing so much skin, but my manager deflected every complaint. My makeup is also different, with smoky eye shadow highlighting my deep blue eyes and glossy lips enhancing my natural pout.

I must look like an expensive call girl!

I shudder at the image of Nate seeing me dressed like this. I shoulder my white Gucci day bag and walk determinedly up the catwalk of the ship. Maybe Nate declined the offer to perform on this cruise.

“Jemima Rockwell! Don’t you look absolutely ravishing?” A gravelly voice comes from behind me as I head toward my suite, startling me.

Of course, I recognize the voice in an instant. How could I ever forget after he whispered all those sweet nothings into my ear?

Nathan Romero.

“Uh…thanks?” I turn around to find the owner of the voice. He looks as handsome as ever, and I can feel my palms getting sweaty. God, I hate that he still has this effect on me. “What do you want, Nate?” I say evenly. “I am not in the mood to play games.”

“Just wanted to say hi. That’s all, Jem. You really do look absolutely gorgeous.” His voice softens and I feel a pang of shame for being so cold. My body thrums softly in his presence, the old attraction still there between us.

He looks good. Leather jacket, signature shades. Good enough for me to remember melting into his embrace, feeling like his arms were made to hold me.

Nate reaches out and gently touches my hand, sending sparks of electricity through both of us. I pull my hand back sharply as if burned. Nate frowns, obviously a bit hurt at my nervous reaction.

“Jem, I thought…we could try to be friends?” His voice is soft and calming, and the warmth between my legs intensifies. His voice has always melted me.

“I’d really prefer it if just left me alone.” I blink away the tears welling in my eyes and turn slowly away from him, feeling his chocolate-brown eyes burning into my back and moving slowly down the length of my body as I walk away.

I get on the ship, scarcely noticing anything around me. It is beautiful though, and obviously a luxurious vessel. Thick red carpet covers the floor with lush greenery on the inside, and expensive marble everywhere I look. There are several pools on board, indoor and outdoor. It really is a sight to behold.

As I get inside my own room, I’m immediately impressed by the suite that was given to me. It’s enormous, and looks just like an expensive hotel I’d normally stay at while I’m on tour.

After a close inspection of my quarters, I close the door to my room, then kick off my black stilettos and fall onto the soft blankets. My feet ache. My legs need a break from the height. I curl my feet upwards, resting them slightly on my heart-shaped bottom in an almost-yoga pose, and unlock my phone. I load up the
People
website and search guiltily for Nathan Romero.

The first news piece shows a photo of Nathan, topless and seemingly drunk, his tight-fitting jeans leaving little to the imagination. I can feel my face flush—I could never hide my deep, physical attraction to the young rock star. His deep brown eyes smolder in the picture despite the spillage stains on his jeans.

The title of the article reads “Bad Boy Rock Star to Headline Cruise.” I groan inwardly, burying my head in the crook of my arm.

I stay on the bed a little longer, so engrossed in memories and images of Nate that I barely notice my tight skirt riding up, exposing my buttocks enrobed in lacy white underwear. I also don’t notice the light knock on my suite door, or the young porter entering the room.

“Oh! Miss…uh, Miss Rockwell—” comes a slightly squeaky voice. I jump up, pulling my skirt down with a scarlet face to match that of the young man in front of me. “I just…came to tell you that Kim is looking for you,” he mumbles, avoiding my general direction.

“Thanks,” comes my whispered reply, and he scurries through the door, glancing back at me with obvious embarrassment. I hate the new, skimpy clothes Kim is making me wear but any complaints will only get me a scolding. I hope my manager will change her mind and allow me to revert back to my original, wholesome image. I know Nate has changed, but I refuse to alter my image and beliefs simply to sell some records. If Taylor Swift can keep her sweet, innocent look, then I can do the same!